SNEAKING AROUND W/ DAVOS Davos Benjicot Blackwood X Betrothed!reader

SNEAKING AROUND W/ DAVOS — davos “benjicot” blackwood x betrothed!reader

[ sex content, oral sex, handjob, pre-marital sexual relations, cum-eating ]

The woman’s back arched off of the warm sheets of her betroth’s bed as he devoured her cunt like he was a starved man.

She couldn’t take it, her hips acted as if they had a mind of their own, humping the face of her betrothed as his tongue licked at her entrance and his pretty button nose caught on her throbbing bud.

His big hands gripped onto her shaking thigh. His face was buried in between her perfect legs, he could die here and be happy.

His lips wrapped around her swollen bud, sucking and licking at the ball of nerves and bringing her terribly close to her much needed peak.

Her fingers gripped tightly onto his shaggy locks as her muscles began to tighten. The moans and whimpers just fell out of her, she couldn’t do anything to stop them, nor did she want to.

“Fuck- my love-!” She came to her release with a gasp.

Davos drank up her release, sending her into a whimpering mess of overstimulation. “no more..” she pushed his head away from her dripping core.

He sat up with a smirk painted on his face, licking his lips of her arousal.

“I need you…davos..” she said as she placed a hand on his throbbing cock. His breeches were the only thing on his body, her fingers pulled the strings and unlaced them slowly.

“I will not dishonor you in further ways than I already have.” He laid his forehead against her own. They only had mere weeks till their wedding, why wait?

“But I want you too-“

“No, I will not.” He said sternly.

She grabbed his hard cock from inside of his unlaced breeches, “then let me please you as well.” She pressed a soft kiss on his lips, collecting the arousal from the tip of his cock and using it to help her stroke his length.

His head fell onto her shoulder in pleasure. He watched as the woman he loved so much stroked him so well, her hand paying much attention to the tip.

“Feel good, my sweet?” She asked, his hips rutting up into her fist. He grunted out a yes. Only little moans and grunts came from the man, yet he was in immense pleasure.

His cock throbbed in her hand. “Fuck-“ he gasped. Her pace quickened, his peak was near.

She smashed her lips onto his, forcing her tongue into his mouth. It all began to be too much for him. The feeling of it all took over his body, he released all over her hand and her lower stomach, painting them a milky white.

She giggled into his mouth, playful biting his lip before breaking the kiss. “You are something else, woman.” He mumbled with a smile. They both sat up, he began to clean her up with a cloth.

She licked his spend from her fingers as she stared up at him with an innocent gaze, “you little minx-“ he pushed her back onto the bed, ready to ravish her once more.

The Knight of Your Dreams

addam velaryon(of hull) x targ!fem!reader 

Summary: You help Addam learn the ways of dragon riding. Feelings start to emerge the more time you spend with him.

Warnings: 18+ swearing, oral(f receiving), fingering, p in v

Authors Note: me wanting to read an addam ff but there’s like 2 so i’ll do it myself!!, reader is rider of silverwing bc that’s a pretty ass dragon let me be obsessed w her, oldest daughter is the therapist for mothers and i recognize that as the baby, jace was kind of bitchy in ep7 and it’s reflected in here bc i was lowkey gagged like i get his trauma but damn acting like harwins traits aren’t fine asf 🙄

Word Count: 3k

⊹₊⋆☁︎⋆⁺₊⋆ ☀︎ ⋆⁺₊⋆☁︎⋆₊ ⊹ ⊹₊⋆☁︎⋆⁺₊⋆ ☀︎ ⋆⁺₊⋆☁︎⋆₊ ⊹ ⊹₊⋆☁︎⋆⁺₊⋆

Jaces voice cracks as he begs Rhaenyra to get rid of Seasmokes new rider. I feel for him but in a time of war for the crown we need all the help we can get. Rhaenyra is at a loss for words and looks to him sadly. I turn to him as his tears begin to fall. 

“Brother,” I start. 

“No,” he sniffles. “You wouldn’t get it. You have the silver hair and violet eyes. Everyone knows what I am.” he words have a bite behind it like I had a choice in my parentage, like any of us had a choice in our parentage. 

“Jacaerys,” Rhaenyra walks to him to comfort him but he’s running out of the hall. She turns to me and sighs. She walks back to her desk as takes a seat. 

“I’m sorry.” I whisper not knowing what to say to comfort her. 

“It’s not your fault. I just never expected him to say those things.” she looks to me sadly as I take a seat on the other side of her desk. 

“I don’t think he meant it out of malice. It’s just something he’s felt his entire life and it seemed to be bubbling over.” I try to find reason in his actions and words. 

“Have I too not had accusations and insults thrown at me for the entirety of my life?” she places her head in her hands. 

“You have had more years to subjugate those accusations.” my words are soft. 

“Yes, I know. I had just thought maybe he wouldn’t have blamed me so fiercely. I’m trying. This was his idea after all. I can’t change the past and I won’t be dismissing Addam.” my ears perk up at finally hearing the new riders name. 

“I don’t think he blames you, mother. What could you do? Father didn’t have a taste for women like us.” a playful smile comes to my lips. 

“And I never faulted him for that. He was a kind and caring man. Who raised you regardless.” she looks off as our minds drift to Laenor. 

“If it makes you feel any better he seemed to also blame me.” I shrug my shoulders looking to her. 

“It doesn’t,” he exhales deeply. “I don’t want this to cause a rift between you two, but I fear what I’m going to ask of you may further it.” her eyes look to mine pleading. 

“What can I do?” I ask tilting my head. 

“I need to focus on finding a rider for Vermithor. I need you to help train Addam. You know what a fresh bond from a full grown dragon feels like. Help him learn some commands, take him flying, do what you must to prepare him. Please, daughter.” her eyes begging. 

“Of course,” I nod my head and begin to rise. 

“Thank you,” she rises with me and offers me a hug before I leave the hall. 

I walk out of the hall and begin my journey to the guest chambers. I have no idea what to expect from this man. As I’m approaching the door Corlys walks out. 

“Lord Corlys,” I nod my head to him. 

“Princess, what can I do for you?” he stops in front of me. 

“I’m to help Addam learn the ways of dragon riding.” I offer him a smile. 

“He worked hard on my docks and I expect nothing less from him in the skies.” his words sound almost proud. 

“I would expect nothing less from the man Seasmoke claimed.” my smile widens. Corlys nods to me once more before leaving down the hall. I let out and exhale and knock on the door. 

“Come,” a deep voice comes from within. I slowly open the door and turn my head around the corner. The man standing before me takes my breath away and I’m quick to advert my eyes as I seal the door shut behind me. 

“I am Princess Y/n. Rhaenyra has sent me to help train you in the ways of dragon riding.” I smile softly to him as I walk deeper into his chambers. 

“I’m honored, Princess.” he bows deeply as I chuckle walking to him. 

“We have no need to bow as dragon riders.” I stand in front of him as he rises with a sheepish smile. 

“Of course, Princess.” he starts to bow his head again but stops himself. 

“Y/n.” I softly correct. “No need for titles either.” as I look up to him at his full height. 

“Y/n,” he smiles down to me and I can’t help but smile back. “I am Addam.” he offers me his name.

“Addam.” his name falls off my tongue. “Rider of Seasmoke. Tell me how that happened.” I go to sprawl across his couch. 

“He hunted me down himself.” he claims a chair across from me. “I was on the shores and Seasmoke started circling the sands. He usually flies around Driftmark so I thought nothing of it. Until he started flying directly at me. I’ll admit I fled to the trees. He had no trouble finding me anyways.” he bites his lip sliding his eyes to me. 

“He claimed you?” I sit up on the couch searching his eyes. 

“Yes, only a fool would approach a dragon.” he shakes his head. 

“So you think I’m a fool, Addam?” I tilt my head smirking.

“No, I didn’t say that, Princess,” he stutters and looks at me worriedly. 

“I claimed a dragon. I wasn’t gifted a dragon egg as a babe, but that wouldn’t stop me. I used to sneak through the pits to look at them and one day I got too close to Silverwing and now I have a dragon.” I smile thinking back to that day. Rhaenyra was livid but so proud. 

“I didn’t mean any offense, Princess.” he uses my title once again. 

“Y/n,” I correct rising off of the couch. 

“Y/n,” he looks up to me. 

“Let’s go to the library. I’d like to help you learn some commands and High Valyrian.” I hum as I walk to the door and hear him jump to his feet. 

“I’d be honored if you taught me, my Prin- Y/n,” I smile at his correction. 

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We’re all sitting around the dining table enjoying a meal in silence. Jace has somewhat settled over the past fortnight about Addam and sourcing another for Vermithor. Addam has been doing excellent in learning High Valyrian and is getting more comfortable around dragons. 

“How fares your classes with Y/n?” Rhaenyra asks looking between me and Addam. 

“She’s been absolutely perfect. She’s very patient with me, yet never fails to give me a hard time.” he turns and smiles to me chuckling.  

“You usually deserve it.” my eyes crinkle as a smile spreads across my face. 

“I’m thankful you’re feeling more confident.” Corlys nods from Rhaenyras side. 

“Flying is just..” Addam trails off not being able to find the word of how euphoric it truly is. Jace lets out a scoff and I feel Addam turn in on himself next to me making my brows furrow. 

“What the fuck are you still so mad about?” I snap down the table at him. 

“Y/n,” Rhaenyra scolds. 

“You’ve avoided Addam for the past fortnight. He isn’t here to begrudge you. Seasmoke chose him and he had no choice in the matter. What is it that you want us to do, Jace?” I rise from my chair to look at him. 

“Y/n, please,” Addam looks up to me with pleading eyes. Jace mumbles something under his breath before scraping his chair against the stone and leaving the hall. 

“To your chambers.” Rhaenyras eyes narrow on me and I roll my eyes and leave the hall. 

I walk up the stairs as anger and frustration are still flowing out of me. I don’t know why I’m so protective over Addam. He’s just so sweet and so innocent. I don’t know why Jace wouldn’t try and bond with him. They have more in common than he knows. I push my chamber doors open and slam them behind me. I pull a book out from my shelf to get lost in for a couple hours. 

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“Come,” I call looking up from my book to see Addam enter. “I hope my mother wasn’t too angry after I left.” I smile as he clicks the door shut. 

“No, just a little frustrated.” he sits next to me on the couch. “What are you reading?” he pulls the book out of my hands playfully and begins to read aloud. “So the knight rushed up the stairs to save the Princess and-“ 

“Addam,” I whine trying to pull the book from him. 

“Oh, but it was just getting good.” he smiles raising the book above his head out of my reach. I go to stand to reach it and he stands himself to tower over me. “Seems like you’re too short, Princess.” he chuckles looking down to me. 

“Addam,” I pout looking up to him. 

“You’re too cute.” he pinches my cheek with his free hand and I can feel my blush creep up my neck. “I was coming to see if I could sneak you out of here and we could go for a moonlight ride?” he offers my book back to me. 

“I would love to.” I snatch my book from him. 

“I’m surprised you’re so willing to abandon the knight of your dreams.” he chuckles as I toss my book to the couch. 

“I’ll return to him later.” I hum as Addam chuckles pulling me out of my chambers. 

We quietly make our way down to the pits and our dragons greet us. We offer them warm greetings before we mount and take our saddles. We emerge into the moonlight and our dragons quickly take to the skies. I sigh in relief as the wind whips through my hair. I turn to look at Addam who is equally enjoying our time. 

Our dragons twirl and dip around each other playfully. Silverwing drags her claws playfully into the water causing it to spray up on me as I giggle. We slowly start flying back to the pits as Seasmoke sings us a low song. Once we dismount Addam begins to laugh at my sea ruined dress. 

“She’s lucky this isn’t one of my favorite dresses.” I huff as we start into the castle. 

“It’s not? But you look so pretty in it.” his eyes scan me over as I feel my cheeks heat. 

“Thank you, you’re very kind.” I say bashfully. 

“I have to compete with the knight in your book somehow.” his fingers dance around mine as I feel my heart pound. 

“There’s no competition.” I say hushed grabbing his hand. 

He walks me back to my chambers with his hand still in mine. The halls are silent save for the low grumbles of the dragons below. As we stop outside of my chambers he lingers looking down at me. 

“Addam,” 

“Y/n,” we say each others names at the same time. 

“I just want to say thank you. For your kindness, and your patience, and for how much you care. It’s always unexpected.” his eyes search mine. 

“You are deserving of kindness and compassion.” I say hushed bringing my hand to his cheek. He dips down and kisses me quickly. 

He pulls back before I can even start to enjoy the moment. I furrow my brows and pull his face back down to me. The second kiss is more fierce and passionate. Our tongues dance and caress one another as I melt into him. We pull apart breathing heavily. 

“Enjoy the rest of your night and the knight of your dreams.” he smiles down to me before he opens my doors. 

“I’ll imagine him as you.” I can’t help the smile that spreads across my face as I slip into my chambers shutting the doors behind me. A small giggle bursts out of me as I’m still giddy from his kiss. 

“Princess,” Addams voice comes through my doors once more. 

“Yes?” I ask opening my doors. 

He lifts me up and brings his lips to mine again. He kicks the door shut as I sigh into his mouth. His hands are digging into my backside as my arms wrap around his back. My hands roam all over his muscled shoulders and back while I get lost in his kiss. 

He breaks the kiss by setting me back on the ground as I look up to him trying to catch my breath. He looks to my swollen lips as he licks his own. My hands travel to his chest as I start to lift his shirt off. 

“We don’t have to, I didn’t mean to barge in here.” his words tumble out of his mouth as my fingers trail over his muscled torso. 

“Mm, but I’m so thankful you did.” I smile looking up to him. 

I turn to him so he can begin untying my gown. His fingers make quick work of my gown and I’m soon stepping out of it. I turn to face him as his eyes roam over my body that the slip is doing nothing to hide. Once his eyes lock back onto mine he stalks over to me and kisses me. 

His hands ghost along my thighs before he slowly starts to lift my slip off of me. He steps back and groans as he takes in my body. He pulls me back to him as his hands begin to roam across my skin. I whimper into his mouth as his hands cup my breasts. His thumbs brush against my nipples pulling a whine from me. 

“The noises you make are simply divine.” he whispers against my lips. “I want to hear more.” he says lowly before bringing a hand between my thighs. 

“Addam,” I moan as he trails a finger along my slit. 

“Mm, I quite like that.” he chuckles as he swirls around my clit as I grip onto his arms. 

His other arm supports me as he begins to speed up his movement. My breaths are coming out in pants as my hips chase the pleasure his fingers are offering me. He slips a long finger down to my core and begins to dip in. 

“Let me know if it’s too much.” he whispers as he begins pumping slowly. 

“Not enough,” I whine breathlessly grinding down on his hand. 

He removes his hand and I cry out. He chuckles and pulls me to my bed. I fall back as he continues to push me further up the bed. He begins to unlace his trousers while looking to me. Once he’s freed my eyes drink in his body and my thighs spread open a little more taking in the length of him. He settles between my thighs with his face at my core. 

“I don’t care who hears, I want to hear you.” he says lowly before attaching his mouth to my wetness. 

My hips jolt up into his face as his tongue laps at my clit. He circles two fingers around my entrance before slowly sliding them in. A sob tears through me as my legs shutter. His free hand trails up my torso and claims one of my breasts and begins to tease one of my nipples. 

“Yes, please Addam,” I beg as my hand rests around his that’s pinching and pulling my sensitive bud. 

His tongue quickens at my words and my jaw goes slack as whimpers fall from my mouth. His fingers start to pound into me as my hips grind into his face. I cry out his name as pleasure washes through me as he starts to untangle himself from me. 

He snakes up my body before crashing his lips into mine. I sigh against him as I taste myself on his tongue. As he settles between my thighs I feel his length gliding through my wetness. 

“Are you ready?” he pulls back looking down at my squirming body. 

“Yes,” I nod as my chest rises and falls rapidly. 

He begins to push into me watching my face and drinking in my noises. Once he’s fully sheathed he brings his lips to mine. I whine as his hips begin to slowly rock into me. The stretch of him is making my head spin as I become lost in the pleasure. My legs wrap around his waist and his hips snap into mine at the new angle causing me to sob out. 

“‘m sorry.” he grunts trying to slow his movements. 

“More,” I whimper bucking my hips into his. 

He kisses me fiercely once more as he begins to snap his hips into mine. I moan into his mouth as his pace speeds up. I’m slowly sliding up the bed and he continues to move with me lowly chuckling. My head hits the headboard as I moan loudly. 

“Sorry,” he breathes out and places a pillow between my head and the wood. 

His hips never falter as he brings a hand between us and starts to circle my clit. I sob as pleasure course through me as I clench around him. His hips shutter but his fingers and hips keep up their movements as I screw my eyes shut at the repeated pleasure. Shockwaves continue to flow through me as his trusts become stronger. 

