𝒟𝓇𝑒𝒶𝓂𝓁𝒶𝓃𝒹

The day prior, a small party had arrived with careful instructions from his sister the queen—she had sent her youngest son Daeron, who was eight of age now, to ward in Oldtown. It seemed that for all its coin and privileges, the capital was not the most salubrious environment for boys to be raised into young men, and thus had sent her last son to her uncle in the hopes of salvaging his education and values.

Gwayne was rather proud and looking forward to participating in his nephew’s education, however he wondered how it related to you. As the second child of King Viserys, a daughter brought into this world on the very day Queen Aemma had passed on, you had come as an escort to young Daeron, the boy’s dragon being too small to be ridden. 

“I am to remain here in Oldtown and rely on House Hightower to find a husband, and I am sure my lord will have a perfect suggestion,” you said sarcastically, turning to his uncle again. “Your eldest son is still unwed, is he not?”

Hobert smiled placidly. “Indeed,” he confirmed. Gwayne understood then and there, the true purpose of your coming here. While he understood the ways of noble and royal arranged marriages, he could imagine how difficult being sent away from your home without a say was, and he regretted that you had not been informed until after the arrangement had been made.

“I will not let the Lord Hand choose my husband,” you said firmly before turning on your heels and leaving the room. 

At his desk, Hobert sighed. “She is the dragon’s daughter indeed,” he said, a polite phrasing for the headache he no doubt expected.

“Do not worry, uncle, I shall take it upon myself to make sure the matter is resolved without any more fuss,” Gwayne said amicably. “Father will be satisfied.”

While you had reacted in anger in Lord Hobert’s sitting room, the truth of the matter was grief. Since your birth you had never quite found your place in King’s Landing, or within your own family. For the king, you represented the passing of his wife, and for Alicent, you were the shadow of the queen that had preceded her. For your sister Rhaenyra, even though she cherished you, you were the walking reminder that your mother had died for a lost cause.

Some days you wondered what your life would have been like if you’d been a son. On the rare occasions you allowed yourself to contemplate it, you knew there was only one path your life could have taken. You would have been made Prince of Dragonstone, and would have likely been betrothed to a daughter from House Velaryon from a young age. In those moments of contemplation you realized the choice wouldn’t have been ours, as your own parents’ marriage had been arranged.

Son or daughter, you were submitted to the will of the crown, under the weight of obligation.

However the Gods had seen it fit to have you born a girl, and now that you had recently come of age and the queen was seemingly eager to use you as leverage and to keep you under her influence by sending you to wed one of her kin. Upon departure you had not understood you would not only escort your youngest half-sibling, but would only return once wed.

For near a fortnight you lived with your newly discovered fate, until you came to the conclusion that resisting it would be your undoing. The choice was between acceptance and madness, and the third option was inconceivable to you—to go against your father’s order and defy the very customs by which you lived.

One morning after prayer, you were strolling the gardens and mentally going through a letter you would later write to him, when you came across Ser Gwayne. It almost seemed to you as though he was waiting for you at the end of an alley, but you dismissed the thought.

“Ser Gwayne,” you greeted politely, surprised when he fell into step with you, arms crossed behind his back primly.

“I have been wanting to speak with you, princess,” he said amicably—he had meant to come to you sooner, but he had not wanted to provoke your anger further. “I wanted to assure you, I was not aware of my father’s agreement with my uncle.”

Seemingly surprised, you looked at him intently before answering, and he hoped you could see he was being genuine. “I believe you,” you said, perhaps more curtly than you ought to, but you did not entirely trust his intentions.

“While my situation was much different than yours, I can sympathize,” he offered, hoping you would be receptive to his sympathy.

“How so?” you inquired, slightly incredulous. 

“I was very much a young boy when my father came to King’s Landing to serve King Jaehaerys, and took my mother and sister with him, but chose to leave me in my uncle’s care,” he explained, and while you had known of his situation, it was still discomforting to hear it from him. “I was never given any sort of explanation as to the reason, nor any choice.”

“I am sorry,” you replied.

Ser Gwayne gave you a small smile, and the two of you walked in silence for a moment, as though he was expecting you to speak again. In the end, you proved him right. “I suppose you could not petition the queen or the hand to retract their arrangement with your uncle,” you said.

He tilted his head towards the sky slightly, looking up at the looming shadow of the Hightower, and gave you a self-deprecating smile. 

“I am afraid not. It is beyond the scope of my influence,” he replied, trying not to sound too bitter. “In other matters, I would have gladly been your champion.”

While he seldom spoke of it, and instead centered himself around his duties here, serving his uncle and training young squires sent by the Hightower’s bannermen, he sometimes wished for a more prominent role. Oldtown might have been the voice of the faith and the richest city in the realm, he longed to be trusted and influential, to make his own mark in the world.

“There isn’t much for me to do, but make peace with the situation, then,” you continued, sounding resigned and defeated more than truly convinced. “I have written to my father, and it is his definite wish that I find a good match here. So I shall obey my king. Even though I suspect the queen whispered the idea into his ear.”

At that Ser Gwayne gave you another pained smile, and you realized that perhaps, you had been harsh with your tone and implication. “My apologies, she is your sister,” you were quick to add.

“Do not trouble yourself,” he reassured you—he might have been the queen’s brother, he knew of the ruthless reality of court. “It is a political calculation, that is certain. Bonds between families are what make the realm.”

With another sigh, you raised your eyes to the blue sky and the flocks of seagulls circling overhead, coming from the bay of Whispering Sound. It was a clear day with a gentle sun, one you intended to spend contemplating the choices offered to you.

“Whether to a Hightower or another lord, I was always to be married for political influence, I have known that fact since I was a child,” you said bitterly.

“We must all serve in the way our birth dictates,” Gwayne replied in turn, this time sounding more bitter than he was comfortable with. 

At that you seemed to frown, but quickly smoothed your features over elegantly. “Ser Ormund is a logical match,” you told him then, almost regretfully—part of you loathed to agree with the Hand’s plan, out of pure spite. “What can you tell me of his character? After all, who would know him better than his cousin.”

For some reason he could not comprehend at that moment, Gwayne was not entirely comfortable with the question, but still answered as honestly as he could. “We are brothers, in all but blood,” he explained. “He is intelligent and confident in himself. Pious, but a touch arrogant at times, I must admit.”

His answer seemed to satisfy you. “Would he make a good match, tell me, Ser Gwayne?” you inquired.

Gwayne gave you a small nod, a pang of discomfort in his chest. “An excellent one.”

Weeks went on leisurely, the weather of the Reach agreeing with you. The city was far more agreeable than the capital, and you enjoyed being out of the queen’s scrutiny, even though you still felt her eyes through those of her uncle.

All were anxious for a decision on your part, even though it seemed everyone’s understanding that you would eventually choose Ser Ormund, and you loathed that the choice you were given was only an illusion.

While Ser Ormund appeared to be the man his cousin described, you could not bring yourself to accept a betrothal. For weeks you observed him, quickly dismayed by the way he showed Daeron so little patience nor interest. However it seemed Ser Gwayne had taken to him as an older sibling would. 

The young man took pride in having a new wardrobe made for him in the Hightower colors, and if not for the color or their hair, the two of them looked so alike they could have been brothers, or father and son. They spent their mornings in the training yard, and when the summer sun became too bright in the afternoons, retreated to the library where they studied. 

Ser Gwayne introduced him to poetry and ballads, and it seemed Daeron manifested an interest in music and playing the lute, which his cousin encouraged. 

Whether it was what you had seen of his character or the spirit of spite very much alive in you, you slowly came to a decision regarding Ser Gwayne. One early evening you asked him to your chambers, having prepared arguments as one would in a negotiation. You were being forced into a political match, therefore you would treat it as an entirely political matter. 

When Gwayne entered your chambers, he noticed you were dressed for the night already, with a long nightgown that grazed the floor and an embroidered robe in the Targaryen colors, fastened at the waist. 

It was later than was appropriate for a man to pay a call on a young woman, but he had been too curious to resist your unusual request.

“I have a proposal,” you said rather decidedly before he could speak. “I thought we could serve each other’s interests.”

Gwayne was taken aback by your offer, unsure what it was supposed to entail. “You are the queen’s brother, and I am the king’s daughter,” you observed, to which he nodded. “As such, you have the queen’s ear, to some extent, as much as I have the king’s.”

Understanding dawned on him, a prickling at the back of his neck at how bold you were being. He took a step forward, tilting his head in interest. “Indeed.”

At that, your polite smile grew into a delighted grin. “Marriage is a consolidation of assets, would you not say?” you asked, slightly breathless. 

“I would say,” he replied, slightly amazed at your offer. “Each on our own we might not have much influence, but together we will have a stronger voice.”

Since the very day he had interrupted your conversation with his uncle, he had wondered how to turn the situation to his advantage—you were a beautiful young woman, with a countenance and temperament he could see himself enjoying in private, and you could easily be the way to advance himself. 

After all, he was only the son of a second son, and stood to inherit very little but a small sum of money. He was a knight of impeccable reputation, which brought him pride, but he owned no castle and land. All he had was his good name and his reputation on the tourney field, but with you as his wife, he could hope for more for himself, but also any children you would bear him.

“Before we agree to this, I shall need some guarantees,” you said, looking awfully serious.

“Such as?” he asked. 

A heavy pause settled over you, then, slowly, your eyes travelled from his face down to his trousers, then up again until you were holding his gaze straight-on. “I will not spend my life tied to a man whose touch I cannot stand and whose sight I cannot bear,” you said severely, which made him swallow his chuckle.

Still, he found himself utterly charmed by your forwardness. “Have you made the same proposal to my cousin?” he answered, biting his lip to restrain his smile.

“I will, if you are to disappoint,” you said in a flat tone, your expression impassive, but he thought he saw a glint of amusement in your eyes.

“Pray tell, how shall I prove myself to you, princess?” he inquired, standing up straighter.

Once more your gaze travelled from his handsome face to the hem of his doublet, which fell mid-thighs, yet slower. You allowed your eyes to trace the black laces at the front which were undone at the base of his throat, making your meaning as clear as could be.

“Show me,” you replied, quieter, almost insecure, although you feared he would refuse.

Without a word he complied, the prickle of anticipation at the back of his neck returning tenfold, spreading down his spine. His fingers came to undo the leather lace holding his dark green doublet closed, pulling it off his shoulders and dropping it to the ground carelessly. His eyes keeping track of the move of emotions on your face, he then pulled his gray linen shirt over his head.

Watching avidly as he revealed himself piece by piece, you were delighted by his alabaster skin, spattered with freckles at his chest and stomach. He was lean but obviously strong, and you knew him agile from the training field. “Do I prove satisfactory so far?” he asked.

“Yes,” you said, briefly glancing up.

Almost on instinct, you reached up and settled your palm over his heart, marvelling at how warm he was, and how soft the nearly hairless skin was. “Have you seen enough or must I convince you?” he inquired.

He seemed to almost mourn it when you let your hand drop away. “It is not quite enough I’m afraid.”

“Might I be allowed to request the same of you? Marriages are built on exchange after all,” he suggested, and he was so polite about it, you were inclined to accept. 

With a slight smile, you untied your robe and removed it, draping it over the back of a chair before taking a few steps around the room, closer to the hearth. In the soft light of the fire, the shadow of your curves stood up through your nightgown. 

“I must leave some element of mystery for you to uncover in due time,” you said.

“Do men not carry mystery?” he asked, a touch of wonder to his tone, his eyes following the play of light and shadow, the movement of your hips and the dips of your waist through the thin cotton. The buzzing warmth in his spine melted to heat, permeating his entire abdomen and settling low in his core.

“For all the poetry men have written about the female form, I would say we have the advantage in that regard,” you replied, confident once more, and it incensed him.

His next question came easily, eager on his tongue. “How would you have me demonstrate that I can please you?”

Delight flushed your face with heat. “Here I was hoping for mere tolerance of sight and touch, but you offer me pleasure?”

“I would,” he replied in a breath, shedding his boots and then his trousers under your avid attention. Your own breath had grown shallower, a strange warmth enveloping you, coursing through your veins. 

“No mystery,” you reminded him quietly, and at that he removed his smallclothes, standing entirely bare in front of you. “Sit.”

Eyes bright and attentive, he slowly made his way to the bed, delighted at how you followed two steps behind, then sat on the edge of the bed. His stomach shivered and clenched when he noticed the way you were looking between his legs, exploring without touching. This time, you did not have to prompt him.

“Oh,” you breathed with unconcealed wonder as he reached between his thighs and wrapped his hand around himself.

It was not as large as you had feared, and it was lovelier to look at than expected. Slowly, he stroked the thin skin over the hard length, the head of it flushed pink, soft sounds coming from his lips.

It made your own core ache, a feeling which you knew and now longed to explore through another’s touch, but you could not let go of such a wondrous view yet.

You watched desire spread over his features, a deep flush coming to his cheeks, darkening his freckles and spreading down to his neck and chest.

Mouth parted on shuddering exhales, he started rocking his hips into his hand. “Am I pleasing you yet?” he asked, his voice rougher.

“Almost,” you replied, and he smiled at that, amused and seemingly aroused at the slight taunt.

Pulling your gown up until it revealed your legs but no further, you climbed after him on the bed until you were kneeling on either side of his hips, your arms around his shoulders. His own hands came to rest on your thighs, tense and trembling, no doubt wishing to slide higher.

Slowly, you kissed his parted lips, enjoying their softness and the warmth of his tongue when it prodded yours. Without warning you gently pressed into him until his hard length was caught between his stomach and your core and started a subtle rocking.

He responded as beautifully as you had anticipated, his hands tightening around your thighs, his kiss still restrained but turning passionate. You carded your fingers through his soft mane, relishing the simmering heat building in your core, your pearl pressed against his length through your gown. 

“Allow me,” he murmured after a long minute of surrendering to your pace, his right hand sliding under the draping of your nightshift over your lap until he found your core, and pressed a thumb to it, exploring its seam and finding only wetness.

“Seven Gods,” he cursed, drawing tentative circles atop your nub until your hips rocked into his hand and your fingers tightened in his hair. 

Following the rhythm of his touch, you reached between your bodies and wrapped a hand around his length, stroking it as he had. He faltered then, clinging onto you with a rough moan. You swiped a thumb of his tip, swiping the bead of wetness that had pearled there, and he looked like he could cry.

“Am I pleasing you?” he nearly begged, eyes wide, and you gave him an encouraging hum. “I want to take you,” he then said, bold and desperate, and you shook your head even though your entire being was yearning for it, desperate to feel him inside of you.

“I cannot give myself to you,” you replied. “Not when I might still turn to Ser Ormund.”

The mention of his cousin made him groan, and you hid your victorious smile in his neck. “I will not disappoint you, princess,” he vowed, and you rewarded him by pushing him back onto the mattress, to which he complied without resistance.

Flat on his back, pleading eyes wide and rimmed with red, his mouth dropped open when you reached for your gown and pulled it off completely. He looked upon you as though he was seeing the Maiden herself straddling him. Your hand still wrapped around him, you rose higher to your knees and guided the tip of his length between your folds and ground down, taking him into your body.

He threw his head back when you slowly sank onto his length until your hips were snug with his. Palms flat to his chest and shoulder for leverage, you rocked back and forth, the stretch of him pulling you under fast despite the slight discomfort. His thumb was quick to find its place again on your pearl, and it proved to be your undoing.

Neither of you could stand the feeling for long, madly chasing your peak, your eyes watching the other’s face. You were tight around his cock, a wet heat to which he was unable to resist, rocking up into you desperately, encouraged by your sighs and moans.

Pressure mounted at the base of his cock and he cursed, biting his lip to keep it at bay until your own pleasure was spent. Soon you were shuddering, your hips losing their rhythm until you were grinding against him, clenching around him as your peak took you under.

“Gwayne,” you called, and he nearly cried with how close to the edge he was, crying out a sob when finally you relented and he pulled out, spilling on his own stomach. 

With a breathless laugh you fell to the bed, nestling to his side with your head on his shoulder. “Do we have an agreement, then?” he asked, sounding awfully pleased with himself.

“Yes,” you replied with a soft laugh, kissing a freckle at his shoulder. “I shall not seek your cousin out.”

“Good.”

The two of you remained silent for a long moment, until your breaths had evened and the sweat on your skin had cooled, making you shiver. Without a word he rose from the bed and retrieved your robe, which you took gladly.

“I shall write to my father. He will be pleased, I’m sure,” you said as you fastened the belt around your waist, then glanced up at him, still shamelessly bare.

“As will mine be,” he replied, then bent down to press a kiss to your lips, chaste but full of intent. “Together we might achieve a great deal for ourselves.”

A/N: Dividers by @/arcielee. Requested by @nourangul ♡

Feedback is always appreciated! Ask in the comments if you want to be added to the taglist.

Gwayne Taglist: @legitalicat @zaldritzosrose @multyfangirl @purple-1995 @tumblin-theworldaway

@caterina-caterina @oldtowrs @targaryenswhxre @tabiitha @lothiriel9

The news washes over you like a tidal wave pulling you under. For a moment you feel like you are drowning as your lungs burn. The great battle had finally finished and you just received news that your husband, Cregan Stark, fought and died bravely on the battlefield. Despite his efforts and the other men who fought from the North, the greens emerged victorious.

You stand and excuse yourself from the main hall, pushing past each person offering their condolences. You rush outside towards the snowy godswood, not caring to bring a cloak. You place a hand up against a tree to keep yourself from collapsing as your other hand holds your hyperventilating chest. The tears you were holding back begin to pour freely down your frozen face.

A very distant roar snaps you out of your daze. You look to the skies as loud whooshing sounds get closer and closer. Your jaw drops when you see Vhagar come into sight above the clouds, her size unmistakable. You watch as she descends into the snowy trees of the godswood, not far from where you were standing.

You rush in the direction you saw her land until she comes into view. As you make your way through the trees you see Aemond descend off Vhagar. He notices you as you storm over to him.

“What in seven hells do you think you are doing here?” You snap at him

The audacity for him to just show up here like this after your husband, his enemy, had just died was infuriating.

“I came to take back what was stolen from me.” He glares.

“You assume that because my husband is dead you can just steal me away like nothing has changed?” You scoff.

“Cregan is dead?” He raises his brow. “Well, yes, that does make things easier.”

You scoff again at his response.

“If you did not know that he was dead, how did you plan to steal away a married woman?” You question.

“I would have fed him to Vhagar.” He shrugs.

Without thinking, you slap him across the face which barely seems to phase him as he slightly smirks in response.

“How dare you.” You glare at him.

