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rafe and his pregnant high school gf! during her pregnancy

rafe and his high school gf used to spend hours by the pool during their summer break, but now it feels different as the pair lay on the pool chairs side by side

rafe can’t stop looking at his girl’s growing belly, the bump now large enough for all to clearly figure out what happened

the book she had been reading said his baby was the size of a banana or some shit, but ward keeps saying she’s going to have a big baby like rafe himself was

he hates to admit it, but he’s so turned on by the idea of her carrying his son in there (even if he didn’t really want the baby at first, he’s starting to see the benefits especially as he looks at her growing breasts)

after the ultrasound, he’s been so touchy and always finds a way to be near her

rafe getting his gf to come in the pool with him, just so he can hold her close and kiss her as much as he wants

rafe doesn’t fully understand pregnancy cravings, but he does try his best to help his girl by bringing her drinks and food so she doesn’t have to get up

he does get angry though when she wakes him up at night to tell him she’s craving a specific dish from the wreck. he gets so grumpy and isn’t being very nice when he notices the tears welling up in her eyes, his eyes widening as she begins to cry into his arms

rafe goes and gets her stupid meal from the wreck :)

rafe loves the reactions from the people at the country club when he brings high school gf to lunch one day. he’s got his hands around her waist as he walks through to the reserved table, smiling as the crowd start to whisper. yeah he did that, that’s his kid in there and no one can do anything about it

on a more canon note, after a fight with his dad, rafe gets super high on coke and disappears for a few days. he stumbles back to tannyhill on day 3 looking for his girl, only to find her sitting with Sarah worried and crying

he’s standing there with open arms saying “hey baby, why are you crying, I’m back” like an idiot thinking she’ll happily greet him

only to have her start screaming at him, crying and asking where he went for three days, Sarah rubbing her back soothingly and trying to calm her down. she’s telling him he can’t be doing that with a baby as she sobs

he’s so dumbfounded by her reaction that he can’t help but stare, but soon the pair are in a screaming match and rafe is hurling all sorts of insults at high school gf! (it’s his defence mechanism and even his gf isn’t protected from it)

rafe wakes up in his room later that day coming down from his high only to realise his gf has moved her things into the guest room, not wanting to be around him right now

he blames it on her hormones to topper and kelce, but part of him knows he fucked up really badly when she doesn’t move back to his room by the end of the week

affection is a remedy for many a problem

continuation of a contended husband is no menace to the kingdom

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Aegon doesn't entirely change just because he feels loved and cared for, no. The trauma and lack of affection in his childhood still incites his drinking, but it's to a lesser degree. Still, it's not uncommon for his niece to wake to his slumbering frame reeking of cheap Flea Bottom ale, his late night antics with his sleazy friends having ended with the guards dragging his body into their shared chambers in the early morn. One would think she would be repulsed by such situations, and yet, Aegon often finds himself in the large tub with his wife washing his hair, her delicate hands bringing a soothing pressure to his waning headache. The Prince would be silent as a deep sense of shame settles over him, his expression settling into a grimace as he remembers the conversation that led him to Flea Bottom this time. His mother had been yelling at him for declaring his lack of desire for the throne - a desire that had never increased no matter the number of conversations they had. A sharp slap to his cheek before she sent him away from her chambers had been his final straw. He didn't remember much after that. Aegon is thankful that his sweet wife understands him, knowing he is trying to be better for her. She is always by his side.

The one thing that cheers him up the most is seeing his sweet little babies. The twins had come soon in the course of their marriage and though he'd been reluctant to become a father, there was soon nothing more important to him than caring for his children. He saw opportunities for redemption in them, and his wife was so good with them. She was motherly in a way that his own mother had never been, always coddling them and squeezing them tightly, praising them and laving them with affection. To see his own children loved so much healed something in Aegon. The married couple spend many hours together with the children in the nursery each day, playing with them and conversing. When the Twins had learnt of their mother's second pregnancy they had become even more excitable, always babbling to the babe and asking when their brother or sister would be born. As Jaehaera clings to her father and plays with his matching silver strands, Aegon can only look over at his wife and Jaehaerys as he presses his ear to her stomach, seeking to hear the babe. His heart swells at the realisation that he finally has a family that love him, and he who loves them more than anything in the world.