“Addam,” I whine as pleasure starts to burst through me again. 

He twitches inside of me and I feel warmth spreading throughout. My legs fall from his waist as my breaths continue to come out in pants. He pulls out of me and falls to the other side of the mattress. We sit there catching our breaths before I turn to him and kiss him once more. 

“Was I better than the knight in your book?” he offers me a lopsided smile. 

“Considering the knight in my book is just my fingers, yes.” I giggle kissing him again. 

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masterlist 🔌 

Surrender

Aeron Bracken x reader

warnings: mdni (18+), kissing, oral (f receiving)

note | pls don’t just like, reblog & give me feedback. i don’t want to get shadowbanned

The night was cloaked in a heavy silence, the kind that amplified every heartbeat, every breath. The flickering light from the fireplace cast long shadows across the stone walls, painting the room in a warm, intimate glow. You stood by the window, looking out into the night, lost in thought. The door creaked open behind you, and you turned to see Aeron Bracken standing there, his eyes dark with unspoken longing.

"Aeron," you whispered, your voice barely audible over the crackling fire.

He crossed the room in a few swift strides, closing the distance between you. Without a word, he cupped your face in his hands, his touch gentle but desperate. His eyes searched yours for a moment, seeking permission, and then his lips were on yours. The kiss was fervent, filled with a hunger that had been building for what felt like an eternity.

Aeron's lips trailed from your mouth to your cheeks, planting soft, lingering kisses. Each touch was a silent promise, a testament to the depth of his feelings.

He kissed his way down your jawline, to your neck, his breath warm against your skin. You could feel the desperation in every kiss, the way his hands gripped your waist, pulling you closer.

He continued his descent, his lips brushing over your collarbone, down to your chest. Each kiss ignited a fire within you, spreading warmth through your body. Aeron's hands moved to your sides, his fingers tracing the contours of your body as he kissed his way down to your stomach. The sensation was overwhelming, a mix of tenderness and raw desire.

When he reached your stomach, he paused, looking up at you with a mix of devotion and longing. "May i?" he murmured, his voice thick with emotion.

Your hands tangled in his hair, urging him on. Aeron's kisses became more urgent, more insistent, as he moved lower. His breath was hot against your skin, sending shivers down your spine. He kissed your thighs with need as he continued upwards, towards your core. His mouth working with a rough, desperate intensity that left you breathless. His touch was everything you had ever needed, his kisses igniting a passion that consumed you both. You lost yourself in him, in the feeling of his lips on your skin, his hands holding you as if he never wanted to let go.

Aeron made you lean against the table as he kissed your inner thighs. He grabbed one of your legs to hike it up on his shoulder for a better angle. With need, he started to devour you completely. Wasting no time he began to kiss your core. As the moment continued, he began to be more messier. The desperate man was bullying his tongue inside you, making you very sensitive after a short while. His cool lips continuously sucked on your sweet spot, causing you to arch your back as you pressed his face between your things. Aeron couldn’t stop now. Not when he has the entire night to make you feel like a goddess.

A Dragon's Lullaby

Pairing: Aemond Targaryen x wife!reader

Word Count: 7.1k

Synopsis: Aemond’s fury is a challenge to contain, but it withers beneath the touch of his wife.

Themes & Warnings: 18+ (MDNI), pov first person (reader), foul language, hotd s2 spoilers, s2x06 inspired, dark/soft Aemond, SMUT, titty sucking, angst, fingering, fluff, feet, p in v, bath sex, oral (fem receiving), orgasms, slight voyeurism

Song: Made of Gold - Ibeyi, Pa Salieu

a/n: Inspired by this. His expression in this scene is everythiiing

Masterlist | Add yourself to my taglist | Playlist

Likes, reblogs and comments are greatly appreciated ❤️

Enjoy the read!

[gif @hoosbandewan]

[divider @targaryen-dynasty]

The chamber doors slammed shut, jarring me from my needlework.

Aemond erupted into the room, his voice a venomous hiss that chilled me to the bone.

“Cravens. Lickspittles.” The words ripped from his throat with a guttural growl, filling the apartment with lethal fury, instilling a deep sense of unease in my gut, as he paced the room like a caged beast, his hands clenching and unclenching at his sides. “A nest of fucking vipers.” His features were warped with hatred, his eye sparking rage and his scar appeared to burn hot red in his skin. 

I set my needlework aside, bracing myself for the inevitable storm. 

My husband had grown increasingly volatile of late. Temperamental. Volcanic, ever at the brink of eruption. Long convinced that his knowledge of history, swordsmanship, and his ancestral ties to Valyria of old – that was his dragon – destined him for the crown, he chafed under the regency. Yet, with the weight of governance upon him, I’d realized these qualities hardly made for a wise ruler. 

Aemond was tyrannical, impulsive, and possessed a relentless thirst for vengeance I’d thought long sated, but now burned fiercer than ever.

I’d learned to tread carefully, supporting him rather than opposing him. Questions were rare, acquiescence plentiful, regardless of my true feelings.

“The Lannisters,” he snarled, hurling a crumpled piece of parchment into the fire. “Balls deep in their lions and their gold that they believe they can command me.” His eye blazed with ire. “Me!” His voice was a startling growl, and I schooled my racing heart.

Adopting my role as the submissive, doting wife, I folded my hands in my lap and eased reverence into my gaze, “That was their first mistake,” I offered, feigning confidence, as though I had the briefest idea of what they had done.

Crossing Aemond was a path none would willingly tread, though the Lannisters were hardly known to be the brightest of the noble houses in the realm.

“They mock me,” he snapped. “My word is law.”

“And they’d be wise to abide by them,” I replied. 

“I tire of being compared with my father,” he spat. “The man was weak. Pliable.”

“You are his opposite, Your Grace.”

“Mother believes she can mind me like a puppet, as she did Aegon. She clings to what little power remains to her.” He stilled, his fingers fidgeting at his sides. “I sense her heart still lies with Rhaenyra.” All of his thoughts materialized into words like a surging flood. “I can no longer trust her counsel,” he said. “So, I dismissed her.”

A mistake, I feared. “I’m sure it was a wise decision, Your Grace.”

“Cole addles me,” Aemond proceeded. “The man, once so commanding and fierce, now carved out into a pitiful husk.” He started through the room again. “Aegon was a fool to name him Hand.”

“You are the Prince Regent, Your Grace,” I voiced softly. “You may name a new one as you wish.”

With his rant, his tempest began to subside. The honeyed tone I knew so well sank back into his voice and replaced his rage. His pacing ceased, and his anxious fingers relaxed at his sides, before he sank into his chair beside me.

“The Lannister coward wish me to fly out to the Tooth to secure their safe passage to Harrenhal,” he spat, his fingers twisting together, venom seeping back into his voice, “’With haste’, he says!”

I stood, my voice steady. “Your regency is green, Your Grace, and your subjects forgetful of their places.” 

Aemond’s hands gripped the arm rests, his whole body contracting beneath his leathers in readied ambush. 

“It is your duty to remind them,” I continued, rounding his chair, my hands settling on his shoulders. He was rigid beneath my touch, his muscles bulging with tension. 

He glanced over his shoulder, his eye a mix of softness and lethal intent. “You are correct,” he said, his fingers tightening around the hilt of Blackfyre. “A public execution would persuade them.”

My heart hammered against my ribs, and my grip on his shoulders tightened instinctively. 

“Perhaps a less bloodied approach, my love,” I suggested, coating my words in honey. “Escalating the mislike of the smallfolk would be unwise,” I said, willing my touch to send a calming current into his bones. “We cannot risk provoking the hungry masses.”

“I do not wish to be liked,” he hissed, his voice laced with malice. “I wish to be feared.”

Yet, when I leaned down over him, wrapping my arms over his chest, nuzzling my face into his cheek, he unraveled in my embrace, melting like wax exposed to flame. 

A deep exhale of relief escaped his lips, as though my touch pulled the string of tension from his muscles like cloth, a deep satisfied hum reverberating in his chest. All of his anger disintegrated into dust, and he leaned into me, closing his eye, his face pressing against mine, his delicious heat seeping into my skin.

I breathed in the scent of him. 

Musk and leather. 

I filled my senses with it, a heady intoxication.

“Husband…?” I whispered against his skin.

“Wife,” he sighed with rapture, his arm reaching up, his fingers tangling into my hair, pulling me closer. He buried his nose in my neck and inhaled. He sighed once more with entrance, his breath warm against my ear. “You smell divine,” he whispered.

His fury was a tempest, his tenderness a balm. Once crossed, he was a force to be reckoned with. 

But when he was soft… he was so very soft. 

“Thank you, husband,” I smiled. The matter of the Lannister’s defiance was as good as wind. “My maids put lavender and rose in my bath earlier.” 

“Hmm,” he hummed appreciatively. “I commend them.”

My heart swelled in my chest. In these moments, I felt a love that transcended fear. I could endure his tirades for hours if they always ended like this, with him so vulnerable, and soft, his fury crumbling under my touch, like a fortress breached. 

His complexity was a bottomless well, an endless enigma, each layer revealing a new facet of his being. A mystery I could not begin to fathom, only sit back and enjoy. I was utterly captivated, desperate to remain in his favor. His trust in me was profound, and I knew the weight of my words carried uncommon power. My devotion and loyalty were absolute. Anything he’d ask of me would be his, a fact he understood completely. 

My hair cascaded down his chest, mingling with his silver, a cosmic tapestry against the leather. I burrowed deeper into his skin, making him softer, my kisses trailing across his cheek until they met his lips, to which he groaned softly, deepening the union, his grip tightening around the back of my neck. 

The kiss was a consuming inferno, leaving me breathless and light-headed. 

“Hmm,” he hummed with delight. “Your lips alone could end this war.”

He possessed my whole heart in the palm of his hand. 

“They are your servants, Your Grace,” I whispered against his cheek. 

He chuckled low, a comforting melody, the muscles in his face plumping, his lips pursing to his contented smile. 

But the looming threat of Rhaenyra’s forces intruded on my thoughts. Despite my misgivings about the way the succession had been handled, my husband’s victory was paramount. Many believed him consumed by darkness, a prisoner of his own demons. His mother, among others, shared this bleak view. Yet, here in my arms, I held undeniable proof to the contrary. I knew in my heart that he did not need to be feared, when he was capable of such profound love. So much more than he probably knew himself. 

“Aemond,” I began, feeling his attention shift to me. “These weeks past I’ve been witnessing the plight of the smallfolk from our window-”

“You should not submit your eyes to such vile scenes,” he interrupted, snarling.

“Nevertheless,” I countered gently. “It has been impossible to turn a blind eye. Famine stalks the city. Sickness is surging. Blame is placed on those who rule over them.” His head rested heavier against me as he listened, his gaze flickering with thought. “Do not underestimate the influence of the common people,” I said.

His jaw clenched. 

“Their numbers far outstrip ours. Capable of turning the tide if discontented,” I pressed on.

A silence filled our chambers, and I sent a silent prayer to the Mother that he would be malleable enough to receive my words in the way they were intended. 

“What do you suggest?” he said finally.

I exhaled a silent breath. 

“Open the gates. Spare them imprisonment,” I replied.

“They will spread their slanders across the Crownlands,” he countered, his voice like liquid.

“But you cannot control them. A good King does not earn the love of his people through fear. Neither does he command loyalty. He must earn it. Fear breeds nothing but resentment.”

He seemed to consider my words, his expression unreadable. 

Then, he inhaled deeply, and took my hand, guiding me around his chair, pulling me into his lap.

“My wise counsellor,” he purred, his arms tightening around my waist. “You would make a formidable queen.” His lips brushed against my ear as his fingers began to trail a path down my neck, hooking into the laces of my dress, which he undid with expert grace, his arm pulling with long strokes as the laces fell out, and opened my bosom. A shiver ran down my spine and desire ignited in my blood. My breasts fell heavy, and he caught them in his hands, humming with delight. I shuddered beneath his touch, a pulse starting between my thighs. 

“Aemond,” I whispered, my voice barely a breath.

“Hm?” he murmured absently, his fingers already slipping beneath the delicate fabric. 

“Did you hear what I said?” I uttered, trembling.

He leaned in, his eye dark with desire. “Yes,” he rasped, his voice husky, his tongue darting out to taste the peak of my breast, softly grazing across my nipple in a hot, wet motion. 

Fog infiltrated my mind faster than I dared to acknowledge. 

He retreated slightly, and watched as my peak hardened under his subtle provocation. With practiced ease, he repeated the torment on the other breast, his gaze appraising, his eye a dark blue.

“You suggest I please the smallfolk,” he said, his voice low and sultry, lifting my heavy breast in his hand. “Though I’d much rather please my wife,” he groaned, and a sharp intake of breath escaped my lips as he took my nipple into the delicious heat of his mouth, a fierce pleasure igniting within me. I gasped, my hands instinctively cradling his head as I arched into him, keeping him latched. He released me with a wet pop, his eye gleaming with satisfaction at the pink swelling. He captured the other nipple in his mouth. A feverish heat pulsed through me, an insatiable craving consuming me. 

This nightly ritual was a torment and a salvation. He could have his hands and mouth on me for hours, days, until I was raw and throbbing, and I would still yearn for his touch, his taste, his complete possession. 

He was a poison and a cure, a fire that consumed me entirely. An addictive draught, coursing through my veins, blurring my reason. 

His hands, the weapons of a killer, ravaged my body and tore at my dress, twisting it down until my torso was exposed to his predatory gaze. They delved beneath the fabric, their touch a fiery brand igniting my skin. Hungry fingers tore at me, exploring up my thighs, setting my nerves ablaze. With a swift movement, he claimed me, switching me in his lap until my back pressed against his hard chest, my legs propped up on the edge of his seat, cradled on either side of him. His hands swept the inner curve of my thighs, a path of fire, a delicate torment reaching higher, until they found the tender juncture. His face pressed against mine, ragged breaths fanning my face. A shiver coursed through me, a strange blend of warmth and dread from the volatile energy emanating from him. His hands remained right where they were, squeezing softly, tickling gently. My gown bunched around my hips, my exposed core throbbing for his touch, pulsing with eager longing, my body yearning for the release his touch promised. 

My mind was immersed in an impossible fog, and I clawed for clarity. “Will you do me this one favor?” I panted, my breath mingling with his. 

“What is this favor?” His growl was a low rumble as his tongue wet his fingers, a slow, erotic swipe as he held my gaze, a prelude to torment, setting my blood aflame. They found my clit, dampening it in a circular dance of fire. I whined and shuddered beneath his touch, and his eye sparked with gratification. My body bucked, a helpless rhythm to his masterful control.

Senses blurred. Words tangled. Yet, I clung to the fading remnants of reason, forcing myself while he was still open to receive counsel. 

“To open the gates,” I pleaded, my voice trembling. “If we cannot feed them, let them leave.”

“Hmm.” His throaty hum, a low, primal sound, vibrated through me, promising both ecstasy and torment. Goosebumps erupted down my skin. I gasped as his fingers slid downward, parting my slick lips, until they delved into me, the invasion equal agony and pleasure. I gasped, my head tilting back. 

He wrapped an arm around my chest, steadying me. “I’ll think on it,” he growled into the flesh of my neck, his teeth a fleeting brushfire on my skin. 

“Name a-,” my words dissolved as he curled his fingers up into my sweet spot. “-new Hand.” I gripped the armrests, desperately anchoring myself to reality amidst the tempest of his touch, his fingers pumping me slowly. “He was never suited,” I managed between ragged breaths.

“No more politics, my love,” he groaned, salacious noises of my pleasure filling the room. His focus, a burning intensity, was solely on me, on the spectacle of my pleasure.

And with a ragged, throaty breath, he uttered, “I want to watch you come.”

_

Water cascaded into the tub, steam licking across the water’s surface. The intoxicating blend of lavender and rose filled the apartment, a scent I’d commissioned for my husband’s return from the morning’s small council meeting. As I inhaled the sweet, warming air, my mind sought tranquility amidst the looming war. Yet, the illusion of peace shattered with the abrupt crash of heavy footsteps and a violent wrenching of the chamber door. 

Aemond stormed in, a frenzied tempest. 

“Fucking eunuch,” he hissed, raging past me, barely acknowledging my presence.  

The allure of the bath, once a soothing sanctuary, evaporated. 

Once more, his turmoil was a tempest I yearned to calm.

My mind raced as I strained to decipher the subject of his rage.

“That toad, Larys Strong,” he growled.

That was all the confirmation I needed.

“Did he truly believe I would bestow the title of Hand upon a Strong cripple such as himself?” he spat, his eye ablaze with malice. “I didn’t like the way he fucking looked at me. I’ll have his eyes out.”

“Come, Your Grace, join me,” I invited softly, swishing my hand through the water.

