Imagine 03 (18+)

Imagine 03 (18+)

A shaky hand went to his aching cock. His Adam's apple bobbed up and down in quiet surrender. The heat waves of immediate pleasure sent a shiver down his lithe spine, and droplets of precum pooled at the base of his shaft, coating his veiny hands and running over his whitened knuckles.

Aemond's eye was closed in utter concentration - he focused desperately on the task at hand, on the image that was forming behind his clasped eyelid.

You.

Oh, how he throbbed for you. How he needed you.

The things he would do to feel your skin against his. The thoughts he beared for you - sinful enough to make even the least pious of Septas writhe and beg for forgiveness through tear-stained cheeks.

As his hips began moving in unison with his leisure pumps, the man let out a low growl, and he slowly arched his back off the satin of the ruined sheets.

"Fuuuck..." He sighed into the peaceful night, and soon found himself speeding up his ministrations.

He was close. Oh so close to his fourth release of the night - but no matter how much he teased his stones, or brushed his thumb over his weeping slit, the momentary relief just wouldn't heed his call.

"Hobaenka issa... hobaenka nopāzma." He cursed under a strained breath, as he slowly rose onto his forearm, to properly fuck his hand.

"Qrugh... Nyke jorrāelagon naejot māzigon sīr quba..."

A frustrated sigh parted from his swollen lips.

This simply wouldn’t do. Not anymore.

By the Gods, he needed you.

He needed you, but he wouldn't dare have you. At the very least, not yet.

You were a vision of the Maiden, a Lady pure, and good, and kind.

He would be proper and thoughtful about it. He would marry you. And fuck you. And breed you. And mark you.

He would take his time with you. Be balls deep inside of you. Fuck you gently, or make love to you roughly - in whichever way you wanted, you needed, you pleaded.

Indeed, he would be yours to command. And he would dedicate himself to learning all the intricate ways to please you. Make you come on his tongue, tens of times before he'd even think to tease you.

He would teach you how to make him happy. He would teach you how to ride and suck him.

The Targaryen Prince couldn’t tell what posessed him to get up from the comfort of his bed, and venture into the empty lanes of the Street of Silk.

Neither could he tell what sparked his interest towards the rear-end brothel - a brothel he knew his sorry brother and uncle eagerly frequented, as well.

He just prayed and hoped he wouldn't bump into neither one of the two on that cursed night.

The figure of a plump woman rested at the hilt of the oak door - the debaucherous sounds of slick and flesh that slapped against each other rang from the other end of the Pleasure House back to his tainted ears.

Tens of whores flocked to him, baited on by his silver locks of hair - the gratuitous allure to the heavy pockets they grew so accoustomed to.

A new line of girls was formed and dismissed each minute. For Aemond Targaryen had his own paculiar tastes.

The first to go were the women who failed to possess a similar hair and eye colour to yours. Swifty followed the ones who were too tall, too lean, too stubby.

None of them were good enough. None of them were you.

The owner's patience was wearing thin, as was his very own. Perhaps coming down here was a mistake. Perhaps he'd find better release with the aid of his right hand.

And just as he was ready to depart from the dismal scene, the sound of giggles flooded the entire room.

Could it be...?

But it wasn't.

And yet...

The sight of his uncle ought to have vexed him. Embarrass him to no end, given the position he'd been viciously caught in - yet long gone were the dutiful son, the responsible Prince, and the honorable man within him.

In the stead of cowering away and leaving the brothel in a hurried conflict, Aemond's eye trailed over Daemon's whore, drinking in her every feature. A rumbled moan etched its way from his tightened throat.

Her skin bared your complexion. Her eyes held in the very same shade of luring pigment. Her hair, despite being of a lighter colour, fell perfectly over her shoulders - much like your own used to when you let it down during the cold winters.

Before he knows it, Daemon's hand wraps itself around his shoulder.

He wordlessly allows it.

"Beautiful, isn't she?" The Prince's voice erupts in a low purr. "It's unbelievalbe how much she looks like her."

His uncle plays with her loose strands of hair, and sends her his nephew's way through the musings of a laugh and rough spank.

Aemond wouldn’t sheathe his cock within her. He needs not use what thousands have used before him - and his seed should take only in you.

Her mouth and warmth are enough to satisfy him. Aemond cums with your name upon his lips; shouted so hopelessly, that the whole of Westeros would hear him.

He pays her handsomely for her service - and swears to never step foot inside that wretched place again.

But it is far too late.

For the rumours spread and quicken.

He finds that your tourmenting eyes never rest over his face again. You make yourself scarce, unseen. He sees it in the way you huff your breaths out, in the way your pale cheeks redden - you know. And you are disgusted with him.

He seizes you once, in a secluded corner of the Red Keep. He tries to explain - deny - all that you might have heard from the gossips of the Court. But you purse your lips together and sway your weight from one foot to the next.

Defiantly, you avert his gaze.

Scared, you make your way around him.

And when you must find reclusion from him, it is Daemon who offers you sanctuary. It is his arms that snake around you, his hands that caress your cheeks. It is his voice that whispers inside your ear. It is the Lord of Fleabottom who poisions you against his will.

Translations of High Valyrian:

"Hobaenka issa... hobaenka nopāzma." = Fuck me... fucking hell.

"Qrugh... Nyke jorrāelagon naejot māzigon sīr quba..." = Shit... I need to cum so badly...

Letters Perished in Dried Ink (18+)

Pairing: Aemond x Reader;

Warnings: vivid descriptions of male masurbation, slight angst, a lot of lousy grandpas who have and will continue to butt into your situationship with Aemond;

Word Count: 6.5k;

Author's Note: I struggled with major writer's block this month. I suppose it happens to the best of us :") While I'm still working on the three fics I promised you guys, have this tiny one-shot to make up for the lack of updates ♡

I tried to be poetic. Alas, I miserably failed. See you in the next update (which is going to hopefully present much better)!

How could a misunderstanding ruin everything seven years of love has built?

Her steady hand reached for the quill, and the girl settled her feather over the small and modest piece of paper. For two, mayhaps three seconds she paused, thinking well on what she would like most adherently to convey.

Her eyes glossed over with the swirl of mischief, and the Lady smiled to herself, while expelling a tantalising and brisk breath.

To my dearest, Aemond

While I was afraid that my time in King’s Landing would change the perception I had of my homeland, I must admit that I was wrong. I might push as far as to say that everything remains the same; not a change since I last saw it. My chamber, with the dolls I left on the goose-stuffed pillows, the training grounds – none the grander as the ones in the Red Keep, mind you –, and the large halls of Riverrun… all seemingly frozen in place.

Albeit the doors feel smaller now, and I can reach without the help of a stool where I once could not, I find that I am underwhelmed, and dangerously melancholic over the time I spent in your company, which accounted for so much of my early girlhood.

Grandfather has taken to my return quite well. He is still bedridden, but somehow more vivacious that his blood is nearer yet.

I look at the portraits that adorn the walls of our darkened castle, and sometimes think back to my elder brothers. I think grandfather does so, as well.

But such terrible quarrels have no place in my dull writings! This new life isn’t as tedious as I make it out to be. I was acquainted with my Septa, though much of my education will be taken care of by grandsire now. Yesterday I walked the grounds for hours on end, and managed to spot some old and familiar faces. I had forgotten how kind the riverlords can be.

One thing that must be noted – and recognised as drastically peculiar – is how quiet it is here. Naturally, there is no active Court to gossip and flaunt back their wealth and actions.

You would like it here.

And I’ll say this much: I’d like it better if you were here, too.

I end my musings with burning questions, that you simply must answer in your next correspondence:

First and foremost, how have you been? Secondly, how are our good Queen and King? Word reached the Trident that your father’s fallen sick, and so I pray piously without stray that he recovers well and quickly. Thirdly, how is sweet Helaena fairing? Last I heard of her, the babe was close to being born.