(I 100% believe half of Aegon's problems could be solved with a lot of love and affection)

Closer to the Gods || Alicent

Years into her marriage Queen Alicent permits only you to share in the more intimate parts of her routine. Despite the deep bond that connects you to Her Grace you are not certain that your feelings are returned – until she shows you.

Pairing: Alicent Hightower x lady-in-waiting!reader

Content: 3.1k words, repressed feelings, yearning, religious guilt, somewhat post-partum alicent, no y/n, smut (wlw, thigh riding, body worship, oral, v fingering, gentle smut), 18+ MDNI

Masterlist – Ao3 link

Her hair smells like citrus. The fragrance, enhanced by the steam of the hot water rising from the surface of her bath, mingles with the one of the perfumed oils that slick your hands as you weave them through her tresses. The scent makes you light-headed, as does the sight of her bare skin above the water. Her Grace sighs deeply when you massage her scalp, leaning into your touch with all the weariness she carries. You breathe her in, subtly, applying some pressure to her temples where you know her headaches to linger.

Born into a lesser house you were sent to be raised at court at a young age, a token of loyalty after the coronation of King Viserys. However, life at court changed after the death of his first wife and as a lady-in-waiting you soon became the new queen’s favourite. Ever since the birth of her first son she keeps you closer than any of the other ladies, allows you to take on the more intimate chores such as dressing and undressing her, brushing and washing her hair, keeping her company during the late hours of the day, singing and more often than not reading to her. Two years into her marriage now the queen will allow only you to take care of her in such a way and send away her servants once the more menial tasks such as filling the tub have been completed.

By now you know her whims and preferences better than your own. You feel an intimate affection for her Her Grace and it translates into the gentleness with which you touch her. Most evenings it is only you and her – unless the king requests her presence. Those nights you spend thinking of her in her soft white nightdress with her auburn hair falling in waves over her pale breasts underneath. You try to distract yourself from the thoughts of him touching her smooth skin, lacking the gentleness you know she desires. No one else but you is allowed to see her in any state of undress, let alone touch her. But he simply takes what he wants, what he thinks he is owed by right of being her husband. By right of being the king. Would that you could give her what he does, but you can never sire a son, you could never be anything but what you are now.

In front of the fire with your hands covered in scented oils you feel a shameful heat rising to your face, the immoral thoughts of replacing her husband a constant source of guilt. Rinsing her hair, you finish your routine. The water has cooled down and you know Her Grace will want to retire soon. During these moments she prefers solitude, as she told you once, dedicating herself to prayer or silent contemplation.

“I will have the servants remove the tub.” You absent yourself from her side, drying your hands on a piece of cloth. “If that would be all, Your Grace, I shall retire for the night.”

You are already turned around, placing her nightdress on the nearby table. Your hand traces the delicate ornaments of Myrish lace when her voice reaches you again. “Wait.”

You hear Her Grace stepping out of the tub and keep your gaze lowered respectfully. Once her robe is fastened around her narrow waist you dare look up again. She approaches you on bare feet, drops of water glistening on her skin like morning dew on the petals of a soft pink rose.

A damp thumb comes to swipe along your cheekbone as she considers you, soft eyes roaming your face. “You look lovely with your cheeks flushed.”

Her lip trembles as she says it, as though the confidence she displays is nothing but an act. Your queen has complimented you many times before but never in a such a way that you feel her words caressing your very soul. For a moment you are quite out of breath.

Her fingers dance along your collarbones then, toying with the seams of your dress. “I do not know why you should be allowed to see me and yet I am deprived of the same pleasure.”

“My queen, I do not know–”

Her face falls as she misreads your words for rejection. You catch her hand before she manages to tear it away and press it to your heart instead. Looking down you see that she must have been biting her nails again, her skin red and scabbed where she pulled at it.

