Cregan Stark Is A Man That Eats His Wife Out Like Its His Last Meal. He Wishes To Die Smothered Inside

Cregan Stark is a man that eats his wife out like it’s his last meal. He wishes to die smothered inside his wife’s sweet cunt and lap at her folds until his last breath. A stern Lord who simply wishes to bring pleasure to his wife at all times, whenever and wherever possible. He didn’t think he’d like it at first, and then he witnessed just how sweetly his girl reacted to his tongue. Her hips rolling against his face, her thighs clenching around his head and she squeezes the life out of him. He’d especially love when he feels the sharp stinging sensation of his hair being pulled. Each tug on the strands pushes him further into her cunt, laving away uncontrollably. For Cregan literally the sloppier and messier the better. Cregan probably gets so lost in the act that even once his wife cums on his tongue he’s still going, only stopping as he feels hands pushing harshly at his skull. He’s made his precious girl so oversensitive that with every exhale of his hot breath, she’s flinching away from his mouth. Cregan just smiles, pleased at his efforts. His wife never complains either, instead, quite the opposite.

Gwayne teaching his camp bride how to ride him…

She was a maiden before she was held hostage by the camp, and though Gwayne had thoroughly removed all traces of her maidenhead, he always fucked her in a position where he was on top. He decides it’s time for his princess to try something new. He can’t stop thinking about her being on top of him - though he won’t let any control over her disappear.

He instructs her to straddle him on night, having already eaten her cunt prior. First, he makes her slide her pussy along his length, up and down. Her cunt is wet and gushing all over his cock as she moves, her hips dragging over his lower stomach where his cock lays flat. She’s already whimpering each time the tip presses against her swollen clit, hips twitching. Then, he makes her lift her hips up and hover over him.

“Take it in your hands, yes, just like that.” She looks at him so hesitantly and he wants to drag her down on his cock immediately, though he resists. “Now, guide it in.”

He groans as she gently pushes the head of his throbbing cock inside her warm, wet walls. His grip on her hips is firm, not letting her move off his cock. “Lower yourself down, take it all in. Hmmm, that’s it. Just a bit more, there we go.”

His girl is whining at she begins to spear herself on him, his length filling her up completely. She’s only made it halfway down his cock when she begins to plead, “Gwa-Gwayne, please, it’s too much. I-I can’t take it!”

Gwayne knows he is being mean as he tightens his grip on her hips and drags her all the way down to meet his hips. The movement pushes his cock all the way inside of her and she cries out as his length prods against her cervix, garbled pleas leaving her lips. Gwayne exhales deeply at the heavenly feeling of her tight cunt clenching around him and can’t help but grin as his girl begins to slump against him, no longer able to hold her body up. She’s gasping at the fullness, her head resting on his shoulders as he sits up. The Princess thinks he has chosen to be merciful to her, only to whine loudly as the Hightower starts to drag her hips back and forth. “You will take it - for me,” he whispers into her ear.

Gwayne’s satisfaction with his precious spoil of war only grows as she soon starts to move her hips of her own volition, her fists clenching his hair as she begins to tense up. The Princess is soon gasping as her eyes roll back into her skull, her pussy spasming as her orgasm washes over her. Gwayne can’t help but cum as her walls grip him unbelievably tight, his head tossed back as he fills her. The sound of heavy breathing echoes around the tent before the man speaks,

“You did well my sweet girl. You were made for me, do you know that?”

All she can do is nod in her post-orgasmic haze, her hands subconsciously stroking at his red locks. He would never let her go, not until he’d ruined her completely.

!!!!!

Oh he stuffs her full; and now she feels so empty sometimes. Gwayne keeps his twitching cock inside her with her gummy walls clamping down throughout the night.

victory is sweet for a tormented prince

MDNI, 18+!

aemond finally taking what he believes to be rightfully his after he burns aegon, fucking his wife in front of the burned king.

they’ll need an heir now that his cock is burnt, aemond says. it’s not like he’s spent forever lusting over his brothers wife as she bore him children and stood by his side. a noblewoman should not be left unattended too, in all matters of marriage, he declares as he thrusts harshly into the queen.

aegon can only stare wide-eyed and grimace as his brother takes yet another thing from him. he makes eye contact with his sweet wife and gazes upon her teary eyes, only to watch aemond pull her body back into his chest, drawing her gaze to his own.

aemond sends a triumphant smile to his brother as he empties himself inside his good-sisters sweet cunt, whispering into the queen’s ear that she may return to her crippled husband’s side. the prince regent leaves the king’s chambers with a self-assured swagger and a feeling of vindication settling in his bones. he would get everything he deserved and he will start with the iron throne, and then he will take the pretty queen for himself.