I readily await for your reply, and urge you to make haste with it!

Until then I remain, as always,

Your inquisitive and loyal friend

His eye trails over the slight curve of her writing. And the Prince catches himself smiling, humming in admission at her carefully picked-out words.

He notices, with great perplexion, that despite his hardest efforts of stifling such impropriety, the ache inside his chest arouses. His heartbeat hammers out of him, granting a slight tremor in his lax and calloused hand.

And he stands this way, hovering over the pristine parchment, whilst bringing his hand out to pinch the bridge of his nose – rub his throbbing blinder with the back end of his hand. His broad chest heaves with every laboured exhale, and Aemond sighs with proper longing.

To my good friend,

I hope this letter finds you in good health, and in higher spirits than the day you wrote to me. It is very unlike you to barely fill a page. I expect your next communication to hold greater details of your life in the Riverlands.

King’s Landing is the same as you remember. Smells like shit and feels like shit, especially now, as I'm denied from the raptures of your company.

My routine too, remains identical. I am seated next to Aegon when we break fast as of late, and I must stress how greatly I preferred my view beforehand.

I report with great sorrow that hardly any intelligent conversation has been had since your swift departure. I'm left longing at the dinner table, for your calculated thoughts, for your sweet melodic voice, and for our elbows to be lightly touching.

Mother is overwhelmed with higher duties of the Court. I try to help her as best I can, with whatever tasks she may yet entrust me with. I lack the patience to sit idly, and so I’ve taken to Aegon’s share of duties. I fulfil them better than he ever could, and the exercise proves itself useful: for I scarcely find the time to think of you throughout the day.

The nights and morrows are harder yet, as my thoughts reach out to you, wondering helplessly how you spend your better days, so painfully far from me.

A dozen maesters tend to Viserys, each saying he will get better as time has its murky say. Yet ‘til that “eventual better” makes itself known to us all, he nurses his body with milk of the poppy, and lets mother do all his work.

Helaena is well. She dreamt the babe would be a boy, and already settled on a name for him. She wishes to call him Maelor, something that hasn’t been rebuked by Aegon.

She misses you greatly. As do I.

As does Vhagar.

The Red Keep feels empty without your fits of laughter.

Beckon your reply quickly.

Your most dutiful servant,

Aemond

A little over a week had passed since his Lady’s last reply. One week and four full days, to be exact... though Aemond would never own up to counting.

His sour mood grew to exceed all expectations, and the Prince bit his tongue through most of dinner, barely uttering a single word. His quiet nature wasn’t something to be troubled of, but even his drunk-out-of-his-mind brother noticed something had been irking him.

“I don’t think I’ve ever seen you so brooding, brother.” Aegon voiced out his concern, after another hefty gulp of alcohol. An impish grin spread across his puffy face, and Viserys’ first-born son leaned over in his chair to soothe him. “Am I right to assume that this has something to do with the lack of reply from a certain lady of the Riverlands?”

A low growl etched from deep within the youth’s throat. Aemond regarded Aegon with a cutting look, and extended his arm forward to grip the base of the wine pouch. He took a moment to ponder on the gaucherie of getting drunk, but settled on thrusting himself to the momentary relief that a hazy mind could offer.

Briskly, he took a swing of the burning liquor, and disregarded the way in which his mother absent-mindedly glared at him.

A loud snicker echoed through the quiet room, and Aegon clasped his hands together, pouting acutely at his brother's actions. “I’ll take that as a yes, then.”

A knot of heartfelt disregard tightened in Aemond’s throat, and his fist clenched painfully right above the wooden table. His free hand gripped the handle of the knife with a knowledge untoward, and the Prince shared a look with his elder brother, while rotating the blade about.

“Careful, Aegon. There are plenty of sharp objects around this table. And you haven’t been spotted in the training yard for quite some time."

His purple eyes widened to rounded specs of unreliant fear. Still he put on a lazy smile, and merely shrugged his shoulders. Aegon’s mouth opened again, threatening to spew out words that would grant no happy ending to their cosy dinnertime.

Eventually, it was Alicent’s glacial tone that interrupted their clash of wits.

“Boys,” She warned them both, not even bothering to look at them, “That is enough.”

Aegon’s mouth slouched childishly, and the man scoffed in rebuttal, while pointing at his rowdy sibling. “I was merely expressing my concern for Aemond, mother. He’s been very affected, now that his lady love abandoned him.”

Immediately Aemond rebuked his cutlery, and in the span of a single second, the Prince latched onto his berating brother. A dangerous look drew across his Targaryen features, making them all the sharper and unforgiving. Woefully he gripped his collar, hoisting him off the ground with an unnatural and vexing ease, and settled on squeezing Aegon’s gorget as he muttered to him darkly. “Either keep quiet on your own accord, or I’ll gladly silence you.”

Four white cloaks swarmed around them, and Otto Hightower nearly screamed, but the brawl reached an early end as the elder nodded rapidly at Aemond, and the latter loosened the hold he had over his bouchered vest.

“Seven Hells…” Aegon had cursed, mumbling lowly whilst feeling his neck for any sores, “Didn’t know it was such a delicate subject.”

Throwing a jaded look around the table, the One-Eyed Prince clenched his jaw.

He frowned deeply, and let out a tired hum at the notion of his sister’s face, so shocked and confused by his sudden outburst. As he felt his own grow numb, no doubt reddened by the scene he’d single-handedly played out, Aemond’s lips pursed to a tight, embarrassed line.

Whilst his hands itched him in shame, and his eye desperately avoided his mother’s, the young man instead focused on the erotic tapestries that adorned the stone-hedged walls.

His lone orb remained fixated on their arched positions, but, as his brother laughed again, Aemond begrudgingly returned his stare.

“Pardon me.” He muttered coldly, whilst giving a slight bow to the silent gathering, and, with one elegant but hurried movement, grabbed the full cask of wine, as he turned tautly to retreat to his chambers.

He swallowed thickly at his swift undoing, and chastised himself for losing touch with what was proper and allowed. His long fingers clasped painfully behind his back, digging at the flesh of his calloused palms, making him click his tongue in disarray; he notices, mayhaps too late, that all his blood had run elsewhere – thus the man takes wider steps to reach the confinements of his room, and lets out a choked-out breath, as the clogged air of his chamber finally hits his nose.

Methodical, aware and present, he sets the wine aside from him, pouring himself a generous cup, and fiddles with the expensive sheets that lay across his wooden table. His hand stumbles over the ink bottle, and the Prince levels out his rapid breathing, preparing himself to write again.

To My Lady,

A gulp of the liquid courage is all he needs to decidedly settle his red feather over the wilted paper.

Your lack of response to my latest confession irks me to no bitter end. I am a patient man, but I will not be denied entrance to your life. I will not have you refuse me the candour of communication.

Not when I spent my entire life waiting submissively by your side.

If your perpetual silence is owed to something I said, or something you’ve heard about me, I demand that you scorn me for it. Write a lengthy paragraph of all my near and far shortcomings, as you so often did when we were children. I promise to make a praying altar of that letter, grovel over it and at your feet, until my indiscretion should be forgiven.

Do not attempt to drive me away with petty ignoring. Such a feat is beneath you.

Another gulp of bitter wine is what allows his hand to flow more freely.

I confess that days and nights I have spent laying restlessly in bed, praying to the Seven to grant me passage to a single thought of yours. I ached to hear your words and feel your voice touch me so deeply. I am afraid I became brazen and unkind in the tortures of your absence.

I lest conclude that this should be a leisure letter to write – words should come easily, and in short, it should be simple for me to tell you how desperately happy I was to open your communication, and see your sweet and narrow writing.

Aemond halts his hurried musings, and encouraged by the hotness of the room, thinks back on the sinful indulgence he’d committed with her letter.

How he kissed over the parchment a million times thereafter, and how he licked at its bent corners, shuddering at the thought that her hand had ghosted over – perhaps even rested on – the marginal and flimsy paper.