“I am glad to see being in the cold North has not dimmed your fire.” He smirks at you, creating more anger to rise in your bones.

You raise your hand again but this time he grabs it before you can strike. With your wrist tightly in his grasp he backs you up against a tree, pressing his body against yours. The familiar feeling of his closeness makes your cheeks flush, your icy skin no longer feeling cold from the chilly air.

“Do not pretend you have not thought of me.” He says lowly in your ear, causing goosebumps on your skin. “You have been all I can think about.”

“Aemond…”

“Tell me you wish for me to return to Kings Landing without you. Tell me you do not wish to be with me. Tell me you wish to remain here in the cold North, alone.” His eye meets yours. “And I will let you go.”

You share an intense gaze as you contemplate his words. There was nothing left for you here. You could not pretend he had not often been in the back of your mind. You would never admit the embarrassing truth that even some intimate moments with your husband you had imagined Aemond. All this time aching and yearning for him in secret, and now here he was in front of you.

His eye searches yours for an answer. Instead of speaking you bring your lips to his in a fierce kiss. He instantly lets go of your wrist and moves his hand behind your neck to deepen the kiss. Your arms wrap around his shoulders as your tongues passionately dance together. Aemonds lips move to your neck, causing you to whimper.

“Aemond…” You breathe, your emotions taking over you. “I want you. Right here, right now. Claim what is yours...”

His eye meets yours again as a devilish grin crosses his face. He brings his lips back to yours as he quickly pushes your skirts up to your hips. You yelp as he swiftly lifts you up and you wrap your legs around him. He struggles to untie his pants with one free hand, the other holding you up. You reach down to assist him. A small whine escapes his lips as you pull his painfully hard member out. You only see a glimpse of him before he takes it from your hand and lines himself up to your entrance. He watches your face intently as you slowly sink down onto his cock, mouth agape. He groans while staring deep into your eyes, causing you to shiver.

Aemond begins quicken his pace and pound into you against the tree. Loud moans pour from your mouth but you could not find any care in that moment. The sound of your moans was like music in his ears, he had never heard a sweeter sound. You already begin to see stars and you cry out his name. So many nights he had longed to hear you moan his name just like that, the sound of it in his ear breaks the last of his restraint. You loudly come undone around him around him as he comes deep inside you, groaning out your name.

You feel your mind come back down to earth as he slowly lowers you back onto your feet.

“I cannot tell you how long I have dreamed of that.” Aemond says lowly as he presses his forehead to yours.

“Me too.” You whisper.

“Let’s get you back home to my chambers so I can take care of you properly.” He smirks and holds out his hand.

You smile back and take his hand as he leads you over to Vhagar. You hug him tight as he flies through the skies until the cold air becomes warm and you reach Kings Landing to live out your new life.

PART ONE

You have been betrothed to Cragen Stark since you were children and grew up in the North preparing for the day you would become the lady of the Winterfell. Your parents visited often but remained occupied in the Riverlands.

Along the way, you and Cregan fell in love though neither of you would speak of it. Although you were to be wed, you were both shy about your feelings towards each other.

One day your mother and father return to Winterfell to visit and you greet them excitedly.

“There is a reason to our visit.” Your father says sternly as you hug your mother.

Your smile fades and they lead you to private room to speak. Your father explains that there was an offer from King Viserys to wed you to Prince Aemond Targaryen.

“What?!” You yell. “Absolutely not. Tell them no. I am to marry Cregan soon. That has always been the plan.”

“We have already agreed.” Your father states.

“You cannot marry me to that cold evil prince!” You raise your voice again in panic.

“Prince Aemond is an excellent match, my dear.” Your mother says, placing a comforting hand on your shoulder.

“But I am to be lady of Winterfell! That is what I have been preparing for my entire life!”

“Well, now you will be a princess of the realm.” Your mother says.

“I do not care to be a princess!” Tears begin to fill your eyes. “What about Cregan? We have been betrothed our entire lives. He is the sweetest man I have ever known and now you are going to ship me away from him… away from you.”

“We would join you if we could, my dear.” Your mother says softly.

“But as you know we have a duty to the Riverlands. We cannot always choose our duties in life.”

“But father please-“

“There is no negotiating.” Your father speaks over you. “We have already promised the king. You should be grateful to earn such a title.”

“…When?” Was the only word you could choke out through your increasing tears.

“We will escort you there tomorrow.” Your father says.

“Tomorrow?!” You cry. “That is hardly any time at all!”

“Your mother and I need to return to Riverrun, we have no time to delay. I suggest you begin packing.” Without another word, your father storms out of the room.

“I’m sorry dear…” Your mother whispers to you as she follows behind him.

You collapse to the floor in tears. It feels like your entire world just went up in flames. You did not want to live in Kings Landing, you wanted to stay right here in the snowy North you had grown to love. You did not want to marry the prince, you wanted to marry Cregan who you had also grown to love.

‘Oh Cregan…’ You think. Breaking this news to him would be heartbreaking.

You pick yourself up off the floor and take deep breaths to steady your still shaky breathing. Once you have composed yourself you rush to find Cregan.

Cregan was standing alone in the Godswood looking to the tree before he turns and spots you approaching with a red nose and puffy eyes.

“What is wrong (y/n)?” He asks concerned.

You throw your arms around him and begin to sob again. He hugs you tightly as your tears dampen his fur cloak.

“Shh, it’s ok.” He pets your hair, causing you to cry harder, his tenderness being a reminder of what you would lose soon. “Tell me what is going on.”

“I h-have t-to leave.” You choke out before you begin crying again.

“What do you mean you have to leave?” Cregan pulls back to cup your cheek and look into your eyes.

“My father- he…” You can barely get words out between sobs.

“Take a deep breath darling. You’re ok.”

You do as he says and take a deep shaky breath before continuing.

“He is marrying me to prince Aemond. We leave tomorrow.”

You bury your face back into his furs as you cry harder. He hugs you tighter than he ever has and for a moment does not say a word. The shock of everything fogging his thoughts.

“Please say something…” you whisper.

“How is this possible?” He finally speaks.

“I do not know…” You sniffle as you lift your head. “But my father said it is already decided.”

“But…” He cups both your cheeks in his hands and looks into your eyes with intensity you have never seen from him. “I can not lose you… I- I love you.”

“Cregan…”

Before you can respond he crashes his lips against yours. You kiss him back with all your passion. The kiss is filled with so many unspoken feelings between you. You had dreamt about kissing him many times before but never in sad circumstances like this. You continue to kiss each other like it is your last day in this world. Which for you, it would be your last day in his world. Your lips finally part and you can see tears in Cregans eyes.

“I am so sorry, my love…” You whisper.

Cregan kisses your forehead and takes your hands before placing a kiss on each of them.

“He better treat you how you deserve. Because… you deserve the world (y/n).” Cregan chokes back tears as he speaks.

“You are my world…” You whisper, looking deep into his grey eyes.

“And you are mine…” He whispers back before pressing his forehead to yours and sighing.

You could not bear another minute of this heart shattering goodbye so you excuse yourself to pack for the trip. Tears stream down your face as you organize your belongings. Sitting on your dresser was a beautiful wooden horse your father gave you the day you arrived at Winterfell.

You run your fingers along it, remembering your excitement when you saw snow for the very first time. Your father had said it was to remember that although they were in Riverun they would always be by your side to support you in the North. You scoff at the thought of your father’s words and chuck the wooden horse into the fire.

You did not leave your room the rest of the day as you finished packing. You had no appetite at all and could not bear to see Cregan or anyone else for that matter. After sobbing in bed for most of the night, sleep finally pulls you under.

**********

The next morning your things are being loaded onto the carriage. The snow fell gently, snowflakes landing and melting in your red hair, for the last time. You spot Cregan coming to wish you farewell. You run over to him and he wraps you in a tight hug. You both remain there for a long moment, not wanting to let go. He knew once he let you out of his arms you would be gone for good.

“I do not wish to speak the words since I am leaving… but you know my feelings for you.” You sniffle against his shoulder.

“I know…” He says as you finally part. “Me too.”

Cregan held back the tears in his eyes while yours streamed freely down your face. He holds your hands in his and places a final kiss to your forehead.

“Farewell, (y/n).” He says quietly. “I wish you good luck.”

“Farewell, Cregan.” You sniffle, barely holding back from bursting into tears again.

As your hands slowly part you could literally feel him slip away from you. You rushed into the carriage, choking back sobs. As the carriage takes off you stare through the window having one last glance at Cregan, one last moment admiring the beautiful white snow, one last moment in Winterfell. You watch as everything you have grown to love fades into the distance.

The ride is long, and silent, your parents barely speak a word and you were constantly focused on keeping yourself from crying. When you reached a far enough distance the air becomes warmer, forcing you to finally take off your favourite furs made for a lady of the North. After an agonizing few weeks of travel you finally reach Kings Landing.

**********

You follow behind your parents as a guard leads you to the throne room where the king and his family await.

“Lord and Lady Tully.” The guard announces your arrival. “And their daughter, (y/n) Tully.”

You greet the king as he welcomes you and your family. Your eyes meet Aemonds as he stares you down, his face cold and unreadable. He was even more handsome than you could have imagined. You break the eye contact with the one-eyed prince and look down nervously.

The guard escorts you to your new chambers and leads your parents off to their guest room for the night. You did not want to see or speak to them ever again. When the guard returns to escort you to dinner you refuse despite his insistence. You knew it would be taken as an insult to the king but you did not care. You hoped it may even encourage him to deem you unworthy of the prince and send you back home.

Not long after someone bangs at your door, startling you. You approach the door and cautiously open it to see Aemond holding a plate of food.

“It is a great insult to refuse the kings welcome feast.” He says as he pushes past you and lets himself in.

You scoff as he places the food on the small table in your room.

“Forgive me for insulting the king, my prince. I did not have much of an appetite.” You say firmly. “And frankly, I do not care to see my parents again before they abandon me here.”

“You need to eat.” He says in a stern tone.

“What I need is to go home.” You snap back.

“This is your home now.” He states, unphased by your attitude.

You simply huff and cross your arms.

“You need to eat.” He repeats. “I know that you must be hungry by now.”

“I’m fine.”

“Suit yourself.” He shrugs before heading toward the door. “Goodnight, Lady (y/n).”

He bows slightly before closing the door behind him. You stand there with your arms still crossed before your stomach starts to grumble. You sigh as you sit down and tuck into your food, silently grateful he brought it to you.

You change out of your dress before curling up into the large canopy bed with red and golden curtains. You felt like a trapped bird in a royal golden cage. Your thoughts swirl around in your mind like a tornado. Your entire world has been flipped upside down in the matter of weeks. Everything you had envisioned for your life has just gone up into flames. Now you were stuck here with these strangers, forced to marry a man you did not know or want. You sob into your pillow until exhaustion finally drags you into a restless slumber.

**********

The next morning you sleep in and take your time dressing. You had no intention on intending breakfast either and having to see your parents before they depart. Once you’re dressed you sit at the vanity and brush your hair in the mirror. Suddenly, there is a loud knock on the door.

“Come in.” You call, placing your brush down.

The door opens and Aemond appears with a plate of breakfast food. He walks over and places it on the same table as before.

“I assumed you would not be at breakfast with your parents in attendance.” He says flatly. “But you should eat.”

He says nothing else as he turns to leave.

“Thank you.” You say as he goes to close the door.

“Mhm.” He nods, turning his head to look at you before exiting and shutting the door behind him.

You sit down to the plate full of a variety of foods from the breakfast table. His caring gesture felt so confusing when he acts so cold towards you.

**********

You finish doing your hair before looking through the small bookshelf in the corner of your room. Most books seemed to be about boring histories until you find a book about dragons. You pull it from the shelf and spend the rest of your day reading through it. You had never even seen a dragon but now you were about to marry someone who has the biggest one in the world.

That evening you plucked up the courage to attend dinner. You would at least not have to see your family anymore but you worried for how the this family would treat you, especially with how you had isolated yourself away from them.

The guard leads you to the dining hall where the royal family were seated for dinner. You were surprised by the warm welcome as the king offers you a seat. You did not say much as you ate looking down at your plate. The light conversation was mainly between the king and queen. Aemond sat across from you and kept his eye on you the entire time.

When supper was finished Aemond offers to escort you back to your chambers. You say goodnight to everyone before taking his arm. The air was tense as you walked down the halls in silence.

“I would like to take you on a walk through the gardens tomorrow.” Aemond says once you reach your chamber, the offer catching you off guard.

“I… um, I’m not sure.” You respond looking down.

Aemond lightly lifts your chin with his finger, making your eyes meet his. The contact made your heart race before he casually drops his hand back down.

“You must be bored remaining alone in your bedroom.” He questions.

“No.” You scoff. “There are plenty of books to keep me occupied.”

“What are you reading?” He raises a brow.

“Why do you care?” You glare at him.

He simply shrugs and slightly smirks at your attitude.

“I am not sure the title… it’s just a book about dragons. I thought it sounded interesting.” You shrug.

“Have you ever seen a dragon?” His smirk grows.

“No…”

“Would you like to?”

“I am stuck here in Kings Landing for the rest of my life… I am sure I will see one sometime.” You cross your arms.

“I have a better idea than a walk in the gardens. I will meet you here midday tomorrow.”

“But-“ You begin.

“Goodnight, Lady (y/n).” He says over you as he bows and leaves you.

“Goodnight, Prince Aemond.” You say under your breath once he’s out of ear shot.

**********

The next morning you attend a quiet breakfast. You pretend not to notice Aemond observing you the entire time. Midday you are reading in your chambers when there is a knock at the door. You answer the door to Aemond, as expected.

“Ready?” He asks.

“For what? You never told me where we are going.”

He lightly chuckles, the first time you have heard him laugh, and offers his arm. Without further questions you take his arm as he leads you through the castle.

You follow him into the dragon pit. You stop in your tracks when a gigantic dragon comes into your sight.

“There is no need to be afraid. She will not harm you unless I command it.” Aemond reassures you.

“And what if you did command it?” You question.

“Then you would be a pile of ash.” He smirks. “Lucky for you, I would not want to destroy such beauty.”

You blush at his response. He was acting so differently than the coldness you expected.

“Here.” He offers his hand to you.

You place your hand in his and feel instant sparks as he looks into your eyes, clearly feeling it too. He clears his throat before leading you over to Vhagar and moving your hand up to stroke her. She grumbles which startles you and you feel Aemond chuckle again behind you. He slowly removes his hand from yours as you continue to pet Vhagar.

“She seems to like you.” He says. “And she does not like anyone.”

You smile to him and see a rare smile on his lips. Not a smirk, a genuine smile.

“Would you like to go for a ride?” He asks.

You look to him with shock in your eyes as you contemplate the question. The idea terrified yet excited you. Not many people get the chance to ride a dragon in their lives and you could not pretend like you have not dreamt of it before.

Aemond seems surprised when you agree and then a wide grin spreads across his face.

“Very well.” He smiles.

You watch as he climbs atop Vhagar before reaching his hand to you, gesturing to climb up. You pull yourself up the ropes before grabbing Aemonds hand. He hoists you the rest of the way so you are sitting behind him. You were certain he could feel your heart beating rapidly against his back.

“Hold on tight.” He smirks.

You wrap your arms tightly around him, your body pressing up against his. The heat in your cheeks rise as you realize this is the closest you have been to him.

You don’t have time to dwell on the thought as Vhagar begins to walk out of the dragon pit before taking off. Your breath catches as you are lifted up into the sky. You close your eyes and squeeze Aemond so tight you were surprised he could still breathe.

“Open your eyes.” Aemond says, somehow knowing you closed them.

You open your eyes and for a brief moment you worry you had fallen off the dragon and died. The way you soared above the clouds was a sight of the heavens. After that you don’t shut your eyes for another second, taking in the sky around you and the lands below you. Aemond circles back around and you squeeze him tight again as he begins to descend. Once you’ve reached the dragon pit Aemond jumps off and helps you down off Vhagar.

“How did you enjoy your first dragon ride?” He smiles to you.

“I- I- I am hardly ever speechless.” You say with a beaming smile. “That was indescribable.”

Aemonds smile remains as he kisses your hand. You gaze into each others eyes for a long moment before you lean forward and place a soft kiss to his lips. He smirks to you before taking your hand again and leading you out of the dragon pit.

You and Aemond were both more lively at supper than usual, talking of the dragon ride you went for earlier. Once the meal is finished Aemond escorts you to your chambers for the night.

“I had a wonderful time with you today.” You say to Aemond as you walk down the halls. “That was honestly the first time I have felt true happiness since being here.”

“I am glad. I quite enjoy your company here. So I hope I can continue to make you happy.” Aemond responds.

“Well, now you have the rest of our lives to do so.” You playfully nudge him, making him smirk.

Once you reach your chambers you look to Aemond.

“Thank you, my prince. For everything.” You think back to the meals he first brought you when you refused to leave your room.

“Of course, my lady… Soon to be, my princess.” He takes your hand to kiss.

You gaze into his eyes with a heartfelt smile. He smiles back at you before leaning forward to place a chaste kiss to your lips. When your eyes meet again there is a strange tension in the air. You watch him glance to your lips again before he suddenly cups your cheeks and brings your lips back to his. The kiss quickly turns heated as you wrap your arms around his neck and his tongue dips into your mouth. Your heart races against your chest as he grabs your waist and pulls you closer against him. The desire between you both is electric. He pushes you up against the wall and you feel his hardness press against your hip, making you gasp into his mouth.

When your lips part you feel yourself almost lean back in, like a moth to a flame. You look at each other with wild eyes as you catch your breath.

“Goodnight, my lady.” Aemond places a kiss to your cheek.

“Goodnight, my prince.” You say bashfully.

Once you enter your chambers you let out a heavy breath you didn’t realize you were holding in. You get ready for bed, your thoughts full of Aemond. You did not expect to develop any feelings in this new marriage but now he was all you could think about. The fire between you was indescribable. You fall into a peaceful sleep as you begin to imagine your wedding and future to come.

**********

The next day everything changes. King Viserys passed away overnight. All the small folk are gathered to witness Aegon being crowned as the new king. Your family had pledged fealty to Rhaenyra when she was first crowned heir. You panic and worry for what may come from the throne being usurped.

The next few days pass by in a blur. You hardly saw Aemond and when you did there was never private moments to talk. He even stopped escorting you from meals. You could tell it pained him greatly but he could not find the time right now with everything going on.

One night a knock on your door startles you awake. You rush over, hoping to find Aemond on the other side. Your face drops with disappointment when instead you find a guard standing there.

“What is it?” You ask sleepily.