7

exbf!jungkook x exgf!reader

“you wrap around me and you give me life… and that's why night after night i'll be lovin' you right”

summary- after seven long years of the breakup between you and jungkook, he randomly decides to show up and tries to prove that hes really a changed man.

warning/s- DUBCON. rough sex under the influence (both sides), hesitant y/n, choking, fingering, messy sex, lovebomb/confession, nutting inside (a/n also sorry for not posting for a while n this was kinda rushed soo i do apologize in advance LMAOOO)

you loudly groaned and smacked your hand around the couch to look for your phone, who the hell calls at this hour ? you took a hit of the joint youve been smoking for the past few minutes and then clicked the answer button.

“hello ??” you lazily say and roll your eyes and take another hit.

spam callers are so fucking annoying.

“y/n…” the voice says, it was deep and husky… even almost sounding like..

“huh ?!!! jungkook ??” the call abruptly ends until a loud knock can be heard from your front door. you get up confused and take a peak through the window and see your ex boyfriend leaning against the porch chair.

fuck what now

you open the door and take a second to figure out what to say.

“what are you doing here ?” you said in a monotone voice, trying to hide your interest as to why he decided to show up after so long.

“i need to talk to you y/n.. please.” he slurs gently pushing you aside to go inside your house, the smell of alcohol and expensive cologne accumulating from his body.

“jungkook..” you tried slowing his pace down and pushing his chest but he wouldnt budge.

“jungkook !! you cant just randomly show up to my house like this and expect me to welcome you with open arms !!” you dragged him to the couch and made him sit down you stood in front of him and examined his state.

“y/n you smoke now ?” he picked up the joint and tossed it back down.

“yeah that doesnt matter right now, why are you here ?”

“look.. i just wanted to say.. i just wanted to say that im sorry for everything that ive done to you in the past. i know words cant fix the damage ive done but after all this time i never forgot about you and i realized all of my faults.. i really really have changed for the better, and i hope you can let me back into your life again y/n.” he slurred, it was almost funny how desperate he sounded. like the roles of the past were now reversed.

you tilted your head, jungkook was never one to own up to his mistakes or even apologize. the sinking feeling in your stomach rises when he briefly mentions the past. but even drunk, maybe he really has changed. it has been 7 years. you stood in silence as jungkook made himself at home on your couch.

“look jungkook, its been a while im gonna have to think about it. and youre drunk, just lay there and i’ll get you some water. you can spend the night.” you softly said, damn it. he was good.

he nodded in response and you went to the kitchen to get water and meds, this also gave you time to collect your thoughts. you said you would think about forgiving him but could you really believe that he’s changed after the relationship you were in with him all those years ago ?

you put the stuff for him on the coffee table and sit down near him, trying to keep a distance. closing your eyes and opening slowly feeling the high more. you look over to jungkook and laugh. this didnt feel real at all.

he then sits up and scoots closer to you, leaning his body onto yours. his mouth was now near your ear and you could feel his hands gently massage your waist. he pulls you to his lap and you let out a low gasp from the sudden movement.

“jungkook. we really shouldnt be doing this…” you say using his thighs to try to get up. the grip he has on your waist tightens, almost bruising even. you wince and move around his lap more to try to get free.

“what do you mean ?” he lowly says he keeps one hand on your waist and massages it his other hand makes it way up to your neck and squeezes.

“you’re basically grinding on me.” he chuckled, you could feel his bulge pressing against you. you whine and dont respond. only the music playing from your tv could be heard. what situation did you just get yourself into ? he lets go and his hand slides down to your pj shorts touching the wet spot on your panties.

“s-stop.” you moan, sounding extremely unconvincing. the both of you knew that you were just saying bullshit, your legs basically open wider for him to continue further. his pushed your panties to the side and gently rubs your clit, and teases it before dipping a finger into your pussy.

“you sure you want me to stop ?” he adds another finger and speeds up, his palm stimulating your clit. you moan and grab his hand.

“…your pussy is just so fucking wet.” jungkook whispered in your ear. you know you shouldnt be enjoying this but you honestly missed him and wanted more. not that you would admit it. even though he most definitely knows by now.

“fu- all f’ you.” you mewl biting your lip, it felt too good.

“yeah all f’ me ? does it feel good baby ?” he teases nibbling your ear. you moan incoherent words and close your eyes.

“course it does just listen to how youre taking my fingers.” you could hear the wet slick sounds of his long skinny fingers going in and out of your pussy. his rings adding more to the package. you could feel yourself about to cum and jungkook slows down.

“you gonna cum ?” you whine and nod yes grinding on his hands to try to get back the lost stimulation. he removes his fingers from you and roughly shoved them into your mouth, you automatically suck and swirl you tongue them licking them clean of your juices. seems like you still have some muscle memory.

he guides you off his lap and maneuvers you face down ass up. giving him a full view of your ass, he gives a few hard smacks before you feel him move his tip up and down your pussy. already antsy and wanting more, you try to reach back and put it in yourself but he grabs your arms and pins them to your back, forcing you to arch it even more.