He abjures his thoughts to the back of his mind, and lets out a low curse at the throb that forms over his missing eye.

A Prince should never bow, nor beg, nor relent. Yet here I stand, forever obediently at your beck and call, begging you to write again.

His patch fell heavily upon his skin. The nerves of his face stung the stimulated bit of skin, and Aemond huffed out an exacerbated breath, as he decidedly yanked the blinder away from his handsome face.

My duties at Court make it such that it is impossible for me to leave the proximities of King’s Landing. But should you make the mistake of not replying to me again, I’ll have no choice but to mount Vhagar and fly over to you myself.

… So reign your anger on me, should you need to. And just grant me with a quick reply.

Aemond.

Not even bothering to read it over, the man reached for the stamp she gifted him, inspecting its sapphire hilt with a scorned look over his face, and an angry furrow to his brow. His tongue poked the inside of his cheek, as he passively set the hilt aside.

His next movements were slow, methodical – Aemond folded the paper in half, and poured the hot wax over it; grabbing the stamp, and lowering it on the paper, allowing the Targaryen seal to leave its mundane mark behind.

Harsh thoughts swirled inside his head, and the Prince lowered the parchment, promising to send word out on the morrow, and personally deliver his Lady the much-improved, insistent letter.

‘The best of friends for seven years,’ he scoffed bitterly to himself, recalling the oath they’d made each other.

He wouldn’t allow her to walk away. He wouldn’t allow her to forget about him. And he would force her to look at him, and explain the means of her reaping silence.

The gentle rays of morning wash themselves over his handsome features. The heatwaves of summer lick over his translucent skin, and the golden rays of daybreak thread themselves into his silver hair.

Aemond groaned in roaring anguish, as he ran a calloused hand up and over his throbbing cheek.

The discarded eyepatch, now resting on the floor. The littered parchments, still laying on his table. The lone letter, which had been written so angrily, just to be resentfully abandoned as his ire simmered down the night before.

Each object served as a dull and pained reminder of his lack of princely conduct, of the effects of the wine… of her brazen and determined silence.

The Prince bit over his lower lip, and fluttered his eyelid tightly shut. Enwrapped in his fine silks, and under the comforts of his chambers, he allowed his mind to lead to her again. To the image of her sprawled-out form, waiting for him inside his bed.

He sighs deeply, and questions his sanity – or lack thereof –, his patience, his virtue. What he wrote in his confessions was the fair and honest truth – In the few moments of solitude that he grantedly took for himself, the riverlander scarcely ever left his thoughts.

Aemond writhed into the mattress, and peeled the cover away from his heated body. He needn’t have looked down upon him to see the quaint trailing effect that his friend had had on him; but he did, and in the process, hastily pulled his throbbing cock out of his breeches, to begin to pump himself – mayhaps relieve the stress and anger that ruled over his very being.

A tender hiss escaped his lips, as his movements sped up in pace. The Crown Prince bit over his lower lip, and a shaky hand came to rest over his parted mouth, to dull the shameful and alluding sounds that escaped his burning throat.

He ran his thumb over the leaking tip, gathering up his seed in singular and striking swipes, guiding the clear droplets of liquid to trail towards his aching stones, and coat over his impressive length.

A low grunt slipped past his hand, and Aemond sank his teeth into the tender flesh, stifling down any further moan or laboured breath.

"F-Fuck… my Lady…"

His back shuddered from the blinding pleasure, and his free hand came to rummage under his pillows in the most desperate of searches.

His eye opened but for a moment, as his digits grazed the bent edges of the first letter she'd addressed him – the one he'd cherished with ample reverence, and secretly carried with him to every place he went.

His lilac orb trailed over the contents of the wilting parchment, which by then he knew by heart, but stopped at the very beginning of her scattered and bereft writing.

'To my dearest, Aemond' – either by crude mistake or heinous design, she'd flicked her wrist right after dearest, drawing out a bold and elongated pause, that hence consumed his wakened days.

It must have taken her no more than seconds to descend her quill upon the page, yet for Aemond, the mundane piece of calligraphy became his most burdensome slither of hope.

Before he could catch himself in his lustful daze, the Prince brought the letter to his lips, and kissed over the dried ink with devotion untoward, accelerating his ministrations as he pressed into it harder.

He pictured her alone and writing, enraptured by the dead of night, dressed up in her modest nightdress, and her hair loose from her bun. She must have made some able pauses, to glance up at the moon, perhaps, or sigh in puckered concentration.

Had she shared with him everything that was on her mind back then? Or did she hold her secrets in, choosing instead to only hint at all that they had left unspoken?

Did she also think of him, as he nightly thought of her, and in her attempts to clear her head, brought her hand out to her ruddy pearl? And did she dare to rub it gently as sinful fantasies of him emerged?

Did he plague her every thought – visited them, at the very least, nestling inside her mind, as she so oftenly did to him?

His unanswered plethora of questions only fed into his fire. His hips began to move languidly against his hand, and the familiar licks of release beckoned in his tired loins. But fucking his hand would never come close to how he envisioned fucking her would be like. How tight and welcoming her cunt must be, how she herself was so untouched, so pure, unaware of the pleasures he alone could make her go through.

How breathlessly she’d gasp against him, and leave her lascivious mark over his skin, in the form of clawed-out patterns, adorning his pale and muscled back. He would return her favour in kind, pressing himself deeper inside her, molding her warmth to the shape of his cock, leaving bruising kisses over her breasts and neck and claiming her – over and over, again and again.

His. His, his, his and his alone.

Propriety be damned, he’d have her. Ensure she’d never leave his bed thereafter.

She’d make for a fantastic mother, he caught himself thinking with abhorrence, and a new heat wave of pleasure enveloped his arched, unyielding back.

His despair reached new peaks of torture, as his mind led him to the memory of her crouching form, playing with Helaena’s twins, with such a pliant and kind smile upon her agonizing lips. How she’d chase them through the royal gardens, how the sun would catch her hair aflame…

Often during the long nights of winter, he’d shut himself inside his chambers, and touch himself repeatedly with the oils gifted from Aegon – with only that specific recollection playing tricks inside his mind.

Whilst elating her as his wife inside his head, the man slumped further into the bed, focusing on working his shaft up and down in blinding delight.

Her voice, her laughter, her handwriting and eyes – so wide and curious and always ready to look upon him, to really see him for who he was. She’d been the only one who never glanced directly at his scar. She’d focus in on his remaining eye, and listen to what he had to say. Intently. Remarkably so. She would remember his favourite book, the passages he’d read her last, and would partake in conversation – urging him to share his thoughts.

His climax neared him closer still, and Viserys’s second son focused on fucking his fist at a wilder pace than done before. Droplets of precum rolled down his cock, as forming sweat coated his brow. A final swipe of his rough thumb over the tip of his manhood, and a tender caress of his tightened stones was all it took for the man to drive himself over the edge, and feel the warmth inside his chest spread across his lower body.

He hissed painfully into the open letter, spending all over his chest and stomach and spilling her name from his parted lips.

He heaved out one breath after the other, and gingerly ran his hand over the written testament of her thoughts. He wanted to curse the Gods for making him so, for giving him the thirst for knowledge of a man fitting his station, but the crass bashfulness of a ruddy stable boy.

For the first time in his life, Aemond wished he were born different. A softer and more patient man, who’d find himself worthy of her; one more handsome, courageous and outspoken – a man who could express his feelings, without so much as a second thought, who didn't allow hesitation and carelessness to break his strengthened up resolve.

He ached to tell her all the things he’d left unsaid, when he saw her leave his sight. That she was lovely and brave and better than anything he deserved. That he was twisted, crooked, wrong – but not so wrong that he couldn’t pull himself together into some semblance of a man for her. That without exactly meaning to, he’d begun to lean on her, to look for her, to need her near.