“Please keep your voice down my lady.” He says as he hands you a hooded cloak, making you arch your brow at him. “Your parents received a raven regarding this treachery. They asked I bring you home.”

“Home? What are you talking about? This is my home now... And why would they ask a gold cloak to take me away from kings landing? Why would you agree?” You babble.

“I will explain everything on our way to Winterfell. Please, my lady. We haven’t much time.” He says, peering over his shoulder.

“I would need to collect my things…” Your brain was hazy from sleep trying to comprehend what was happening.

“There is no time, my lady. Please, we need to leave now.” He begins to panic.

With no time to give it thought, you simply nod and put on the cloak to hide your vibrant red hair. He leads you cautiously through the castle through hidden passages you had never known were there. Eventually they lead you to the streets of Kings Landing. There was a carriage waiting for you just outside the city gates.

Once you are on the road you finally have a moment to process your thoughts. Your heart sinks and your stomach twists at the thought of Aemond discovering your disappearance. Tears run down your face at the thought. You did not want to leave Kings Landing, you did not want to leave him.

The next weeks of traveling was even more dreadful than when you were going to Kings Landing. Multiple times you considered jumping out of the carriage and running back to the Red Keep.

You could hardly eat with your stomach in knots. Aemond blurred all of your thoughts. All you could think of was him. The intense kisses you shared, the amazing dragon ride, his acts of kindness. It broke your heart to imagine how much you must have hurt him by leaving. You had disappeared in the middle of the night, leaving all your things behind. You worried how he would think you chose to abandon him, or worse, think you had been stolen in the night. Which in a way, you had been.

You begin to shiver as you get closer to Winterfell, the air getting colder. The guard notices and pulls a fur cloak out of a small chest inside the carriage. You wrap it tightly around you and try to steady your nerves.

“We should be there soon.” He says.

You simply nod and rest your eyes. The next time you open your eyes the carriage comes to a halt.

“Are we here?” You shoot up.

The guard nods and opens the door. You’re instantly blinded by the white of the snow. Your eyes adjust to see your parents waiting for you. You simply glare at them before your eyes land on Cregan and your expression softens. You had been so worried about Aemond that seeing Cregan nearly slipped your mind entirely.

You jump out of the carriage and do not hesitate to throw yourself in his arms. He hugs you back tightly and pats your hair.

“I thought I would never see you again.” He whispers in your ear.

You nod as the tears start again. You part and he wipes them from your face. You softly smile at him and he kisses your forehead.

“My darling, we are so glad you are safe.” Your mother interrupts to hug you.

“As soon as we heard Aegon was usurping the throne we knew we had to bring you home.” Your father says.

“Yes, thank you.” You say dryly. Your father goes to respond but you cut him off. “Thank you for dragging me away from my home, my life, everyone I have ever known. Then, deciding to bring me back and steal me away in the night. I am not sure the royals even know where I am.”

“We made them aware once you were a safe enough distance that they could not go after you.” He responds.

“Now you no longer have to marry that ‘cold prince’.” Your mother quotes your words from when you were leaving.

You think to Aemond finding out they had taken you back to Winterfell.

“Do you not think they will come after us? After me? They have dragons.” You cross your arms.

Part of you feared Aemond would come for you and steal you away. Another part of you hoped he would.

“They are far too busy with the coming war to worry about a stolen bride.” Your father says.

“That is all I have ever been to you, huh? A bride to be sold off to whichever family benefits you most.”

Before your father can respond you stomp off to the castle.

**********

You make your way to your previous bedroom, relieved to see it remains the same as you had left it. You sit down on the bed and cry into your hands. A knock at the door interrupts your sobs.

“Come.” You call dryly, assuming it was your parents.

Cregan cautiously opens the door and you stand from your bed.

“Cregan…” You say as you walk over to him. “I am so glad you are here.”

Cregan boldly closes the distance between you and pulls you into a searing kiss. All of the feelings you have for him come flooding back as you kiss him back passionately.

“(Y/n)… I have been so lost without you.” Cregan says lowly. “I feel like the luckiest man alive to have you in my arms again.”

“I missed you too.” You whisper as you rest your foreheads against each other.

He kisses you again, this time lifting you up and walking you over to the bed.

“My love… I don’t know if I can wait for our wedding night to have you.” He says as he puts you back down. “You are all I have been able to think about since the moment you left.”

You meet his eyes and they’re filled with so many emotions. Heartbreak, sadness, worry, relief, desire, love. You gaze back at him with the same feelings in your eyes.

“Then don’t.” You whisper.

Without hesitation, he kisses you again before moving his lips to your neck causing a small whimper to escape you. You tug at his cloak until it drops to the floor and he moves to push yours off your shoulders. You begin to underdress each other layer by layer, stealing hungry kisses in between. When Cregans upper half is finally exposed you run your fingers down his toned stomach. He moves his hands along the curves your body as you stand in nothing but your shift. You step back slightly and he watches as you slowly lift the thin dress over your head.

“You are so beautiful.” Cregan whispers before capturing your lips again.

You crawl into bed and watch as he unties the strings of his pants and they drop to the floor. Your eyes widen at his hardened length on display. When your eyes dart back up to his there’s a fire that lights within you both. He crawls on top of you before taking your breast in his mouth as his hand massages the other. You squirm underneath him as your hands move to his hair. His lips make their way back up to your neck.

“I love you (y/n).” He says lowly in your ear.

“I love you, Cregan.” You breathe.

His eyes meet yours and he smiles down at you with pure adoration.

“Are you certain about this, my love? We can wait until we are wed…” He asks, though you can tell there is only one answer he is hoping to hear.

You nod and kiss his lips. He dips his tongue into your mouth as he lines himself up to your entrance. You wince in pain as he slowly pushes into you. He moves slowly to give you time to adjust but also because he was barely holding it together. The feeling of you wrapped tightly around him made his head spin.

The pain soon begins to fade and you crave more of him. Something overcomes you as you move to push him onto his back and climb on top of him. He looks at you with wide eyes as you begin rocking your hips against his. You grind against his length and it sends sparks through your entire body. Cregan quickly closes his eyes, the sight of you above him as pleasured moans begin to pour from your mouth had him barreling towards his release.

“My love, please…” Cregan breathes. “I’m not going to last much longer if you continue to do that.”

You smirk down at him and watch a small gasp escape him as you line him up to your entrance and begin to slide down onto his cock.

You moan louder and have to remind yourself to be quiet, you two were not really supposed to be doing this before you are wed. His choked out moans as you ride him makes the knot in your stomach tighten more and more. You cry out his name and before you could even comprehend what was happening your entire body feels like it lit up in flames. Your vision goes black and pleasure clouds your mind. Cregan finally opens his eyes and watches you as you come undone around him. The sight of you instantly triggers his release and he groans out as his fingers dig into your hips and he comes deep inside you.

You collapse onto the bed beside him and you both lay there panting. Cregan pulls you in close and wraps his arms around you. You nuzzle your face into his neck as you hug him back.

“I feel like I’m dreaming, I just cannot believe I am holding you in my arms right now.” Cregan says softly. “Please promise me this is not a dream. Promise me you are real.”

You move your head to meet his gaze. Your hand comes up to cup his cheek as you smile warmly at him.

“I promise you this is real. I’m real.” You say before placing a kiss to his lips.

“I hope so.” He smiles warmly back at you as he lightly strokes your hand on his face.

**********

The next few days are busy with wedding preparations as your parents did not want to waste any time. You spend most of your time with Cregan, chatting away like you used to and stealing private kisses in between.

The day of your wedding was quick to come. You were filled with excitement and nerves as you put on the last of your furs.

Snow gently falls from the sky as Cregan comes into your view. You smile to each other as you walk down the snowy isle. He takes your hand in his and the ceremony begins.

“She is mine and I am hers. From this day, until the end of my days”

“He is mine and I am his. From this day, until the end of my days” You recite together as you gaze deeply into each others eyes.

You seal your marriage with a kiss. Cregan holds your hand up to the crowd and they cheer for you both. As you smile widely to the crowd, the thought of Aemond crosses your mind and there’s a pang in your chest. You push the thought away and try to focus on the present moment. Standing side by side with Cregan, whom you loved deeply, you looked like the true lady of the North that you were always meant to be.

PART TWO

You were Rhaenerya’s oldest child, betrothed to Aemond in an attempt to make peace with the family when King Viserys was still alive. When the war began and Aegon usurped the throne you remained loyal to your husband. He treated you well, much better than you had expected. You’re not even sure when you fell for him, all you knew is you were soon madly in love with each other. It was an easy choice to remain by his side.

But this war had turned Aemond cold, colder than he was before. He was always known as the cold quiet prince but with you he showed nothing but warmth. As of late, he had hardly shown you that same warmth. His mind twisting and warping from his new found power. It became even worse after Aegon’s injury. The prince regent was now drunk on the power of the iron throne he has so desperately wanted and was now so close to getting.

Now he returns to your shared chambers long past when you were asleep and was typically gone by the time you woke. You had only been intimate a couple times since the war started, before that it was hard to keep your hands off one another for even one day. Even then, these rare times were now fast and rough, he was no longer tender and gentle with you as he had been. He no longer took his time ravishing you, he would quickly pound into you until he found his own pleasure and rolled off of you to sleep. You were not sure how things went so wrong, but you could hardly bear it anymore. Your pillows were tear stained as you contemplated your life.

You were sitting and talking with Alicent, explaining all of your thoughts and fears about Aemond and what is to come. She had become like a second mother to you, always showing you kindness even with her issues with your own mother. She pitied the position you were in now, she herself had been wanting an escape from this dreadful place and this dreadful war.

“What would you think about leaving this place?” She softly asks.

“Where would I go?” You respond sadly.

Just then there’s a knock at the door.

“The prince regent, your grace.” The guard announces before Aemond strides into the room.

“(Y/n), here you are.” He says before throwing a glance to Alicent. “Mother.”

“I was just going to bed.” You say casually.

“The crown has need of your service.” He says flatly.

“Now?” Alicent asks.

“The Pretender has raised new riders against us and we must answer in kind.” He explains. “I need you to fly with your dragon into battle.”

“Aemond.” Alicent chimes in.

“I do not wish to fight.” You say in a gentle voice.

“Our wishes must take second place now to what is necessary to preserve the throne.” He eyes you sternly.

“I won’t burn anyone.” You stand up defiantly.

There’s a short pause as Aemond stares you down and in that moment you could not even recognize the man you once knew.

“It isn’t a question.” He says as he grabs your arm.

“Aemond.” Alicent says again.

“They have defiled our birth right! Made commoners into dragon riders!” He begins shouting and yanking harshly on your wrist as he tries to pull you out of the room.

You struggle to pull away from his strong grip while Alicent continues calling his name as she tries to help you from his grasp. He ignores your pleas and sounds of pain as the anger blinds him.

“It is a sin and must be punished!” He continues yelling his demands.

“May I remind you that is still your wife?”

“We are in peril today more than yesterday!”

“Was it peril that moved you to burn the town of Sharp Point?” Alicent counters. “Peril or basest fury at your own humiliation?”

Aemond finally lets go of his tight grasp on you, causing you to stumble back in tears. Alicent’s words only reminding you of the monster he has become. Burning down a town full of innocent folk out of anger towards the enemy.

“You wish to rule the seven kingdoms but you rain ruin and death upon its smallfolk when you’ve been insulted… because it makes you feel strong, and now you seek to corrupt your wife. Of all of us, the gentlest and most deserving of your protection.” Alicent smacks him on the arm.

“And who will protect her if cannot protect herself?” Aemond snaps.

“And who will she be if her mind is broken?” Alicent snaps back.

“Tis no longer our rule that is threatened, our very lives. Would you not have us prevail?” Aemond tries to make you both see reason.

“Not like this.” Alicent responds.

Aemond looks to you still holding onto your sore arm and staring at him in tears before his gaze returns to Alicent.

“NOT like this!” She pushes.

Aemond pauses another moment before turning and storming out of the room without another word.

***

The severity of his actions begin to sink in. Aemond cursed himself for putting his hands on you. The fear you had in your eyes as you looked into his. You had never looked at him that way, you had only ever looked at him with love and kindness. But he saw the fear and resentment that everyone else had always showed him, you were the only person who didn’t look at him like he was a monster. He couldn’t bear the thought that you now saw him that way too. Perhaps he had truly become one.

Aemond found you standing alone overlooking the dull lights of the city in the night sky. You hadn’t bothered going to bed as you planned, you knew you would not sleep anyway so instead you went to take the night air.

“Wife…” He says softly as he approaches from behind you but you don’t acknowledge him. “I know you wish no harm to anyone. But in a time like this… when the good of the realm depends on us….” He continues gently, almost reaching out to touch your arm before hesitating and pulling his hand away.

“My mother is not a dragon rider. She cannot understand that you and I have a truer call to head.” He continues.

You continue staring blankly over the city, your silence was like a dagger in Aemond’s chest.

“Come with me…. to Harrenhal…” He pleads, his quiet voice cracking as tears lined his eye. “We will lay waste to Daemon and his army. Let our enemy see that we will answer outrage with outrage.”

You lightly shake your head in disappointment. You were waiting to hear his apology for his outburst earlier but he only continued pushing the issue.

“And if I refuse? Will you burn me as you did Aegon?” You say softly, Aemond’s breath hitches at your words.

You finally turn around to meet his silver lined eye filled with a tornado of emotion. Anger, sadness, regret, desperation, fear. He had told you the full story of what happened at the battle at Rook’s Rest, but he explained it like he had no other choice. You were never sure if you truly believed him.

“I just don’t know who you are anymore Aemond…” Your own eyes begin to water as you try to hold yourself up strong. “You are not the man I once knew. I used to pray to the gods that you would be king some day, and now… I have never been more terrified of that happening.”

“What are you saying?…” Aemond softly mumbles.

“I am saying… I can no longer remain by your side as you destroy the world before you. I plan to leave King’s Landing on the morrow. Where I will go, I do not know. But I fear if I remain here my fate is already sealed, and I’m not ready to die due to your ignorance.” You say boldly through your fear and sadness, holding his eye contact.

Alicent had plans for you both to escape the city, find somewhere quiet to live out the rest of your days peacefully. The last thing you had wanted was to leave your husband, but it was no longer love keeping you here, it was only fear. But fear was also your motivation to leave.

Aemond’s entire being felt aflame as he comprehends your words. He was already losing this war and everything he had worked so hard for. But the idea of losing you was unbearable. You were everything to him, his wife, his love, his life… his future queen, and now he was about to lose you for good. His heart shattered and his stomach twisted at the thought of never seeing your beautiful face again, or hearing your laugh, or seeing your smile that he realized he had not seen in a long time, knowing that was likely his fault too. You hear a slight sniffle before he takes a slow shaky breath as his eye continues to bore into yours, his mind processing.

“I could have you killed.” He whispers almost inaudibly, though you both know there is no real threat behind it, only hurt.

Even if you abandoned him he would still love you. Even if you joined the enemy he would still love you. Even if you utterly despised him… he would still love you. He knew this was his own fault he pushed you away, the only thing that ever truly mattered to him.

“It wouldn’t change anything.” You whisper back.

You brush past him as you silently walk back inside the castle. Aemond wished to grab you in that moment, hold you so tight you could never leave him. But instead he watches in pure devastation at your departing figure as you walk away from the man you once knew. A tear falls down his face while his entire world officially crumbles to pieces around him.

You arrive with your family in Kings Landing after your journey from Dragonstone. You could tell your stepmother Rhaenerya was annoyed that the queen herself had not come to welcome you all.

You were the daughter of Daemon and Rhea, his first wife. Your father and mother despised eachother and you knew deep down he was somehow responsible for her death. A skilled rider like her does not just have accidents like that. Your father always felt extremely distant from you, he probably loathed the fact that you were even born from that loveless hateful marriage. On top of that, you felt cursed to have gotten his golden hair and not your mother’s brown hair. It made you look even more like your father and also stand out even more next to your dark haired stepbrothers. You had been forced to move around with your father between his marriages with Laena and now Rhaenyra. Although Rhaenyra has been fairly kind to you, you have always felt like the outsider of the family, an unwanted child, an ever lasting reminder of Daemon’s first wife.

Daemon and Rhaenyra part with you to visit the king in his chambers so you follow your stepbrothers to the training grounds where you find Aemond sparring with Ser Criston Cole. You watch as Jace and Luke exchanged worried glances. You may not have been around for most of it but you remember the rivalry that has always been there between your brothers and Aemond. Luke had been the one to take Aemond’s eye, accident or no, that is not something easily forgiven or forgotten. You would never say it in front of your family but you never thought badly of Aemond for hating your stepbrothers, it felt well deserved.

You watch the way Aemond moves, dancing around Ser Criston as he tries to strike him. Aemond pulls a final perfect move that ends with his sword against Cole’s throat.

“Well done, my prince.” Ser Criston says to Aemond. “You will be winning tourneys in no time.”

“I don’t give a shit about tourneys.” Aemond responds. “Nephews, have you come to train?” His intense stare falls to Jace and Luke before landing on you. Your brothers just roll their eyes at him before leaving the grounds, earning a cocky smirk from Aemond. You follow behind them off the training pitch before parting ways and heading to the balcony overlooking the grounds.

You hang around as Aemond continues training, trying not to seem too obvious as you watch him. His movements were smooth and mesmerizing, he looked like a dancer with his golden hair swaying gracefully with each of his strikes. It was hard to take your eyes off him. Once you notice him putting his weapons away you decide to go and find your chambers.

“(Y/n)!” You hear Aemond call your name from down the hallway you were exiting.

You turn as he catches up to you. Once you’re standing in front of him you realize just how tall he has gotten. He smelled so good, how can he smell so good right after all that training and sweating? His natural scent was intoxicating. He smiles down at you so you smile back up at him. Gods, he has gotten so handsome.

“Yes, my prince?” You ask.

“Did you enjoy watching me train?” He smirks.

“I- I was watching everyone train.” Your cheeks turn red.

“Sure.” His smirk grows, making you blush more.

“You train well.” You say to break the brief silence.

“Thank you, princess. May I just say… you have really grown up.” He looks you up and down, taking in your womanly curves and full breasts.

Your heart suddenly races and you feel an unfamiliar feeling in your stomach, but lower.

“Thank you, my prince. As have you.” You say as you try not to stare at his sharp jawline or strong looking arms. Wondering what those arms would feel like around you.

You felt increasingly shy by the minute talking to Aemond, which was very odd for you because you were much like your mother, who was bold and headstrong. But Aemond made your strong head feel like a million butterflies were fluttering around up there as well as inside your stomach.