“uh uh youre not allowed to touch, just lay there and be a pretty little thing for me.” he says before pushing his dick inside of you. your mouth opens into a silent o and you push your hip against his.

“ah-h feels so good kookie.” jungkook leans forwards and uses your arms to thrust faster and harder. your ass bounces from the force.

“fucking missed this pussy.. missed you. ah- fuc-” he breathily whimpers, your moans synching with his.

“youre the only one that makes me feel like im enough and i- fuckkk- im sorry.. oh my- god.” he rambles and moans completely pussydrunk, your cream forming rings at the base of his cock. disappearing and reappearing with his thrusts. he lets go of you and rest his hands on your hips, guiding them towards his big cock.

“you got nothing to say y/n ?” he mocks knowing that youre fucked out, your head rests on the couch cushion and drool covers your chin. you could only moan in response, tears filled your eyes as you felt yourself about to cum.

“no-gonna cum ahh!” your eyes squeeze shut and you grip the couch, your body starts to shake and you expect jungkook to slow down. but no, this man is evil. in fact he speeds up and fucks you through your orgasm.

“jungkook.. jungkook thats too much !!” you whine and reach back to push on his abs. but he chuckles and grabs your arms again. lifting you up against his chest with one arm. the other wipes your tears and rests against your neck.

“gonna fill you up nice n deep.. wanna see that shit leaking from your tight pussy.” he squeezes your neck, if his arms werent holding you up. youd fall right down, the pleasure he was giving you was intense. he was fucking you stupid.

“fuck jungkook, please cum inside please please.” you could feel your second orgasm come when jungkooks first arrives with it. his thrusts gets sloppy but he tried keeping his pace. you were met with a warm sticky feeling inside you when jungkook gently lets you go.

“so pretty all filled up with my cum baby.” he coos and drags his leaking cum back inside you with his fingers. you whined from the overstimulation and he laughed in response. making sure all of it went back inside you, he leans next to your figure and brings you into the little spoon position.

“i love you so much y/n i promise to never hurt you again.” he kisses the top of your head and cuddles into you tighter. you dont respond and just lay back feeling your high come down. this was gonna be a long and hard night of thinking, who the fuck did you let back into your life ?

Hii

I was thinking about fem! Targaryen who was sent to fight with Guyane and Criston.

She grow up in Oldtown with Gwayne and they fell in love. She’s supposed to marry Aemond before the war and was kinda closed with him ( he’s very possessive of her)

So it happens before Rook’s Rest, you know when they are camping in the wood, she want to wash herself in a river and of course grayne make sure that no one is looking her but then they start their little business and Criston see them.

The battle happend (she also had a dragon) but when they come back everyone know for her and Gwayne, coz you know Criston says everything to the queen…

Alicent and Aemond are against them but when Aegon wakes up he approved their love as a revenge against Aemond 👀

Down by the River

- Summary: After a forgotten betrothal with Aemond, you found love and comfort in your uncle's arms.

- Paring: niece!reader/Gwayne Hightower

- Note: For more of my works, visit my blog. The list is pinned to the top.

- Raring: Explicit 18+

- Word count: 4 000+

- Tag(s): @sachaa-ff @deniixlovezelda @duck-duck-goose2 @aadu2173 @holdingforgeneralhugs

The air around you is filled with the scent of pine and earth, the quiet hum of nature occasionally broken by the distant rustle of your encampment as soldiers and servants bustle about. The shadows of the surrounding forest stretch long, casting a serene gloom that wraps around you like a cloak. It's a rare moment of solitude, a brief escape from the weight of your lineage and the battles that loom on the horizon.

You make your way toward the river, the cool breeze tugging gently at the loose strands of your hair, which falls freely around your shoulders. The forest whispers in the language of rustling leaves and the distant call of a nightbird, and you savor the rare, quiet moment to yourself. Grey Ghost is near, ever watchful, his presence in the skies above comforting in its familiarity.

The river comes into view, its waters reflecting the dappled light of the fading sun, a shimmering ribbon cutting through the dense green of the trees. You step closer, the soft earth giving way beneath your boots. A sigh escapes your lips as you begin to shed your dragon riding attire, the leather and metal falling away piece by piece until you stand at the water's edge, clad in nothing but the simple shift you wear beneath.

The river is cold as you dip your toes into the shallows, the chill sending a pleasant shiver up your spine. Slowly, you wade in, feeling the water rise up your legs, cool and cleansing. The shift clings to your body as you move deeper, the fabric becoming almost weightless in the water. You close your eyes, tilting your head back, allowing the river to wash away the grime of travel and the tension that knots your muscles.

"Enjoying yourself, my lady?" The voice is familiar, laced with a teasing warmth that pulls a smile from your lips even before you open your eyes.