That love within him laced with doubt. Longing with predestined pain. That he prayed night after night, obsessively, tentatively, that she’d grant him passage into her life again – that whatever held her from speaking to him would absolve itself with time, and he’d finally be free again.

Free to love her from afar, to revel in the bottled hope she’d grant him with the lightest touch, the faintest smile, and the most mundane of glances.

To delve further into the sweet delusion that mayhaps she'd learn to love him. That somehow he’d be deemed to be enough.

As he stood there, unmoving in his very bed, his warm seed rolled off his stomach, staining onto the silken sheets. A long sigh escaped his lips, and Aemond propped himself onto his elbow, cleaning the mess he’d left behind.

His want for her ran hard and deep, and the Crown Prince tensed once more, feeling his stomach tighten in such familiar hot knots of pleasure, that his cock went stiff again. He hummed in admission of his solitary fate and reached for the sinful oils with a shaky and extended hand. Through the musings of a quiet moan, he aligned his hips to his waiting hand, preparing to grant himself the second peak of his cursed and debauchered morning.

Alas, a lacklustre knock put an end to his self-indulgence, and Aemond stifled back a groan. He swallowed up his lust with haste, pushing himself back into his linen breeches and off the ruined satin bed – running a hand through the forming mats of his silver hair, to make himself seem more presentable.

Frustration and madness welled up within him, but he merely sucked in an irritated breath, whilst grabbing forth a shirt to adequately front himself.

“Yes, what is it?” His shaky voice barks out for him. He listens intently for any noise outside his door, and a great displeasure settles in his gut, as the voice of a servant boy echoes through the quiet walls.

“A letter for you, Your Grace. I beg your pardon for disrupting you –”

Readily he jumps out of his bed. And as if burned, as if possessed, Aemond opens the door with a readiness unperturbed, descending his anger onto the poor, expecting boy. The letter rests upon a silver platter, shaken with the messenger’s panicked voice. The Tully emblem that seals over a vast calligraphy drives the Prince to the brink of hysteria, and the Targaryen grabs a hold of the boy’s bouched shirt, pushing him further down into the hall.

“When.” He questions breathlessly, “When did the letter arrive.”

“L-Last night, Your Grace – near the hour of the wolf –”

A feral scowl settles over his sharp features. Aemond takes a step forward, tightening his fist over the cheap material, and calmly professes to the whimpering boy.

“For waiting so long to bring it to me, I should have you flogged and executed.”

The child's blabbering reaches deafened ears, as Aemond reaches for the letter crassly presented to him, and offers the youth a pressing look.

“Get out of my sight, before I should make the call of feeding you to my dragon.”

A clumsy courtesy is followed by a tantalised “Your Grace”. The echo of footsteps gets lost through the depths of the narrow hallway, and the man hums absentmindedly, before shutting himself inside his room again.

He wants to rip the envelope in a violent and perusing fashion, but his first instinct is to trail over the paper gently, to run his digits where her hands had been, to touch the edges of her writings with such a desire to be close to her that it scared him.

In a slow and gentle act, he peeled her seal away from the pesky parchment, and sucked in a hectic breath, as he scanned the contents he’d so longly dreamt about.

His hope shattered as rapidly as it came. And Aemond nearly ripped the letter, as his heart clenched painfully inside his chest.

To Aemond,

I thought about what I might say, and word it out in such a way that won’t leave you perplexed or angered.

I think it’s best for us to move along, and stop with these childish musings, that have hence occupied our time since I moved from the Red Keep.

I will forever cherish our acquaintanceship and hold your friendship in the highest regard. But I am a woman grown now – you, a man in all his right –, and we must both start to think about the survival of our families.

Please do not send me any more letters, as I won’t reply to them, and focus instead on your best interests.

The Lady Tully of Riverrun

His feet carried him close to his bed, as he grabbed a hold of her first note. Desperately, he began searching for differences – in the means that it was written, in the handwriting he’s known since his early adolescence, in the marginal and flimsy paper.

The sting of rejection fell heavily over his shoulders, but rationale trumped his crushed spirits – for there must have been something, anything inside the new communication, that would explain its fabrication.

It was impossible those were her words. She’d never been a jousting woman – never regarded her tens of suitors as less than wanting, for the simple fact she didn’t desire them. She would have let him down more softly. She wouldn’t throw away his company.

Contentment can emerge in the quietness of separation, but their friendship endured years of scorn from the gossips of the Court. Her good opinion of him just couldn’t have changed so suddenly.

A final reach entered his mind, as he folded the paper roughly, and settled it atop his table.

If those were truly her words within that letter, and she wanted him to keep his distance, she’d have to tell him to his face.

More than a week had passed since she’d sent him her first letter. A week since she’d awaited his reply, inquiring every messenger within the castle on the arrival of a straying raven, all the way from the Red Keep.

In spite of her avid efforts, each day repeated the same encounter without so much of a hitch – the scrawny boys shaking their heads, as they ceaselessly informed her that nothing addressed to her has reached the tower of the West Wing.

Since then she’d sent out two more hurried manuscripts, despite never once being graced with a reply. All hope seemed lost when she’d woken up that very day and was still met with livid silence.

Through all their years of rapid friendship, Aemond had never ignored her so. As she cut into her plate, the Lady gnawed at her bottom lip, thinking hard on what possibly could have happened to make him turn so cold towards her.

If her status quo were any different, she’d have taken the Red Fork road on horseback, to reach King’s Landing, and confront her oldest friend on the reasons for his dreaded silence.

But her grandsire had fallen ill, and little to no progress was made on his state of brittle health. Her duty thus assigned her to the Riverlands, despite her need of seeing him.

“You have been very quiet, sweet girl.” The husky voice of Grover Tully echoed through the silent chamber. The girl’s cutlery stilled upon the half-full plate, and her eyes raised from her lap, clashing with the stilling blueness, the knowing assessment of his own.

“Apologies, grandfather,” She uttered rapidly with a forced smile upon her face, “My mind was otherwise engaged.”

“As it has been for the past week.” He concluded with a quirked-up brow. The softness in his gaze enveloped her, giving her a rapid sense of security, and her grandfather coughed in the back of his hand, drawing a pattern over the motifs of their tablecloth.

“I suppose I miss some aspects of King’s Landing. I have spent most of my youth there… – though the Riverlands are just as beautiful.” She was quick to intervene.

“Is King’s Landing all that you miss, or is it a certain boy from there?”

Her bright orbs widened with her grandfather’s suggestive tone, and her cheeks reddened in place, as her voice denied it brashly, “Certainly not, I – Aemond and I are friends.”

“It might seem like a long while has passed since then, but I’ve also been young once.”

When her reply was met with sarcasm, she swallowed thickly and drove on, “We are… really good friends, but that is all.” Once again, her stare dissolved, “Though… I’m not sure we’re exactly friends anymore.”

A knowing look adorned his face, and Grover turned his attention to the family crest above their heads. He took a while to pounder, thinking longly on a vast reply, but he eventually nodded to her, and graced the child with an unperturbed, brilliant smile. “I’m sure the Prince is very busy – as are you, my sweet child. Men, and young men especially…” He muttered the latter of his teachings, “Aren’t exactly prone to sentimentality. Not in the way that women are.”

Her lips pursed into a tight line, as his words rang in her ears.

But not Aemond, she wanted to say. He was hardly like the other men she knew – he could be kind and good and comforting. He cared for her, and for their friendship. He wouldn’t just ignore her, just for the sake of not being overly attached to writing.

Although she couldn’t possibly say such a thing – for then her grandsire’s teasing would have been a certain. The girl made herself busy cutting up a piece of meat in carefully drawn-out halves, until she beckoned a reply.

“Indeed. … You’re right, I should stop being so concerned.” She strained herself to answer him. The older man hummed disconcerted, and returned upon his plating. They continued eating in silence, till he mauled himself to tell her.