“I have to go and rejoin my family but I will see you later?” You say as you begin to turn to leave.

“I look forward to it, princess.” Aemond bows to you with a smile.

Truthfully, you had all the free time in the world at the moment. Your father and stepmother busy visiting the king and the gods only know where Jace and Luke wandered off to. But you needed to leave Aemond’s presence right away because the overwhelming sexual tension between you was becoming very dangerous.

Your head is completely in the clouds thinking of Aemond, causing you to nearly crash right into your stepbrother.

“Jace! Sorry, please forgive me.”

“What was that all about?” He asks.

“What are you talking about?” You raise a brow at him.

“I saw you speaking with Aemond.” He says firmly.

“So?” You scowl.

“So? It looked like a pretty friendly conversation, I have never seen Aemond smile at anyone like that.” He rambles in an angry tone. “And I have never seen you look at anyone like that, sister. So, as I said… what was that all about?”

“We were just talking Jace, calm down. You’re blowing this way out of proportion.” Annoyed, you shrug him off and continue down the hallway.

**********

With your family busy with their own things you become increasingly bored in your room. You decide to find a book from the small bookshelf in your chambers and make your way to the gardens. You curl up to the large tree and become deeply invested in your book, so much so that you don’t notice someone walking towards you until you look up to see Aemond towering over you.

“Aemond!” You startle as you make your way to stand.

“Forgive me for interrupting you, princess.” He gestures his eye to your book.

“Not at all.” You smile. “It was either find something to read or die of boredom before supper.”

He chuckles at your joke and you smile shyly in response.

“What are you reading?” He asks.

“Oh, um, nothing really.” You blush.

You tuck the book behind you and he arches his brow in question.

“Ugh, alright... It’s just a silly romance story.” You sigh as you pull the book out from behind your back.

“A romance, hmm?” He smirks. “So you enjoy that sort of thing?”

“Yes, I suppose… like most woman do.” Your blush deepens.

“And have you…” He hesitates. “…had any of your own romance stories?”

Your loud laugh catches him off guard and you quickly change to a serious expression.

“Forgive me, my prince. Um, no. I have not had anything of the sort.” You admit.

“Why not? It seems like something you clearly want. And I am almost certain there must have been plenty of suitors who have thrown themselves at you…” He says as he looks you up and down seductively.

“Of course it is something I want. And I have had a few interested suitors in the past. I just… have not found a man worthy enough of me.” You shrug.

“I see.” He says, his smirk remaining.

Aemond walks you back to your chambers and the conversation between you was surprisingly comfortable the entire walk. You bond over both being the family outcast or the “black sheep”, you both had much harder childhoods than your siblings. The sparks between you were undeniable. You realized your stepbrother was right, you have never looked at anyone like this, or felt like this towards anyone. But Aemond was off limits, not only was he family but you knew your parents, especially your stepmother, greatly disliked Aemond because of the history with him and her own sons. Even just thinking of him that way feels forbidden.

**********

The entire royal family all join together for supper, the tension in the room high. King Viserys joins the room and gives you all a heartfelt speech about your family rivalries.

“It both gladdens my heart and fills me with sorrow to see these faces around the table. The faces most dear to me in all the world. Yet grown so distant from eachother, in the years past.” Viserys begins.

He removes the gold plated mask on his face that had been covering the horrible effects of his illness.

“My own face is no longer a handsome one, if indeed it ever was… But tonight I wish you to see me as I am. Not just a king, but your father, your brother, your husband, and your grandsire, who may not it seems… walk for much longer among you.

Let us no longer hold ill feelings in our hearts. The crown cannot stand strong if the House of the Dragon remains divided. Set aside your grievances. If not for the sake of the crown, then for the sake of this old man who loves you all, so dearly.” He says passionately, choking back tears.

His speech triggers heart warming and emotional toasts from Rhaenyra to Alicent, and Alicent to Rhaenyra, stating she will make a fine queen. The tension between them begins to fade and the mood of the entire room begins to lift as everyone drinks to the toasts.

Until there is some added tension when Aegon gets up and walks over to pour more wine into his glass, muttering something to Baela, Jace’s newly betrothed. Knowing Aegon you assume it was something vulgar. Especially when your stepbrother Jacaerys slams his fist on the table and stands. He composes himself and suddenly Aemond also stands. The room stills for a long moment as they eye eachother down. Jace proceeds to make a polite yet cocky toast to your uncles, Aegon and Aemond.

“Well done, my boy.” King Viserys says to Jace.

Aemond sighs and sits back down, you could feel the anger radiating from him. Your brothers always seem to enjoy getting him riled up. You had to resist the strong urge to place your hand on his. Instead, you offer him a sweet smile and his lips curl up for only a brief moment before his hard exterior was painted on his face again.

Music plays and you all enjoy the beginning of supper, everyone happy and laughing with eachother. You chatted mostly to Aemond who didn’t speak much but seemed content to listen to you. It did not go unnoticed by your brother Jace but he chose to ignore it. The air in the room feels lighter as all of the tension fades away. After a short time, King Viserys is brought back to bed due to his pain flaring up.

The music continues and more food is brought to the table. You watch as a roast pig is placed directly in front of Aemond, your eyes shoot to your brother Luke who is already smirking and chuckling at Aemond. Before you even have a second to think, Aemond’s fist slams onto the table and startles you.

“Final tribute.” Aemond says as he stands holding up his cup, the music stopping and the tension suddenly filing the air again. “To the health of my nephews… Jace… Luke… and Joffrey.”

He looks to your stepbrothers who are glaring at him in return.

“Each of them handsome, wise…” Aemond pauses.

You try to meet his eye with your desperate pleading ones, knowing exactly what he was about to say.

“…Strong.” Aemond states.

“Aemond-“ Alicent tries.

“Come!” Aemond talks over her. “Let us drain our cups to these three strong boys.”

“I dare you to say that again.” Jacaerys challenges.

“Why? Twas only a compliment.” Aemond walks up to Jace. “Do you not think yourself strong?”

It all happens in a flash, Jacaerys throwing his fist at Aemond, Aemond taking the punch to the face with a smirk before shoving Jace to the floor. Aegon starts his own fight with Luke. Now everyone is standing, including yourself, as the guards pull back your brothers.

“Why would you say such a thing before these people?” Alicent demands to Aemond.

“I was merely expressing how proud of my family mother.” He says, yanking his arm out of her grasp. “Mm, though it seems my nephews aren’t quite as proud of theirs.”

Jacaerys tries to charge at Aemond again before Daemon intervenes and Jace steps back.

“Go to your quarters.” Rhaenyra orders the younger people, including yourself. “All of you go, now.”

You are last to leave as you watch your father and Aemond stare eachother down.

**********

With everything going on no one even notices you leave the group as you rush to Aemond’s chambers. Once you reach his door you knock loudly.

“Leave me be!” You hear Aemond call on the other side of the door.

“Aemond, it’s me. (Y/n).” You call through the door.

You hear nothing but silence for a long moment and get a sinking feeling thinking he is just as mad at you as everyone else. Until the door opens and he slowly peers out from behind it.

“What do you want?” He says dryly, causing a strange ache in your chest.

“I wanted to check you were alright.”

“Why?”

“I- uh, because Aemond… my brothers were horrible and I am so sorry for the way they behave sometimes. They can be so bloody… arrogant.”

You see a faint smile cross his face at that and it brings you a heavy sense of relief.

“Do you want to come in? I don’t think we should discuss such things out here.” He says as he opens the door more for you.

“Sure, yes. You are probably right.” You say nervously as you make your way into his bedroom.

The air feels instantly tense when the door shuts behind you both, suddenly completely alone.

“They have ruined the entire visit.” You vent to Aemond. “I know everyone is looking at you for tonight, because of what you said, but I saw Luke too… They have always loved to antagonize you, and then you get blamed when you react!”

Aemond simply stares at you, feeling truly seen for the first time in his entire life. You were unlike anyone he had ever met, the only person he did not feel as if you saw him as a monster or a burden.

“Yes, well. Your brothers are bastards.” Aemond says with a mix of anger and humour.

“I disagree…” You say with a serious face before smirking. “They are not my brothers.”

Aemond smirks in response when he catches onto what you meant. It was so rare to find someone who agreed with him, who truly understood him. He suddenly realized he did not want to lose you.

“Will you have to return to Dragonstone with them?” Aemond asks.

“I expect I will, yes.” You say sadly.

“Do you want to go?”

“No, certainly not.” Your eyes meet his. “But it never matters what I want.” You advert your gaze to the floor.

“What do you want (y/n)?” He asks as he steps closer to you until he is nearly a breath away.

“It does not matter…” You say in a whisper.

“It matters to me…” He says lowly, glancing to your lips. “What is it that you really want (y/n)?”

“You…” The whisper of the word escapes your lips before you can think, your brain panics for a moment when you realize what you said out loud.

The panic is quickly replaced by surprise when Aemond cups your cheeks and brings your lips to his. You hesitate for a moment, thinking of your family, before your restraint snaps and you throw all caution to the wind and kiss him back passionately. You blindly follow along in the dance your tongues begin to do before you pull away briefly.

“I want you, Aemond.” You breathe. “All of you.”

“You know your family would not like this…” He whispers as his lips move down to your neck.

“I do not care.” You moan.

“This would ruin you for any man to come.” He mumbles as he continues kissing and nipping along your neck, his other hand coming up to grasp your breast. The feeling sending sparks throughout your body.

“Good.” You breathe. “I do not want anyone else, Aemond. Only you.”

“Good.” He says, pulling back to gaze into your eyes. “Because I do not wish to ever share you with anyone else. I do not care of our family rivalry… you are mine now.”

You simply nod eagerly and bring your lips back to his. You both make your way towards Aemond’s bed, lips never parting.

“Are you sure this is what you want, (y/n)?” He asks in a breathy voice as his fingers play with the strings on the back your dress.

“I am certain you are what I want, Aemond.” You say to him with heat in your eyes.

A small smirk forms on his lips as you turn around and he finishes pulling the laces of your gown. After a few moments the dress falls to the floor, leaving you in your thin shift. You turn back to face him and begin removing his shirt, eyes staying intensely connected to his as you do. His shirt falls to the floor and your eyes greedily take in his perfectly toned chest.

He helps as you pull your shift over your head, leaving you completely bare before him. Aemond quietly gulps as he takes in your naked form. He had seen naked women before at the brothel his brother had dragged him to, but you were something else entirely. A heavenly sight that the gods guarded from the world, a sight he had been blessed enough to see.

You reach to pull at the laces of his pants and he helps quickly get them off as they join the pile of discarded clothes. You reach to Aemond’s eye patch, he flinches hesitantly, causing you to abruptly stop. He gently grabs your wrist to lift your hand again, encouraging you. You reach up and slowly pull off his eye patch, revealing a beautiful blue sapphire. You lightly brush your thumb along his scar and he lets out a heavy breath. You both stand there for a moment, drinking in the sight of eachother in all your glory. You look down taking in the sight of his length and worry about how that would possibly fit inside you. Aemond moves towards you slowly, this time bringing your lips to his for a gentle, slow kiss. So many feelings spoken in this short kiss.

“Shall we get into bed then?” You say lowly.

He nods with a smirk as you both crawl into bed, Aemond hovering overtop of you as your lips connect once again, his hardness pressing against your stomach and your breasts pressed tightly against his chest. He takes his time kissing you like this before he kisses along your jaw, down your neck, moving lower until his mouth finds your nipple and sucks hard, causing you to gasp.

Aemond would have loved to continue his journey lower and provide you with even more pleasure, but he knew he was pressed for time because any moment your family could come searching for you to leave, they were likely looking for you right now. Besides, his patience began to run thin when you reach down and wrap your soft fingers around his aching member. The groan that escapes him sends a jolt right to your core.

He lines himself up to your entrance and his eye meets yours for permission. You nod quickly and he pushes into you slowly, both your mouths dropping open and panting at the feeling. Aemond stops when he feels the barrier. You try and control your heavy breathing.

“This is going to hurt for a moment.” He whispers and you nod again.

He pushes through your maidenhead and you cry out in pain, your fingers digging hard into his strong biceps. Aemond stills inside you and kisses you hungrily, the feeling of you squeezing tightly around him made his head completely spin. You whimper into his mouth as he slowly slides out of you before pushing back in. The pain slowly begins to fade as he tries to keep you distracted with his lips.

“More, Aemond… please…” You breathe after a few moments, wrapping your legs around him to pull him closer.

Aemond does not hesitate to quicken his speed, causing you to throw your head back as moans poured from your mouth. Neither of you cared if someone heard even knowing you would be in deep trouble. You almost hoped to be caught so you would have to be bound to each other.

Every sweet sound he dragged from you quickly pushes Aemond closer to the edge. He reaches down to rub on your pleasure point, hoping to push you over the edge before he loses control.

“Oh gods! Aemond!” You cry out as you come undone around him.

Intense shocks of pleasure shoot through your entire body and you see stars. Aemond watches the beautiful sight below him as you ride out your orgasm. He thrusts into you hard as his own peak crashes into him, groaning out in pleasure as he comes deep inside of you.

He remains inside you for a minute as you both pant, trying to catch your breath and your thoughts. He smiles and kisses your cheek before rolling off of you. You cuddle up to him and he hugs you tighter. You let out a content sigh before your smile turns into a frown, reality coming back to you.

“I do not wish to leave… to leave you…” You say quietly.

“I do not wish for you to leave either… so don’t.” Aemond says as you turn your head to meet his gaze.

You sigh and lay your head back on his chest, soaking up every minute you have with him.

**********

“What on earth are you talking about?” Daemon demands.

“I just do not understand why I have to leave too. We have only just arrived. I also was not even remotely involved in the fight at dinner, and Rhaenyra will be returning here anyway.” You try to reason with your father.

“What reason could you possibly have to want to remain here alone?” He asks.

“I- I suppose I do not have one…”

You could not tell your father the true reason you wanted to stay, he surely would drag you away if he knew. No other excuses come to mind.

“Good. You will leave tonight with all of us.” He says firmly.

**********

The ship ride back to Dragonstone was absolutely nauseating. You had never been so sea sick, throwing up every morning. The anxiety of leaving Aemond without being able to say goodbye just made you feel even worse. You had no idea how he was feeling, if he was upset, angry, or hardly cared at all. You prayed that some day you would have a chance to return to King’s Landing, to return to Aemond.

**********

So much had happened since your return to Dragonstone. King Viserys had died the same night of your departure and the throne usurped by Aegon. Your morning sea sickness did not go away and the most random smells would make you sick. Certain foods made you throw up just from the scent, while others smelt like heaven, even some of your favourite flowers had you reeling with nausea. The maester eventually confirmed your greatest fear… you were with child. Thank the gods for the maester’s discretion.

It was utterly impossible to tell your family the news with every horrible thing that was happening. The worst of it all… the death of your stepbrother Luke at the hands of none other than Aemond Targaryen, the father of your child. You knew there had to be more to the story, but your family in Dragonstone obviously found the greens completely unforgivable now. You truly did feel heartbroken for Rhaenyra, it also made you feel more protective of your own child growing inside your belly. But your dream to reunite with Aemond seemed to fade farther and farther out of your reach.

You had your dresses fitted looser as your belly began to swell, blaming it on over eating, which you were doing a lot of anyway as you now dealt with an appetite for two. You were not sure how much longer you could hide this, but each time you attempt to tell your father you cannot get the words out. The more chaos that ensued and the more your father cursed the greens and the harder it became to admit.

**********

Your father and stepmother had called for you and you quickly made your way to them. Your heart was racing and palms sweating as you join them.

“You wished to see me, father?” You say once you enter the room.

“Yes, (y/n). I have great news.” Daemon says. “We have found you a worthy husband.”

“W-what?” Your jaw drops, you were not expecting this at all.

“You are to marry Cregan Stark. The Starks have already pledged their fealty but this is the best way to solidify that relationship.” Your father explains.

“Father… I cannot marry Cregan Stark…” You say.

Daemon scoffs at you.

“You can, and you will. It is not up for discussion.” He says firmly.

“There is something I must tell you both…” You say quietly, worried.

You were officially out of time, you had to tell them and you had to do it now. Daemon and Rhaenyra give you their full attention as you refuse to meet their eyes.

“I am with child.” You state quietly, your fists clenched at your sides in nervousness.

“That’s not possible.” Your father scoffs with a chuckle, as if trying to convince himself.

“The maester has already confirmed it…” You continue to speak quietly. “I am quite far along…”

“Who is the father?” Rhaenyra asks.

You meet her gaze but remain silent.

“Dammit young lady! Who on earth did you sleep with?” Daemon yells at you, making you jump.

He stomps towards you and grabs you by the throat briefly before letting go. Although it was only for a second you stumble backward with your hand on your sore throat as your eyes meet his in fear.

“If you are already this angry… I am far too afraid to tell you who the father is.” You say with a shaky voice, holding back tears.

“We are not going to harm him, child.” Rhaenyra reassures you but your father rolls his eyes as if to disagree.

“That is not my greatest concern… My concern is more to do with who it is...”

“Who in seven hells is it?!” Your father snaps and steps towards you again, you step back as he does until your back hits the wall.

“He…” You try to get the words out, your father stops and they both stare at you impatiently. “The father is… Aemond Targaryen.”

You feel as if you are going to puke or possibly faint as you watch the absolute horror spread across their faces.

“I’m sorry…” Your father chuckles in disbelief. “I must have misheard you. Did you say… Aemond fucking Targaryen?”

You look to your feet and nod.

“You’re fucking with me… Please tell me you are fucking with me.” Daemon says, your silence in response answers his question.

Rhaenyra is still standing there speechless in shock.

“This was before…” You look directly to Rhaenyra. “…everything.” Your eyes shift back to your feet.

“Do you have any idea what you have done?” Daemon says angrily, rubbing his temples in frustration. “What in seven hells are we supposed to do now?!”

“I… I do not know…” You say in nearly a whisper. “I am truly sorry father… it just… happened.”

“Have you even asked the maester if your condition is treatable at this stage?” Daemon asks.

“Treatable? What do you mean?”

“Is there no way they can rid you of that thing?”

“Is that really what you are considering be done, father?” You scoff in offence.

“Dear daughter, I am considering throwing you down a flight of stairs or stabbing you in the stomach to rid you of that thing if necessary.” He snarls.

Even Rhaenyra shoots him daggers at that statement, having recently lost their own babe during childbirth.

“Stop calling it that! It is a child, my child, and I will not let you harm me nor my baby.”

“I refuse to let you birth the spawn of that monster. Go to your chambers while I go speak to the maesters about what can be done.”