You turn your head, seeing Gwayne standing at the riverbank, his arms crossed casually over his chest, a knowing smirk playing on his lips. His eyes, the color of storm clouds on the horizon, linger on you with an intensity that sends a different kind of shiver through your body. There's an easy confidence in his posture, but beneath it, you sense the tension that coils between the two of you, always simmering, always waiting.

"I was, until you decided to interrupt," you reply, your voice carrying a playful edge as you tread water, your shift billowing around you like a second skin.

Gwayne chuckles, the sound rich and low, as he steps closer to the water's edge, his boots sinking slightly into the soft mud. "Then perhaps I should leave you to it," he says, though he makes no move to turn away, his gaze never straying from you.

"And let you miss the sight of me like this?" you counter, raising an eyebrow as you glide a little closer to him, the water lapping softly at your waist. "That hardly seems fair."

He kneels by the bank, close enough now that you can see the glint in his eyes, the way his lips quirk up at the corners. "Fairness has never been our strong suit, has it?" he replies, his tone lighter now, but his words carry the weight of truth between you.

You tilt your head, studying him, the sharp lines of his face softened by the fading light. There's something about him that has always drawn you in, something beyond the bonds of duty and family. A fire that burns as fiercely as your own, a desire that matches yours in its intensity.

"And what will you do while I bathe, Ser Gwayne?" you ask, letting the title roll off your tongue, lacing it with just enough mockery to make him smile. "Stand guard? Ensure no one stumbles upon me?"

He grins, his teeth flashing white in the twilight. "Of course. Someone must keep watch over you, lest the gods themselves be tempted by such a sight."

You laugh softly, the sound carrying over the water, and shake your head. "You always did have a way with words, Gwayne."

Before he can respond, you begin to wade back toward the shore, your movements slow and deliberate, water streaming off your body as you emerge from the river. The air is cool against your skin, but the heat in Gwayne's gaze more than compensates for the chill. His breath catches slightly as you approach him, the shift clinging to your form, leaving little to the imagination.

You stand before him, the last rays of the sun catching in your hair, casting a golden halo around you. He looks up at you, and for a moment, neither of you speaks, the tension between you crackling like a storm about to break.

Then, without a word, you kneel before him, your fingers brushing against the rough fabric of his tunic as you lean in to kiss him. It's a soft kiss, almost chaste, but there's nothing innocent about the way your lips linger on his, about the way you taste him as if he were the very air you breathe.

"Join me," you murmur against his lips, your voice a soft plea that you know he cannot resist.

For a moment, he hesitates, his hands hovering over your shoulders as if he's unsure whether to pull you closer or push you away. But then, with a low growl, he gives in, his hands tangling in your wet hair as he deepens the kiss, pulling you against him with a fervor that makes your heart race.

He pulls back just enough to look into your eyes, his expression fierce, his breathing ragged. "You're going to be the death of me, you know that?" he says, but there's no anger in his voice, only a hunger that mirrors your own.

"Then we shall die together," you whisper back, your hands working to undo the fastenings of his tunic, the feel of his skin warm and solid beneath your fingers.

Gwayne rises with you, his movements quick and sure as he shrugs off his clothes, his eyes never leaving yours. The moment his body touches the water, you see the tension melt away, replaced by something deeper, something that has been building between you for longer than either of you care to admit.

He steps closer, the water rippling around you both as he pulls you into his arms. The kiss you share now is different, slow and deliberate, a promise of what is to come. The river swirls around you, cool and calming, but the heat between you is undeniable, consuming.

In this moment, with the war hanging and the dragons stirring, nothing else matters but the man before you, the way his hands trace the curves of your body, the way he breathes your name like a prayer.

Gwayne pulls you closer, his hands firm against your waist as he draws you into him, the water lapping gently at your entwined bodies. The river is cool, but the heat between you is a fire that cannot be quenched, a blaze that has been smoldering for far too long. His lips find yours again, and the kiss is all-consuming, his desire mingling with your own as you lose yourself in the moment.

His breath is hot against your skin as he murmurs your name, the sound of it sending a thrill through your body. The world narrows down to just the two of you, the press of his body against yours, the feel of the water swirling around your legs, and the intoxicating sensation of his touch.

The river’s shallows cradle you as Gwayne pulls you down with him, the weight of his body over yours a comforting anchor in the midst of the chaos that surrounds your lives. Every touch is laden with a history of stolen glances, whispered secrets, and unspoken longing. As you join, the world seems to fall away, leaving nothing but the raw intensity of your connection. 

Your breath comes in soft gasps as you cling to him, your fingers digging into his shoulders, and he responds in kind, his hands sliding along your sides, his grip firm yet reverent. The river murmurs around you, the sound a gentle lullaby, as you move together, each moment a dance of passion and desperation, as if you could both ward off the impending doom by holding each other tighter, by pouring all the love and fear and hope you have into this single, sacred act.