“... I know how hard this is for you. But our family depends on you. I had to bring you back to Riverrun, to get the other Lords used to the image of a woman in our ancestral seat.”

“Gods, of course, grandfather – and for that, I’m more than thankful.”

Grover raised a shaky hand, and cut her off with a gentle smile, “You do understand… as much as we both hate the idea, I’ll have to soon match you with someone.”

She gripped the goblet of wine before her, and wet her lips with the bitter liquor. “... Of course I do. It is my duty.”

“Your claim will be stronger with an able man around. And if the Gods are good and you also bear a son…”

“I know.” She sighed into the ample cup, “My claim would be thus undisputed.”

“Aemond was not the right match for you.”

The girl bit over her lower lip, wanting to both negate her feelings, and contest upon his honoured values. But she simply nodded to the greying Lord before her and offered a lacklustre smile.

“Perhaps a change of scenery will do you good. I was thinking that you might like the Reach better than the Riverlands... Lyonel Tyrell is an especially kind and thoughtful host.”

A relocation was the last thing on her mind, no doubt, but the Bliss of Riverrun turned her attention to the latter of his eversion.

“Visit the Reach? You think of marrying me off to the boy of Highgarden? … He’s not yet fourteen.”

Silence washed over their council.

“Boys grow swiftly into men. I'm assured he'll be a good one for you."

“He’s a child.”

“You’re seventeen.”

“It still makes for quite the difference.”

“You won’t have to mother children until he’ll also come of age. It gives you three more years of freedom – other ladies would kill for a faction of what you have.”

“I don’t like the finality of your words."

A long and pressing breath beleft his pale and tired lips.

“I couldn’t send you to the North. Jason Lannister has no sons. The Greyjoys are ghastly savages.” As he presented her his trail of thought, Grover Tully shook his head, “And the Targaryens…”

“You’re childhood friends with King Viserys. A match would not fall outside our rank." She slipped and added restlessly, much like a frail and foolish child. Even before he could answer her, his granddaughter raised her hand, as she brushed off her latter thought. “A succession crisis will ensue.” The young woman muttered in his stead.

“I’m old – I’ve seen disputes start for much less. But here we’re talking of the Iron Throne.”

“You think a war is in its midst.”

A cutting silence washed over them. Grover lifted first from the dinner table and breathed in an anxious breath.

“I pray for the sake of the Realm that such a thing will not take root.”

The languid fires of their threshold illuminated her conflicted face.

“Then it’s a good thing Aemond didn't bother to reply to my letters.”

For but a second, Grover’s face was etched with guilt.

“We all have to protect our own.” Sometimes the means to do it are less honourable than we'd wish to.

For all that was worth on that rousy and portentous night, her fate had been agreed upon. And ever the loyal and oppressed servant, the young lady of the Riverlands left with the first callings of dawn, for the impetuous and striking gardens, which were smugly kept inside the Reach.

She would then leave, with her soul and heart all torn to pieces – yet still completely unaware that she’d never see Aemond again.

Never, at the very least, to how she’d known him to always be.

His wide and calculated steps led him to the stronghold’s gates. So easily it came for him to pass the cluttered training grounds, and disregard Ser Criston Cole with a mere shake of his head.

Above all else, he thought it then, he needed to feel his love again. He needed to hold her near once more, and ask all the outlandish questions he endured inside his head, counting for so much of his weakened days. He needed to reach a resolution, after being disregarded for so long. He needed the closure that her voice could offer him, that her mouth would utter out – that this had all been a grave mistake on her behalf, that the note never belonged to her, that she loved him as he loved her, and had merely been scared of it.

His morning session could very well await him, as he so viciously awaited the perfect chance to get away.

Two days away from the arrival of the pesky letter, Aemond had finally managed to slither unperturbed from his neat and tidy prison. Neither his mother nor grandsire had caught him in the act of it, Aegon had been too drunk to notice him dress up for a morning ride, and Helaena had solely clicked her tongue and scowled at him.

As he anxiously secured the belts of his dragon’s saddle, the man hummed in disarray – Riverrun was but a short flight away, but the despair he felt to hold her inside his arms again trumped over his better senses.

With any luck, he figured, she should still be found in bed. His love had never been an early riser, and she loathed getting out of bed in the damning morning light.

He didn’t waste time figuring out pleasantries to share with Grover – much less the words needed to explain his unprompted visit.

His sole purpose was to get to her, ask for her hand, make her his wife and forever be done with it.

He had the biggest claim to her – a Prince bonded with the largest dragon in the world, the one who’d seen and grown with her so many years inside the Keep.

The command of flying was given to his formidable dragon, and the Prince took off for the Trident's three heads.

Hopefulness emerged with unforsaked determination – but as his actions would dictate him from then on out, his efforts would be all for nought, torn apart in stinging vain.

Perma Tag-List: @welcometothelioncage

Specific Tag-List for the Fic: @howyouloveyourdragon @diamantesprincess @carriellie

Your Life in Middle Earth

Part 1 (not proof-read)

Description: A series of one-shots(?) on how the HotD characters would transpire and adapt to the rattling life of Middle Earth; Of course, one can’t elude the sprinkle of romance that comes with it

Pairing: Aemond x Reader

Warnings: Angst (this fic sucks so much I apologise in advance)

Your love story could never happen. Not when he was a highborn silvan elf, and you, a mere human.

It was a great sorrow - how he couldn’t help falling in love with you. Even more so, how every elf who laid their eye on him pitied him to no end’s meet.

Who would have thought that Aemond Targaryen, heir to the Woodland Realm, could ever be so taken with you? A simple, mortal girl, who would have been so easy to kill.

There were nights when he laid awake, cursing his weakness for you, cursing his inability to turn from you and your company when you first crossed his lands.

With his arrow between your eyes, you faced his stare bravely, and presented yourself as (Y/N) (L/N), a human girl from the far away Minas Anor.

You were part of a dwarf company - if 13 of them could count for that - and had told him you meant to cross their forest, in order to reach the Lonely Mountain, and the lost City of Erebor;

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Would love more headcannons for the Yule Ball fic. Second I need part three of the Yule Ball fic and Aemond realizing he fucked up big time trying to say it's not what it looked like (when it was).

Thank you so much for the ask ^^ more Yule Ball headcanons coming right up! As for part 3 of the series, it should be out next week, or the week after that! Haha, we'll for sure make Aemond sweat a little bit :"))

Headcanons for the HotD!Main Three

(part 2)

Pairings: Jacaerys x Reader, Aemond x Reader, Aegon x Reader;

Warnings: none, this is literally fluff;

Author's Note: As always, we pick up from where we left off - the much anticipated 5th year, that breaks both friendships and hearts alike!

Men Will Have Nothing But The Audacity:

☆ Aemond Targaryen ☆

The beginning of your 5th year at Hogwarts goes on as expected, with the two of you still glued to each other's hip;

Then Aemond decides to start taking more extra classes;

And more extra classes;

And more;

But it's fine, right? You guys will still share Potions, DADA, Herbology, History of Magic... so on and so forth!

Wrong.

As it always happens between two idiots in love, each of you excels in different areas of study, and your 5th year allows you to take more advanced versions of the same class, based on test results and attendance;

Aemond opts for Advanced History of Magic, Arithmancy, Charms and Advanced Potions (same as another strong witch, who's been eyeing him since the end of your 4th year);

You still share Charms and, for a while, try with Potions as well. But that doesn't work out for you;

Aemond is fantastic at it, and you feel as if you keep dragging him down, and frustrate him with your endless questions on homework (and less than stellar perception on the projects you do together);

So you withdraw from Advanced Potions, much to Alys' delight and Aemond's dismay;

Your schedules become so different, that it gets to the point where you guys have a hard time still seeing each other throughout the day;

You make a pact to always meet up at the entrance to your Common Room, to walk to the Great Hall together;

And also make it so you sit next to each other at breakfast, lunch and dinner;

Because Aemond hates the Gryffindor table, you usually give in and dine with the Slytherins;

5th year is a damn good year for Aemond - long gone is the awkward and lanky boy that couldn't stand up for himself;

He becomes wildly popular among all Slytherins - he demands respect in a way you haven't seen before, with his straight posture, chiseled face and silky long hair;

More and more girls try to start conversations with him, but he ignores all of them in favour for you;

When you chastise him for being rude to his housemates, he lowers his eyes and looks almost a bit... disappointed that you would encourage him to talk to other people - to other girls;

"I've enough time to see their insufferable faces in class. ... I can only see you now."