“Father-“

“I said get out of my sight!” His voice booms, causing the room to go still.

You stare at him as if you were to say something else but then turn to run out of the room crying. As soon as you reach your chambers you slam the door and lock it. You desperately reach for your chamber pot before vomiting into it. After, you try and steady your heavy panting as you think of what to do.

Your mind races as you stand up and throw a travel bag onto your bed before quickly packing your things, whatever you could fit. The hour was already late, you thought, so there was no need to wait until nightfall to escape. Surely you could sneak off to the stables unnoticed and flee on your horse, find a ship somewhere on Dragonstone before you were caught. You take a deep breath and look around your bedroom, the life you would be leaving behind, the family. But screw them! You have never felt a true part of either of your father’s families. You rubbed your stomach tenderly, thinking about the future of a true family, your family. With that in mind you throw open your bedroom door only to stop suddenly as you see your father standing on the other side. He looks to the bag in your hand.

“Going somewhere, daughter?” He asks slyly.

“I- I cannot stay here…” Your voice trembles.

“I forbid you to leave this castle until we have decided what to do with you.” He says sternly. “You will not leave your room, we will have breakfast brought to you in the morning.”

Before you can argue he slams the door in your face and locks you inside. You shake and pound at the door. Beating your fists on it as hard as you can.

“You cannot do this to me! Please father! Please!” You cry and beg from the other side.

You fall to the ground staring at your trembling red hands, aching from banging on the door. Anger boils within you until you are back on your feet throwing things around the room, the sound of screaming and breaking glass echoing into the hallways. Eventually you tire yourself out and collapse onto your bed, crying yourself to sleep.

**********

The next morning you hear a knock at the door.

“Come!” You call.

One of your chamber maids opens the door with a tray of breakfast food.

“Good morrow, princess.” She says politely, concern crossing her face as she notices the state of the room. “Shall I send in someone to clean?”

You shake your head before peering behind her and seeing no one else around.

“I need something else from you.” You say quietly to her.

“Of course, princess. What can I do for you?” She says.

“I need you to deliver a note to my guardsman. You know the one I speak of, he is the only one I can trust.” You say as you move to grab parchment and ink, throwing them down on the small dining table which your breakfast now sat.

“I- Forgive me, princess. I do not think can… Your father-“ She says timidly.

“Please! Please, I am with child and I do not know what he is going to do to me. He is trying to kill my baby, he may even kill me to do so if he must. Please, I am begging you.” You grab her hands as you plead with tears in your eyes.

She peers behind her shoulder to the hallway before looking back to you and nodding, making you sigh in relief. You had no idea if you could fully trust her, for all you know she will take this note straight to your father, but you had no other option right now.

“But quickly, princess.” She whispers, continuing to peak into the hallway for anyone coming this way.

You quickly scribble a letter to your only fully trusted person in this land. The only guardsman that had followed you from Runestone to each place you moved. He was loyal to your mother and you knew he always had distaste for your father. It was still extremely risky but he was your one chance at getting out of here. You hand her the folded up letter which she tucks into her dress and you whisper endless thank yous.

“Princess.” She says with a curtsy before departing.

All you could do now was wait…

**********

There is another knock at your door not long after the maid leaves. You open it eagerly and are surprised to see your stepbrother Jacaerys standing on the other side.

“What do you want?” You ask.

“I wanted to know if it was true…” He says flatly.

“That depends on what my father has told you… That I am a deceitful traitor? That I am a whore? That I am growing a demon spawn inside me?” Your say as your blood begins to boil.

“He said you were with child. With Aemond’s child.” He says, pure anger in his tone. “So same thing really…” He shrugs.

“Fuck you, Jacaerys.” You snap.

You are nearly as shocked as he is at the bold statement, but you had no care left in the world about how your family thought of you now. They have already decided in their minds to hate you for being with the child of their greatest enemy. Nevermind the fact that the act of it happened before all of that. If things had not turned out in the horribly tragic ways they did, and the whole of the royal family had remained civil with eachother, you knew your family would still have been displeased but they would have ultimately accepted your bond to Aemond.

“Wow, (y/n)… I knew there was something between you two when we visited King’s Landing. But I thought after everything he has done, everything the rest of them have done to our family…” His voice raises. “I have no more words for what you have done…” He says in almost a whisper, shaking his head in disappointment.

“Well, if you have no more words then I bid you a good day, brother.” You say sharply before closing the door in his face.

You feel like you could spit fire with how angry and hurt you were. You wish Jace’s words did not phase you but they pierced into you like daggers.

**********

Your lunch and supper had been brought to your chambers. You could not help but worry when you saw it was a different maid than this morning. You prayed to the gods nothing happened to the other one due to your actions.

It was the hour of the owl when someone knocked at your door again. Despite the late hour you were wide awake, unable to sleep at all. You cautiously open the door and nearly cry of relief when you see your guardsman standing outside the door.

“We must hurry, princess.” He whispers to you. “Pack what belongings you need.”

You throw on your cloak before grabbing the travel bag you previously packed and threw it over your shoulder before giving him a nod. He holds his hand out to you and you grab it as he leads you out of your chambers and through the dark hallways. He was careful to avoid other guards, occasionally ducking you both behind another wall as one passed by. He leads you down another hallway you had never seen, leading you right out of the castle through a hidden door.

“This way princess.” The guard says.

You follow him to the shore where there lies a small boat. You give him a questioning look, there was no way you could make it all the way to Kings Landing in that.

“There is a ship waiting for us princess with a handful of men I trust. It had to remain out of sight.” He explains.

You nod and get into the boat before he paddles away into the darkness. The small light of Dragonstone begins to fade into the distance just before the dim lighting of a small ship comes into view. He assists you up the rope ladder and onto the ship. You could see no more than five other men on the ship along with your guardsman. They quickly begin working the sails and get the ship moving.

“I cannot thank you enough, Ser. You have truly saved our lives.” You say to the guard as you rub your stomach.

“I was sworn to protect you and your mother. I may have failed your mother but I will not fail you, princess.” He says.

You give him a sympathetic smile of gratitude before looking out into the dark waters of the sea. Thinking of all that is yet to come.

**********

A few days later, you watch as King’s Landing comes into view. Your heart begins to race and your stomach twists into knots. You were the daughter of their enemies, you had no idea how they would react to your arrival. If they would even listen to what you have to say.

You arrive to the gates with your guardsman, the rest of the crew having begun to sail the ship back.

“Who goes there?” A kingsguard asks.

“Princess (y/n) Targaryen. We are here as allies and bring important news.” Your guard speaks for you.

The kingsguard is silent for a moment, contemplating. Your heart pounds in your chest with worry they will simply refuse you and you will have nowhere else to go.

“Very well.” They open the gate and lead you in.

“The king is available to see you right now.” The kingsguard says.

“Oh. I was actually hoping to speak with Prince Aemond first.” You say timidly.

“The prince is with the king, you may see them both now.” He explains.

You nod and take a deep shakey breath before slightly lifting your dress to walk up the stairs. You are led into throne room, following behind the kingsguard and your guardsman.

Your eyes find Aemond first, standing diligently next to his mother. His eye meet yours instantly quickly flickering to your large stomach and you see his eye widen as the rest of his face remains expressionless. You take another deep breath as you continue walking, focusing hard on putting one foot in front of the other until you reach where Aegon sat on the iron throne.

“Princess (y/n)! To what do I owe the pleasure of this unexpected visit? Has your traitor family finally decided to bend the knee?” Aegon speaks to you arrogantly.

“No, your grace. I am not here on their behalf, I am here on mine. They had no knowledge of my travels here… I would bend the knee to you now if I were able, my king.” You say, rubbing your stomach. “I am with child…”

Your gaze darts to Aemond for a short second who has not taken his eye off you since you entered the room.

“I can see that.” Aegon chuckles. “I am glad to hear you are pledging your fealty to me, but I do not understand what your being with child has to do with me?”

“It… It does not have to do with you, your grace.”

You look to Aemond again, this time Aegon follows your gaze.

“Well then!” Aegon laughs loudly. “It seems my brother had been very busy during your last visit to King’s Landing.”

Yours and Aemond’s silence was answer and confirmation enough. Alicent stands beside Aemond in a silent shock as she stares at your round stomach.

“You must be exhausted. My guards will escort you to your chambers.” Aegon says. “We shall see you at supper. I believe you two have much to discuss.” He grins, looking to Aemond who glares back at him.

“Thank you, your grace.” You give a small curtsy, unable to bend too low.

You and Aemond watch eachother as you are led out of the room and to your new chambers, your own guardsman following until you are left alone in the room. As soon as the door is shut tears quickly fall from your face, Aemond looked so angry. What if this entire thing was a huge mistake? You had not fully considered Aemond may not even want to have anything to do with you or this child. Who knows what they might do with you now, what if it’s worse than what your father would have done?

You don’t have long to dwell on the thoughts swirling in your mind before there is a firm knock at the door. You quickly wipe your tears from your face.

“Come!” You call.

The door opens and your heart stops when you see Aemond enter, closing the door behind him.

“Aemond!” You say in surprise.

“Is it my child?” He asks forwardly.

“I- yes… I am so sorry…” Your voice breaks as you fight back tears and look to the floor.

“Sorry?” He says softly as he steps closer to you and gently lifts your chin to meet his gaze. “You have no reason to be sorry, (y/n).”

“But I thought…” You start to say.

“If anything, I am sorry this happened without my being there afterward, without being there to protect you.”

“You could not have known…” You say in a whisper.

“Well, I know now.” He says as he takes both of your hands in his. “I will care for you both, you have my word.”

You smile up at him and the tears you held back fall down your face, Aemond takes his thumb and wipes some away.

“I am bound to you, all of me.” He says intensely, as he cups your cheek and stares into your eyes.

“But… are you not only bound to me because I happen to be with child?” You frown.

“I have been bound to you the moment our lips first touched, (y/n).” He gives you the warmest smile you have ever seen on him.

With that said, he touches his lips to yours in a soft tender kiss. The kiss ever so slowly builds and builds until you’re a whimpering mess and chasing eachothers tongues. Aemond pulls away to look at you, pure fire behind his eyes.

“Does being with child stop you from wanting… from being able to…” Aemond couldn’t get the words out but you knew what he was referring to.

“No, no, not at all.” You say with a smile. “Quite the opposite actually…”

Aemond gives you a questioning look.

“If anything, I need you even more now.” You explain before pressing your lips back to his.

He begins pulling the strings of your dress as the kiss continues. You reach your hands in between you and remove his shirt before pulling at the ties of his trousers. Once your dress falls to the ground you feel instantly self conscious, your body having changed a considerable amount since he last saw you. But the way Aemond looks at you was like a wild animal about to pounce on its prey. The sight of your naked body, swollen his child, was the most heavenly sight he could ever see.

You get into bed, kissing in between every movement, like your lips could not stand to be apart for longer than a few seconds. Aemond’s lips soon move to your neck before kissing his way down your chest. His warm mouth wraps around your nipple before sucking hard, causing you to gasp, your nipples being even more sensitive from the pregnancy. He kisses all over your stomach lovingly as one hand rubs across it gently. He looks up and smiles at you as you smile back at him, pure happiness on his face.

“I have been dreaming about this…” He says lowly before licking a strip up your core.

You whimper and squirm as his tongue teases you with gentle licks before he wraps his strong arms around your legs to hold you still as he begins to eat you out ravenously. Your hand shoots to your mouth to cover the loud moans pouring from you as your other hand finds its way down to his head and your fingers bury into his silky white hair. You tug his hair lightly as you’re overcome with pleasure and he groans in response, the feeling of it against your core bringing you closer to the edge.

Your entire body feels like it’s on fire as he works you with his tongue, the intensity only increasing as he slips two of his long slender fingers inside you. It’s not long after that until you come undone, clenching around his fingers and bucking against his face as you cry out. Aemond doesn’t relent until your legs are shaking and you’re pulling away from the overstimulation.

He moves back up the bed, wiping his face, and you pull him into a hungry kiss, tasting yourself on his tongue.

“I need you inside me right now.” You beg, the need for him only increased by your release.

He practically growls at your words as he pulls his loose pants fully off and tosses them to the ground. He wastes no time plunging himself into you, causing you both to moan out in tandem. You bask in the full feeling of him inside you again, you felt so empty without him all these months and now you were finally reconnected.

The angle is awkward due to your protruding belly in between you, your eyes meet as unspoken thoughts pass through you. Without a word you reposition so Aemond is laying on the bed and you’re climbing on top of him. After straddling him you shove him back inside you, watching as his jaw drops open at the feeling. With your limited mobility Aemond still takes the lead and begins pounding into you from below. You cling to his shoulders to keep yourself upright as your tits bounce in his face with each thrust and your moans now fall shamelessly from your mouth. You don’t see him observing every facial expression and sound you make while you ride him. The sight and feel of you had him barreling towards release.

“My love, I-“ Aemond chokes out. “Fuck, (y/n), I’m going to…”

“Me too.” You pant as your second orgasm creeps up on you, the sound of your name on Aemond lips only increasing it.

“Gods!” Aemond groans out as the last of his restraint snaps and he spills into you.

His release brings you to your own, the feeling of him pulsing inside you has you seeing stars as you moan loudly, no longer caring if someone heard you.

You fall onto the bed beside him, both panting heavily. After a minute Aemond turns to his side to look down at you, your eyes meet his and you both smile warmly at eachother, nothing but love passing between you.

“I love you, (y/n).” Aemond says as he brushes your cheek with his thumb.

“I love you, Aemond.” You say back, your hand gently covering his still on your cheek.

He leans down and places a firm kiss to your lips before pulling back to admire you again.

“So what now?” You ask.

“Now?” He raises a brow before smiling again. “Now, we marry. Have our child, and live happily ever after.”

“I like the sound of that.” You smile.

**********

The wedding was very small and private, only the main royal family of King’s Landing in attendance. You would have loved to have a large wedding and a grand feast but with your, condition, it had to remain quiet to the people. You still enjoyed every minute of the day, saying your vows with the love of your life and enjoying a lovely dinner with music.

Every minute spent in your wedding chamber was also well enjoyed. You had obviously already consummated the marriage but you could not keep your hands off eachother. The night was passionate and intense.

“I want to taste you husband…” You say lowly.

“Who am I to deny you, little wife.” He smirks.

‘Little wife’, gods, the need for Aemond quickly pooled between your legs at the sound of that.

He leads you over to sit at the edge of the bed and stands in between your thighs. Seeing the way you stare up at him, your face only inches away from where he needed you most, it made his aching member press harder against his trousers.

“Take it out, little wife.” He says.

That name lit a fire inside you. You pull at the laces of his trousers and Aemond hisses when your soft hand wraps around his hardness to pull it out. Your eyes meet his and he watches you with heavy eyes as you begin slow sensual licks around his tip, he shudders when your tongue brushes over the hole. Just as Aemond is about to beg you for more, you shove him as far as you can into your mouth and he groans loudly. You continue to work him with your hands and mouth, testing and finding out what he likes.

“Fuck, I’m-“ Aemond barely chokes out the words before he’s spilling into your mouth with another loud groan.

After that Aemond took his sweet time with you. Kissing, licking, stroking, and worshipping every single inch of your body. You moaned as your hands buried into his hair, his face between your legs eating you like a man starved. One of his hands reaching up, interlocking with yours as he uses his other hand to slide his slender fingers inside you, bringing you closer and closer to the edge.

“Come for me, little wife.” Those words had you instantly soaking his face and moaning so loud you knew that the guards in the hallway were likely feeling awkward, but you could not care less.

You lost count of the amount of orgasms he coaxed from you that night. If you were not already with child, you definitely would have been after your eventful wedding night. You both felt like you could never get enough of this intimacy, this love.

The months following were extremely stressful, with the inevitable war being planned out, and Aemond being highly involved. He did his best to give you as much of his time as possible. The smile on Aemond’s face when he first felt the baby kick, was the happiest you have ever seen him. He also made sure you were well taken care of by the maids and maesters throughout the entire pregnancy.

**********

Aemond returns to bed well past the hour of the owl after a long dreadful meeting with the small council. To his surprise you were wide awake reading a book in bed with a candle lit beside you. You smile warmly when you notice him.

“What are you doing awake, little wife?”

“Sleep has been difficult lately.” You say as you rub your round belly. “The babe is going to come any day now.”

The tension releases from Aemond, thinking how grateful and lucky he was to have such a beautiful wife and a child on the way.

“What are you doing up so late, husband?” You ask.

Some of the tension returns to him as he sits down on the bed beside you with a heavy sigh.

“The small council meeting dragged on and on… my brother’s ignorance is going to lose us this war.” He sighed in annoyance.

“You should be king.” You say, a hand coming to rest on top of his.

“What?” He agreed with you of course, but it was a bold statement coming from someone else.

“You should be king, my love.” You look deeply into his eye. “Tis you who studies history and philosophy, it is you who trains with the sword, who rides the largest dragon in the world, it is you who should be king.”

His heart raced at your words, his deepest darkest thoughts he would never say aloud you were saying directly to him. He leans in and places a firm kiss to your lips to show his agreement.

“You are so perfect.” He says to you in a whisper, the words making your heart swell.

He kisses you again, this time with more intent, his tongue dancing against yours. His eye meets yours for permission to continue and you nod, biting your lip. He continues kissing you as you pull up the skirts of your night dress and he undoes his trousers and throws them to the floor. He lays behind you, reaching his arm around to lightly rub your stomach as he kisses down your arm. You both sigh in pleasure as he so very slowly enters you. The sex is slow, intentional, gentle, loving. Savouring every little moment and feeling of one another.

“Stop stop, something is wrong.” You suddenly say as a strange feeling passes through your body.

Aemond immediately stops and pulls away from you and you noticed the bed sheets are soaked.

“I think my water just broke…” You look to him.

Your panicked faces quickly turn excited and he quickly throws his pants back on before calling on the maester and servants. The babe was finally coming!

**********

Aemond paced back and forth outside the birthing chamber for hours, freezing in horror every time he heard a painful scream or cry coming from inside. You had been in there for so long, and none of it sounded good. He knew childbirth was hard and there would be a lot of pain, and he did not know how a normal birth is supposed to sound, or how long it’s supposed to take… but when Alicent came to checkup on him he could see the extreme worry on her face when he told her you were still in there and they both heard another scream of pain from the other side of the door.

More time passes, far too much time, before the chamber door finally opens and the maester came outside, shutting the door behind him.

“Well?” Aemond demands.