Gwayne's lips brush against your neck, your jaw, your mouth, as if he cannot get enough of you, as if this is the only thing that has ever mattered. You respond in kind, your kisses fierce and desperate, trying to convey all that you feel for him, all that you cannot say aloud. You know this moment cannot last forever, but right now, with him holding you, it feels like it could.

“I love you,” he breathes against your skin, the words barely more than a whisper, but the weight of them is undeniable, as if he is baring his very soul to you.

Your heart swells with the force of your emotions, your own reply caught in your throat as you press your lips to his, letting the kiss speak for you. You love him too, more than you can ever express, more than you should, given the circumstances, but here, in this moment, nothing else matters.

The river flows around you, carrying away the sounds of the camp, the war, the world. For now, there is only the two of you, locked in this dance, this act of love that transcends the boundaries of duty and loyalty.

Criston Cole stands at the edge of the camp, his sharp gaze scanning the treeline. The night is cool, the air is still heavy with the scent of pine and earth, but it does little to calm the storm that rages within him. He had noticed your absence, as well as Gwayne’s, and though he had no real reason to suspect anything amiss, a strange unease had settled in his gut.

Needing to clear his head, Criston had left the camp, telling himself that a walk would do him good. But as he wandered through the trees, his instincts sharpened by years of battle, he found himself following the path you had taken earlier. He had not intended to spy, but something—call it intuition—had led him this way.

The sound of the river reaches him first, a soft, bubbling murmur that seems almost peaceful in the quiet of the night. But as he draws nearer, his eyes narrow, and he sees the silhouettes by the water’s edge. He freezes, the breath catching in his throat as he recognizes you, entwined with Gwayne, your bodies moving together in the shallows of the river.

For a moment, Criston can only stare, disbelief and anger warring within him. His hand tightens around the hilt of his sword, but he does not draw it. Instead, his jaw clenches, and his eyes burn with a fury that he struggles to contain. He had suspected something between the two of you, but to see it confirmed like this, in the open, makes his blood boil.

His thoughts turn dark as he imagines the consequences of this liaison. The Dowager Queen must be informed, of course. Your mother, Alicent, who has always been so careful, so calculating—what would she think of her daughter’s reckless behavior? And Gwayne, his own blood, betraying their cause with this forbidden affair?

But Criston does not approach. He knows that confronting you now would achieve nothing but chaos. Instead, he turns on his heel, his boots grinding into the earth as he steps back into the shadows, his mind already turning to what must be done. 

As he walks away, the image of you and Gwayne remains burned into his mind, fueling his anger. He knows what he must do, but it does not make the task any easier. There will be a reckoning for this, and Criston Cole will see to it that the Dowager Queen knows every sordid detail.

The night closes in around him as he returns to camp, his steps heavy with the burden of the knowledge he now carries. In his heart, he knows this will change everything. The war may be fought on the battlefield, but the true battles, the ones that will decide the fate of the realm, are fought in the shadows, where loyalty and betrayal are two sides of the same coin.

Criston breathes in deeply, the cold air doing little to quell the fire inside him. He must remain calm, focused. The Dowager Queen must know, and then… then they will see what must be done.

But as he walks away from the river, the sound of your laughter, soft and joyful, echoes in his ears, a reminder of the happiness you have found, however fleeting it might be. And though Criston does not allow himself to think on it for long, a small part of him—buried deep beneath his duty and his anger—wonders if he is about to destroy something that might have been beautiful.

The morning sun rises over Rook’s Rest, and the men stand ready, swords drawn and shields raised, their eyes darting nervously to the sky. There’s a sense of foreboding, an unspoken understanding that today could be their last. You stand with them, Grey Ghost nearby, his massive form blending with the morning mist that clings to the ground.

Criston Cole, ever the stalwart commander, paces before his men, his expression grim as he surveys the scene. He gives you a brief nod, a signal that the time is near. You can see the anticipation in his eyes, the way his hand rests on the hilt of his sword, ready to give the order that will set everything in motion.

The roar of dragon wings beats above, and your heart quickens as you turn your gaze to the sky. Rhaenys Targaryen, the Queen Who Never Was, appears on Meleys, her dragon a brilliant scarlet against the pale blue of the morning. The soldiers around you shift uneasily, fear evident in their eyes as Meleys descends, flames already curling from her jaws.

"Hold the line!" Cole shouts, his voice cutting through the rising panic as Meleys sweeps low, releasing a torrent of fire that engulfs the front lines. The screams of burning men fill the air, and the acrid smell of charred flesh assaults your senses. But you remain steady, your hand gripping the reins tightly as Grey Ghost growls low in his throat, ready to leap into action.