Aemond snarled, as if the water was poison. “I have no time for such indulgences,” he said, and with a dismissive gesture, turned to his books, his one eye scanning the pages with fierce concentration.

“It’s still warm,” I coaxed, but he paid me no mind, his focus remaining on the text.

I was not foolish enough to press his boundaries. Even though he was susceptible to my words and counsel, I understood when his wall had grown impenetrable. 

I left him to his studies, a certain comfort arising at the thought that perhaps this bath would be mine after all. I loosened my robe, letting it puddle at my feet before stepping into the inviting water. As I submerged myself, the heat seeped into my blood, tranquilizing my tense bones, and a soft sigh of pleasure escaped my lips. I tipped my head back and allowed the water to filter into my hair, prickling my scalp with its alluring fingers. As I straightened, coiling the water out of my hair, I stole a glance at Aemond, who devoured the pages with predatory intensity, my nakedness seeming to hold no allure at present.

I sat up, my breasts rising above the water’s surface. I grabbed the soapy sponge and began painting my body in foam. I moved slowly, the rich lather coating my arms, my collar bones, my neck, my chest, my breasts… They became slick with it, my nipples tightening under the stimulation. 

Aemond’s gaze flickered.

As I cradled one breast, kneading and pinching the soft flesh, his nostrils flared and his eye narrowed, a predatory glint darkening its depths as if though I was his next kill, watching my cleansing ritual. Yet, he continued to feign indifference, his fingers turning the pages absently. 

A surge of triumph coursed through me and nerves danced beneath my skin. I’d captured his attention, a prize hard won. 

“Do you find something of interest?” I asked coyly, nodding towards his books. 

His jaw ticked. “More than you can imagine,” he drawled, his gaze burning me, and I knew he was not referring to the histories.

I continued my provocative play, flicking my nipples, lathering them, until they ached with longing for his mouth. 

His fingers twitched, a silent confession of his growing need. “Are you in need of assistance, my lady?” His voice, low and husky, was an enticing promise.

“I believe so,” I purred.

He shut the book and sauntered over, his approach slow and deliberate, sending the anticipation boiling within me. Kneeling behind me, he claimed the sponge, his touch a masterful blend of tenderness and command as he assumed his duties of cleansing me. Water beaded on the cloth before he inched it towards me, a cascade of soapy liquid descending upon my breasts at the clench of his delicate fingers. His hand followed, a caress that ignited a wildfire within. 

A throaty sigh escaped him, which sent heat lower.

“What of your Hand?” I purred, my voice laced with invitation. “Who will assume the duties?”

“I need someone steadfast to advance my cause,” he murmured, his gaze dark and distant. “Someone unyielding in the face of dragonfire. Someone fiercely loyal,” he drawled, his voice drifting with shifted focus. His hand came up around my throat, squeezing gently, a playful threat that sent shivers prickling my spine. It descended then, down over my collarbones, tracing a fiery trail to my breasts, and a flick of his thumb over my hardened nipple sent me into orbit. A low whimper escaped my lips. His frame loomed over me, his scent, a heady mix of leather and desire, filled my senses, intoxicating me. 

“Perhaps the candidate of choice is closer than we think,” he continued, his voice a low rumble. 

I perked up through the fog. “Enlighten me,” I murmured, my voice barely a whisper. His lips came down to my ear, his hot breath setting my blood on fire. His hand slipped beneath the water until his leather sleeve was submerged above his elbow. 

“You, wife,” he breathed, his voice a charged current that ignited my every nerve, further elevated by the caress of his fingers over my core. 

I scoffed, the absurdity of the notion hitting me like a cold wave. 

“Why do you laugh?” he asked, his voice velvet and steel.

“A woman as Hand?” I ridiculed. “Unheard of.”

“You are no ordinary woman,” he countered, his words a molten caress. “You are my wife. And you guide me better than anyone.”

His words washed over me, dissolving my resistance in a tide of desire. 

“Perhaps in our chambers,” I said, a hint of amusement coloring my voice. “But around a council table? Holding the second most powerful position in the realm? It is laughable.”

A dangerous silence stretched between us as he considered my words. “Nothing about you is laughable,” he finally said, his voice low and intense.  

I turned to face him, the water rippling around me. I stacked my arms on the edge of the tub, my head tilting as I studied his sharp features. 

His fingers traced patterns along my jaw, his eye filling with shimmering emotion. I smiled, reveling in the raw intensity he displayed only around me. 

“Won’t you join me, husband?” I invited. 

A dangerous glint sparked in his eye, and without a word, he stood, unclasping his doublet from his center with slow, deliberate motions of his fingers. Heat rose within me with each layer that he shed. His body was a masterpiece of muscle and sinew.

He was all smooth lines and clean edges, that anything remotely carnal felt so much more unchaste with him.

His muscles rippled beneath taut skin, a living sculpture of power. Every part of him was so incredibly hard and defined, shadows playing around each tissue.

He sank into the water opposite me, his silver hair melting in the water like liquid moonlight. 

I walked my feet up his taut stomach, up his chest, and wiggled my toes in his face playfully. He retaliated with mock ferocity, snapping at them with his teeth, his predatory gaze fixed on me, his eye alight with rare mischief. I giggled and retreated, but he captured one foot, his lips trailing soft kisses up my sole to my toes, sending a strangely pleasurable feeling through my core.

I scrunched my nose at him. “You’re filthy,” I complained with feigned revolt. 

“Indeed,” he drawled, his fingers kneading tension from my foot. A wave of pleasure washed over me, and I leaned back, sighing in contentment. His gaze was intense, his eye a fathomless blue. He knew, as always, how to soothe my soul. 

“If I asked it of you,” he began, and my breath grew shallow. “Would you take on the responsibility?”

The responsibility as Hand? 

A wave of incredulity washed over me and I wanted to laugh again, though his features were etched with such seriousness that I felt as though I would be lynched if I as much as quirked the corners of my mouth.

Anything he’d ask of me, I would do with pleasure, though a sudden reservation coiled in my gut this time. 

He had meant it in earnest. Dread sought its way around my throat.

I swallowed; my mind unable to even contemplate the weight of this looming task. I opened my mouth to respond, but no words formed.

He hummed with understanding, his eye softening and his mouth drawing up into a tender smile. “You needn’t give an answer now,” he said, placing a kiss to the bottom of my toe. “Consider it.” 

Then, he tugged on me until I straddled his lap, the water splashing onto the floors from our shifting bodies. I steadied myself on his firm chest as his hand snaked around my back, the other around my neck, pulling me into him. His desire, already throbbing and insistent, was pressing eagerly against my opening. 

“Imagining you,” he whispered against my lips. “Around the council table… At my side.” A shiver ran through me as I felt his dick pulse beneath me, and his breath shuddered on my skin. “It’s making me hard at the mere thought.” His grip tightened around the back of my neck, his fingers delving into my wet hair before he claimed my mouth, forcing my lips onto his in a clash of teeth and mess. I whimpered at the sudden collide, at the urgency of it, my body molding to his, while a heavy blend of lavender, rose, and dragon consumed my senses.

His hands came down and grabbed two handfuls of my ass and guided me onto his length. The water resisted our movements, making the intrusion slow and straining, and I sawed my bottom lip between my teeth. He filled me slowly, a throaty groan rumbling in his chest as I sank onto him, his eye locked onto the union, his lips parted in admiration. 

He seized my hips, setting a relentless pace. His muscles rippled with exertion in the most attractive way imaginable, as he forced me to fuck him, the water spraying around us. The apartment echoed with the sounds of our passion, a lascivious ambiance of violent splashes, our breathless moans, and the primal growl in his throat. 

_ 

The small council had convened hours hence when I was called upon from my chambers by the King’s Guard, my breakfast still steaming on the table. 

“The Prince Regent requests an audience, my lady,” they announced.

The lords sat huddled around the council table upon my entry, engrossed in earnest discussion. My gaze flickered briefly over Alicent’s and Cole’s empty seats. 

Aemond occupied the head of the table, his gaze distant and hostile, his fingers steepled beneath his chin.

“You called on me, Your Grace?” I inquired.

 “Be seated,” he commanded, his voice carrying an unfamiliar chill that sent unease coursing through me.

I moved towards the table’s end with the intention to seat myself opposite him, but halted at his disapproving hum. 

“Closer,” he insisted. 

I hesitated, confusion washing through me and the rest of the council. A tense air descended, and I swallowed, before smoothing my dress and circumnavigated the table, the empty seats beside Aemond my only two options. His eye fixed me with a venomous intensity, as though I were a mere adversary, and not his good wife whom he was buried deep inside only last night. 

Reluctantly, I claimed his mother’s old seat. 

His displeasure was palpable, but unvoiced. 

A tense silence filled the room before he broke it. “Lord Larys,” he began, with a challenging tilt to his head as his gaze ripped from me and pinned the crippled man at my side. “What has come of the summons of my grandsire back to court?”

Larys Strong shifted uneasily in his chair, the action of a man on the verge of delivering some bad tidings, and I noted that his eyes remained in their sockets. 

“My messages have been to no avail, Your Grace,” he mumbled. “Ser Otto seems preoccupied in Old Town for the time being.”

A low, contemplative “hmm,” reverberated in Aemond’s chest. “Well then,” he mused. “It seems I must consider…” His visage softened into a strangely content expression, “…other candidates.” He leaned back, propping his foot up on the edge of his chair, idly turning the king’s marble between his fingers. His gaze flickered to me, carrying a weight of unspoken intent.

“Do you have someone in mind, Your Grace?” Jasper Wylde inquired, his voice laced with curiosity.

A slow, predatory smile crept across Aemond’s features. “As it happens, I do,” he lulled as he observed me. 

Dread pulsed through me, and I shook my head at him; a silent plea for him to abandon this reckless idea died unspoken on my lips. Instead, a spark ignited in his eye, a dangerous glint promising a storm, his head nodding gently. 

“There is only one here whose counsel I trust implicitly,” he declared, his voice carrying a conviction that both warmed and terrified me in equal measure.

Lord Larys, ever the opportunist, perked up beside me. “And who might that be, Your Grace?” 

A flicker of annoyance crossed Aemond’s face. He sat up straight in his chair and pinned Lord Larys with such venom that the cripple must have abandoned all hope before Aemond even spoke. “My wife,” he pronounced, his tone final. 

A stunned silence descended upon the council as the weight of his words sunk in, and an ominous shudder coiled up my spine.

“Go on,” Aemond urged, ice in his voice. “Voice your disputes.” He dared them, his fingers resting adroitly atop the hilt of the catspaw dagger at his waist.

“Your Grace is free to choose his Hand as he sees fit,” Maester Orwyle offered, his voice carefully neutral.

“There has never been a female Hand,” Lord Larys ventured, his tone hesitant and laced with poison.

“Then it’s high time there was one,” Aemond countered, leaning closer, his voice a velvet threat.

“In these times of war and turmoil, you need a strong Hand at your side, Your Grace.”

A venomous glint sparked in Aemond’s eye. “Like you?” he sneered. “Lord Strong.”

Larys recoiled. “I would never presume, Your Grace,” he stammered. “But if duty called, I would serve you without question.”

“Lady Y/N,” Aemond’s voice, cold and deliberate, jolted me from my thoughts, sending a gnawing chill up my spine. “Should I make Lord Strong my Hand in your stead?” 

The question was a seismic shift, leaving me teetering on the precipice of disaster. 

To deny Larys was to accept the mantle of Hand myself, a role I was woefully unprepared for to be sure. To elevate Larys was to gamble the stability of the realm on a man whose loyalty was as fickle as the tide. 

The latter choice was a chasm of peril. 

I straightened in the chair, meeting my husband’s gaze. “Lord Larys is a man of expedient measures, his loyalty as fleeting as the wind,” I declared, my eyes locking with cripple’s next to me. “To name him Hand would be to plunge the realm deeper into chaos.” 

Larys returned my gaze with a venomous glare, and I understood the depth of Aemond’s earlier words. 

The way he looked upon you when crossed demanded his eyes out.

A pleased smile curved Aemond’s lips. “Then it is decided,” he said, rising from his seat. He crossed the chamber to a central plinth and selected one of the smooth marbles. Returning to me, he placed it reverently in the hollow before me, his air lingering briefly. When he sat back down, he fixed Lord Larys with an unwavering glare, his eye narrowing and his nostrils flaring with contempt. 

“You heard her, Lord Strong,” he hissed. “Off you limp.”

The cripple offered no further protest, rising with evident reluctance despite the provocation. He leaned heavily on his cane and hobbled from the room, as commanded.

“Now,” said Aemond, splaying his hands on top of the table. “Where were we?”

Remaining to Aemond’s small council were now Jasper Wylde, Maester Orwyle, and myself. This apparent oversight did not seem to trouble my husband. If given the choice, he would likely rule alone, with me as his sole companion, a prospect I would swiftly dispute. 

Lord Wylde reported that Ser Criston had finally departed for Harrenhal with the Hightower army. Intelligence suggested Daemon’s position at Harrenhal appeared weakened, presenting a prime opportunity to strike. Moreover, Daeron, along with his dragon, was expected to join the fighting soon, and the Lannister fleet was closing in. 

“King Aegon makes slow but steady progress, Your Grace,” Maester Orwyle reported. “He grows stronger each day. He even managed to stand up for a shirt time this morn’.”

Aemond hummed thoughtfully. “A long recovery lies ahead, Grand Maester.”

Maester Orwyle dipped his head in agreement. 

“If there is nothing further, we will reconvene on the morrow, my Lords,” Aemond declared. “You are dismissed.”

We rose from our seats.

“Not you,” he said, halting me, knowing he was addressing me without having to look at him. Maester Orwyle and Lord Wylde placed their marbles back onto the platform before filing out, the heavy doors closing behind them.

I turned to him, his air exuding incontrovertible autocracy. There was something so unfamiliar about this man. He wasn’t my husband, but someone else entirely. A stranger inhabited his body, a man of iron will and cold fury. Someone that would let the world burn beneath the rage of his dragon and find it a triviality. 

I wished to pacify him. To quell the fire and take my soft husband from the ashes. If this man in black leather and silver edges would deign to let me near him.

“I understand now the burdens you carry,” I said cautiously, making my careful approach. “Surrounded as you are by a council of deceitful lords with a reluctance to serve you fully.”

His jaw ticked, a tempest of emotions raging within his eye, fury and vulnerability warring with each other. 

His father was dead, his mother ridden with guilt and misplaced allegiances, his brother burnt and broken, and his sister consumed by grief. 

He was a Targaryen, left to face the horrors of this war alone. A most terrible fate. The weight of his house rested solely on his shoulders, and violence had become his banner.

“I have it under control,” he growled, though his dancing fingers upon the stone betrayed his words. The burden upon him was a festering wound, threatening to consume him. 

“I’m sure you do,” I replied, looming over him. “But that does not mean you must stand alone.”

His eye pinned me with pure venom, sending a sharp chill coursing through my veins. But I willed myself to touch him, as I had so many times before to quiet his rage. My hand instinctively came up to his cheek, my thumb tracing the familiar scar on his cheek, and as I’d thought – this time were no different. He surrendered to my touch like a storm subsiding, his eye a deep pool, welling with the shimmer of unspoken emotion. 

“I’m always at your side,” I promised, and his hand came up to cup mine, squeezing lightly with subtle desperation, a silent acceptance of my solace. “Whatever happens,” I assured him. 

He averted his gaze, as if holding mine would cause the pool to flood.

“Sometimes,” he began, pursing his lips to the side, considering his next words for a moment. “It feels like you’re the only one who is.”

“I don’t believe that’s true,” I said.

“Even so,” he said. “It would be enough for me.”

A smile crept up the corners of my lips 

My sweet Aemond.

I straddled him in his chair, and he took me into his arms, burying his chin in the crook of my neck. Once weapons of war, his hands now cradled me with a desperate tenderness. That’s how we remained for a while, his hands splaying across my back, gripping me with a possessive ferocity, as if he’d never known touch. 

He yearned to be seen, accepted, loved, flaws and all.

I returned his embrace with equal fervor, our bodies igniting in a conflagration of warmth and desire. I held him so tightly that my arms began to ache, and the heat radiating from our fusion made me perspire. 

But it was more than his body which heated me. A potent warmth radiated from him, igniting a fire deep within me. The desperation in his embrace had softened into something gentler. His hands rubbed me tenderly, his breath grew shallower, and his lips began to place soft kisses along my neck, which sent want pulsing through me.

He had solidified beneath me, his arousal pressing against my groin, demanding adjustment. Meeting his gaze, his features were no longer etched with heartbreaking peril, but had instead darkened with lust. 

I pressed myself against his erection, and he let out a rough breath, watching me with languid appreciation as my hands roamed his chest, ran up his neck, into his thick hair, and then delved into the rich fabric of his doublet. I was infatuated with every inch of him. A heady warmth emanated from him, and I was utterly consumed.