“My prince… I am afraid the babe refuses to come.” He explains hesitantly. “We are left now with the difficult choice to attempt saving the child… but at the cost of the mother’s life.” He explains.

Aemond freezes, his heart suddenly racing and palms sweating, his worst fear being brought to life right before him.

“Absolutely not.” He says, his voice shakey. “There must be another way.”

“I’m afraid if she cannot birth the babe naturally… there are no other options, my prince. Otherwise we may very well lose them both”

“Let me see her.” Aemond demands.

“Of course, my prince.” The maester timidly agrees and leads Aemond into the room.

Aemond enters the room to see you on the birthing bed which was drenched in blood, your face covered in sweat and exhaustion. He felt a wave of terror wash over his body at the sight. A grateful smile crosses your tired face when you see your husband.

“My love…” You sigh with a soft smile.

“Everyone out.” Aemond demands the room full of midwives and the maester.

“But my prince…” The maester says, hesitant about leaving you at this stage of the birth.

“I need a moment alone with my wife, I will call you all back in a minute. Wait outside. Now.” Aemond demands, leaving no room for argument.

The maester bows his head and everyone scrambles out of the room. The second the door shuts Aemond is on you, grabbing onto your hand as his other brushes the damp hair from your forehead.

“My love…” He looks at you with pure sadness and worry in his eyes.

“What did the maester tell you?” You mumble, barely having the strength to speak.

“They said if the babe will not come they will have to…” He tries to explain, voice trembling.

“Please... Please, do not let them cut me open. I am not ready to die Aemond…” You pant the words in a panic, tears falling down your face.

“No, you will not die my love. You cannot die…” He says, kissing your forehead and hugging you close as he fights off his own tears. “But in order to live, to remain here with me, to remain here with our child…” Aemond takes your face in his hands. “You have to push.”

“I can’t…” You burst into tears. “I have tried Aemond I really am trying. I can’t… I can’t…”

“Yes you can.” He says reassuringly as he still holds your face. “I am here now, I am not going anywhere. You can do this, (y/n). You must…” His voice breaks at the last words and a tear falls down his face.

You sniffle and nod your head in agreement.

“Alright, come!” Aemond calls to the door.

The maester and midwives quickly file back into the room, finding their positions again. The maester looks to Aemond for an answer to his earlier suggestion.

“We are going to try pushing once more.” Aemond states.

The maester looks concerned and hesitant in the idea, but does not try to argue any further with Aemond. With your husband by your side, your hand in his, you attempt on pushing again. You scream in pain as you push and push and push, the babe refusing to move an inch.

“I can’t do it… I can’t do it…” You sob.

“You must…” Aemond whispers the gentle reminder in your ear. “Please…”

You must do it, you must live... Aemond could not even consider what he would do if you did not.

You begin to push again, putting every ounce of strength you have into it, you scream as your body feels like it’s being torn open, squeezing Aemond’s hand so hard you wouldn’t be surprised if you broke the bones. You take one quick breath before continuing to push and push, fighting through the blinding pain. Finally, you feel a huge wave of relief wash over your body and the sound of crying assures you that it’s all over. Your heavy eyes refuse to open and your body begins to feel even weaker.

“What is happening?” You hear Aemond ask in a panic.

“She has lost far too much blood.” The maester responds.

That is the last thing you hear before you completely lose consciousness. You don’t see or hear them basically shoving Aemond out of the room despite his protests, or the tears in his terrified eye as he stares at your limp body laying still in the bed.

**********

When you come to, you are still laying in bed but the sheets are now clean and your night dress had been changed. You see Aemond standing on the other side of the room, facing the window.

“Aemond?” You call out weakly.

His head quickly shoots to your direction before he walks over, holding a bundle in his arms.

“My love, how are you feeling?”

“Fine.” You give a soft weak smile. “Is this our child?”

“Our son.” Aemond smiles widely, a genuine rare purely happy smile.

“Our son…” You repeat lovingly as he places the babe in your arms.

You look at your beautiful baby boy with his silver gold hair and your heart soars, even more so when you glance back to your husband who’s now sitting beside you on the bed. Your heart felt so full in this moment. Everything you had been through to get to this very moment, was all worth it.

**********

He’s also very big on feeding you. It helps that he’s typically ravenous after anyway, but he loves to stand in front of the open fridge with his arms hanging loose around your waist from behind, his chin resting on your shoulder, nuzzling your cheek and neck while you peruse. Or if you’re too wiped out to move (thankyouverymuch) he’s more than happy to gather up a haul and bring it upstairs, all the while knowing it’s just fuel for the next round.

B is for Body (their favorite body part on them and on their partner)

He’s not stupid, he knows he’s got good hair. People love to touch it, run ther fingers through it, gently brush it from his face. Girls ask him all the time what products he uses, or what his routine is (he doesn’t have one, it just kinda…..does this?) but they’re convinced he’s just gatekeeping. 

And he likes it too, don’t get him wrong, but he kind of thinks people are so mesmerized by the hair they don’t notice his actual best feature, which is his eyes. They’re so big and round and brown, they give away all his secrets. They burn with intensity when he’s chasing down the puck or checking someone into the boards; they go all wet and glassy when he’s watching a sad movie no matter how neutral the rest of his face is. And when you’re having sex, they say everything he’s thinking—all the things he can’t quite say out loud because it’s hard for him sometimes. They show you just how in it he is, how deeply invested he is in you and him and this moment; how much he wants this with you today, tomorrow, the next day, and every day after. Forever.

On you? It would be quicker to list the parts he doesn’t love, because there aren’t any. But if he has to pick a favorite, he thinks it probably would be your neck. He loves how sensitive it is, the way you unravel when his lips graze the space behind your ear and it sends shivers down your spine; loves the way you writhe when he kisses a little deeper, when kisses turn to gentle sucks and bites and playful flicks of his tongue over the tender flesh; loves to bury his face in its crook and inhale the scant traces of your perfume that drives him absolutely wild; loves to lick from the base of your throat all the way up to your earlobe that he sucks into his mouth.

D is for Dirty (a dirty little secret of theirs)

He’s got a lot of fantasies that skew pretty porny, and almost all of them center around him fulfilling some kind of handyman role. He hangs a shelf, he unclogs a drain, he fixes a busted radiator—all while some sweet thing in a skimpy little outfit is giving him big eyes, making excuses to touch his arm, cooing her thanks, asking if there’s anything, anything at all, she can do to repay him. 

He also kind of loves “stuck” porn. Usually the ones where the girl is trying to get something out of the washing machine and she gets caught. Just hangs there virtually helpless with her ass in the air, the hem of her short skirt barely skimming the bottom of it, just begging for a pair of rough hands to come up behind her and slide it up to her waist, revealing her glistening center. The guy can touch her, finger her, eat her out, fuck her, and all she can do is take it.

He kind of questions what that says about him, like, as a person at first. But when you find out about it and you’re not only understanding but super down to try it? He’s fucking thrilled.

H is for Hair (how well groomed are they? does the carpet match the drapes? etc.)

I mean, if you think the hair on his head is thick and luxurious…

I is for Intimacy (how are they during the moment? the romantic aspect)

This bitch invented intimacy. Cradling your cheek in his palm, brushing the pad of his thumb over your lips just to feel how soft they are before his head drops down for a taste. Rests his forehead against yours when his thrusts start to pick up, his brows drawn in concentration, his jaw falling open and hanging slightly slack because holy shit this feels so good. Not just good, but right. Everything about it, you and him being together like this, is so right he can’t even believe it’s real. He’s been waiting his whole life to feel just once like he’s in the right place at the right time and it’s finally happened. He needs this intimacy with you—craves it, even. It’s what sustains him, what keeps him coming back looking for more even when his old avoidant ways are knock, knock, knocking at the door in his head and pointing urgently at the watches on their wrists.

J is for Jack Off (masturbation headcanon)

Logan was never really a “jacking-off” kind of guy. From the time that he was old enough to get girls, he could just…get girls. He didn’t need to resort to fucking his own fist like some kind of teenager enslaved to his hormones. Once in a while, he’d do it to help him get to sleep if he was having a hard time doing so, but it wasn’t, like, habitual. That is, until you came into the picture.

Now, his head is so overrun with you he can barely get anything done—he’s totally distracted thinking about you, or remembering the last time you were together, or imagining what it’ll be like the next time he sees you. He’s a man possessed, and jacking off has now become a necessity. He’s almost forced to do it just so he can have a clear head for an hour or so before it starts all over.

K is for Kink (one or more of their kinks)

Lingere. He’s definitely got a thing for lingerie. Like, more than the base level appeal it holds for most guys, he’s pretty certain. He doesn’t even need a full set to get him going. Sometimes a fleeting glimpse of a dainty strap, or seeing the top of a pair of thigh-highs is enough to make him sweat. But if you come at him with the works—bra, panties, tights, garter belt, maybe a little sheer dress or cape he can rip off of you? Oh, brother, that boy is gone. His knees will hit the floor so hard it leaves a divot, and he will crawl to you with those big, round, begging eyes.

T is for Toys (do they own toys? do they use them? on a partner or themselves?)

He doesn’t own any toys himself, but he’s veeery interested in your collection. Gives you some shit when he first stumbles upon them, teasing grin spread wide, his eyes dancing impishly as he’s bringing them out of your nightstand. But then he starts kissing you and running his hands all over your body, so hot and bothered at the thought of you laying in your bed cumming over and over with your bullet he can’t help but ask if he can watch—or better yet, use one on you himself.

Some guys think of toys as the enemy, but John sees them for what they truly are: teammates.

U is for Unfair (how much they like to tease)

He is first and foremost a little shit, so he teases you quite a lot. Likes to talk a big game about all the ways he’s going to make you wait, and beg, and squirm, and plead for him to give you what you want. But when the moment actually comes? Oh, he’s folding so fast. All you have to do is look up at him with those eyes (those fucking eyes) and he’s melting into a puddle of need.

V is for Volume (how loud they are, what sounds they make, etc.)

He’s very verbal and vocal, but he tries really hard not to be. Most of his sounds are these deep and guttural grunts and groans he’s struggling to repress or muffle in the name of trying to maintain some semblance of control. Hushed whispers of “Oh, fuck…” when he slides inside you the first time, followed by shaky moans at the feeling of your slick heat enveloping him, his mind spinning out of control. And the longer you go for, the harder it gets for him to hold back, the more noises he starts to make. He gasps and pants and fucking whimpers when he slams his lips into yours for a kiss, trying to disguise his not-remotely-disguiseable desperation.

You'd been pretending to watch the movie for at least fifteen minutes.

Dean had been doing a terrible job of pretending he wasn't staring at you for just as long.

It was a terrible performance on both sides, especially considering the laptop was still playing some action movie at the end of his bed, and neither of you could've named one thing that'd happened in the last ten minutes. You were tucked under his sheets in one of his old Briar shirts, the hem brushing soft against your thighs because your underwear was the only thing you'd bothered putting on after your shower, and Dean was lying beside you with one hand behind his head and the other low on your hip like he was trying very hard to act like a gentleman.

He was trying to behave, which was sweet, really, but not exactly successful.

"You're staring again," you murmured, not even bothering to look away from the screen.

Dean's thumb moved in a slow circle over your hip. "You're in my bed wearing my shirt. You can't really blame me."

"You gave it to me," you pointed out, like that was supposed to make him less smug about it.

"I know." Dean's mouth curved like he'd been waiting for you to say exactly that. "Great decision, honestly."

You rolled your eyes, but the smile breaking through kind of ruined the effect. "You're impossible."

"Yeah." Dean leaned in, his lips brushing your shoulder through the fabric of his shirt. "But you like me anyway."

"Sometimes," you said, though your smile made it sound a lot less convincing.

"Right now?" he asked, his voice dropping just enough to make your stomach flip.

You turned your head to answer, which was apparently all the invitation Dean needed, because then he was kissing you, slow and warm, one hand sliding up your side beneath the fabric like he'd planned the whole thing. It was easy to melt into Dean like that, a lot easier than you'd ever admit out loud. Dean kissed you like he knew exactly how much time he had, which apparently meant he had no problem spending it dragging every little sound out of you to see how much trouble it got him into.

His fingers slipped beneath the hem of the shirt, warm against your waist in a way that shouldn't have made you gasp as quickly as it did.

Dean smiled against your mouth, entirely too pleased with himself. "There she is."

"Don't start."

"I didn't even say anything."

"You were about to, and we both know it."

He laughed, low and entirely too pleased with himself, before rolling onto his back and tugging you over him like he already knew you'd follow. And you did, because apparently thinking was no longer part of the plan, one knee sliding across his hips until you were straddling his lap.

Then you froze beneath his hands, and Dean felt the change in you immediately.

His hands settled on your waist, thumbs brushing over your sides in a way that was soft enough to make your chest ache a little. "Hey."

You swallowed, suddenly very aware of the fact that you were in his lap with your thighs spread around his hips, his hard length pressing up beneath his sweatpants, and somehow his shirt still covering you didn't make you feel any less exposed.

"This feels like a lot of responsibility," you said, aiming for a joke and landing somewhere embarrassingly close to panic.

Dean's brow lifted like he wasn't sure whether to laugh or be concerned. "Responsibility?"

"I just..." You looked down, your fingers curling into the front of his shirt like that'd somehow make the words easier to get out. "I've never really done this before."

His expression softened, though that amused little spark in his eyes didn't go anywhere. "Been on top?"

Your cheeks warmed, which was annoying because Dean absolutely noticed. "Not really."

"Not really?" Dean repeated, thumbs still brushing over your waist like he was trying very hard not to look too pleased about that.

"Dean," you said, dragging his name out like a warning, even though the warmth in your cheeks made it pretty hard to sound threatening.

He smiled a little, his hands giving your hips a gentle squeeze like he'd decided to behave for once. "Okay. Not really."

"It's not a big deal," you said quickly, which was unfortunate because saying it that fast made it sound like it was definitely a big deal. "I just feel like I'd look stupid, or I wouldn't know what I was doing, and then you'd have to pretend it was hot, which is a very nice boyfriend thing to do, but also something I'd never emotionally recover from."

Dean stared at you for a beat, then laughed in this soft, disbelieving way that only made your face feel warmer. "Baby, I'm hard because you're sitting on my lap in my shirt. You could sneeze right now, and I'd find a way to be into it."

You blinked because, annoyingly enough, it had worked. "That was weirdly comforting."

"I'm great at comfort."

"You're absolutely not."

"I am when you're half-naked on top of me."

You tried to bite back a laugh, but it came out as this breathy little sound instead when Dean's hands guided your hips down, showing you exactly how slowly he wanted you to move over him. The pressure caught against your clit through your underwear, warm and steady enough to make your thighs tense before you could stop them.

Dean's eyes darkened like he'd felt the way your body reacted. "Does that feel good?"

You nodded, your thighs still tense beneath his hands.

His mouth curved. "Words, sweetheart."

"Yes," you breathed, because apparently that was the only word your brain had left to offer.

"There you go," Dean murmured, his voice soft enough to make your stomach flip.

The next kiss was messier, mostly because Dean kept guiding your hips over him like he had all the patience in the world, dragging it out until your underwear was damp, clinging to you, and making it pretty impossible to pretend you weren't affected. At first, the sounds you made were small and half-swallowed against his mouth, but Dean noticed every single one like he'd been waiting for them.

"Don't do that," he murmured.

You blinked at him. "Do what?"

"Hold back." His fingers tightened on your hips like he was making sure you couldn't pretend you didn't know what he meant. "I like hearing you."

Your stomach flipped, which was annoying because Dean absolutely felt it, and then he kissed you again until the friction dragged a moan out of you that you finally let him hear.

Dean groaned, as if he'd heard you'd done something terrible to his self-control.

That helped more than anything else could have.

By the time Dean had pushed his sweatpants down and rolled on a condom, your underwear was shoved to the side, your hands were planted on his chest, and the shirt was still hanging over you like a very pathetic attempt at feeling covered. Dean didn't try to take it off, which somehow made your chest feel tighter. He just held your hips, eyes fixed on your face as he guided himself through your wetness.

"Slow," he murmured. "Take your time."

You lowered yourself carefully, trying to take your time like he'd told you to, but your mouth still fell open the second the head of his cock pressed inside you. The stretch was familiar and different all at once, deeper like this, more intense because you were the one in control, which sounded nice in theory and felt a lot more terrifying with Dean watching your face like that. You sank inch by inch, trying very hard to look like you had any control over yourself, but the second he filled you, your fingers curled against his chest, and a shaky whimper slipped out before you could stop it.

Dean's jaw tightened. "Fuck."

You froze immediately. "Bad?"

His eyes snapped to yours as you'd just said something insane. "Are you joking?"

"You made a face."

"Yeah, baby, because you feel so good, I'm trying not to embarrass myself."

Your cheeks warmed, which was embarrassing enough on its own, but the praise still settled low in your stomach like your body had decided to enjoy it before you could overthink it.

"You're not just saying that?"

Dean's hands slid up your thighs, grounding you in a way that made it annoyingly hard to spiral. "Move once, sweetheart, and see if I sound like I'm lying."

So you did, moving slowly at first.

Your hips lifted, then sank back down, and Dean's head tipped against the pillow with this rough, helpless groan that made it pretty hard to believe he'd been lying about any of it.

"Oh," you breathed, and the second you moved again, it turned into something closer to a moan.

Dean's eyes opened, heavy and dark, like he'd been waiting for exactly that. "Yeah?"

"Feels good," you said, already sounding a little wrecked.

His hands squeezed your thighs. "Then keep going, sweetheart."

Your movements were awkward at first, mostly because your brain wouldn't shut up long enough to let your body figure it out, too busy worrying about the rhythm, whether you were doing enough, and whether you looked ridiculous hovering over him in his shirt with your thighs trembling.

Then Dean's hands tightened on your hips like he could feel you spiraling. "Stop thinking."

"I'm trying."

"No." His voice dropped, rough around the edges but still gentle. "You're trying to look good, which is insane, because you already do. Just move how you want."

The words hit harder than you'd expected, mostly because Dean sounded like he meant them, so you tried to believe him.

You rolled your hips instead of lifting so high, chasing the angle that made your clit catch against him every time you sank back down, and the moan that left you was loud enough to make Dean's cock twitch inside you like he was having a very hard time staying calm about it.

Your eyes flicked to his face, and Dean looked so wrecked that it made it pretty hard to keep worrying about whether you were doing it right.

His lips parted, jaw tense, and his hands kept flexing on your hips like Dean was having the world's hardest time remembering he'd told you to move how you wanted.

"You like this?" you asked, and even though your voice shook, it still came out bolder than before.