The signal comes—a sharp, commanding gesture from Cole—and you meet Aemond’s gaze across the battlefield. His eye, cold and calculating, locks with yours, and a shiver runs down your spine. There’s something in his gaze, something dark and possessive that chills you to your core. But you don’t have time to dwell on it as you both prepare to launch your attack.

Grey Ghost takes to the sky with a powerful surge, and you feel the familiar rush of wind against your face as you rise above the battlefield. Aemond is beside you on Vhagar, his expression a mask of grim determination. For a moment, the two of you soar together, a united front against Rhaenys and Meleys. But the unity is fleeting, as Aemond’s gaze flicks toward you, his lips curling into a smile that is more threat than comfort.

Then, out of nowhere, a bright golden streak cuts through the sky. Your heart lurches as you recognize Sunfyre and, atop him, your eldest brother, Aegon, his armor glinting in the sunlight as he charges into the fray. He’s come from King’s Landing, against all expectations, to fight alongside you. Your chest tightens with a mixture of fear and hope as you cry out his name.

“Aegon!”

Without thinking, you urge Grey Ghost to follow Sunfyre, to join your brother in his attack on Meleys. Grey Ghost answers your command with a powerful dive, his wings slicing through the air as you race toward Aegon. But behind you, Aemond’s voice rings out, sharp and furious.

“Get back!” he shouts, his tone laced with authority and anger, but you don’t listen. You can’t. Not when Aegon is here, risking everything. Not when you see a chance to end this battle, to save him.

Sunfyre clashes with Meleys in a burst of fire and fury, the golden dragon tearing at the scarlet scales of the older beast with a ferocity that takes your breath away. You can see Aegon, his face set in a grimace of determination as he fights to bring down Rhaenys. Meleys roars, thrashing against the combined assault of Sunfyre and Grey Ghost, and for a moment, it seems like the battle might be yours.

But then, out of the corner of your eye, you see Vhagar, and your heart freezes. Aemond’s dragon, vast and ancient, dives toward the fray, and there is no mistaking the deadly intent in her descent. Aemond is not coming to support you—he’s coming to destroy.

“No!” you scream, but your voice is lost in the chaos as Vhagar’s flames engulf Sunfyre and Aegon. The world seems to slow as you watch in horror, the golden dragon shrieking in agony as fire consumes him. Aegon’s screams echo in your ears, a sound you will never forget, as Sunfyre, ablaze and dying, spirals downward, crashing into the earth with a force that shakes the ground beneath you.

The shock of it rips through you, and for a moment, everything goes silent. Rhaenys takes the chance to flee, and Meleys, despite her injuries, manages to pull away from the wreckage of the battle, disappearing into the clouds. You barely notice, your eyes locked on the smoking crater where Sunfyre has fallen, where your brother lies.

“Aegon!” you scream again, the word tearing from your throat, raw and filled with pain as you urge Grey Ghost to dive toward the crash site. The wind roars in your ears, the ground rushing up to meet you, but all you can think of is your brother, of the fire, of the betrayal.

But Grey Ghost pulls up short, his instincts overriding your command as he veers away from the deadly heat. Your scream dies in your throat, choked by the smoke and the realization that there’s nothing you can do, nothing but watch as the flames consume what’s left of Aegon and Sunfyre.

You clutch Grey Ghost’s reins, your hands trembling, as the dragon hovers above the wreckage. Aemond circles above you, Vhagar’s massive wings casting a shadow over the battlefield, and you know, with a sickening certainty, that this was his doing. That he had chosen this, chosen to burn your brother rather than risk him taking the glory of the kill.

Tears sting your eyes as you look up at Aemond, his expression unreadable as he watches the devastation below. There’s no regret in his gaze, only the cold satisfaction of victory, and it makes your blood run cold.

“Why?” you choke out, your voice barely more than a whisper, lost to the winds as you struggle to comprehend what has just happened. But there is no answer, only the roar of the dragons and the distant cries of the dying.

Grey Ghost pulls you higher, away from the wreckage, away from the unbearable heat, and you realize with a cold, sinking feeling that you are retreating. Rhaenys is gone, Aegon is broken, and the battle—this terrible, bloody battle—is over.

But it is not victory that fills your heart. It is grief, and rage, and a deep, aching sorrow that you know will never fade.

You scream Aegon’s name one last time, a sound of pure anguish that echoes across the battlefield, carried by the winds to where the dead lie in smoldering ruins. And as Grey Ghost bears you away from the carnage, you know that nothing will ever be the same again.

The air in the Red Keep is festers with the scent of burnt flesh and the acrid sting of ash as you stand by Aegon's bedside, your fingers entwined with his charred hand. The once-proud Dragon King, your elder brother, now lies shattered before you. His silver hair, once a symbol of the Targaryen lineage, is singed away in patches, leaving his scalp raw and exposed. His breathing is labored, each inhale a painful rasp that reverberates through the silent chamber.