"Haha, I just hope my face is more bearable, then!"

"... You're beautiful. Don't ever doubt that"

He coughs in the back of his hand and resumes his eating with a small blush on his face;

He goes through the same Amorentia experience as Jacaerys - and has to lie on the spot about what it smells like to him LMAO;

(Y/N)'s perfume...? Nah, it's totally fresh mint and old books;

Not vanilla. Or fresh snow. Or nutmeg. Or happiness and sunshines.

IT REALLY DOESN'T STOP LOOKING AT HIM LIKE THAT;

When his birthday rolls around, his family sends for him to spend it with them, but he refuses, just so he can stay with you;

You sneak outside the castle through a secret passage and go to Hogsmeade together;

And have a battle to the death over who gets to the check first (it must be a birthday miracle, because somehow you manage to pay for the food);

Aemond slips all the money back into the pocket of your trench-coat when you leave, unfortunately, so really, you didn't win;

You'll get him next time.

Near the end of the day, you take him down to the Kitchens and jump on his back to cover his good eye;

You have that lil Ratatouille moment, where you just pull him by the hair to go from left to right;

Oh, this definitely doesn't awaken anything in him btw;

Nothing at all;

Anyway, once you get there, you're greeted by pure darkness;

Until a loud "lumos maxima" is heard, and you yell out a jazzy "SURPRISE" to him;

Aemond doesn't like parties. Or big events. Or crowded rooms etc.

So you only invite Aegon, Helaena and his Quidditch team over;

You and Helaena take care of everything - from the balloons, to the banner and cake;

Aemond is grateful, but he'd much rather have spent the whole day only with you;

Still, your gifts for him leave him speechless: besides a new eyepatch, which you've manually crafted yourself, you gave him a hefty collection of hardcover, SIGNED copies of his favourite history books and a small ticket with your handwriting on it;

"One free wish of your choice (Expiry date: NEVER)"

Gods, he really wants to use it to kiss you;

He's really thinking about it;

But he chickens out on the thought very quickly - you're his best friend, his only friend, and he loves you too much to lose you to a stupid attempt to become something bigger;

But now it's clear he has to one-up you on your birthday, right?

He pulls some strings with the Headmaster and LITERALLY GETS YOU TWO OUT OF SCHOOL FOR 3 DAYS??

God damn you're lucky, he spares no expense and it makes you feel sO BAD IN SUCH A GOOD WAY;

He takes you to one of his family's mansions in London, and you spend the whole weekend together;

He takes you out to a five star Michelin restaurant for the 1st night, and oh my God they literally have ivory and 24k gold plates it makes you SICK;

... You don't look at the check. Your heart can't stand it;

On the second night you spend together, he cooks for you himself and makes the most mouth-watering-toe-curling-deliciously-wicked meal you've ever had in your entire life;

And he looks damn good doing it, too, with his sleeves rolled back and his veins shifting on his hand whenever he made a move;

It's very romantic and you catch yourself thinking that he might just like you too - somewhere into the meal, you're both building up courage to just confess already;

Aemond looks at you deeply in the eyes, and tentatively places a hand over yours. He swallows thickly when he notices how his palm engulfed yours whole;

He opens his mouth to speak, but suddenly someone barges in;

"BABY BROTHER! And hello, beautiful!" Aegon whistles lowly;

"What are you doing here." Aemond assertively demands, now more frustrated than he's ever been his entire life. "You were supposed to be here tomorrow."

"Ah, well, you know me!" Aegon shrugs, "Can't stay away from a good party after all!"

Aemond just lets out a deep growl, and begrudgingly lets go of your hand;

Turns out, your third night at the Targaryen mansion was supposed end with a surprise party, much like you did with Aemond's birthday;

Although it wasn't much of a surprise anymore, the party was still beautiful, and, at the end of the night, Aemond got you a delicate ring, with a faceted sapphire placed in the middle;

"I hope it's to your liking."

"Are you kidding me? Merlin's beard, Aemond...!"

Bonus: During your second year, you ran your hand through Aemond's hair and mused he has the most beautiful hair you've ever seen - from that moment on, he never cut his hair again;

♡ Jacaerys Velaryon (Strong) ♡

Aemond being busy with his advanced classes gives you and Jace the perfect opportunity to become really close friends;

If you thought you saw him enough everyday with with your shared Quidditch practice and identical schedules, you haven't seen anything yet;

The only class you two don't share in your 5th year is Advanced Charms - other than that, you're promptly sitting next to him everyday of the week, no questions asked!

If you thought Aemond is popular with the ladies, you haven't seen anything yet: Jace gets more breath taking with each summer that goes by;

He has a flock of fangirls that squeal whenever he leans back in his chair in class, or lowers his head to eat;

Unlike Aemond, Jace is always going to be a chivalrous gentleman, so he can't find it in him to just ignore them;

He'll take shy pictures with them, and sign their ties with his autograph if they insist on it;

But he'll ALWAYS include you in their convesation - always;

Those poor girls are so annoyed, they ask him something specifically, and Jace just deflects the whole affair by asking your thoughts on the matter;

"So, Jacaerys, are you training hard for the next Quidditch match?"

"Oh, I don't really know - what do you think, (Y/N)? Are we training to our full potential?"

"So, Jace, do you have a girlfriend?"

"Oh, I don't know about that... (Y/N), do I have a girlfriend?"

You tease him for his army of girls endlessly;

He lets you do that to your heart's content, because it makes you laugh and he loves to see you laugh;

Since his epiphany back in 4th year, Jace flirts with you HARD;

It's still very respectful flirting - just like he is -, and he pays very much attention to how you react to his little jokes and compliments, as to not make you uncomfortable;

After he bought that phone to talk to you during that summer break he and his family spent in Denmark, Jace got addicted to all things muggles make;

He 1000% plays video games and is fascinated with anything that phones can do;

Not only does he have the latest model of all things electronic, he convinced his whole family to get iphones - except for his little brothers, Joffrey, Aegon and Viserys, because he read somewhere that phones can stunt emotional growth and exude radiations that are dangerous to small kids;

Once again, Jace is perfect!!

In case you needed the confirmation for that;

Speaking of his phone, Jace's background is with you, smiling sweetly at him during a trip at the beach ya'll took at the end of your 4th year at Hogwarts;

He has Spotify Premium, YouTube Premium, everything premium - and he bought all the subscriptions for you as well;

He has three Spotify Playlists dedicated to you;

Luke cracked into his account and laughed for 2 hours at that;

The titles read out: "Queen of my Heart", "It Hurts so Good to Love You", "One day I'll Marry You";

He made you an extra one for your birthday, and yes, ALL the songs have subliminal meanings behind them;

Speaking of birthday gifts, he bought you the latest model of the Nimbus brand of broomsticks and gave you a very important bracelet - a magical family heirloom, that glows brilliant rays of light when you're in the dark, and produces music THAT MATCHES YOUR CURRENT EMOTION when you shake your wrist about;

These damn rich pure-bloods...