Dean laughed once, rough and breathless, as the question had actually offended him. "Like it?" His hips jerked up into you, dragging a gasp out of your mouth. "Baby, I'm trying not to lose my fucking mind."

That did something to you, mostly because Dean sounded like he meant it, and apparently, your body liked knowing you could mess him up that badly.

Your next movement was smoother, more confident, and the moan that came out of you wasn't even close to quiet, which Dean clearly noticed because his hands tightened on your hips immediately.

"Dean—fuck," you moaned, and the way his eyes darkened made it pretty clear he'd liked hearing his name like that.

"That's it," he murmured. "Let me hear you."

You rode him slowly at first, then a little faster once you realized your body had apparently figured out what your brain kept trying to overthink, your hands sliding up his chest as his shirt rode higher over your thighs. Your cunt was soaked around him, every movement making it easier, wetter, and a lot harder to feel shy about, especially when Dean looked down to watch where you were taking him and groaned as he'd just lost whatever was left of his self-control.

"God," he muttered, hands tightening on your hips. "You were worried about this?"

You tried to laugh, but it came out closer to a whimper when he helped you grind down harder. "Maybe."

Dean looked like that answer personally offended him. "You're killing me."

His fingers tugged at the hem of the shirt, and you slowed immediately, like your body had decided to panic before your brain could tell it not to.

Dean noticed immediately, because, of course, he did, his eyes lifting back to yours, as if taking the shirt off suddenly mattered a whole lot less than making sure you were okay. "Can I see you?"

Your stomach fluttered.

His hands rubbed up your thighs, warm and steady. "You can keep it on if you want."

You hesitated for only a second before lifting your arms, which felt a lot braver than it probably looked.

Dean pulled the shirt over your head and tossed it aside, leaving you in your bra and still moving over him like your body hadn't quite figured out whether to be nervous or proud. His eyes dragged over you slowly, and for once, Dean Di Laurentis had absolutely nothing to say.

That made your chest tighten, mostly because Dean looking at you like that was a lot harder to handle than any stupid comment he could've made. "What?"

His hands slid up your waist, warm and certain. "You're so fucking pretty."

Your breath caught the second his palms covered your breasts through your bra, thumbs brushing over your nipples beneath the thin fabric, and your rhythm faltered immediately, because apparently, Dean touching you there made moving and thinking at the same time impossible.

"Oh—Dean."

His mouth curved, entirely too pleased with himself. "No, don't stop."

"You're distracting me."

"Good." His thumbs circled again, making you clench around him like your body had decided to prove his point. "Keep riding me anyway."

You moaned louder this time, hips rolling as his hands played with your tits through your bra, and every touch made you stutter in a way Dean very clearly noticed. Every bit of praise made you wetter, every look on his face made you a little bolder, until the embarrassment started slipping away as your body had finally decided to stop fighting him.

"Tell me," he said, voice rough. "Tell me what feels good."

You swallowed, still moving over him because apparently stopping would've been the worst idea. "Your hands."

"Yeah?"

"And your cock." Your voice was breathless enough to be embarrassing, but you said it anyway, and Dean's eyes went so dark that it made the embarrassment feel worth it. "Feels good when I move like this."

You rolled your hips harder to show him, and Dean's head dropped back as you'd just ruined him on purpose.

"Fuck," he groaned. "Don't stop doing that."

Hearing Dean sound like that ruined something dangerous to your confidence, mostly because it was a lot harder to feel embarrassed when he sounded like he was the one barely holding it together.

Your hands moved behind your back, unclasping your bra before your brain could show up and ruin the moment. It slipped down your arms and fell somewhere between you, and Dean stared as you'd just done something genuinely unfair to his ability to breathe.

"Look at you," he breathed, and the way he said it made your whole body feel warm.

The words made your chest warm in a way you weren't sure what to do with.

Then his mouth was on you, lips closing around one nipple while his hand covered your other breast, and you cried out so quickly it would've been embarrassing if Dean hadn't groaned like it'd done something to him. Your fingers slid into his hair, hips moving faster now as pleasure started building low in your stomach.

"Dean, I'm—" Your voice fell apart into a whimper when his thumb found your clit, because apparently your body had no interest in letting you finish a sentence. "Oh my god, right there."

"There?" he asked, smug in a way that would've been annoying if he didn't sound so wrecked.

"Yes. Fuck, yes."

He rubbed slow circles over your clit while you rode him, his other hand on your hip and his mouth moving from your breast to your throat like he wasn't already making it impossible to focus. You were close, so close your thighs had started shaking, but the rhythm was getting harder to keep, your moans turning messier and needier as frustration tangled with the pleasure your body kept trying to chase.

Dean caught it instantly, like every little shift in your body was something he'd been waiting for.

"Come here," he murmured.

Before you could even think about arguing, Dean rolled you beneath him and pulled the sheets over both of you, settling between your thighs without slipping out like he'd decided you'd done enough thinking for one night. The new angle made you gasp, your legs wrapping around his waist as he pressed deeper.

Then Dean caught both your hands and laced your fingers together, pinning them above your head so gently it made your chest ache a little.

Dean kissed you, slow and messy, like he had every intention of making good on that promise. "Let me finish what you started."

"Please," you whispered, and it came out a lot needier than planned, which Dean absolutely noticed.

Dean's expression flickered. Then his hips started moving. Slow, deep, steady thrusts that had you moaning into the space between you, thighs locked around his waist, your hands crossed with his over your head. The sheets tangled around your legs, heat building under the blanket, his body heavy and warm over yours.

"You did so well," he murmured, his mouth brushing your jaw like he knew exactly how badly the praise was getting to you. "Looked so fucking good on top of me."

"Dean," you whimpered.

"I know." His hips rolled deeper, pulling your back into an arch. "I've got you."

His hand slipped between your bodies again, thumb finding your clit like he already knew exactly what you needed, and your whole body tightened around him.

"Oh—fuck, don't stop," you gasped, which was probably unnecessary considering Dean looked like stopping would've killed him.

He groaned anyway. "Wasn't planning on it."

The pleasure snapped through you suddenly, hot and sharp, and your moan broke against Dean's mouth as you came around him. Your thighs locked around his waist, fingers tightening in his above your head like you needed something to hold onto while your body shook beneath him.

Dean followed right after, his thrusts going uneven as he'd finally lost the last of his control, face buried in your neck as a rough groan broke out of him while he held you close and came.

For a while, neither of you moved, both of you too warm and tangled beneath the sheets to do anything other than breathe.

"You okay?" he asked softly.

You nodded, still trying to catch your breath. "Yeah."

His grin appeared slowly, which was never a good sign. "So."

"No."

"I didn't say anything."

"You were about to."

"I was just gonna say you're definitely not bad at being on top."

Your face warmed, and you turned it into the pillow like that might somehow save you. "You're so annoying."

"And you were so loud."

"Dean."

"I liked it," he said, kissing your cheek like he hadn't just made you want to disappear into the mattress. "A lot."

You tried to glare, but it came out pretty weak, especially when he slipped out carefully and disappeared to clean up like he hadn't just ruined your ability to function. When he came back, he helped clean you with a warm towel, gentle when your thighs twitched, before pulling his shirt back over your head as it belonged there.

"Putting me back in this?" you asked, glancing down at the shirt.

"Obviously." Dean climbed into bed beside you and pulled you into his chest, looking far too pleased with himself. "It's my new favorite thing now."

You laughed softly, settling against him while his arm wrapped around you like he had no plans of letting you go anytime soon.

For a minute, Dean only rubbed slow circles over your back like he was trying to make sure you'd fully melted into him. Then his voice came again, softer this time, though obviously still teasing because it was Dean.

"So..." His mouth brushed your hair, and you could hear the grin in his voice before he even finished. "You wanna do that again sometime?"

You pinched his side, which only made him laugh because apparently even that wasn't enough to make him less pleased with himself.

Dean laughed and pulled you closer, sounding far too pleased with himself for someone who'd just been pinched. "I'll take that as a yes."

── ⋆⋅☆⋅⋆ ──

💌lmk if you want to be added to my taglist

You hadn’t actually been introduced to him yet, but you’d felt his suffocating vibe the moment he walked through the door. He looked like absolute thunder. Briar had dropped a frustrating, tight game that evening, and while Garrett was channeling his nervous energy into playing the charismatic host, Logan was wearing his irritation like armor. Leaning against the kitchen counter with a dark scowl that practically screamed at people to stay away, his knuckles were white around his glass, his eyes scanning the room as if looking for a reason to snap.

​Navigating that crowded, chaotic kitchen with a brim-filled, sticky mixed drink was your first mistake. Your second was catching the rubber toe of your sneaker on the lifting edge of a rogue anti-fatigue mat near the sink.

​You stumbled forward, your arms flailing wildly in a desperate, ungraceful bid for balance. You didn’t fall, but your cup did a violent, mid-air flip, slipping from your fingers. A torrential wave of sticky, dark rum and cola splashed directly across the pristine gray fabric of Logan’s Henley shirt, soaking through the chest, darkening the material instantly and dripping down the front of his dark jeans.

​​Logan froze. His head snapped down slowly, looking at the huge, dark stain spreading across his clothes, and then his gaze lifted to yours. His eyes were blazing, a dangerous brown, entirely unamused and dripping with venom. "Oh, fuck!" he snapped, his voice cutting right through the ambient noise like a knife. He pulled the wet, heavy fabric away from his skin with two fingers, a look of pure annoyance twisting his features. "Are you serious right now? Watch where the hell you're going."

​The sheer aggression in his tone caught you completely off guard, instantly sparking your own deeply ingrained, stubborn nature. You had been about to apologize profusely, the words of remorse already forming on your tongue, but the bite in his words choked them right out of your throat. You squared your shoulders, refusing to back down under his glare. "It was an accident," you retorted, pulling a few crumpled, napkins from the counter and shoving them toward his chest. "You don't have to be a complete dick about it. It’s just a shirt, I'm pretty sure you'll survive."

​"It's a wet, sticky shirt at the end of a terrible, exhausting fucking day," he growled, his voice dropping an octave as he batted your hand away with a harsh flick of his wrist. He didn't take the napkins; they fluttered uselessly to the floor. Instead, he leaned down slightly, giving you a long, icy glare that made you feel about two inches tall, his jaw clenching so hard you could see the muscle tick. "Next time, look up from your feet." Without waiting for a response, he turned on his heel and storming down the hallway toward the stairs, muttering curses under his breath.

​You stood there rooted to the spot, your cheeks burning with a toxic mixture of intense embarrassment and sudden, deep-seated dislike. Garrett materialized at your side a split second later, a sympathetic, slightly apologetic grimace on his face as he patted your shoulder gently. "Hey, don't sweat it," Garrett reassured you quietly, glancing warily toward the stairs where Logan had disappeared. "Logan’s just in a brutal mood because of the game, and he hates losing more than anyone. He's usually a great guy, I swear. He’ll have forgotten all about it by tomorrow morning."

​You forced a tight, fake smile and nodded, but as you looked down at your empty, sticky hands, a bitter taste lingered in your mouth. Spoiler alert: he wouldn't forget. and neither would you.

Two — "Fuck you"

A few weeks later, the initial friction hadn’t dissolved; it had hardened into a permanent, icy chill. You tried your best to play nice for the sake of Hannah and Allie, but Logan made it incredibly difficult. You saw how he was with the rest of their circle—fiercely loyal, easygoing, and warm. He was the kind of guy who quietly made sure Allie and Hannah got home safe from their late shifts and spent his free afternoons helping Jules with media stuff. He was patient with the entire world. But the exact millisecond you walked into a room, his posture stiffened and his jaw set. You hated being the sole exception to his good nature, so you simply stayed out of his way.

​The breaking point came on a gray, rainy Tuesday afternoon. You and Hannah had walked over to the hockey house to help Tucker untangle a massive, soul-crushing history assignment he was drowning in. The three of you were spread across the dining table, surrounded by a chaotic mess of highlighters, laptop cords, and heavy library textbooks.

​The back door clicked open, and Logan walked in. He was wearing his Briar athletic gear, a damp towel slung over his shoulders from a post-practice shower, his hair messy and wet. He looked exhausted, his shoulders tense, carrying the unmistakable hangover of a brutal morning practice. Instead of walking past to the kitchen, he paused by the table, leaning over Tucker’s shoulder to scan the open pages. He let out a heavy, deliberate sigh. ​"You’re using the wrong primary sources for that era, Tuck," Logan said, his voice dropping into that effortless, uninvited authority. "You need the economic logs from the eastern front, not these political manifestos. You’re going to tank your thesis statement with those."

​Tucker blinked up, looking miserable. "Wait, really? I thought—"

​"We checked those, Logan," you interrupted, keeping your voice level and calm as you kept your eyes on your notebook. "We've got it handled," you smiled, trying to remain polite.

​Logan didn't move. His eyes slid slowly down to the side of your face, unamused. "Right. Because you're an expert on 20th-century economic trade?"

​"No," you said, your pen pausing on the page. "But I can read a syllabus. If you're so worried about Tucker's academic results, you could have sat down and helped him yourself already."

​Logan’s jaw tightened, a sharp spike of tension instantly replacing his usual easygoing demeanor. He took his hands out of his pockets and leaned forward, bracing his palms on the edge of the table, firmly invading your space. Tucker shot Hannah a wide-eyed, panicked look across the textbooks, both of them suddenly bracing for impact.

​"I gave him my old notes weeks ago," Logan shot back, his voice dropping into something smaller, tighter. "But sure, ignore the guy who actually passed the class because you're too stubborn to take a note from me."

​"I'm not being stubborn, you're just being a patronizing prick," you retorted, leaning back in your chair. "You’ve been hovering over this table for five minutes just looking for a problem because you had a bad day and want to take it out on someone."

​Logan let out a harsh, dry laugh, though there was a flicker of genuine frustration in his eyes—the look of a good guy who couldn't understand why he kept letting you bait him. "Take it out on someone? Trust me, if I wanted to take anything out on someone, I wouldn't waste my time on you. I'm trying to keep my friend from bombing a midterm because he made the mistake of letting you organize his thoughts."

​"My thoughts are perfectly fine, Logan," Tucker muttered quietly under his breath, his eyes glued to his laptop screen, desperately trying to dissolve into the background.

​"They're fine when you're left alone, Tuck," Logan said, keeping his eyes locked onto yours, completely ignoring his teammate's plea. "Not when you're letting someone drag their own contrarian agenda into your coursework."

​"A contrarian agenda?" You stood up, your chair scraping loudly against the hardwood floor. Hannah flinched at the sharp noise, withdrawing her hands from the table and motioning for Tucker to leave the potential future crime scene. They both complied quickly, knowing you both well enough to understand that trying to reason with you in that moment would be pointless. "Are you actually insane? I'm sorry that anyone else having a brain in this house threatens your need to micromanage every single thing that happens under this roof."

​"It doesn't threaten me at all," Logan said, standing up straight and towering over you, using his height to crowd your space until his shadow completely blocked out the light from the window. The sheer, uncharacteristic anger rolling off him was suffocating; Tucker actually slid his chair back a few inches, completely done with trying to intervene at this point. "It annoys me. You annoy me, actually. I'm not going to walk on eggshells in my own dining room because you can't handle a basic correction."

​"I can handle a correction if it's respectful," you shot back, your heart hammering against your ribs, but you refused to take a step away from him. "You don't want to help Tucker. You just want to feel like the smartest guy in the room and that is annoying."

​"I dont—," Logan started, a nervous scoff escaping his lips. "You don't know anything about me. Please let's keep it this way, since you clearly can't stand me anyway."

​"You're the one who treats me like an absolute inconvenience the second I breathe in your direction!" you yelled, the weeks of being ignored, brushed off, and glared at finally boiling over into raw, unadulterated anger. "If you hate me being here so much, just say it. But stop acting like I'm the one bringing the venom into this house when you're the one dripping it."

​The air between you turned completely volatile, thick enough to choke on. A strange, angry electricity snapped between you, the argument completely detached from history or homework now, exposed and raw. Logan stared down at you, his breathing heavy and uneven as he tried to swallow down the sheer frustration rolling off him in waves. ​He leaned down slightly, bringing his face inches from yours, his jaw clenching so hard a muscle violently ticked in his cheek.

"Fuck you," he whispered.

​The words hit with a cold, deliberate weight that vibrated in the dead-silent room. ​Before you could fire back, Tucker's voice boomed from the kitchen archway, stern and completely done with both of you. "Enough! Both of you, cut it the hell out."

​But the damage was done. The look in Logan's eyes made something tight and painful twist in your chest. You refused to sit there and breathe the same air as him for another second. Blindly turning around, you grabbed your laptop and notebook, shoving them into your backpack with rigid, uncooperative hands.

​"I'm leaving," you muttered, keeping your eyes glued firmly to the floor as you pushed past Hannah’s reaching hand on the way out. You grabbed your jacket from the hook and left through the front door, slamming it hard enough to rattle the frame, stepping out into the pouring, cold rain with the echo of his voice looping in your head like a curse.

Three — "Fuck off"

​For the next month, you became an absolute expert at avoiding John Logan. You turned it into an art form. If he was at a crowded house party, you stayed firmly in the kitchen or on the opposite porch. If the entire group gathered at Malone's, you ensured you sat on the exact opposite end of the long table, hidden behind Dean's loud gestures.

Because of this, you never saw the way his eyes silently followed you when you entered a room, or the almost guilty look that crossed his face whenever your name came up in conversation. He knew he'd crossed a line by cursing at you like that—but your unbreakable silence gave him absolutely no room to apologize, and his own stubborn pride kept him from forcing the issue.

​There were small signs of his guilt, though. One random Thursday afternoon, he showed up at the place you shared with Hannah and Allie, claiming he was just dropping off a spare hockey hoodie Garrett had left in his truck. You had stayed in your room with the door cracked just an inch, watching through the tiny gap as he lingered by the entrance, his eyes constantly drifting toward your door,  silently checking to see if you'd come out. You hadn't moved an inch, holding your breath until he finally left.

​Eventually, Hannah and Allie staged a full-blown intervention. A brand-new club had opened downtown, and they absolutely refused to let you stay home and rot in your room, even though they openly admitted the boys were all coming along. You finally relented, numbing your spiking anxiety by pouring yourself two heavy pre-game vodka crans before leaving the house.

​The club was a massive sensory overload—flashing neon lights, artificial fog, and heavy, chest-thumping bass that made communication impossible. By midnight, everyone was comfortably, heavily drunk. You were leaning your back against the sticky mahogany bar, sipping a gin and tonic, when you finally caught sight of him through the pulsing crowd.