You try to keep your composure, but the sight of him like this—so broken, so helpless—breaks the dam within you. Hot tears spill down your cheeks as you lean closer, pressing your forehead against his cold, clammy skin. "Aegon," you whisper, your voice cracking. "Please... stay with us."

Beside you, your mother, Dowager Queen Alicent, stands rigid, her face a mask of stoic grief. Her eyes, however, betray her sorrow, glistening with unshed tears as she looks down at her firstborn son. Aemond, your elder brother, looms at the foot of the bed, his single eye sharp and calculating, though his expression remains impassive. There is a distance between you now, a chasm that has only grown wider with time. He is no longer the boy who once protected you, but a man consumed by his own ambition and possessiveness.

Aegon stirs at the sound, a pained groan escaping his cracked lips, but he doesn't wake.

You can’t bear to stay any longer. The weight of it all is too much. Your heart feels like it’s being squeezed in a vice, and you can’t breathe in this room any longer. Slowly, you release Aegon's hand and step back. "I need some air," you murmur, your voice hoarse.

Alicent reaches out to you, her fingers brushing your arm in a silent plea to stay, but you shake your head. "I’ll return soon," you promise, though even you aren’t sure you can keep that vow. With one last glance at Aegon's broken form, you turn and leave the chamber, the heavy door closing behind you with a soft thud.

Inside Aegon's chamber, a heavy silence lingers after your departure. Alicent stands at the bedside, her hands clasped together in a desperate prayer. Aemond remains at the foot of the bed, his eye fixed on his brother with a cold, calculating gaze. It is then that Ser Criston Cole, the Lord Commander of the Kingsguard, enters the room, his expression grave as he looks between the Queen and her son.

"Your Grace," he begins, his tone measured and careful. "I must speak with you both. It concerns your daughter and Ser Gwayne."

Alicent's head snaps up, her brows knitting together in concern. "What is it, Ser Criston? Speak plainly."

Cole hesitates for a moment, his eyes flickering to Aemond before settling on Alicent. "I regret to inform you that I witnessed something earlier... in the woods near Rook's Rest. Princess Y/N and Ser Gwayne were... engaged in an intimate act."

The words hang in the air, heavy with implication. Alicent's face drains of color, her hands trembling slightly as she grips the edge of the bed. Aemond, on the other hand, goes deathly still, his eye narrowing into a slit as fury coils within him like a serpent ready to strike.

"Are you certain?" Alicent's voice wavers, though she already knows the answer. Ser Criston would not lie about such a matter.

Cole nods, his face grim. "I saw them with my own eyes, Your Grace. There is no doubt."

Aemond's hands clench into fists at his sides, his knuckles white with the force of his anger. "She was meant to be mine," he hisses, his voice low and dangerous. "She was promised to me."

Alicent looks at her son, her eyes wide with fear. "Aemond, please—"

But before she can finish, a weak, rasping voice cuts through the tension like a knife. "No."

Aegon's voice, barely a whisper, startles them all. His eyes, bloodshot and filled with pain, open just enough to focus on his younger brother. There is a clarity in his gaze, a sharpness that wasn't there before. He draws a shuddering breath and speaks again, louder this time, though the effort clearly costs him.

"Y/N... will marry... Gwayne."

The declaration hangs in the air, and for a moment, no one speaks. Aemond stares at Aegon in disbelief, his mouth opening and closing as he struggles to process the words. Alicent looks between her sons, horror dawning in her eyes.

"Aegon," Aemond begins, his voice trembling with barely restrained fury. "You cannot—"

But Aegon only smiles—a cruel, vengeful twist of his lips that sends a chill down Aemond's spine. He knows, in that moment, that this is Aegon's retribution, his way of striking back at the brother who attempted to take his life at Rook's Rest. 

Aegon, broken as he is, still has the power to take what Aemond desires most.

And he has.

Aemond’s gaze flickers to his mother, whose face is a mask of anguish, and then back to Aegon, who closes his eyes once more, his strength spent. There is no room for argument, no room for defiance. Aegon has made his will known.

Blessing in Disguise

Abstract: A war-torn Gwayne is presented with an opportunity when the dragon of a Targaryen Princess is shot down near his camp. A once devout follower of his Knight's oath, Gwayne no longer sees much point when Criston Cole gifts him Princess, his only requirement being to keep her alive. The Hightower Knight has suppressed his own urges for so long, but now, he no longer wishes to, not when he's been given a sweet Princess just for himself.