They're too good at giving gifts and making you feel special;

When you found out that the bracelet was something so important to him and his family, you wanted to give it back;

But Jace wouldn't have it, and assured you that his mother gave it to him to do whatever he pleased with it;

What Jacaerys failed to mention is that the heirloom was used by more than 3 generations as a symbol of replacement for an engagement ring;

It just slipped his mind, really (not);

Don't think too much about it;

You didn't relent, however, and just decided to give him a new bracelet of his own - one that he couldn't refuse;

So you braided him a friendship bracelet;

Yeah, you heard me;

You wanted to make a light-hearted joke out of it, but Jace REALLY REALLY appreciated it;

He wears it ALL THE TIME;

From the moment he got it from you, he never took it off;

This boy showers with it;

Sleeps with it;

He takes such good care of it, so that your work doesn't ever come undone;

Aegon is really jealous of that particular friendship band, and constantly bugs you to make him one too;

"When am I gonna get one of those?"

"Never, Aegon."

"PLEASE"

"No way."

Oh, and remember how Jace's position is chaser in your Quidditch team?

He takes his shirt off during practice.

Okay, it's a bit much, but he is DESPERATE AND THRISTY FOR YOU, GIVE HIM A CHANCE;

He blames it on the fact that the effort makes him sweat so much, he doesn't want to ruin a good shirt;

LIES.

Everybody knows he does it for you, but you just think it's fan service for his fangirls;

So, naturally, you tease the shit out of him - looking respectfully, though;

HE IS RIPPED;

Like really, really ripped;

It makes you feel creepy to be ogling him like that, but you're just a hormonal teen too, you can't help it;

Jacaerys may seem like a good guy, but he's far from it. He has a very dark secret that no one else knows...

He does underground trading with the cards he gets from all his chocolate frogs;

DO NOT LAUGH AT HIM HE HAS EVERYONE EXCEPT FOR A GODRIC GRYFFINDOR;

It's quite ironic, really;

He tried to make everyone trade with him, but no one will accept to do that;

It's not as if the founder of house Gryffindor is a rare card - far from it;

But everyone thinks it's too funny to see Jace despair like that;

So it's pretty much a staple rule among the Gryffindors to not trade with him, UNDER ANY CIRCUMSTANCES;

During your second Quidditch match of the term, you get pretty roughed up by the Slytherin seeker - you can bet your sweet ass that Jace is there by your side IN SECONDS, peeling the equally stunned Slytherin off you and giving him a rough piece of his mind;

Aegon lowkey joins the chaos as well, yelling at the shivering boy that he'll get an owl from his lawyer to answer for his heinous crime;

Normally, you would find this amusing, were it not for the pain in your wrist and instant migrane;

All three boys end up taking you to the Infirmary and stand by your bedside until your wrist is all wrapped up, and you're okay to leave;

While your wrist was healing, Jace was the one to write down all your notes and homework in order to help you;

Jacaerys is not the most academically inclined person - during his 3d and 4th year, he greatly struggled with Charms and Transfiguration, but that is definitely not the case anymore;

Still, both subjects fall under your area of expertize, and since he's so whipped for you...

Yes, okay, Jacaerys Velaryon pretends he's shit at both so he can get you alone in the library to study together;

It's his main way of flirting - and it's lowkey kinda cute;

Bonus: Jace is the epidome of malewife: he'll cook you muffins from scratch to thank you for whenever you make time to "help" him with his specific problems;

☆ Aegon Targaryen ☆

Another one that flirts relentlessly with you;

Has so much tension with his brother because of it, it's not even funny;

HE WILL LITERALLY PAY YOU FOR A FRIENDSHIP BRACELET PLEASE PLEASE PLEASE MAKE HIM ONE;

He got so high once, he confused you with Jennifer Lawrence and started talking about you to you;

It was really funny;

He eventually hit his head while walking up the stairs that day, and ended up in the West Wing for a whole week with a concussion;

You visit him a lot during that time, and try to make sure he's okay;

But he's on a lot of painkillers during the first day, so he doesn't even know who he really is;

"Please take your hands off me, I only let (Y/N) do that...!"

"I am (Y/N)."

*heartbeat accelerates* "W-Well hello there!"

Aegon is such a jealous guy, and makes it everyone's problem;

"So, you were getting cozy with Jace this morning..."

"Huh? Why do you care?"

"I mean, I don't. It's just, I didn't know you liked them stupid and ugly."

He's 1000% serious and invested in you, even if no one believes that, but he still flirts with other girls 24/7 when you aren't around;

"Like you just look mad good, like you're mad fine."

"Oh, thank you! I really appreciate it!"

"Like why are you single? You need a boyfriend already."

"Oh my God, thank you, thank you! So you like me, like you wanna be together?"

"I ain't never said that, you will never hear me say that, so I dunno where you're getting that from cuzitwasntfromme-" The moment you walked in;

Plays 21 quesstions with you after you two had a deep discussion about life and not really knowing what you want to be in the future;

You ask him what his favourite colour is and he immediately asks the colour of your nipples;

Yeah.

You heard that right.

IT'S TRUE;

Absolutely loves muggle games, much to his family's dismay;

His favourite are games that involve answering questions and stripping, let's be honest;

Has a tattoo on his back and one on his hand - he eventually wants a sleeve but says the ones he already got hurt too much and maybe he should just stop there;

You call him a lil pussy;

He gets DEFENSIVE and swears to get a tattoo of your face on his butt;

YOU BEG HIM NOT TO;

Usually his threats don't scare you, but he has that crazy look in his eyes;

Sexual jokes and tension 24/7 with the two of you;

HE WILL MAKE ANYTHING THAT YOU DO SEXUAL;

He got jealous that you're always studying with Jace and offers to help you with Herbology;

And then he loses his shit in his dorm because HE ISN'T GOOD AT HERBOLOGY WHY DID HE HAVE TO OPEN HIS MOUTH;

He has a shrew as a Patronus;

But when he falls in love with you, he's the only one between the three who actually falls so wholly, that the manifestation of his Patronus turns to yours;

His happiest memory isn't even a real memory: it's based on a dream he had that you two had sex;

Well... you do what you gotta do.

Got you a 200 year old red wine for your birthday, but he ended up drinking almost all of it by himself on his ride to crash your lil get together with Aemond;

And no, he will not apologise for it - he's very proud of himself;

Asks you out like once a week, but you always laugh and brush him off;

Bonus: Aegon spent his New Years' stuck with his family, and the only thing that stopped him from rage-quitting was texting you under the table;

Hey bestie! How do you think hw aemond, jace and hogwarts aemond,jace, and aegon would be with reader who gets horrible menstrual cramps? And weird food cravings too if you can (I just smeared some tomate paste on a rice cake after spending some time in fetal position thanks to my cramps). Feel free to add any other character you like. I'd love see your thoughts on this. Thanks in advance 💙 Love you

The Five Boyfriends - Collect Them All

Pairings: Jacaerys x Reader, Aemond x Reader (bookcanon and showcanon), Aegon x Reader;

Warnings: None! This is very much crackfic material

Author's Note: I hope you're feeling better and aren't cramping too much, Heart Nonny! Please have some fun headcanons in these trying times <33

For the sake of this post, you're in an etablished relationship with all of them, okay? Okay.

The "Harshest Winters" Gang:

☆ Jacaerys Velaryon (Strong) ☆

He would 100% join you in your insanity when it comes to weird food combinations

HE'S LITERALLY SO SO ATTENTIVE

Jace would do anything to ensure you're comfortable.

You need to lay down? Let him bring you some more pillows--

You need more pelts so you get warmer? He's already on it.

If you tell him you're in pain due to your cramps, he highkey panics like no tomorrow

HE IS NOT EQUIPPED FOR THAT, OKAY? HE HAS 4 YOUNGER BROTHERS, HOW COULD HE KNOW WHAT THAT ENTAILS FOR YOUR HEALTH AND HAPPINESS

Calls seven maesters in before you can even tell him your discomfort is not life and death related;

They end up giving you something to aid your heavy flow, though, so it's not all that bad.

"I love you so, so much, my sweet love. I just want you to know that."