A slick heat pooled between my thighs. The insistent pressure of his arousal against my dampened undergarment, a wave of lust blurring my vision. I couldn’t resist the urge to grind against him. Our eyes met, hazy, heavy-lidded, urgent. His thumb traced my lower lip, and I didn’t hesitate to press my mouth to his. I surrendered to him, his kiss, sweet and lazy at first, then deepened into a demanding exploration of my mouth. His hand searched beneath the pool of my dress. It fisted the fabric of my undergarment and I gasped as he tore it from my hip, revealing my wetness. A low growl rumbled in his chest as he deepened the kiss, his tongue plundering my mouth. 

My palm caressed his arousal, a reckless abandon consumed me as I stroked him. He drew in a sharp breath, his gaze fixed on my ministrations as I moved my hand up and down his length. His body throbbed beneath my hand, his breathing growing shallow and ragged.

“Perhaps we should retire to our chambers?” I whispered, a shiver of apprehension running through me as the precariousness of our position struck me with a chilling clarity.  

I was sitting astride him in the council chambers where anyone could enter. 

“What for?” he demanded, his voice a rough growl. His hands claimed my body, swiping up my abdomen, kneading and bruising with a primal force. They squeezed my breasts, his eye admiring them nearly bulging out of my dress. His mouth devoured the valley between them, his tongue and teeth an exhilarating assault. 

My breath shuddered as I watched him devour my skin with hungry kisses. Words suddenly failed me, and I was unable to articulate a reason. 

“I am the prince regent,” he growled, his words muffled against my skin. “I will fuck my wife wherever I please.” With that, he rose, sweeping his hands beneath my thighs to place me on top of the council table. 

“Spread your legs,” he commanded, his tone icy and menacing.

Lust constricted my breath as I obeyed.

His palms caressed my legs upward, his thumbs pressing into my inner thighs with a brutal intensity that unraveled me. As my legs parted, a cold draft swept across my core, and I became acutely aware of my dampness. His gaze lingered there, a mix of heat and corruption that electrified me.

He yanked me closer, his grip on the back of my neck forcing my breasts against his chest as his lips grazed my ear. 

“The Hand is dripping all over the council table,” he growled and nipped my neck. 

The sharp pain lanced my neck as his teeth grazed it. I gasped, but the discomfort transformed into a moan when his thumb found my clit. His hold tightened in my hair, pulling my head back as he lowered my dress, exposing my breasts. His mouth closed over my nipple, sucking on it, igniting a wildfire of desire that consumed me. 

His thumb traced delicate patterns over my clit, a cadent dance that sent shivers through me. His grip on my hair tightened. A deep groan reverberated in his chest and his attention shifted to my other breast, his tongue and teeth teasing and tormenting me. 

I leaned back on my hands and arched into his touch, my hips involuntarily bucking under the dance of his fingers. His mouth was a fiery brand on my skin, and I felt as though I were drowning in sensation. 

When his hands left me, I was left aching for their return. 

His gaze, dark and intense, held me captive as he grabbed my hips and jerked me to the edge of the table. My legs parted instinctively, and I was lost in a world of heightened senses. His eye followed the curve of my body, falling between my thighs, my core completely exposed to him, and he shook his head in disbelief, running his hands down my calves. 

“Fuck,” the single word, uttered with raw desire, escaped his lips. His strong arms cradled my thighs, before his mouth descended between them. 

The first hot, wet swipe of his tongue sent a violent shiver through me. A storm of sensation erupted within me as his tongue explored every inch of my damp folds. I was consumed by a primal urge, a reckless abandon that clouded my judgement. A rush of pleasure flooded me, the waves rolling stronger and stronger at every slow lap of his tongue.

My fingers tangled in his thick hair as he licked me from entrance to clit. “Oh, Gods,” I moaned, digging my hands into his silver, my blunt nails tugging at his scalp. 

My gaze skittered toward the chamber doors and my mind surged with anxiety at the prospect of someone coming through them, but I found the thought slipping from my mind when Aemond swirled his tongue over my clit before sucking gently. My eyes rolled back in my head and my hips wound beneath his mouth.

The introduction of his fingers was a spark that ignited a conflagration, a feeling of fullness descending a hazy veil over my mind and body, oil torching through my bloodstream. 

A tremor convulsed and a shuddering gasp escaped me as his tongue flicked my clit, a cadenced dance foregrounded by the insistent thrust of his fingers. Each of his strokes were a calculated torment, deep, guttural noises of satisfaction escaping him as the sweet nectar of my pleasure ran down his chin. He teased the precipice, slowing when the pressure built, igniting a desperate plea within me. 

“Please,” I breathed desperately. His fingers deepened their invasion, intensifying the fire within me. When he slowed again, panic seized me, and I clawed at his hair. Words failed me, reduced to a desperate repetition of a single syllable. “Please, please, please,” I begged. 

Finally, he answered my silent demands. His digits quickened and curled, his laps ran steady and drenched my core, until a relentless, hot pressure built. 

His gaze locked onto mine, his blue eye transformed into a storm-laden ocean. As the world narrowed to a blinding white, I cried out my final plea, his name, obscenities; before the tempest of release engulfed me, my whole body clenching and shuddering beneath him. 

In its aftermath, a languorous warmth spread through me. I trembled against the table, a puppet on invisible strings as his fingers continued their soothing rhythm. 

My body, spent and quivering, collapsed onto the cold table, my chest heaving, my eyes closing as the last waves of ecstasy rolled through me.

As the fog began to lift, I opened my eyes to find Aemond reclined in his chair, his face flushed, his lips parted from exertion, his chin glistening from my slick desire. 

He was a sight, to be sure.

His gaze, dark and rapacious, held me captive. A flicker of hunger danced in his eye, as though he was ready to eat me whole. 

“Welcome to the small council, my love,” he smirked. 

Tag list: @plovas69 @quinquinwuincy @lumerstar

King of the ashes.

summary | Moons had passed since your last quarrel with your estranged husband, the events of Rook’s Rest bringing you together one more time.

pairing | Aemond Targaryen x oc!reader, Jacaerys Velaryon x oc!reader (platonic).

tags | 18+, MINORS DNI! Unprotected sex, PinV, arguing, oral sex (f receiving), mentions of death, Targ!cest, ANGST/little comfort, ooc Aemond (probably). SPOILERS

wordcount | 8.5K - i am so sorry

note | All the valyrian i use comes from a very shady translator so there probably are a lot of mistakes, if you have any input or helpful information pls tell me. I got really excited writing this but I feel the last part is a bit rushed, sorry about that! Any comments, likes and reblogs are appreciated! <3

Find part 1 here

[ gif by @gameofthronesdaily ]

124 AC

The afternoon sun spilled its light upon the tearful eyes of prince Aemond Targaryen, almost if mocking his heartache through its refulgent heat. The young boy sheltered himself in a seemingly abandoned corridor of the Red Keep, seeking solace from the cruel hoax imposed on him during his lessons. He could still hear them, their words — “The Pink Dread”. Such title roared in his ears, humiliation engulfing the silver prince as he forced his cries back into his throat. His mother had failed in her feeble attempts to comfort him, her attention focused solely on punishing his nephews for their so called savagery — even if it was clear this had Aegon’s name written all over it.

The worst part was that she had witnessed it. She hadn’t laughed or joined them in their persecution, but he could not bear the thought of his weakness being exposed before her. Hers was the judgment he feared most after all, she was the only one he could truly call friend.

Aemond hadn’t taken notice of a blue covered figure that watched him until she sat at his side, her weight shifting the cushions of the settee beneath them. His eyes refused to meet hers, hoping to conceal his shame as he hugged his knees against his chest. The girl stared at him in silence, her back resting on the wall whilst her feet dangled over the edge of her seat.

“Aem…” Aelora finally spoke, the softness in her tone melodic as a ballad.

“What do you want?” He asked, his voice lacking its usual warmth.

She had been made aware of Aemond’s displeasure concerning the dearth of a dragon to call his own through countless protests, his state being one of constant anger towards what he deemed his fault. It was also known by her that he would grow to be the most estimable dragonrider of them all, for none were devoted to learning and practicing as he was — it was only a matter of patience. Thus, when Aelora’s eyes caught sight of the swine inside the dragonpit, her brothers knew their mother’s chastening would be nothing compared to hers.

“My brothers are fools, I wish to apologize on their behalf.” She brought her hand to hold his, a gesture of innocent assurance.

“You did not deserve it.”

The boy slowly drifted his eyes from the window to lay his gaze upon her, his heartbeat quavering at her touch. Nevertheless, her kind words couldn’t erase his shortcomings — he couldn’t accept charity for his ridicule, he wouldn’t.

“I… I have no need for your pity.” As much as he tried, he failed to stop woe from consuming his voice, as well as his demeanor.

“I don’t pity you.” Grasping his hand tighter, she looked at him through furrowed brows.

“You shall have a dragon. One even bigger than Sunfyre, I know it! In the meantime you can help me with Lyrrax, even fly with me once she’s big enough!”

It was evident her enthusiasm was a childish one, an effort to install hope over the sorrow that buried his thoughts — but she had no care for it. She noticed as a smile pulled at the corners of his lips, even as he tried to suppress it. She wasn’t the one who owed him an apology, and yet there she was, offering her own dragon for an olive branch. His gaze flickered down at their hands, her smaller one over his, and he intertwined their fingers. The tension in his shoulders visibly eased, for Aelora’s presence was reassuring and tender.

“You truly believe I'll claim one?” He asked, unable to hide the fleeting shadow of optimism that burned in his eyes.

“I am certain of it. We are Targaryens, the blood of the dragon. You just haven’t found the right one for you.” A smile crept its way onto her face, her cheeks rosy and plump with eagerness.

Aemond scanned the girl before him, his expression almost vulnerable. The feeling of indignity was one familiar to the young boy and he had enough of it. He contemplated her words for a moment, and for once allowed himself to consider she might be right.

“Perhaps you're right. Perhaps I lack patience.” He let out a deep breath, as if letting go of the bitterness that had taken hold of him.

“You would do well to remember I’m always right.” The smug grin on her face earned herself only a rolling of eyes in response.

“Come on. I know something that will lift your spirits.”

Her words had barely escaped her lips before she burst through the corridor, tugging the prince’s hand as they ran. Hurried footsteps clashed against cold stone as Aelora strided through the maze of indistinguishable aisles, her gaze occasionally flickering towards the boy behind her. The smile that stubbornly weld itself onto Aemond’s face had transformed into a beaming grin, the sound of her angelic giggles clipping away the sullenness from his features.

A deafening thump alerted the prince of their whereabouts, the wide entry of her bedchamber welcoming him inside. He stepped in and curiously observed as she struggled to close the wooden doors, trapping the pair of them in concealment. The calling gesture of the princess hand woke him from his trance as he marched towards the illustrated wall beside her bed.

“Wait, what are you doing?” His head tilted in confusion whilst he fixated his lilac eyes on her hands. Her palm grazed the intricate designs on the stone, finally encountering the familiar crease on the surface — she pushed it, a dimly lit passageway staring back at him.

“Its Maegor’s secret tunnels!”

Aemond's bewilderment had quickly given way to wonder and awe. The maesters had taught him legends of Maegor's construction schemes, rumored to be an intricate labyrinth hidden beneath the Red Keep, but he never dreamed he would get to see them for himself.

“What?! How in the Seven Hells did you find them?”He asked, his voice tinged with disbelief.

“A fortunate accident.” She shrugged.

“I was hoping to find the way to your apartments and surprise you but I reckon it cannot be done anymore.”

“You’re mad!” His gaze quickly flickered back to Aelora.

His eyes, violet in the soft daylight that cascaded through the nearby window, studied her almost warily, as if to gauge a reaction from her. He received no such thing. The princess brought her hand to his once again, carefully establishing themselves inside the narrow corridor as the heavy stone shut behind the two. Aemond allowed himself to be pulled along, not even protesting in favour of the tunnel. He observed the strange architecture through their route, the dim light that filtered through small gaps, and the strange cobwebs that had taken form. The limb that remained in hers seemed to squeeze it almost possessively — out of fear, or out of eagerness, Aelora could likely tell.

The hairs atop the young royals’ heads twirled at the light breeze that embraced them, the scent of saltwater filling their nostrils. A moss covered archway revealed a small, damp cavern. As they entered, rugged walls formed by weathered rock surrounded them and an opening that lead directly onto the beach offered a panoramic view of the shoreline and the rolling waves beyond. Beams of sunlight streamed in through gaps, illuminating the cave's interior with a soft, ambient glow. Their feet grazed the sandy floor underneath them, scattered with small shells and pebbles, remnants of the sea's presence. Inside the serene and veiled space, a true connection between land and ocean can be felt — a fitting discovery for a princess of House Velaryon.

Aelora’s brown orbs searched for the boy’s lilac ones, a wide grin spread on her face as she squeezed his hand tenderly.

“So… What do you make of it?”

Aemond was quietly impressed, his head tilting back to look up at the ceiling of the cave, eyes roaming across the stalactites that hanged over them, a small gasp escaping his pink lips. He slowly peeled his hand from the princess, walking over to the opening to look out at the sea.

“How — how did you find this place?” The young prince questioned softly, his head turning back to look at her with an almost admiring gaze.

“It is unimportant. We can confine ourselves here whenever we like! The others do not know about it — I’m halfway certain no one does.”

A small, pleased smile tugged on his features just at the thought of using the cave as a hideaway; a private place, just for himself and Aelora. He hums quietly under his breath, in slight agreement.

“Our secret?” He extend his pinky towards her, indicating for her to do the same.

“Ours.” She smiled as she locked their fingers together in a silent promise.

A silent minute exchanged itself between the pair, the linger of a childish oath tickling their skin. The future memory would cling to their hearts for years to come, a longing fondness drowning them each and every time — except they had no knowledge of it as of the moment, being too focused on the possible amusement that would certainly come from the cavern’s discovery.

“I can best you to the shore!” Aemond wasted no time as he sprinted to approach the broken waves at the end of the beach.

“Wait!” She shouted, avidly picking up her pace to match the boy’s, his long limbs giving him a considerable advantage over the girl behind him.

It had been an entire afternoon of nothing but running, chasing, and exploring together. The young prince had forgotten his troubles and worries completely, instead focusing on the thrill of catching a slippery, wiggling sand crab. The cold feeling of the seawater against his skin didn’t bother him either, nor did the wind whipping at his silver hair as they sat building sandcastles. By the time dusk began to settle, the two children had become completely filthy with sand, mud, and water. Their garments were most likely ruined from the seaweed’s smell, fact that would assuredly earn them serious reprimands from their mothers. Yet, he could not remember a time when he felt so alive.

As they returned to the cave, the sunset’s glow reflected in the wet stones inside, a sense of comfort enveloping the rock-strewn cavity. Aelora’s gaze fell upon the young prince before her, his valyrian grace never yielding to his disheveled appearance. She observed as he bent down, a sharp ore emerging in his hand.

“What are you doing?” She questioned through a mess of rumpled braids.

Aemond glanced up to look at her, smiling softly. With careful movements, the boy carved into the rock, his free hand resting against the stone wall for balance. After a moment, the four letters of their initials were carved into the stone. The scribbles “A.T.” and “A.V.” were jagged and a bit uneven, but still clearly visible.

”Leaving a marking… to remember.”

---

129 AC

Bleeding. Bruised. Brokenhearted. Those were the exact words to describe the state in which princess Aelora Velaryon arrived at Dragonstone. The crimson liquid that gushed out of her right side was courtesy of a Kingsguard during his desperate attempts to put a stop to her fleeing — the remnants of his white cloak hanging from Lyrrax’s teeth were evidence of the retribution he earned. The loyal she-dragon landed crudely, sharp claws sinking in the placid sand as her screeches blended with her rider’s whimpers. The princess could sense the pain inside the beast’s mind, their unbreakable connection making their emotions into one.

Pellets of rain grazed her face as she crawled up the endless stairs towards the peak of the islet, the translucent droplets mixing with tears of her own. The young woman’s sobs were filled with tales of disloyalty. She had betrayed her family, her duty, and worst of all, she had been betrayed by him. The one who stood before the gods of Old Vayria and pledged his unyielding love for her. The one who she had deemed worthy of the deserting of her kin. The one who promised her a future beyond the carnage of war. And yet he was the first to commence bloodshed. Her devotion had not been enough to subdue Aemond’s thirst for revenge — but how she wished that it had.

The mud on the soles of her shoes stuck to the stone floor, leaving behind a trail of shame as she entered the intimidating fortress. Her name and titles thundered inside her ears as the voice of a guard announced her arrival, though she hadn’t actually heard him. Her tormented psyche fevered with dread, fearful of the reactions she would receive due the forsaking of her own blood. All the eyes of her mother’s Small Counsel widened at the sight of the princess, distress and grief scattered across their faces. Her gaze flickered to the silvery locks on Raenyra’s head, the woman’s back turned to the room.