Warnings: Gwyane is not nice in this, future dub-con/non-con, abuse of power, prisoner/captor dynamics, manky Criston Cole, future 18+ (Not proof read)

Part 2: here

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Blessing in Disguise (2)

Abstract: A war-torn Gwayne is presented with an opportunity when the dragon of a Targaryen Princess is shot down near his camp. A once devo

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Fighting on the front lines of a war was incredibly taxing, more so for a highborn knight with expectations placed on him that felt insurmountable, and a self-deprecating Hand of the King as a companion. Gwayne found spending each day with Ser Criston Cole brought him closer to understanding just why and how the former commander had ended up in such an illustrious position, for no one but his rotten nephew could find a kindred spirit in such a person. The Hightower rode with the army as they acquired more allies, his spirit withering until one day, he was presented with a gift. He thinks he must be dreaming when one day, a princess falls from the sky.

He doesn’t recognise the girl at first, her body a crumped heap on top of a blistered and broken dragon, but it seems the Hand beside him does.

“Seize the princess immediately,” Cole barks, “restrain her and slay the beast of hers.”

Gwayne recalls the ear-splitting screech that her dragon had let out just moments ago as it was hit by the scorpion, the silver body falling rapidly to the ground with its rider still attached. A dragon was a sacred creature and yet, in times of war, nothing could be protected in such a way any longer. The true prize for the army wasn’t the death of the dragon, but the capture of its rider. The only daughter of the Pretender Queen was more valuable to the Greens than the entirety of the Crownlands, for nothing was more precious to Rhaenyra than her daughter.

Gwayne watches as the soldiers handle the Princess, her frame grappled and manoeuvred in ways unbecoming of a lady. The girl doesn't even fight back, still unconscious as her body is slung over the back of a horse. The Hightower wishes to wipe the smug smile off Cole's face as he takes stock of his newest prize, but says nothing as the party ride back to their camp. Gwayne watches her frame jostle with each movement from the horse, not missing the leering gazes sent to the Princess from the other riders.

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"Here lies the daughter of the whore of dragonstone! Her mother is a traitor to the realm and her daughter shall receive the full force of our army, as our rightful King wishes," Criston Cole cries, his voice echoing across the camp. Low mumbles echo across the still soldiers, various expressions crossing their faces. "The Princess shall remain here in our camp as our prisoner until the whore heels to our forces." At his decree, Gwayne takes stock of the soldiers exchanging worried glances - to take the Princess prisoner would incite the fury of the Black's dragons. And yet, he witnesses men smirk and mutter to their companions, believing the Princess would be passed around like a common whore for their pleasure.

His curt voice captures the camp's attention, "And what of their forces, my Lord Hand? Do you think us invincible against the fury of a dragon?" All attention turns to Gwayne, and Criston can barely contain his rage at the clear challenge to his authority.

"If the whore wishes her daughter to live then she will consider her actions," says the Dornish man smugly. The commander is pulled aside harshly by the Hightower knight, avoiding the prying eyes and ears of the camp. The soldiers were all too aware of the discord between the pair, for all had been subject to their quarrels.

"You cannot treat a Princess of the realm as a common prisoner, no matter the situation Cole," Gwayne grits out, tone exasperated as he speaks to the commander like a child. He watches the commander ponder his words silently for a moment. It is only when those brown eyes look up at him sparkling with mischief does Gwayne realise he may have fucked up.

"If you hold the girl in such high regard, then you may take her."

Criston could laugh at the expression that crosses the redheads face, the knight stunned into silence for once in his life. It's his sputtering questioning that prompts the Lord Hand to speak once more.

"She will stay by your side as your ward, your spoil, captive - whatever you wish to call it. Do what you wish with her, have your fun, just keep her alive." The Hightower does not miss the sinister insinuation from the other man, his jaw gritting at the notion, ignoring the twitch of his cock at the idea of the Princess under him. Gwayne goes to rebuke Cole's offer, only to witness him quickly turn and leave. He watches silently as Cole mutters to a soldier guarding the still unconscious Princess, motioning to Gwayne's own tent. Fuck. What was he meant to do with a captive Princess for the remainder of the war, he thinks. Surely her family would come for her.

And yet, the sinister, war-trodden part of Gwayne's psyche begins to consider the opportunity presented to him: a Princess practically given to him. He had been so lonely during their long campaign, so bereft with the losses his army had faced. Each and every day he watched as more men died needlessly for sordid family infighting, their bodies burnt to unrecognisable heaps. With each death, he felt his soul harden, or maybe it was just slowly dissapearing altogether. He felt he cared for little anymore, not truly. He kept his gentlemanly manners and yet, each interaction felt false and like a pantomime. As much as he wished to deny it, the Hightower would be lying to the Seven if he said he had not missed the warmth of female company that he denied when he took his oath. He was still a man.

As Gwayne watches the body of the Princess disappear into his tent, he wonders if the wretched Kingmaker had given him a blessing in disguise : A sweet Princess just for him.

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(Planning on writing a few more parts of this, but this is a longer version of a series of asks I submitted to @writingsofwesteros so please enjoy! Dark Gwayne is so enjoyable to conceptualise and truly I think he has so much potential.)