​Logan was laughing at something Beau said, a dark red bandana tied tightly around his messy hair, looking effortlessly, devastatingly handsome in a black fitted t-shirt. As if sensing the weight of your gaze, his head turned. His dark eyes locked directly onto yours across the smoky crowded room. He didn’t look away. He held your stare for a second, then two, then three — a strange, intense, unreadable heat settling over his features before a group of dancers blocked your view.

A few minutes later, a guy from one of the campus fraternities slithered up next to you on the edge of the dance floor. He was loud, sweaty, and smelled entirely too much like cheap cologne and whiskey — but a little bit of dancing could help taking your mind off of a certain hockey player, you thought. You enjoyed it at first, moving along, focusing on the music, the stranger getting closer and closer as the playlist progressed. But then, just as you started to feel good - just the right amount of alcohol in your veins to feel lighter and relaxed - he tried to grind his hips against yours. You tried to step back, laughing it off politely at first, pushing his hands away, but he didn't take the hint. His hands came down on your waist, his fingers digging into your hips, pulling you flush against him with a grip that was far too tight and aggressive.

​Before you could even raise your hands to shove his chest, a massive shadow loomed over both of you.

​A now familiar hand gripped the frat guy’s shoulder, spinning him around with enough force to make his sneakers squeak on the floor.

​"Fuck off," Logan snarled, his voice a low, lethal vibration that cut right through the heavy bass of the music. He leaned in until he was nose-to-nose with the guy. "Get your fucking hands off her and fuck off right now."

​The guy looked at Logan and wisely raised his hands in surrender, backing away rapidly into the foggy crowd without throwing a single punch.

​Logan’s breathing was heavy, his chest heaving, his fists still clenched tightly at his sides as his eyes scanned the immediate area like a wild animal looking for another threat. He looked ready to tear the entire club apart with his bare hands. Anxious that he might actually chase the guy down for a fight, you stepped directly into his line of sight, capturing his attention.

​"Logan," you breathed, your voice soft and entirely stripped of its usual sarcasm. Without thinking about the consequences, you reached out, your bare fingers wrapping around his forearm.

​The exact millisecond your skin met the warm, rock-hard muscle of his arm, Logan froze entirely. It was the first time the two of you had ever willingly, gently touched, and the effect was instantaneous. The blinding anger seemed to drain out of him in a single breath, replaced by a sudden, sharp intake of air. He looked down at your small hand resting on his arm, his skin tingling where you touched him, and then he slowly, deliberately lifted his gaze to your eyes.

​The noisy club, the flashing strobe lights, the roaring bass, the alcohol—it all faded into irrelevant background noise. You stood face-to-face on the crowded dance floor, completely motionless, just looking into each other's eyes. Your heart was hammering a frantic rhythm against your ribs, not from fear of the frat guy, but from a sudden, dizzying, terrifying realization. Looking into his wide, intensely focused eyes, you realized you didn't hate him. Not even close. And from the soft, almost vulnerable parting of his lips, he didn't hate you either. You weren't close to being friends yet, but the ice had officially shattered into a million pieces. 

Four — "What the fuck"

The shift between you was subtle, but it was absolutely undeniable. The sharp hostility was gone, completely replaced by a quiet, lingering, heavy awareness that neither of you knew quite what to do with.

​A week later, you were sitting in a sunlit corner booth at Malone’s. You were completely, entirely absorbed in a brutal, multi-chapter study session for your finals, a pair of heavy over-ear headphones clamped securely over your ears. The sweet, nostalgic melody of American Pie was playing through the speakers, and without even realizing it, you were softly humming along to the chorus, tapping the cap of your yellow highlighter rhythmically against the open pages of your textbook.

​You were so deeply focused on your notes that you didn't hear the diner's front door chime, nor did you see Logan walk in. He was there to finalize the last-minute details for the upcoming Hockey Fundraiser with Hannah and Della. But the exact moment his eyes scanned the room and spotted you sitting alone in the corner booth, he stopped dead in his tracks.

​He didn’t approach right away. He just stood near the counter, watching you. A soft, genuine smile tugged at the corners of his mouth as he listened to your faint, slightly off-key humming.

​Prickled by the sudden, distinct sensation of eyes on you, you blinked and lifted your head from your textbook. Logan instantly wiped the smile from his face, clearing his throat roughly and pretending to read a missing cat flyer on the bulletin board.

​You pulled your headphones down, a small smirk playing on your lips. "You know, if you stare any harder, you're going to burn a hole right through my skull, Logan."

​Instead of snapping back with a sarcastic, biting retort like he used to, Logan let out a soft chuckle. He walked over to your booth and, to your surprise, slid into the bench by your side, his knee almost touching yours.

​"Just making sure you weren't torturing the rest of the innocent customers with your singing," he teased gently, his shoulder brushing against yours in the tight space.

​You rolled your eyes, but there was no spite left in your expression. "I happen to have the voice of a literal angel, thank you very much. You're just jealous."

​The playful banter slowly subsided into a comfortable silence. Logan looked at you, his expression turning a little more serious, his eyes softening as his voice dropped to a much quieter register. "Hey… are you doing okay?" Since what happened the other night, obviously implied by the way he looked at you right now, concern written all over his face.

You felt a warm flush creep up your neck and settle into your cheeks. "I'm okay, thank you" you smiled and he nodded, both silently agreeing not to discuss this unpleasant event anymore. You paused, looking down at his large hands resting on the table before forcing yourself to look back up. "How are you doing ? With the fundraiser and everything, I mean. You look like you haven't slept in a week."

​He seemed genuinely surprised that you were asking about him. Really, truly asking. He leaned back against the vinyl booth, a soft sigh escaping his lips as he completely opened up to you. He talked about the immense stress of managing the team's high expectations, his constant worries about Jules’ upcoming exams, and the suffocating pressure of the NHL scouts attending the next three games. You listened intently, never interrupting, offering gentle encouragement and a few dry, sarcastic jokes that had him laughing quietly into his palms. For a full hour, the two most stubborn, argumentative people at Briar University just… talked.

​"Well," you finally said, checking the diner clock and reluctantly packing your laptop into your bag. "I have to get to my shift at the library. Don't let Della bully you into paying extra for the tableware."

​"I won't," Logan said, his eyes tracking your every movement, lingering on your face. "See you around?"

​"See you around." You gave him a small, genuine smile—the first real one he'd ever received from you—and walked out into the crisp afternoon air, your heart feeling lighter than it had in weeks.

​Inside the booth, Logan sat completely still for a long, agonizing moment. He watched your retreating figure through the glass window until you turned the corner and disappeared from view. Slowly, he let out a shaky exhale, burying his face entirely in his hands. He rubbed his palms over his eyes, his heart hammering a frantic rhythm against his ribs.

​"What the fuck," he whispered into the empty diner booth, his voice laced with a mixture of absolute awe and sheer, unadulterated panic. He was screwed. He was completely, utterly, hopelessly screwed, and he knew there was no turning back.

Five — "Well, fuck"

​The night of the Briar Hockey Fundraiser at Malone’s was a chaotic, high-energy, glittering success. The entire diner had been completely transformed for the evening—the regular tables had been pushed to the far perimeter to create a makeshift dance floor, strings of warm fairy lights hung across the ceiling, and a massive turnout of wealthy alumni, boosters, and students kept the bar utterly slammed.

​You had dressed up significantly for the occasion, wearing a form-fitting, emerald green silk dress that Allie let you borrow from her closet - of course. You spent the first half of the night talking to Hannah near the punch bowl, but your eyes kept unconsciously tracking a certain someone across the room.

Logan was entirely in his element—charming the older donors, laughing easily with his teammates, and looking entirely too edible for your own good.

​Around midnight, the formal event finally dissolved into a proper, rowdy college party. The DJ cranked up a heavy, slow, rhythmic pop song, the bass echoing through the floor, and the dance floor filled up with couples. You were navigating the edge of the sweaty crowd, trying to find Allie when a sudden, firm, yet gentle pull on your wrist guided you backward.

​You spun around on your heels, your chest bumping right into Logan’s broad torso. "You've been actively dodging me all night," he murmured, his deep voice vibrating right against your skin as his large hand settled naturally around yours. The casual, unhesitating intimacy of the gesture sent a fierce, blinding jolt of electricity straight down your spine.

​"I wasn't dodging you, I was letting you do your official host duties," you shot back, a wicked, playful smile spreading across your lips. The alcohol gave you a surge of confidence, and you looped your arms slowly around his neck, stepping closer into his personal space until there was absolutely no air left between you. "Besides, I didn't think you could actually handle me dancing with you."

​Logan’s dark eyes lit up instantly, a dangerous, competitive challenge flaring in his pupils. He pulled you a fraction of an inch closer. "Oh, really? Try me, sweetheart."

​You didn't hesitate. As the heavy beat of the music dropped, you shifted your weight, rolling your hips slowly, deliberately, and sinfully against his. You leaned in close, your lips brushing the warm shell of his ear as you whispered, "You're all talk, John Logan. Let's see if you can actually keep up with me."

​You pulled back just enough to look at him, your hands sliding down his chest to grip the crisp fabric of his shirt, tugging him rhythmically, tightly against your body. The friction was immediate, heavy, and intoxicating. Logan’s breath hitched audibly in his throat. A dark, intense flush crept up his neck, coloring his sharp cheekbones as his hands settled on your waist, his fingers digging firmly into your skin through the thin fabric of your dress. He swallowed hard, his eyes dropping helplessly to your parted lips, entirely overwhelmed and undone by the sudden confidence of your movements. He could feel exactly how much you were affecting him, his body reacting instantly to the touch of your hips.

A breathless, desperate laugh escaped him. He jerked his head back for a split second, fighting a losing battle for self-control. "Well, fuck," he muttered, his voice raw, completely devoid of its usual composure.

​"Did I break the big, tough hockey player already?" you cooed, tilting your chin up tauntingly, your noses almost touching as you continued to sway against him.

​"You wish," he groaned, his thumbs stroking the bare skin of your lower back where your dress dipped low. He didn't pull away. Instead, he pulled you even tighter against his lower body, matching your sinful rhythm perfectly, his dark eyes locked onto yours with a burning intensity that made it very clear the playful teasing was rapidly turning into something much more dangerous and inevitable. When the night finally forced you apart, it didn't feel like a goodbye — it was a promise.

Six — "Fuck"

Some things are bound to reach a breaking point, and the agonizing tension building between you for months was no exception. Three nights later, Briar won a massive game and the ensuing after-party at the boys' house was pure chaotic madness. The house was packed to maximum capacity, a sweaty, pulsing mass of drunken celebration, loud music, and screaming students.

​But you and Logan weren't paying any attention to the party. For the past two hours, you had been moving around the house like two high-powered magnets — constantly drawing closer, stealing long, heated glances across the crowded rooms, the unspoken, heavy weight of the fundraiser hanging between you.

​Seeking a brief moment of quiet to cool down your flushed skin, you headed down the dark back hallway toward the upstairs bathroom. Just as you reached out for the brass doorknob, the door swung open from the inside.

​Logan stepped out.

You nearly crashed straight into his chest, cutting your breath short as you ground to a halt mere inches from him. The hallway was swallowed by shadows, save for the frantic strobe lights bleeding in from the living room. Logan stared down at you, wide-eyed, his chest rising and falling in sync with the thick, suffocating heat pulsing through the house.

​Neither of you said a single word. The months of toxic banter, the vicious, screaming arguments, the desperate avoidance, and the agonizing teasing all converged into a single, breathless, breaking second.

​Logan reached out with lightning speed, his large hand wrapping around your waist, and shoved you backward into the bathroom, slamming the heavy wooden door shut behind you and twisting the lock with a sharp, echoing click.

​Before the sound of the lock could even fade, his mouth crashed onto yours.

​It was an absolute explosion. The kiss was passionate, borderline feral, a violent release of pure, pent-up, crazy frustration. You let out a muffled gasp against his lips, your hands flying up to rip into his dark hair, pulling him down toward you out of sheer desperation. He groaned deep in his throat, a sound of pure hunger, pinning your body flat against the heavy wooden door, his thick thighs crowding tightly between yours. His hands were absolutely everywhere—clutching your face, tracing the line of your throat, gripping your hips with a bruising, desperate force that felt incredibly, entirely right.

​"Logan," you whimpered against his mouth as he tore his lips away to kiss your jawline, your neck - his hands sliding down to frantically bunch up the silk fabric of your dress.

​With a sudden burst of strengh, he hooked his large hands under your thighs and lifted you effortlessly into the air. You wrapped your legs tightly around his waist as he deposited you onto the cold marble edge of the bathroom sink counter. He didn't waste a single second. His hands slid all the way up the bare, warm skin of your thighs, finding the edge of your underwear. His fingers quickly found your slick, burning, over-sensitized core, rubbing against you through the damp fabric with a rhythm that made your head tilt back and earned a large grin from him.

​You arched your back off the counter, a loud sob escaping your lips, your fingers digging deep into his shoulders.

​"You like that?" Logan growled against your neck, his voice dripping with lust. His fingers moved faster, driving you up a steep, agonizing cliff. "Tell me you want it."

​"Logan," you breathed out, "please," you cried out, your head tossing back against the large bathroom mirror. Your hands flew down to his waist, frantically, blindly fumbling with the button of his jeans. You shoved the denim down his hips until his length snapped free—thick, heavy, and pulsing with heat. The moment your fingers wrapped tightly around him, moving in a fast, desperate stroke, Logan’s eyes rolled back.

His jaw clenched so hard a muscle ticked violently in his neck. He couldn't endure the exquisite torture for long, his quiet moans matching your own, before his large hand clamped over yours, freezing your movement. "Stop, stop," he panted, his chest wild, his forehead pressing against yours. "I'm going to come right now if you keep doing that. I need to feel you, right now."

With trembling, frantic hands, he reached into the small drawer next to the sink—Dean’s emergency stash—and ripped open a foil condom wrapper, spitting the plastic away and rolling it onto himself in one fluid, desperate motion.

Then he stepped back between your open thighs. His hands gripped your hips with an iron hold, dragging you to the very edge of the marble counter. He aligned himself against you, waiting just long enough for your frantic nod of approval. With one heavy, unyielding, possessive thrust, he buried himself completely inside you.

The sheer, overwhelming pleasure of that sudden fullness hit you both at once, fracturing the quiet of the bathroom with a sharp, mutual gasp. Instead of slowing down, the friction only stoked the fire, drawing a long, ragged, shattered exhale from deep in Logan's chest. His pupils were completely dilated, dark and wild with pure lust as his forehead dropped heavily against your shoulder.

"Fuck," he groaned into the crook of your neck, his voice a raw, visceral prayer vibrating against your collarbone.

His hands tightened on your hips, his fingers digging into your skin like an anchor as he immediately established a rhythm. The restraint dissolved into pure instinct. He pulled you flush against him, his thrusts becoming powerful, deep, and utterly relentless from the very start. Every heavy drive forced a breathless cry from your lips, the sound echoing off the tiled walls. You rocked together on the cold edge of the marble sink, your bodies generating a feverish heat that defied the chilly stone beneath you.

The bass from the after-party still thudded through the floorboards, a distant, muffled reminder of the chaotic world outside, but within the locked walls of the bathroom, that world was entirely forgotten. There was only the slick, friction-heavy slide of skin against skin, the frantic tangle of your fingers in his hair, and the hot, primal rhythm consuming you both.

The friction was dizzying, driving you both toward a precipice that neither of you could fight anymore. Logan’s pace turned frantic, his breath coming in harsh, ragged stabs against your ear as his hips slammed against yours with an undoing, desperate urgency. Every stroke sent a white-hot wave of pleasure straight to your core, tightening the coil inside you until it was agonizing.

You choked out a breathless, broken sound, your hands clamping onto his biceps as your head thrashed back against the mirror once more.

He didn't need words to know you were right there. He buried his face in your hair, his teeth grazing your shoulder as he delivered three more devastatingly deep, relentless thrusts.

That was the final breaking point. Your walls clamped down around him tight and pulsing, fracturing your breath into a loud, ruined cry as your entire body shattered into a blinding, head-to-toe release.

Hearing you break completely ruined him. Logan let out a guttural, unhinged groan that vibrated deep in his chest. His jaw locked, his body rigid and trembling as he gave one last, deeply possessive shove, throwing his weight into you as he came violently inside the condom. He held himself deep within you, his hips shuddering against yours as he rode out the waves of his own release, the two of you panting heavily in the quiet aftermath, entirely spent.

Seven — "Fuck it"

Roughly thirty minutes later, the two of you finally emerged from the bathroom. You had tried your absolute best to fix your chaotic appearance in the mirror—re-applying a bit of smudge-proof lip gloss, smoothing down the wrinkled fabric of your dress, and trying to tame your wildly tangled hair with your fingers—but the physical evidence of what had just occurred was written all over your faces. Your skin was flushed a deep unmistakable pink, your lips were incredibly swollen and red, and Logan was walking with a loose, stupidly contented, proud stride, his hair completely disheveled and sticking up in directions where your fingers had repeatedly torn through it.

​The exact moment you stepped back onto the floor of the crowded living room, a loud, piercing whistle cut through the air.

Dean was leaning against the back of the sofa, a beer dangling from his fingers and a knowing smirk plastered across his face. His eyes darted from you to Logan, zeroing in instantly on the faint trace of your lip gloss smeared along Logan’s jawline.

​"Well, well, well," he said, loud enough to be heard over the music. "Must have been a pretty intense plumbing emergency in there. Either that, or you two just went ten rounds with a blender. You might want to wipe your face, Logan."

Your cheeks instantly burned. You took a step back. "Dean, shut up, we were just—"

But Logan didn't let you finish the lie. He looked down at you, catching the slight panic in your eyes, and then looked over at Dean, who was practically vibrating with smug satisfaction.

Instead of getting defensive, Logan just let out a short, quiet laugh. The stubbornness, the secrecy, the remnants of your old feud—it all suddenly felt completely irrelevant. He was tired of hiding it.

"You know what? Fuck it," Logan muttered.

Before you could process the words, his hand slid around the back of your neck, his thumb resting against your jaw as he pulled you flush against his chest. Right there by the sofa, he leaned down and kissed you.

Dean threw his arms up in a dramatic, sweeping gesture. "About damn fucking time! Graham, you owe me twenty bucks!"

When Logan finally pulled back, his eyes were bright, a relaxed, genuinely happy smile playing on his lips as his thumb brushed your cheek. You looked up at him, the noise of the party fading into the background, finally realizing that the long, argumentative journey of seven dirty words had brought you exactly where you were supposed to be.

just posted a new John Logan fic <3