Aelora’s steps were slow and somber, as if her soul had faded and the lifeless carcass of who she was moved against her wishes. She skipped past Daemon at her mother’s side, lacking the nerve to meet his stare. Finally, she reached the bereaved woman before her, brown meeting lilac in a lachrymose gaze. Their pale hands intertwined in haste, and the once composed tears transformed into loud sobs as the young princess collapsed to her knees, begging for Rhaenyra’s forgiveness. Blood and teardrops met in the Black Queen’s dress, staining it as she knelt in front of her daughter. She brought up her palm to caress the side of the young woman’s face, the maternal touch conveying a juvenile yearning in Aelora’s heart.

“Oh my sweet girl.” Her mother whispered as anguish imbued her words.

---

The moons that followed Luke’s death were arduous for the princess, constantly having to prove herself before the family that once accepted her. Rhaena and Rhaenyra had silently recognized Aelora’s circumstances, acknowledging she grieved for a husband as well as a brother. Baela had hesitated in the endorsing of her cousin but surrendered to her pleads nonetheless. Daemon barely addressed his wife’s daughter, his hatred for his nephew fused inside the resentful stares he gave her. Despite her best efforts to cope with her standing, it was Jacaerys’ unyielding disregard for his sister that slayed the woman’s hope of mending their bond. The storm behind the prince’s eyes was well hidden inside his stoic expressions, seemingly unaffected by Aelora’s prayers for his recognition. It was only in the afternoon before their grandmother’s departure for Rook’s Rest that the siblings found each other.

The soft rustle of parchment echoed through the otherwise silent library, a salty breeze infiltrating itself through the window. The princess sat by the unlit fireplace as her gaze swept across the leather-bound books scattered inside the numerous shelves, each and all replete with the history of House Targaryen. The smell of dusty, old tomes was a bitter comfort in the midst of her morose silence. She had accustomed herself to this moments of solitude, seeking solace inside her soul. At heart, her deepest fantasies scampered free, picturing a simpler life as a commoner — untethered by the Targaryen name and relieved from the torment of the constant shadow of war.

Aelora was chased back into reality as Jacaerys’ presence made itself known. The young man invaded the room like a blizzard, his cold glare locking upon her figure as she rested over the armrest of the settee. Her eyes glistened with heartache once she felt how profoundly hostile her brother had become, turning on his heel to abandon her presence. The woman’s voice trembled as she spoke, her words pleading and vulnerable.

"Jacaerys, wait...please."

He halted, his shoulders tense as he looked back at her. The expression on his face was hard to read, a mixture of ire and pain etched into his features.

"What do you want, Aelora?" His voice was cold, the distance between them palpable.

"Have I stooped so low in your graces that my presence offends you? We are family, Jacaerys. Can we not even speak?" Her voice was laced with a hint of desperation as she asked.

"You ask for words as if they could undo what has already been done." His expression hardened, his jaw tightening at her words.

Aelora got to her feet, her legs trembling under her weight. He spoke as if it had been her to murder Luke, not Aemond. Her eyes met his as she stood, her voice wavering with a mix of sorrow and anger.

“Do you truly believe I have not been made aware of that?!”

“Every day of my miserable existence is plagued by guilt. I close my eyes at night yet sleep eludes me, for the ghost of Luke haunts my every thought!” She grew restless at every word, tears forming in her brown orbs as she gestured frantically through phrases.

“I know I failed him, as I failed you and our family… But don't forget I too lost a brother that day.”

Jacaerys stood frozen in place, his grief still bubbling within him and yet his heart ached at the sight of his sister's tears. Her words cut through him like a dagger, his own teardrops threatening to fall.

"Luke is gone, Aelora, and your presence here only serves as a reminder of that fact." He took a step backwards, his jaw clenching as he struggled to control his emotions.

“You cannot blame me for what was not my doing. I was Aemond’s wife, not his conscience — albeit my best efforts.”

"But you married our enemies, sister! Do you truly believe your actions have no consequences?"

"You stood by while they plotted against us and our family. How can I not blame you, when you chose to bind your fate to theirs?" A hint of anger flashed in Jacaerys' mournful eyes as he continued.

“i admit i have made my bed and I must lie in it, but you speak of matters you do not understand.” She crossed her arms over her chest, as if she could shield herself from his hatred.

“He swore to me…“ Her voice cracked, heartbreak swallowing her words.

“He swore to avoid this — to stop this insane feud. He is an oathbreaker as well as a kinslayer and he made me a fool!”

The room was still tense but as Aelora's sobbing grew heavier, something shifted within Jacaerys. He stepped closer to his sister, and without a word, pulled her to him, wrapping his arms around her in a tight embrace. His body was warm against her chilly frame as he held her close, almost protectively. Their grievances seemed to dissolve in that moment, replaced only by a shared sorrow as her tears dampened his shoulder.

“Do you hold love for him, still?” He whispered.

“Only for the memory of who he used to be.”

The prince held Aelora a little tighter at her admission, his chin resting on the top of her head as they remained locked in their embrace. He could feel the weight of her broken heart and the ache it left her with. His wrath had dimmed, replaced by a sense of care and familial loyalty.

"Memories are not enough… Promise to break him should you get the chance"

“I will.”

Neither of them knew, but she lied.

Rhaenys, The Queen Who Never Was, met her fate by the hands of the newly appointed Prince Regent, Aemond Targaryen.

Meleys, The Red Queen, had her head paraded through the streets of King’s Landing.

And Aelora, Aemond’s beloved nightmare, sent him a raven.

“We must speak. Find me at ghost’s hour where salt meets memory.

A.V.”

---

The stars twinkled outside the formidable walls of Dragonstone, nightfall enveloping the island in its deep shadows. The approach of ghost’s hour disrupted the princess’ heartbeat inside her chest, her previous conviction giving way to fright as she slithered into the network of caves where the dragons nested. Aelora called out to Lyrrax, her voice wavering with a mixture of stress and uncertainty. As the great beast appeared before her, its wings unfurling, she couldn't help but wonder why she had sent the meeting request at all.

The dragon’s own tension could be felt through her scales as the princess climbed onto its back, the weight of her decision settling on them like a heavy cloak. As they soared through the night sky, Aelora's thoughts were consumed by memories of Aemond and his treachery. The image of him flying over her grandmother’s corpse haunted her mind — the cold, merciless expression he conveyed twisting her guts. She questioned her own judgement in seeking him out, even as her heart yearned for the man who once pledged his undying love and protection. She looked back at Dragonstone, its familiar walls and towers illuminated by the silvery moonlight; she was abandoning her blood for him once again. The princess could only surmise she was either possessed by madness or a true lovelorn fool.

The frigid roar of wind traveled across her face as Lyrrax’s wings scraped over the tide’s surface, saltwater droplets cutting into her skin as well as her pride. She knew her grandmother would never forgive her for this, it was likely none would; she was an idiotic excuse for a Targaryen if she thought seeking the slayer of so many of her kin was justifiable. The burden of loss hung heavily on Aelora's soul as she took in the landscape before her. The faces of Rhaenys and Luke, forever etched in her mind, fueled a mix of anger and trepidation inside the young woman. Her thoughts swirled with a maelstrom of emotions as she soared towards him, recollections of the past playing out like a tragic play as her brown orbs focused upon the once affectionate site of King’s landing.

With practiced grace, Aelora guided the dragon into a smooth descent, its blue wings beating against the air as its claws set down on the shore of Blackwater Bay. The sound of their landing was muffled by the night, its velvety darkness swallowing the pair by the quiet that enveloped the world like a thick, black blanket. The crash of the waves greeted the princess’ ears as she dismounted, struggling to catch her breath and steady her emotions. As her eyes adjusted to the darkness, the young woman caught sight of the familiar cave that laid ahead, its entrance like a dark maw in the cliffside. The jagged edges were illuminated by the silvery glow of the moon, sending shadows dancing across the rocky surface.

Bittersweetness engulfed Aelora’s frame as the memories memories of her secret rendezvouses with Aemond brimmed in her mind. Every step she took towards the cave was like a blow to her legs, feeling shaky and unsteady. Doubt gnawed at her spirit as if a persistent rat, her stomach flipping with every crunch of the sand beneath her feet. Yet, she pushed forward, determination fueling the princess even as her disheveled heartbeat hammered against her ribcage.

The sight of Aemond standing amongst the shadows caught Aelora off guard, the dim light emanating through the cave's entrance barely illuminating his form — she had thought to be the first to arrive. Before she could stop it, a slight gasp escaped her lips and her eyes widened in disbelief. He looked different, somehow. He seemed further villainous and wearied, the once familiar spark in his eye now replaced by a bold robustness. His sharp and handsome features were now harder, almost rugged, as if her absence had left its mark on him. Swallowing hard, she acknowledged the stark contrast between the nostalgic sentiment that nearly overcame her a moment ago and the tense silence that now enveloped them. They stood opposite each other mutely, both frozen and locked in each other’s gaze.

“Wife.” He greeted, his voice grazing her earlobes like the finest of silks.

“That title does not fit me any longer.” She replied coldly.

His lilac eye examined Aelora’s frame from head to toe, her cloak hiding black leather garments — most likely dragonriding attire. She looked skinnier than he recalled, the shadows only enhancing the redness of her eyes. Aemond could not help but wonder whether she had been weeping during her journey there, grief tackling her psyche as well as her build. The princess demeanor turned stiff, arms crossing as she stood clearly on edge.

“You remain mine, before gods and men.” His gaze flickered with something akin to resentment.

“Kinslaying is a rather suitable ground for an annulment, i should think.” She said, removing the cloak from her head, allowing her braid to cascade over her shoulder.

He froze, the muscles on his neck and jaw tensed. His first reaction is one of anger, clenching his fist as he prepared hateful words inside his throat. But as he looked her in the eye, his wrath melted away into something much more dangerous and devastating — something fragile. All he could see was the girl he grew up with, the girl who stood by him at his boyhood. The woman who whispered sweet nothings amongst the vows of their wedding. The woman who played silly songs on the harp and sang with the loveliest voice he'd ever heard. The wife who's hands he dreamed of at night.

“So eager to rid yourself of the shame affixed to my reputation… And yet, you request my presence with equal vigor.” He stood with his hands behind his back, swallowing any desires that threatened to get the better of him.

“It is my understanding you have become Prince Regent.” She tried to ignore his jabs, the truthfulness they held hitting a sore point inside Aelora.

“The betrayal of your brother becomes you. Yet another broken oath in your conquest for the throne.” She returned his insults, the knowledge of his ambition stirring something within the prince.

“You speak of broken oaths. And what ought I call the oaths you have broken? The promises we made when we married in front of Heleana and the Gods?” His one eye darkened, taking a step forward as he kept his tone controlled.

“Your hypocrisy is staggering.” He shook his head, jaw clenched as he spoke.

“My hypocrisy?!” She could feel the anger boiling her blood, as if fire consuming wood.

“Your sanctimonious preaches fail to erase your true nature, Aemond. Naming yourself Targaryen whilst the sigil of our house is paraded through the streets as if some vainglorious prize of war!” Her voice turned to screeches as it echoed through the stone walls of the cave.

“You may call me a bastard if you wish to, but my blood honors Old Valyria far more than yours.”

Aemond’s hand shot to her wrist, gripping it tight enough to leave marks on the skin underneath. His single eye was wild and livid, the scar around it turning his gaze even more menacing. He moved a step closer, the scent of him overwhelming her — mint and leather mixed with a hint of smoke, the familiar essence blurred her senses in a wave of longing. The princess hid her weakening behind a wrath curtain, the disdain she held for the twisted version of him that now stood before her casting their love aside.

“Watch your tongue, Aelora.”

“Or else? Will your murder me as you did my brother? My grandmother? I can see the conqueror’s dagger in it’s seath, evidence of yet another attempt at fratricide!” She accused him further.

“Have you not done enough? Must you ravage our family and yourself in your thirst for power?”

The hand that gripped her wrist traveled up to the back of her head, grabbing the braided hair. Yanking it softly, he pulled Aelora even closer, his lilac orb flickering over her expression.

“I am Prince Regent as the Gods intended.” He hissed into her ear, a dangerous edge to his voice.

“My reign, unlike that of Aegon, will be glorious — my rule absolute. And you, wife, will be by my side when I sit on the Iron Throne.”

Aelora’s eyes betrayed her as water began to brim in their edges, a horrified gleam passing through her forming tears. A hand cupped his left cheek as she scanned him, a desperate search for the man he once was. The man she longed for each night. The man who was the source of greater heartache than she had ever felt in her life. The man who was also the root of her most joyous moments.

“Your ambition shall be your demise, husband. I was yours before all of this, before your perverseness overcame your affection for me.”

“The crown may sit upon your brow, but i have sufficiently torn my heart to shreads in my attempts to remove you — even if you are my weakness, I will never belong by your side once more.”

”No wrath or cruelty is capable of subduing my craving of you, issa vēzos (my sun).” He leaned into her touch, letting his eye flutter at the feeling of the soft skin of her palm against his cold cheek.

In that moment of contact, he seemed so vulnerable, and much younger than his years. He was weak. A pathetic, love-sick man, and he could not bring himself to care. Aemond leaned his head against hers, their foreheads connecting as his gaze softened.

“I am plagued by thoughts of you and I, each reminiscence a torment to my soul.”

“Come back to me, be my Queen and rule by my side. Our love will be known forever through the Seven Kingdoms, your belly swollen with our child ensuring our line shall never be forgotten.”

There was a moment of silence as Aelora absorbed his words. He was offering her a chance at a life she had dreamed of, one full of passion and legacy as their offspring lived on after them. But it would be an existence consumed by greed, she knew it. There could be no going back after what he had done; Lucerys would never be uncle to her progeny and Rhaenys wouldn’t be there to counsel her through hardships. Their family was torn from the beginning, the tapestry of their lives further lacerated by his actions. And she couldn’t betray her blood again.

“I would do anything for you.” He begged.

“Would your bend the knee to my mother?” Her voice was shaky as the lachrymose gaze she held shattered, its translucent shards falling through her cheeks.

"I will give you anything. Anything within my power to give." His voice was hoarse, barely above a whisper.

"But not my crown."

“Then there shall be naught left to ask, issa hūra (my moon).” She sent him a smile, albeit a woeful one.

Aemond opened his mouth to protest, but knew it would be in vain. He was so close to her that he could feel her breath on his lips, the feeling slowly driving him mad. He had imagined Aelora’s face, her curves and her voice each night he had been forced to spend alone — and here she was, right before him, but he couldn’t have her. The thought of how this could be the last time he held her without being shoved away made him pull her to him, his arms wrapping around her like vines.

The princess found herself unable to resist as she pressed her head against his chest, the steady rhythm of his heartbeat a comforting presence in the silent cavern. She clung to him tightly, her fingers gripping his clothing like a lifeline in a storm-tossed sea. For a moment, they stood there, holding each other without a word. The moons of distance melted away, replaced by a shared sense of desperate longing to be close again. Despite the comfort and familiarity of his embrace, she knew deep down that he would never surrender — his path set on the course of war and the bloodshed it entailed. The pain and loss they had faced would forever stand between them, but it did not matter tonight. Concealed by shadows inside the stone walls surrounding them, their grievances and broken oaths would dim at the radiance of their burning passion. For a brief moment, the pair would be one once more.

Aelora’s head parted from the warmth of his frame as her gaze followed the line of Aemond's jaw, her brown orbs traveling upward until they reached his mouth. A sharp breath hitched within her throat as she remembered the soft touch of his lips against hers, butterflies rattling in her stomach. In that moment, she was transported back to the blissful months of their marriage, when their intimacies were full of love and promise. The need to feel the familiar touch of his skin against hers consuming every inch of her being.

The prince’s mind and body were on fire. He could feel her gaze raking over him, like a caress to his spirit. The mere sight of his estranged wife in his arms making his heart pound wildly in his chest. His good eye watched her mouth as she swallowed, his one trackmindedness fixated on everything about her. He could see the memories, the same ones he saw every night, flashing through her gaze. His fingers reached up to brush a strand of her brown hair aside, her once perfect braid now half done as the long locks threaten to escape. His hand trembled with how badly he wanted to feel her body, to trace his hands over her curves and kiss her neck, as he had done countless times before.

Aelora's restraint snapped with a sharp tug as she pulled him down towards her, their lips finally meeting in a desperate, ardent kiss. A muffled gasp left her lips at the familiar touch, her body responding instinctively as she pressed herself against him, hungrily devouring his taste. The prince’s sense of control collapsed like a house of cards, his tongue slipping into her mouth as he held her close. He was a man starved, his palms roaming over her frame, as if trying to commit every curve to memory.