"Jace, calm down, I'm not dying."

Will keep a hand over your lower abdomen and gently apply pressure to take the edge off your pain;

His skin is literally burning up all the time (a Prince of the "blood of the dragon", indeed), and he gives the best hugs in the Seven Kingdoms.

Feel free to use him as your personal radiator any day at any time!

Will drop anything to stay in bed with you, and will encourage you to just relax while he does all the work.

He'll nonchalantly ask his mother tips on things he can do for you while you're going through your monthly cycle.

1000/10 he broke the wholesome scale long ago.

"I could never imagine going through such a thing. And every month...? I know lords who faint at the sight of a small cut - you must be the bravest person I know, my love."

Stan Jace he just loves you so much and he will do anything for you, even if you don't ask him to.

☆ Aemond Targaryen ☆

I hope you like period sex 😍😚

No. I'm not joking.

He read ten books on the subject of female anatomy, and each recommends sex as a way "to ease the maiden's pain"

He lays the question as something that would just help you feel better

But let's face it

This mf is gross and would have you 24/7, no matter the state you're in

Just tell him he can have sex with you and he's up and ready to go

Please???

Please tell him you want to have sex with him.

Would still eat you out

1000%

Even if you're against the idea, did you hear him stutter???

"You know better than anyone else how much blood I've seen throughout my life. I won't faint at the sight of yours. So just lay down and let me take care of it."

"Nope. No way."

Homeboy is flabbergasted when he sees you eat your corn bread with bitter wine and mustard.

He still supports you, although he greatly encourages you to not try anything too weird, so that your stomach pains don't become worse.

He gets really pissy if you ignore his advice.

But he'll just whisk your hair away from your face as you eat, and gently caress your skin.

He made the mistake to argue with you while you were on your period once, and he instantly regretted it.

Never again, he learnt his lesson.

If you're clingy with him during your monthly blood flow, Aemond will drop everything just to stay in bed with you.

He's an attention whore, and just wants you all to himself.

Your period is his excuse to keep you attached to his hip, and ignore all his royal duties to take care of you.

"Just so you know... If you were swelling with my child, you woudn't have to go through this."

The HotD Main Three:

☆ Jacaerys Velaryon ☆

Jace is an absolute sweetheart, in any universe I insert him in;

Much of his behaviour with you will be the same as his HW counterpart;

He will skip class with you, so that you may relax in his dorm, no questions asked.

He puts some elevator music on his IPhone while you guys chill in bed;

Gets you some of those nifty magical pills that subdue your cramps and give you a lot of energy to start your day right.

You have any cravings?? ALRIGHT BET

He sneaks into the Kitchens and makes you whatever you want;

Homeboy's a chef - he will bibbidi bobbidi boo you anything, just say the word.

Hypes you tf up and tells you you're the most beautiful girl he's ever seen, if you feel bloated or uncomfortable in your skin.

Once again, you can't go wrong by choosing Jace.

☆ Aemond Targaryen ☆

Because you guys don't get to see each other much throughout the day (different schedules and all that jazz), Aemond sort of figures out you're on your monthly cycle when he escorts you from your Dorm to the Great Hall.

You don't look bad, or behave any differently - but your expression slightly changes while you guys descend the stairs.

And he instantly knows you're hurting somewhere.

He questions you sharply on your current state and doesn't falther even once.

"Aemond, relax, I'm just on my... thing, you know?"

"Thing?"

"... My period."

"... Oh."

He carries you down the stairs (he won't accept a no for an answer), and constantly asks if he can do anything else for you.

His momma raised him right, and he has an older sister - unlike Jace, he knows exactly what he's doing, and revels in showing you that.

Can you see? Can you see how good he's being for you???

Doesn't that make you think he'd be the perfect husband for you?

Cough cough

Lowkey gets overprotective of you and keeps a hand over yours the whole night.

He gives a lot of nasty stares to any student who eyes you funny while you're doing your lil food combos;

If you offer to make him the same thing you're eating, he's accept without a second thought.

Even if the food is TERRIBLE, he'll put on the best mf performance of his life to make you feel good.

"This is really good."

"Really?? Would you like one more slice?"

"... Sure. I'd love one more."

... Fun fact: Hogwarts!Aemond has a very sensitive stomach.

By the time he reached his dorm with his usual large steps and impassive expression, the green of his tie matched the hue on his face.

He's a simp tho

So he'd do it all over again, if it meant seeing you so happy

☆ Aegon Targaryen ☆

You're on your period? :D

So you can have unprotected sex with him, is what he's hearing

No? That's not what it means????

OH COME ON MAN

Many many many bad jokes

He won't stop making them, no matter how many times you tell him to chill

"I'd dip my fry into your ketchup packet."

"OH MY GOD-"

Side eye

SIDE MF EYE

He gives you many stupid pet names that make you want to roll your eyes at him, but that end up making you laugh instead;

They include: "my lil red tube paint", "my lil arts and crafts project", "my squishy jelly filled doughnut" etc.

Aegon is a foodie, and his dorm is perfectly placed for certain nightly escapades.

He'll break into the Kitchens with you at midnight, and make as many food combos with you as you'd like;

If you feel like skipping class, he'll stay in with you lmao

But tbh he skips class almost every day, so is your period really the reason he dipped on Herbology?

Just You - Sukuna x Reader

Word Count: 492

Prompt: @kaizokuwritings 's 700 followers event Character: Sukuna Flower: Burnet; exclusive love

A/n: For the sake of me just 2 followers away from 100 followers I have decided (since idk what to do with the milestone) to start writing for JJK and start it off with the amazing Meli's 700 milestone event. Btw, this Sukuna is before he was defeated and just reduced to fingers basically. I hope all of you enjoy this and I apologize for really pushing the maximum word count ahahaha.

🖤❤️🖤

Sukuna, the king of curses, a man who reigned supreme over both humans and curses alike. A king such as him should have anything he ever wanted. That’s exactly what happened. Whenever he wanted sacrifices, the humans will give one of their own, whenever he wanted offerings, they will bring him this season’s crops, and when he wanted women? They would give him only the most beautiful.

These women were what pleasured Sukuna both day and night, whether it was under the covers or just to do his bidding. They were obedient humans he can make do whatever he wanted. Not to mention, the idea of having a harem stroked his ego.

But then you came along out of nowhere.

Just another measly toy, he thought to himself. Just another measly toy that caught his interest, sooner or later he’ll throw you out like he did to many other women right before you. And yet, the word measly soon became non-existent to him.

That interest soon became endearment, and not long after infatuation.

Out of everyone in the world, it was you who took the King of Curses’ heart. The one who he physically can not and will not be apart.

He sometimes pondered if you questioned your relationship with him, or how odd he began acting after just a few weeks you had arrived as a sacrifice to his temple.

How one by one, his women, his concubine, would disappear. How his demands became odder, from asking you to sit on his lap whilst he listens to the villagers from upon his throne, to sleeping in his bed and yet not bedding you without your consent.

Though he would push all those thoughts aside, he was the King of Curses, after all, he would do whatever he so pleased and no one would dare question him.

Yet he should’ve known from the start that the reason he fell so madly in love with you was because of your bravery. Sure, you feared him, but you still looked up at him like you were a champion. A champion worthy to be in his presence and not cower in fear.

That same bravery led to the question he dreaded the most.

“My lord Sukuna?” He hummed in reply, “May I ask why I get the special treatment?”

You felt his chest rumble from beneath your head, he was chuckling. It sounded slightly more strained than the ones he would usually do though.

“Only a human so idiotic would question my decisions.”

He saw you widened your eyes, and immediately look up at him. Only to relax back when you saw that he was teasing you, the fact was quite evident from the mischievous grin he held.

“You interest me in a way no other women can.” He didn’t want to say the words, “Does that satisfy you human?” But you knew from the way he treated you, how much he truly cared.

“Very much so, my lord.”