Aemond's hands began to roam under her cloak, his fingers tracing over the round hips hidden underneath. He could feel the heat of her desire through the thick fabric, his own body aching to devour her whole. The fingers on his left hand fiddled over the clasp of her mantle, yearning overcoming his senses as he tossed the fabric onto the delicate sand.

Before he was able to protest, Aelora broke their kiss. Her eyes glistened with arousal as she watched his lips, reddened and bruised from the hastiness of their embrace. Her nimble hands found the buckle of her leather doublet, shivering as the absence of the rougher material revealed her chemise underneath. The sheer linen did little to protect the princess’ frame from the cold breeze that made its way through the cave’s entrance, her nipples stiffening at the feeling. The young woman felt no grief for her modesty as Aemond’s eye watched her carefully, a glimpse of a smirk tugging at the corners of his mouth. She continued to undress, slender fingers slowly untying the laces on her breeches. Her boots met the rest of her dragonriding garments on the jagged rocks by the cavern’s wall, leaving the princess in only her smallclothes.

The silver prince was left breathless by her actions, completely entranced by the sight of her exposed chest, every contour of her body on display through the translucent fabric. His eye drank in the sight and he could feel his blood rushing to a southernmost point. He wanted to worship her, to kiss and nibble her skin — to make her cry out his name until the only thing she could remember was the feel of him against herself. At this moment, he was no longer Aemond Targaryen, Prince Regent and Protector of the Realm; he was a dog at her heel, eager for her calling. His gaze never left hers, staring at her vulnerable state as he mirrored her actions. First he removed his baldric, steel clinking as his dagger and sword fell to the ground. Then, he slowly undid the various buckles on his black jerkin, his breeches following suit. He did not waver as her brown eyes found his stiffened manhood; for he hadn’t cared to remain in concealment as she did.

Aelora’s gaze followed her husband as he approached her again, his hands reaching out and his fingers gently sliding up her bare thigh. She felt him press further into her, his cock pushing itself snugly against her core. He leaned in until his mouth was just beside her ear, his breath warm against her neck as he bit the skin softly. There was no denying she was his, her soul forever branded by his sinful devotion; the princess would never trust a kinslayer twice over, but she couldn’t help but love him.

“Vestragon ao’re ñuhon. (Say you’re mine.)” His voice was barely a whisper but it was as much a command as a plead.

“Vestragon ao’re nykeēdrosa ñuhon, gīda sepār syt kiza bantis. (Say you’re still mine, even just for tonight)”.

“Nyke aōhon. Ēva tubis ōños. (I am yours. Until daylight)”. She answered, lips trembling as the words escaped her.

A primal possessiveness engulfed the one eyed prince, the part that had always longed for her roaring in victory. At that very moment, he felt that there was nothing in this world that he would not do for her. He took her mouth in another kiss, their tongues clashing in a more feral and desperate manner. Aemond lifted her, his calloused hands digging into her plump arse as she wrapped her legs around his waist. Her fingers gripped at his silver locks, his sudden responde sending waves of languor across her limbs. He moved her onto the cloak that was on the ground, the velvety sand welcoming her weight over the fabric as he covered her body with his.

Aemond continued his path of kisses down her body, his hands wandering over her breasts and waist and his mouth leaving more marks in its path. He could feel Aelora shudder in anticipation, her hips arching against his as he moved closer to her core, the air heavy with the scent of her nectar. He halted, taking in the sight of her before him. It had been so long — too long — since he had laid eyes upon her like this, and he relished in the way she already looked completely wrecked by his touch alone. The prince finally reached his ultimate goal, his lips finding her mound as he licked a stripe across the sensitive flesh. He let out a low moan at the taste of her sweet ambrosia on his tongue, a loud whimper emanating from her lungs in response.

The young woman’s hair laid carelessly on the ground, grains of sand intertwining into the brown mess as she arched her back in pleasure. She cried out as he grabbed her thighs, spreading her further apart and burying his face between her legs, his tongue exploring her in ways she had missed for many moons. He could not get enough of her, his lips and tongue trailing silent prayers over her most sensitive spot as his name left her lips. She felt her walls clench as he barged inside her cunt with a long finger, adjusting to the once familiar feeling. Shivers ran down her spine in satisfaction as Aemond synchronized his movements, the overwhelming pleasure bringing stars to her eyes.

A lilac eye never left her face, watching every expression that played across her features. Her mouth parted in pleasure, each gasp and moan fueling the fire of the prince’s own arousal. He had longed to see her like this, writhing underneath him, his name on her lips and his touch on her skin. The memories of her had haunted him in his nights alone, but now, in this moment, he was finally able to worship her like the god given treasure that she was.

Aelora's cries grew more intense, her hips bucking against Aemond's skilled mouth as pleasure mounted within her. Her thighs trembled slightly, its muscles tensing in anticipation of the release that was quickly approaching. Each touch and movement only served to bring her closer to the precipice of pleasure.

A loud cry echoed through the cavern as she climaxed, her body shuddering and her fingers digging into the ground in a desperate attempt to anchor herself. As the waves of ecstasy washed over her, she felt as though she had been transported to another realm. The connection between them was somehow stronger than it had ever been before, their souls dancing to a passionate melody.

When Aelora finally gasped for air, the prince slowly moved up from her core, his body hovering over hers. He watched as she recovered from the rapture he had given her with a dark and vainglorious smirk. With his elbow holding himself over her, he pulled her leg to rest on his hip as his eye scanned her features. Her hand moved to cup his cheek, the tip of her finger caressing his reddened scar as she furrowed her brows.

“Nyke gaomagon regret ziry. Skoros nyke vestretan se mōrī jēda. (I do regret it. What I said the last time.)” She apologized, regret brimming in her brown orbs.

Aemond leaned into her touch, his good eye closing at the gentle touch of her hand against his skin, it felt nearly as soothing as a balm to his weary heart. The mention of the title she had bestowed upon him sent a chill through his spine, his monstrous behavior had earned the words even if they had maimed him. His face turned to press a soft kiss into her palm, before opening his eye to look at her again.

“It is of no importance.” His voice was rough and low as he spoke.

Aelora softly tugged at the straps of his eyepatch, earning a trembling exhale from him in response. The touch of her delicate fingers on his malady sent a wave of fear through his spirit. She removed piece of leather, revealing the puckered, scarred skin where his eye had once been. He found himself unable to look at her for a moment, the feeling of vulnerability consuming him in the dim light of the cave. The princess looked deeply into the sapphire gem in his socket, tenderness engulfing the kiss she placed upon it.

Aemond's touch was gentle as he took her lips in his, not waiting for her response as he gripped her hip and turned her on her stomach. His eye roamed over the expanse of her back, tracing his fingers over the smooth surface of her skin, leaving a trail of gentle caresses in its path. It was a stark contrast to the frenzied way he had touched her previously, this touch was far more tender, almost reverent in nature. His body pressed against hers as the length of his manhood rested on the small of her back, buring into her skin. He leaned down, his mouth finding her ear as he moved closer.

“Azantys ñuha sindigho, issa vēzos. (I have missed you desperately, my sun)”. His breath was warm against her skin as he whispered.

Aelora arched her back as she felt the tip of his cock breeching her dampened slit, her knees propping her hip upwards in search of contact. His arm reached under her, squeezing one of her peaks as he fully entered her. The pair let out breathless moans as Aemond moved against her, leaving no time for her adjustment. The sting of pain she felt had been nothing compared to the ecstasy of his length inside her, finding herself unable to focus on anything but the feeling of being around him.

The prince’s thrusts grew harder, his body moving against hers in a rhythm that was both frenzied and yet somehow controlled. Her moans and sighs filled the air, his own breaths coming quick and sharply as he took her with a wild abandon. He buried his face in her neck, biting down on the soft flesh as his hands buried into her hips.

“Avy jorrāelan. (I love you)” Aelora murmured between ragged moans, her hand reaching to grasp his hair.

His eye widened slightly at her words, a thrill rushing through him at having heard them coming from her lips once again. His lips found the base of her jawline, pressing a kiss to the sensitive skin. His cock kept reaching further into her cunt as their flesh moved together with a rhythmic thrust, like the rise and fall of waves on the shore.

“Avy jorrāelan. Avy jorrāelan. Avy jorrāelan.” Aemond mumbled repeatedly in between thrusts, his words a fierce declaration of their love. He continued moving inside her, his heart racing in his ribcage as his pleasure overcame physical bounds.

Every thing about this moment was singled out from any other they had shared. The grief, pain and betrayal that coursed through their marriage dissipated amongst the dragon fire that burned within the pair. It all faded away, and all that was left was this, the feel of her skin against his, the sound of his muffled whimpers in her ear, the desperate way he repeated her name over and over. This moment felt like the calm in the middle of a storm, a rustle of the ashes of their love.

Aemond could feel his peak building, his movements becoming more urgent and frantic as he chased the pleasure he sought. His breaths came out in ragged pants, mingling with the sounds of her gasps in the air as his length clashed inside her. Aelora sensed the twitching of his manhood, threatening to spill his release inside her walls. The mere thought tightened the knot that had formed in her belly, reaching the edge of her desire.

Aemond sent a few more thrusts into the brown haired woman underneath him before both found their release simultaneously, their movements slowing as they both rode out of the ecstatic trance that washed over them. The prince’s face was buried in Aelora’s neck, a guttural moan escaping him at the force of his own pleasure. Her body shivered at the feeling of his seed drowning her cunt, pearly tears streaming down her leg as she whimpered.

The lovers stayed silent in an adoring embrace after he disconnected their bodies, a wave of comfort washing over them. For a while they simply laid there, basking in the afterglow of their passion, their frames entwined in a tangle of limbs. It was a strange sort of peace, one that they both knew wouldn't last once the sun rose — but for the moment, they were content. The night stretched on, each hour passing in a blur of whispered words and slow hands. Aemond and Aelora clang to one another, as if they could melt into one if they only held tightly enough. The threat of daylight and the inevitable parting loomed over them like a dark cloud on the horizon, anguish settling inside their hearts.

As the hour of the nightingale approached over their secret sanctuary, the prince and princess began to break away from the blissful haven that enveloped them. There were no words to be spoken as they both dressed silently, the sound of rustling fabric and soft breaths filling the air between them. The weight of war and the knowledge that this moment was fleeting hung heavily in the air. Aemond felt a pang in his chest as he looked towards her, a mute wish in his heart that they could stay like this. To be locked in this moment forever, away from the world that demanded so much from them. But he knew that was not possible. Soon, they would have to return to their duties and obligations — this feeling would become nothing more than a memory.

As they stood before each other fully clothed, their eyes met in a bereaved gaze — sorrow for the love they shared engulfing them. Aelora stepped closer to him, holding his hand softly, almost in a cowardly manner. She had no words for the man who was her everything, the man who had her in every way possible, and she was ashamed of it. His free hand moved hesitantly to hold her cheek, his eye flickering over her face, taking in every feature. He wanted to burn the image of her into his mind, to remember every detail about her, down to the smallest freckle on her nose. His thumb traced her soft skin as he leaned in to press a soft, lingering kiss to her lips, as if to say “I will be with you forever”. Tears began to form at the corners of her brown orbs as she abandoned his touch. The sound of the rustling sand underneath her feet echoed through the cave as she reached its entrance, her form never escaping his stare.

She halted at the stone archway, her silhouette framed by the soft silver light of the moon. The night air was cool on her skin as she turned to look back at Aemond, the feel of their passion still lingering in the air. For a moment, they simply stood there, eyes meeting in the darkness. She ached to say something, to find the words to convey the maelstrom of emotions that raged within her. In the end, she simply smiled, bittersweet and knowing.

“Should we meet on the battlefield, I can’t hesitate.” Her voice came out a whisper.

“I won’t hesitate to kill you.” She repeated, to herself or to him — Aemond didn’t know.

The prince’s breath had grown a little shallow at her words, a frown forming on his face. The idea of their next encounter being on the battlefield, facing off against each other like enemies was a thought that pained him, even though he knew it was a possibility. He wanted to tell her that he wouldn’t hesitate either, that he would fight her with everything he had if they ever met in battle, but the words stuck in his throat. He simply nodded in acknowledgement.

Once again, she left him. Aemond would be a King without a Queen, half of his soul forsaken in his search for power. It had to be worth it.

Bur they wouldn’t meet again, not in the context of war or any other.

She would meet her demise alongside her brother in the Battle of The Gullet. Fighting hard like a Strong, dying besides her dragon like a Targaryen and laying to rest at sea like a Velaryon.

He would grow mad at her perishing, ire overcoming his every sense. And he would eventually be slayed by her stepfather at The Battle Above God’s Eye.

Their love was epic, a fierce tale of forbidden passion that would never be written about inside history books. The only legacy they would leave behind had been scribbled onto a stone wall years before.

A.T. & A.V.

---

Taglist: @onlyrealjoy @siriusblackssun @adombtch

Sugar & Violence

Podrick Payne x reader

+:✿ Chapter 7 ✿:+ : Blackfish

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Summary: You’re a Mormont being held hostage by House Lannister. You are acting now as the Handmaiden for Margery Tyrell, whom you’ve grown quite close with. But it seems that a squire has caught your attention as you have caught his.

CW: SMUT, MDNI, P in V unprotected, Mutual masturbation, cum play (sorta), body worship, outdoor sex, fem dom (if you squint), afab reader, pining, fingering, NSFW themes, mention of non-con, misogyny, mention of violence, mention of arranged marriages, mention of alcohol consumption, mention of NSFW themes, mention of parental death, witch/dreamer reader.

Word Count: 7.K

꒰ ୨୧ ─ ・┈ ・ ─ ・┈ ─ ・┈ ─ ・┈ ꒱꒱

You dreamt of forests and trees. Cool winds and rushing waters of a river. 

It was calming, and felt like home. 

Though soon your dream was intruded on by the sharp and awful pain in your side. Cutting through all the deep layers of sleep, and pulling you out. 

As your eyes slowly pulled themselves open, you could see you were laying in a bed. Much less luxurious than the one you laid in, in King's Landing, or on Bear Island, or even the brothel. 

The sheets were thin and the mattress was stiff. Your room was small, dark, and damp, it was obvious that you were in Castle Black. As your eyes adjusted, and you mustered the energy to sit up. As you did you saw him. 

The very squire you fell in love with. He sat nodding off to sleep in a chair by your bedside. 

“How long have you been sitting there?” You asked, your voice still hoarse from sleep. Though your voice was enough to steer him from his sleep. 

Podrick jolted awake, bolting to your side with widened eyes, “You’re awake- Is the pain terrible? I’ll call for a maester-“ He began babbling, overly concerned, his hands roaming over you, afraid to touch you. As if you’d shatter at his touch. 

You smiled at him, placing a hand on his cheek. “Leave that for now.” You said softly, your words and touch practically made him melt in your hand. You ran your fingertips along his hair, “Your hair is shorter.” You pointed out as you studied him. He looked at you as if you were the most beautiful, most sacred thing in his life, and maybe you were.

His smile was warm, and his eyes trailed over you sweetly, “You’re beautiful.” 

You scoffed as you wiped sweat from your brow. “I look like a corpse warmed over.” You whined as you sat up more. You winced at the pain from your wound. Podricks hands went to your arms, trying to support you. 

You let out a groan as you pushed the furs that covered you down, and pulled the tunic that was not yours, up. You looked at the cut, now much worse than it was before. 

You huffed and laid back in the bed, annoyed by the burden of the wound. 

“Who did this to you?” Podrick asked as he petted your hair. Even though his tone was soft you could hear anger in his voice. 

“Gold Cloaks. They attacked the Knights Watch recruits. Looking for bastards of the Kings.” You explained, your voice was breathless from the pain. 

Podrick looked down, ashamed in himself, “I should have stayed. I should have waited for you.” He said with a shake of his head. 

You smiled softly at him, taking his hand, “We’ve no time for any of that.”

“Of what?” He asked, kneeling at your side. 

“Regrets,” You said, taking his face in your hands. He held onto your wrist, “My knight.” You said sweetly, making him smile and hold back a laugh.

He leaned in and kissed your lips. He tried his best to be gentle, though he felt starved for your touch, for your lips, for your body. He needed you so desperately and you could tell by his kiss. You knew if it wasn’t for the deep cut in your side he would have ravaged you. As his lips pulled with yours, he held your face as he rested his forehead against your own,“Don’t send me away again.” He pleaded.

“It was for your own good. You served one suspect of the Kings murder and fucked the other. You would have been strung up and tortured for information you didn’t have.”

“Don’t send me away again.” He asked you, almost pleading.

You smirked, “Don’t do what I tell you.” Podrick sighed, and leaned back. He loved your defiant spirit but it made things like this difficult, “I can’t promise I won’t. And I would never lie to you.” 

Podrick smiled softly at you, as his eyes drifted down towards your wound. He frowned and sighed. “Maester said your cut had already been stitched up. When you arrived some of them had come undone. What happened?” He asked with a concerned demeanor. 

“After the attack, I fled. Fainted in a river from the pain. A woman- a brothel madam found me.” Podricks eyes went wider, You smirked as you finished your story. “She stitched me up.” 

“In a brothel?” He questioned, but you couldn’t answer before the door began to open. As it did Podrick was quick to take the fur blanket and throw it over you, attempting to protect your modesty on your behalf. It made you smile. 

A short man with dark curly hair walked into the small room. “Lady Mormont,” The man said with a respectful nod. “Podrick…” He said a bit more confused as to why he was even there. He then turned his attention back to you. “I am Jon Snow,”

You looked at Jon Snow, the son of Ned Stark. You knew that if your father was to make one man his successor it would be the blood of Ned Stark. You also knew, if your father was alive, he’d be in this small damp room already, lecturing you about how stupid it was for you to leave Bear Island alone, and for you to travel here. But above it all, you had an indescribable feeling, one that pulled you to a terrible thought. “You’re the new commander aren’t you?”

Jon looked at you confused, unsure of how you knew. “We should speak in private-”

“My father is dead.” You interrupted, catching both Podrick and Jon off guard. Jon stared at you for a moment unsure of what to say. You, despite the horrid pain, sat up. Your eyes bore into Jon’s “Isn’t he?” you questioned. 

“Aye.” Jon said with his head held low. 

You already knew. You knew the moment you saw the vision in that brothel. But now it was real. Your visions were real, and your father was dead. You felt emotion get caught in your throat. Your brows furrowed as you softly and quietly questioned, “How?” 

Podrick, hanging his head low. 

Jon began, cautiously, “He was betrayed by his men. Beyond the wall… he was attacked-”

The thought angered you worse than anything you’d ever feel, “By who?” You asked with gritted teeth. 

Jon stepped closer towards you, “A man named Rast. A man who is dead now. All the men who betrayed him are dead now.” You hang your head, your hair falls forward covering your face. You didn’t say a word. “My Lady, you are the eldest inherited living child of Jeor Mormont. Your cousin Lyanna has held your rightful position in your absence. We have sent a raven to inform her of your-”

You interrupted him. Unconcerned with succession or whatever that raven said. “Where is he?” You asked, “My father. He should be on the Island.” You said softly.

Jon thought deeply for a moment. Trying to find a delicate way of phrasing it.“There was not much of him left.”

You raised your head, revealing the tears that fell down your cheeks. “Leave me.” You commanded softly and breathlessly, “I apologize but please go.” 

Jon Nodded, turning his attention towards Podrick, “Podrick-”

“He stays.” You commanded,

Jon, though confused, didn't fight it. He left you to mourn. 

As soon as the door closed, Podrick went to you. Holding you as you cried. He petted your hair and whispered small comforts to you. 

As time went on, your breathing steadied, your cries turned to quiet sobs, and soon nothing at all. So he believed you fell asleep once more. 

Though he did not tell you, as he had no opportunity to, he sat by your bed for nearly twelve hours waiting for you to wake. So knowing you were at peace, allowed him to find his own. 

You however did not sleep. You couldn't, the pain was great, and you did not want another dream to come to you. Especially in the arms of the man you waited so long to be with again. With your head nuzzled under his chin you laid there listening to his breathing and quite snores. It was the last pleasantness you had left. Your father was dead, and mutilated. Your only friend’s heart was broken by your own hand. You were an orphan, And whatever was left of your family was more than likely furious at you for fleeing. But you’d a man who loved you, whole and as you were. One who thought you were beautiful even when you were cut up, bloodied and bruised. Without a proper wash, or pretty gown. With a sweaty brow and unmade hair. One with an even temper, and sweet disposition. It made you smile softly as he snored quietly. 

The pain however, persisted, as pain of all kinds seems to do. 

You tried your best to wiggle your way out of Podricks grip without waking him, or groaning from the pain. But Podrick was a deep sleeper, and an even deeper one when he denied himself of sleep for so long. 

When you stood from your bed, you steadied your imbalanced bare feet on the cold stone floors. You looked down at the tunic you wore, it was clearly not your own. It was far too big, fitting like a dress on you. Your pants were gone as well. They must've been too bloodied for them to leave on you. 

Though it didn’t stop you from wanting to leave that room. You need the poppy and if they didn’t give you clothes that was their own fault. You looked back to Podrick sleeping soundly on your bed before you opened your chamber to find that your chamber was hardly a chamber at all. But a room within the Maesters quarters. 

You looked around at all the books, herbs, oils, poisons, salves, and other medicines that littered the room, and its shelves. You smiled to yourself, as you looked at it all. You’d have it all to your disposal. 

You stepped into the room cautiously, hoping you wouldn’t see an old maester, or more accurately hoping he wouldn’t see you, half naked. 

But the hour was late, there was merely a single candle lit, and no Maester in sight. So you seized your opportunity. You rummaged through the bottles and pouches of herbs. 

Either you were not as quiet as you believed to be or the lack of your scent, warmth, and presence was enough to wake Podrick. As his disoriented eyes began to open, as soon as he noticed you were not cuddled up to his chest, he threw the blankets off of him and ran out of the room, only to see you standing on a ladder rummaging through bottles on a high shelf.  

Podrick let out a sigh of relief, “What are you doing?”

You didn’t look at him, still rummaging through the oils “What is that maester using?”

Podrick shook his head, not knowing the exact medicine, “Some salve he made.” His eyes softened towards you, “Are you alright?”

You ignored the question, not wishing to pull those awful feelings up again. “I need lavender, calendula, and comfrey. I’ll make a salve that’ll actually work.” You mumbled to yourself.

“You should be resting.” Podrick said, his voice sounding more frustrated. 

“Surely the Maester here must have something-” You said, still ignoring him.

“(Y/N), about your father.” He pried softly. 

You however continued to mumble, “Ghost pipe-comfrey- I can use that,” 

“(Y/N).” He said, much more frustrated.

His out of character tone startled you almost. You turned to him, “I’m sorry.” you said softly. 

He huffed, and looked down, unable to be crossed with you. As his eyes reached your gaze again he softened, “You needn’t be.” He said walking towards you, “I only worry for you.” 

You smiled down at him from the top of the ladder, “You needn’t.” You sighed, “This is how I handle pain. I’ve cried, and now I shall ignore it.” You reached out your hand towards him, which he took without hesitation, “Help me down.” you winced as you began to get down. 

“Is the pain terrible?” Podrick asked as he took you in his arms gently, picking you up slightly before setting you down. His strength aroused you, though now might not have been the time to admit it. 

“Yes. And the salve they used was mediocre.” You said as you examined the oils you picked, still wincing from the pain. 

“Ask me next time and I’ll do it.” Podrick said not wanting you to strain yourself anymore, though his words felt domineering, and you again… hated to admit it but it aroused you.

“You shouldn’t steal from the Maester.” You said as you began to mix the oils with some herbs you’d found as well. 

“You did.” Podrick said as he watched you work, in awe. It reminded him of when you stiched his hand, when you and he first met, and that aroused him. 

“I’ll be working for him soon enough.” You said dismissively as you continued. 

Podrick leaned in towards you “How did you know?” “Lord Snow did not need to tell you, for you to know. You already knew.” His eyes were direct, 

You stopped working, looking at him with some fear. Not knowing whether or not he would understand. “I saw the Wildlings cross over the wall.” You said in a whisper, leaning in closer. “My father never expressed anything other than contempt towards Wildlings to me If he were to let them in-” 

“How did you see that?” He asked with furrowed brows.

“You’ll think I’m mad.” You said looking down and getting back to work on your own medicine. 

His hands stopped yours, “I’d never think that.” He said leaning in. His tone was full of conviction. 

“Fire.” You said again in a whisper.

“Fire?” He repeated back. 

You looked at him, your eyes uncertain that he’d understand it, because you hardly did. “That brothel madam was not only a brothel madam. She was a witch. She showed me her sight. Helped me understand my own.” 

Podrick shook his head, “I don’t understand.” It was clear he was genuinely trying to understand. 

“Before the Gold Cloaks attacked, I dreamt of it. Before I found that brown horse I rode in on, I dreamt of it. That is my sight. Dreams.” You looked towards the fire in the room, “I peered into a fire, like that one there. The fire showed me Wildlings crossing the wall. That was her sight. Fire.” You said looking back at him, 

“How?” He asked again. He wished to understand you desperately, to know you fully. 

“I don’t know.” You shook your head, “But I want it to stop.”

“Why? It would seem to be an advantage.” He said, ever the optimist that he was. 

“I don’t wish for advantage. I don’t wish to be special. Or to be head of any great house. I never did.” You said as you pulled your tunic up and over your head, surprising Podrick. Though not unpleasantly. You began to apply the mixture of oils and herbs to your wound. 

Podrick attempts desperately to avert his gaze from your breasts, and look into your eyes, “What do you wish for?” 

“Once it was an adventure, to see the world and now it. But I’ve seen it and I hate it. Now I just want simplicity.” You finished applying your newly created medicine and you held your tunic back up around your neck as you looked at Podrick who was smiling at you warmly, “A house made of stone, and wood. I want to live off my own land. With a man I love.” You said as you leaned in and kissed his lips gently, as you pulled away you also pulled a small whimper from Podricks lips “I missed you. Worried for you.” 

His eyes wandered over your form, “I thought of you always. Lady Brienne was to aid me in finding you. I should have left on my own for you-” 

You shook your head, “I told you enough of that.” 

He leaned in further, “You also told me not to do what you told me to do.” He said in a more confident and seductive tone than you were used to.

“What if I told you to kiss me.” You said, and before you could smirk or amuse yourself with your own teasing, Podrick grabbed hold of your jaw, gently, still treating you as porcelain. His kiss was sloppy, and wet, but it was exciting, and made you whimper into his mouth as his tongue entered yours. 

“Get in your bed.” He said darkly, it made your belly tingle. You smiled at him with your eyes half lidded, giving him a final kiss before obeying as he said. As you got to the foot of your bed, you dropped the tunic you held onto. The sight made Podrick hiss. 

You laid on your bed, as you watched him undress. He stood in front of the end of the bed, looking down upon you as he undressed. As he climbed on top of you your hand trailed down his chest, that was now much more toned than it was before. “Beautiful-mmm” You said as he licked you, from your sternum to your neck. He kissed your lips as his hand ran up your thighs and somewhat mindlessly yet masterfully played with your cunt. As your pleasure rose, so did the tension in your belly. The tension tighten your muscles and caused that awful pain again, “Ah!” you cried out in pain, 

Podrick nearly jumped off of you, but he held your face “Are you alright? What did I do?” He asked, frightened he’d hurt you even if it were unintentional. 

“It’s this bloody cut.” you said frustrated, you said as you looked down at his hardened length.  “I’m sorry-” You felt guilty, leaving him as you did the last time you were with him. 

“Do not be.” He smiled, shaking his head, “There’s time.” He said sweetly as he petted your hair, 

You still, felt terrible, “I can take you in my hand, or-”

He shook his head again, and furrowed his brow, “I’m not going to use you.” He said sweetly, as he kissed your lips softly, “I’m still in love with you.” He whispered into your cheek as he kissed it.

“I love you.” You said back as he pulled you into his arms, 

Soon you both fell back asleep in one another's arms. 

꒰ ୨୧ ─ ・┈ ・ ─ ・┈ ─ ・┈ ─ ・┈ ꒱꒱

When you awoke, Podrick was already awake. You laid against him, your head resting against his chest as his fingers played with your hair sweetly.

As you rose your head from his chest to look at him, he smiled at you and you smiled back. “I’ve never woken in your arms.” You said quietly.  

He tucked your hair behind your ear, “Did you have any dreams?” 

“Yes, though it was vague.” you said as you took his hand, began to play with his fingers. 

He asked “What was it?” It made you smile how he wanted to know, to understand. 

“A black fish lays dead. And a small boat travels down a river.” You said, stoically. You hated these dreams. Hated that you never understood them until it was too late. 

Before Podrick could try to help you decide the meaning, your door to your chamber swung open and a tall Blonde lady knight walked in with the maester. Podrick tugged your fur blanket over your exposed shoulder. “My Lady, pardon the intrusion- Seven hells.” Brienne said with an irritated huff as she averted her eyes and hastily walked away. The Maester however stayed in the doorway, watching disapprovingly as Podrick threw on his clothing frantically.

He looked back to you, as if he were asking permission to leave, to chase after Brienne and attempt to swear her to secrecy. You finding the whole situation comical nodded and he rushed past the old Maester who stood in the doorway. 

You looked over to the oldened Maester, “Who’re you?” 

The man walked into the room, “I’m the Maester here, Edmure.” He said with a judgmental gaze, “And I wouldn’t suggest coupling in your state.” He said as he walked closer to your bed.

“We didn’t.” You huffed. You wish that you did, but you didn’t.

The Maester sat on the side of your bed as he retrieved a bottle of a milky white substance from his pocket, “A man of that age, lays naked beside a naked girl, and only sleeps?” He questioned uninterestedly and unconvinced.

“That’s right.” You said equally uninterested, turning your attention to the substance that he was pouring into the spoon. “Is that milk of the poppy?”

“Sleep is the best way to heal.” Maester Edmure said as he prepared your drink at your bedside.

“I don’t wish to sleep. When I sleep I dream.” You sat sitting up, being sure to hold the furs to your bare chest.

“Yes, that is typical of sleep.” He said as if you were incompetent as he finished preparing your drink.

“I don’t like my dreams.” You said as he put the cup up to your lips, “I won’t take it.” You said turning your head away from the cup.

“You’re as stubborn as your father.” Edmure said with a frustrated but somber sigh. 

You felt a sting of sadness thinking about it. “Have you thought of grinding the poppy into a salve? It would numb the area-” You began, attempting to offer your wisdom and skill.

“It is not done.” He said, stuck in his ways of old medicine. 

You didn’t attempt to argue, not caring enough to do so. “Do I at least have clothes I can wear here?” 

“I’ll see what I can find.” He said with a nod, “Drink that.” He finished as he left the cup of milk of the poppy diluted with some tea next to your beside while he left your chamber.

꒰ ୨୧ ─ ・┈ 

Maester Edmure did infact find some clothes for you. It was clear the clothes were old. A testament of how long it had been since a woman stayed in Castle Black. 

As you tie the strings of the corset, be careful not to tighten the strings too tightly. 

Soon Podrick poked his head into your room, making sure that you were there alone. As he poked his head in he saw you dressing yourself. He smiled as he walked in, and you turned around smiling back at him. 

Podrick came up behind you, gently wrapping his arms around your waist as he leaned in towards your ear, “What did the maester say?”

“I don’t think he likes me very much.” You said, and it made him chuckle. “I won’t be dying any time soon.” You said as you turned around, looking into his loving eyes, “What did Brienne say to you?”

“I’ve been asked to accompany her to the Riverlands, to deliver a message to Lord Brynden Tully.” He caressed your face and sighed, “I wish to stay with you. You’ve only just returned to me.” He said, clearly conflicted.

You smiled sweetly at him, “And now that we are both free we will be with one another again.” You took his hand that caressed your face, “If you are to be a knight you will, no doubt, be sent off to many more missions.” You kissed the scar that adorned his hand, “You should go.” You smiled at him sweetly, “I’ll be able to handle my own self.”

He smiled back at you, just as sweet, “Yes I know you will.”

“Go on then. You will return to me.” You said as you kissed his lips softly. 

Podrick ran his hands down your hair, “I will.” He promised. 

꒰ ୨୧ ─ ・┈ ・ ─ ・┈ ─ ・┈ ─ ・┈ ꒱꒱

Podrick and Brienne traveled to the Riverlands just to find that House Tully was under siege of House Lannister. 

This obviously gave Brienne the opportunity to speak with Jamie Lannister. In an attempt to allow her to speak with House Tully before the attack. As Jamie and Brienne spoke alone within a tent in the siege, Podrick stood outside.

As he stood outside the tent, an older man came up behind him and forced him into a headlock. Podrick finally was able to get himself out of it, he saw the man was Bronn, the sellsword who was also in Tyrion’s service back in King's Landing. 

“Getting too old to be a squire, aye?” Bronn teased, “Podrick fucking Payne,” He said with excitement, “I thought you’d be dead by now.” 

Podrick smirked, and stifled a laugh, “Not yet.” 

“They in there?” Bronn asked, wondering where Jaime and Brienne were.

“Mmhm.” Podrick replied, 

“You think they’re fucking?” Bronn asked with a genuineness,

“What? No.” Podrick said with a disgusted face, 

Bronn shrugged, “Why not? I’d fuck her. You’d fuck her wouldn’t you?”

Podrick shook his head, “I’m her squire.” 

“Oh. Well he’d fuck her, that’s for sure. And she’d fuck him, don’t you think? The way she looks at him.” Bronn continued on, Podrick was unamused and rolled his eyes, “Come on, you’re the one with the magic cock.” Bronn said teasingly as he grabbed hold of Podricks crotch swiftly, making Podrick groan in pain, “You must’ve shown it to her by now.”

Podrick stood straight, “I’ve my own lady, now.” He said with confidence. 

Bronn raised his eyebrows at him, “Oh? Let me guess, it’s a girl who looks a whole lot like that bear girl.” 

“She is the lady Mormont.” Podrick said pridefully,

“Is she?” Bronn questioned, and Podrick nodded his head with a smile, “Should I call you Lord Payne now?” Bronn teased.

“We’ve not wed- yet-“ Podrick stammered, almost embarrassed he hadn’t married you yet.

“But I bet your fucking ‘er.” Bronn jested with a poke at Podricks chest. 

Podrick felt a sting of anger, “She is my Lady, I do not speak about my-“

Bronn interrupted, “I’m just fuckin’ with you, Pod.” He patted him on the back, “You must be itchin’ waiting for that pretty Lord title.”

 Podrick shook his head. “I don’t care for that.” It was true, he didn’t want to be lord of anything really, and he didn’t want you simply for that either. “I’ll be a knight. Brienne is training me to fight.” He said proud of the person who was training him. 

“Is she now?” Bronn questioned,

“An hour in the morning and an hour at night. Everyday.” Podrick said smugly

“Then how come an old cunt like me can still sneak up and murder you?” Bronn jested.

“That’s a different sort of fighting.” Podrick said defensively. 

“Now that’s the truth isn’t it. You want to learn that sort of fighting?” Podrick looked at him with a smile and nodded, “Alright, alright let's start with your footwork. Show me your stance.” Podrick got in stance as Bronn approached him, “Now listen to me Pod, see how your feet are about a yard apart?” As Podrick looked at how, Bronn slapped him hard, “Lesson number one assume everyone wants to hit you. Cause they do, Pod. Everyone wants to hit a fucking squire.” Podrick bit on his bottom lip angrily, “Again, come on don’t sulk, you want to protect that pretty bear now don’t you?” 

He did.

꒰ ୨୧ ─ ・┈ ・ ─ ・┈ ─ ・┈ ─ ・┈ ꒱꒱

As time had passed back at Castle Black, you were using your own concoctions of medicine. And against the old Maester’s advice you even removed the stitches on your own. You were healing much faster than you should have been.  

Maester Edmure was examining your cut, and marveling at how well you’d healed. “You have healed remarkably.” 

“Perhaps it is my own doing.” You said, knowing it would get under the old Maesters skin.

“Sleep is always the best way to heal.” He said dismissively, 

“Some say.” You said as you put your corset back on. 

This snarky comment was the last straw for the Maester, “I am a member of the Order of Maesters, I have been studying medicine since I was a boy-”

You interrupted not wanting to endure a tantrum disguised as a lecture, “I’ve no doubt you’re fine at what you do. But I have even less doubt that I am good at what I do.” You said calmly as you laced your corset. “I have seen you out of courtesy, and politeness.”

“You don’t have politeness.” The measter said in a grumble 

“The last Maester I worked for did not like me either.” You said with a sigh,

“You do not work for me.” The measter said with real annoyance.

“Well then I’ve just been stealing from you.” You said handing him a pot of a salve you’d made and had been using instead of his mediocre medicines. 

“What is this?” He asked as he sniffed the concoction. 

“A salve, made of ghost pipe, poppy, and comfrey.” You brightened a little as you explained it.

“You made this?” He asked as he looked up at you with surprise. 

“I did.” You said with a sense of pride. “Ghost pipe and poppy act in tandem to kill the pain, the comfrey works to-”

“Fight infection, I know it.” He said as he sniffed the concoction again, 

“You asked.” You shrugged, 

“I’ve not seen ghost pipe and poppy blended with one another.” He said in a veiled astonishment. 

“Neither had I.” You said, prideful. 

The measter looked at you with wide eyes, “You experiment medicines on yourself?” 

“Hardly an experiment when you know it will work.” You said with a smirk, knowing your confidence would only get on the old man's nerves. 

The measter rolled his eyes at your comment, but then looked back down the concoction you created. Noting how well it did work on you. He then begrudgingly said, “I worked under Maester Aemon for your father. He’d want you to have a place here in Castle Black. If you wish for a position you have it.” 

You smiled and crossed your arms, “I told you, I’d work for you.” You teased.

꒰ ୨୧ ─ ・┈ ・ ─ ・┈ ─ ・┈ ─ ・┈ ꒱꒱

You were tidying up the old masters unorganized books as the door to the measters chambers opened. You knew who it was immediately, you didn’t need the sight to tell. A beautiful girl with bright red hair. You were a Mormont, you would know a Stark when you saw one.

“Pardon the interruption.” She said meekly, clearly uncomfortable. 

“No interruption.” You shook your head, wiping your hands of the dust from the books on the apron that you wore. 

“I attempted to have my sworn sword reach you before but it seemed you were still abed.” Sansa said, apparently not aware of what Brienne had actually seen. 

You grinned, “Yes, I believe I remember that.” you said with a nervous laugh.

“I am in need of a maester, only- I mislike old men… touching me.” She said cutting to the chase. 

You nodded, “An understandable feeling.” 

She stepped closer to you, “Do you know who I am?” she asked stoically. 

“There’s only three women in Castle Black. The most it’s ever seen. Brienne of Tarth, myself… and Sansa Stark. And I know you aren’t Brienne of Tarth.” You said in a comforting tone. 

“Do you know what happened to me?” She questioned, 

“Yes.” You nodded averting your gaze from hers out of respect. 

“What he did-“ She began, 

“You don’t need to tell me. I can tell.” You stopped her. You knew the pain of it. Did not wish for her to continue. “I’ve seen the look before.” 

“Can you help me?” She asked 

You nodded, “There's tea. If brewed correctly, will expel whatever may be affecting you.” You pulled the herbs from the shelf, and began to boil the water on top of the open fire in the room.

Sansa watched as you worked, “Is it certain?”

“I will exhaust our options. I will make certain. You will drink this tea, then we will run until our legs hurt. Together they should work certainly.” You said comfortingly “It’s bitter and ugly. Best to be drank in a swift manner.” You said as you poured the boiling water into the cup, 

“You’ve served this before?” She asked as you handed her the cup,

“Three times.” You nodded, “A married girl who wanted her marriage annulled, a girl who was in a very similar position to yourself, and myself.” You smiled at her, and she smiled back. “Drink.” As she did she winced from the horrid taste, “I told you. Rotten stuff.” As she finished you took the cup from her hand, “Now. Let’s run.” 

꒰ ୨୧ ─ ・┈ 

As soon as Podrick arrived back to Castle Black he made his way back to the measters quarters, only to find the old man and not you. 

“Oh it’s the naked boy.” The measter said as he tinkered with some kind of medicine. 

Podrick, embarrassed, pulled his mouth into a line as he nodded, acknowledging that it was indeed him, “Where is the Lady Mormont?” 

The old maester sighed, “She is treating the Lady Sansa.” He said as he pointed out the window of the chamber. 

Podrick looked out and saw you pushing Sansa to run and keep running. Round in circles over and over again. “What is she doing?” Podrick asked the old maester, genuinely confused. 

The measter shook his head, “She’s a strange way about her. And a strange way she conducts her work. But it works.” He shrugged. 

Not wasting further time Podrick left the chambers to find you. 

As he went out on the outskirts of the Castle Black walls, he saw you and Lady Sansa speaking. 

“It should be certain now,” You said softly, “Your belly might ache, but that is a good sign.” You said lastly before Lady Sansa thanked you and walked off. 

You smiled as you saw Podrick walking towards you, it let you breathe a sigh of relief. 

“You’re running,” Podrick said happily, noting your recovery. 

You smiled at him, happy to see he was back. “Me and the Lady were discussing political matters.” You lied as you and he both walked off into a more secluded area of Castle Black.

“While running?” He questioned you, 

You flashed your eyebrows at him, “It’s an exhilarating topic.” 

“You’re lying to me?” He asked with a grin

“Hardly a lie if so I know you won’t believe it.” You smirked at him and he smirked back, “I’ll tell you, later.” you said holding onto his arm, “I hear your sword work is coming along quite well.” 

“I hope so.” He said, 

“You and I should fight some time.” 

“I don’t think I’d be able to put you down.” He said, shaking his head.

“No?” You asked with a smirk, you looked around noting that there was no one around, “Try it.” You said pushing him slightly as you ran off. Podrick chased after you. You laughed as he chased you, once he finally caught up to you, you dodged him and he fell into the plush snow, “Go on, keep at it.” You said teasingly as he looked up at you.

“You enjoying this?” He asked with a grin

“I am.” You said with a smirk as you kicked snow at him as you ran off.

He picked himself off the ground and ran after you, “Come ‘ere!” He said as he finally wrapped his arms around you, 

“Ah!” You squealed as he caught you, and pinned you against the ground. “Mmm, you’ve gotten quite strong.” You said, as your hands roamed his strong arms that pinned your body down. As you looked up into his eyes they were hungry and lustful, as he stared at your breasts. Compressed against both his weight and your corset. “I believe you’re staring.” You said with a smirk. 

“It’s a weakness of mine- with you.” He said, stammering like how he did in King's Landing.

“This doesn’t feel weak.” You said as you bucked your hips against his own, noting the hardness growing in his breeches.

He blushed slightly, “Are you, have you-” He asked, worrying that he’d hurt you again.

“I’ve healed-“ You interrupted, just wanting to be fucked, badly.

“Oh thank the Gods-“ He blurted out as he began frantically pawing at your neckline. Needing your redirection to the laces of the corset to actually get it off. As soon as he’d gotten your garment loose enough to pull your breasts out of it, his mouth ravaged you. 

Your skirts raised around your thighs. His teeth gently, grazed and bit down on the sensitive buds of your nipples, you were overwhelmed with the pleasure. No man had ever done this so well, “Mmphm! Fuck-Fuck-Fuck,” You moaned breathlessly as his tongue soothed your breasts as he continued to suck on them. “Mm-I didn’t know that could feel this good.” You mumbled between moans. 

Podrick lifted his desperate gaze from your body to your eyes. You ran your hand through his hair as he looked at you with hunger, “No ones ever taken care of you like this?” He asked gently as his hand began to softly and tenderly roam up your thigh.

You shook your head, “Most men had me bend over, just to fuck into me until they’re spent.” You said with a pout. It was true, no man ever made you feel this good, nothing did. 

The thought of you with another man made him somewhat jealous, not that he’d admit it. But mostly he was angry that no man would want to see you like this, or hear the beautiful sounds he could coax out of you. So to show you how much he himself appreciated it, his wandering hand finally found your cunt. He palmed your, already wet, cunt. “Who wouldn’t want to see you like this?” He asked as he pressed the tip of his ring finger against your clothed entrance as his palm rubbed against your clit.

“Awh!” You moaned out in surprise as you clenched around barely anything at all. You caught your breath and smiled at him, “Pod, you never talk like this.” 

He looked at you desperately, “I missed how beautiful you sound.” He said as he continued to toy with your cunt. 

You held back a moan, attempting to get him to work even harder for it, “Did you ever think of me?” You asked as your hand caressed the side of his face sweetly. 

He furrowed his brow, “Of course I did.” He said, as though he were offended you’d think that you did not consume his every waking thought. He leaned in closer to you, “Every hour” He said as he kissed your jaw, “Of everyday.” and he kissed your cheek, “In the late hours of the night.” as he grazed his lips against your own. His hand is still rubbing against you.  

Your fingers came to his neck, gently tracing imaginary shapes against his sensitive skin. Just how you knew it drove him crazy. “What did you think of?” You asked in an innocent voice. 

He smirked down at you, as he leaned in closer to your ear, “Do you remember what you said to me, the night before Joffrey’s wedding?” He asked as his ring finger moved from your clothes entrance to your clothed clit, making you arch your back and whine slightly. Unable to answer his question. “No?” He asked teasingly as he kissed your ear, “I didn’t forget it. You said, you wanted- My tongue.” He licked at the soft spot between your ear and your jaw, “Between your pretty thighs.” His hand gripped onto your breast, and he kissed your cheek, “To fuck you with my fingers, while I licked at you.” He said with a sloppily and wonderful kiss. “You remember that?” He asked teasingly. 

“You forgot one thing,” You said breathlessly, “I said I wanted to bite your neck right here.” You licked the sensitive spot on his neck as it bit down on his neck as you sucked on his skin gently, he groaned with pleasure as you did so. You hand roamed down his chest and stomach, until you were palming the hardening mass under his breeches, “Feels like another weakness of yours.” You said into his mouth as he bucked his hips into your hand. “Tell me, what did you do when you thought of that?” You looked into his eyes, half lidded. 

He smiled absentmindedly, “I’d go into the woods, and take myself in my hands-”

You grabbed him by his jaw, “Show me.” 

If you’d asked Podrick to do this back in King's Landing, he would have been far too bashful, but now he had been so hungry for your touch he had no real release. The request made his cock twitch in his pants.

He sat up on his knees, as he pulled out his length. His eyes never left your own as he began to stroke his throbbing cock. The sight alone made your cunt clench around nothing. His cock was already leaking precum, and his eyes were growing more and more starved as he looked down at you. 

You pulled your small clothes off, throwing them off to the side. You hand went down to your cunt. Immediately you began to toy with your clit, the slight made Podrick slump down, resting his cheek against your knee as he watched you, “Awhhhh” He moaned out watching your pretty fingers play with yourself. His stroking only fastened as you pushed two fingers into yourself. He grasped onto your thigh supporting himself up as he was mesmerized by you. He looked up at you with desperate eyes, practically drooling, “Please,” 

You pulled your two fingers out of yourself, and presented to him. To which he took in his mouth hungerly “That’s a good lad.” You said seductively as he sucked on your fingers. As you pulled them out you opened your legs just a bit more, “Go on.” You said with a nod. 

Wasting no time at all, Podrick kissed, licked, and bit his way down your sensitive thighs. Your back arched, and you through your head back as his lips finally met your aching cunt. You gripped a hand full of his short hair as his tongue fucked into you, and his nose rubbed against your clit. 

Your other hand gripped onto the snow that blanketed the ground below you, as he began to suck onto your sensitive clit and his thick fingers entered your throbbing core. You moaned out in pleasure, not caring who might hear you.

Podrick looked up from your cunt, you could see your slick covering his face, “I need you. Gods I need you so badly.” He pleaded, 

You nodded your head “Take what you need, pretty boy.” You said as you held his face as he nearly pounced on you.

He rubbed his cock, slick with precum against your wet cunt, making you both moan into one another's mouths. “Tell me,” He said into your lips, “Tell me what you want.” It surprised you. He was never so demanding, but you liked it, no you loved it. 

You held onto his neck as you licked and kissed it, “Fuck me,” You pleaded into his brusing skin, “Fuck me, my Knight.” You whispered into his ear. 

“Awwwwwhhhhh” He moaned out as he slid into you with ease. His head dropped into the crook of your neck as he bucked into you. Your hands roamed under his tunic, dragging your nails against his back. “I can’t leave you again, I can’t-” He babbled, so cunt drunk he could hardly form a sentence.

“Gods, you’re so good-” You moaned out as his cock kept hitting that soft spot inside of you. It made you grip onto his shoulders roughly, 

“I am?” He asked sweetly, seemingly not knowing the effect he had on you. His sweetness made you clench hard around him, making him hiss, “You feel better than anything I’d ever felt.” He moaned out, “I could cum right now, i-i-i just need you to cum on me first.” He said straining to keep his control. 

“Choke me-” You said trying to hold in a moan, he looked at you with worry, not wanting to hurt you, “It’s okay, I trust you, just please-” You said and he obeyed, pressing down on your throat slightly. Just enough for your pleasure to spike, and your cunt began to spasm around his cock. 

You felt your hips bucking against your will. Your heat rose, and your moans intensified. You felt the growing tension in your stomach beginning to snap as your release covered Podrick cock. 

As soon as Podrick felt the hot release covering his cock he knew he was about to be spent, “I’m gonna-gonna” He whined as he pulled out and began to use your release as the lubrication he needed to pump his seed out and onto the fallen snow that laid everywhere. 

You watched as he came, hard, there was so much of it you felt almost jealous of the snow that received it.

You looked up at Podrick, completely spent and cock drunk, “I almost forgot how marvelous you are at that.”

꒰ ୨୧ ─ ・┈ ・ ─ ・┈ ─ ・┈ ─ ・┈ ꒱꒱

NOTE: Ya know when I said this one would eat… I didn’t mean it would be good. I meant he would eat. Any whoooo enjoy. K, love you… xoxo 

Bambi

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