“What I mean is…” You feel tears gathering in the corners of your eyes, the sting of insecurity and hesitation. “I am not much to look at. Not compared to Your Grace.”

She shakes her head, dismissing your words. “Call me Alicent.”

“I would not–”

“Please, for once let us not hide behind curtesies. I have grown tired of it, I have grown tired of you leaving when I want you the most.”

Her words claw their way underneath your skin, your heart racing at the implicit confession. You always thought your feelings to be unreciprocated, that Her Grace merely considers you a companion, perhaps a friend. But her eyes are wet with unshed tears, her hand pressing against your aching chest as though she is trying to reach inside.

“You would truly want me?” you ask, your voice barely audible.

“Every night you leave,” she says and it sounds like an accusation, laced with pain and longing.

“But Your Grace, you wished it so– I did not–”

“I know,” she interrupts. “I know.”

Her other hand moves to cradle your cheek, wiping a stray tear from your skin. She looks away for but a moment, as if to collect her thoughts, and when your eyes meet again her gaze is fierce, determined.

“I have tried to repress my feelings,” she says, her lips trembling again. “But I cannot stop– I cannot stop thinking about you. When you are not here I have to restrain myself not to call for you. I have to fight off the urge to run to your chambers to be near you. I am… so tired of pretending.”

You lean into her touch, closing the gap between you to rest your forehead against hers. “So am I, Alicent. So, so tired.”

“It is sin,” she whispers, brushing her nose against yours, her fingers ghosting over your lips. “To covet another, to covet–” Her words trail off, the thought left unspoken. “And yet I never feel closer to the Gods than when you touch me.”

Your queen swallows the air between you when she presses her lips to yours. Tentative and searching her mouth moves against yours with a softness that almost pains you. She tastes like sweet wine, smells of lavender and citrus. Unsure where to touch her you mirror her movements, stroking along her warm cheekbone, tracing the line of her jaw down to her neck where a few droplets of water have gathered. Your other hand still holds hers against your chest but then she slides it upwards to grasp your throat and you gasp into her mouth, warmth pooling into your belly. Her tongue grazes yours and she winds her fingers around the curve of your neck until they press against your spine and she can pull you in closer, lips firm and bruising.

You can feel her body through the garments between you, soft and pliable. She deepens the kiss and you get dizzy, your head spinning at the taste of her. The sensation is new, thrilling and addictive. When you break away she glances down at your dress and you make to untie it, glad to have chosen one that is not quite so hard to take off.

In your shift, you feel well-nigh naked. The cool sea air has goosebumps spreading all over your body, a breeze streaming in through the wide windows that overlook Blackwater Bay. Alicent takes you in, her eyes following her hand that drags the neckline of the sheer fabric down your shoulder until her fingers dance across your bare skin. The loose undergarment falls once it slips from your arm and you are fully bared to her. Instinctively, you cross your arms in front of your chest but she soon takes your wrists to pull them down.

“You are beautiful,” she whispers. “Do not hide from me. I have longed to see you as I have felt seen by you for a long time. Let there be nothing between us from now on.”

You nod and she unties the robe around her waist and lets it fall from her shoulders, silky fabric pooling at her feet in iridescent waves. Even though you have seen her bare many times before this time feels different. You do not have to hide your admiration, do not have to worry that she might catch you staring. Instead you allow yourself to revel in the sight of her, a body that has never truly been her own, changed from the months she carried her child, from the way she lent it to the king so he might have his son at last. Even though she does not look much changed when she is wrapped in her beautiful gowns you are witness to the subtle changes she wears underneath, the lines that run across her abdomen where her skin used to be stretched, her hips fuller and her breasts hanging lower than they used to.

To you, she is even more beautiful than ever before.

“May I kiss you?” she asks. The answer is a desperate nod.

She is more bold this time, even if you still hesitate, still wonder how you can ever touch her freely when she is your queen, when she can never truly be yours. The apprehension soon dissipates when you get drunk on the taste of her, of the feel of her soft curves following the shape of your own when she pulls you close. Her nipples brush yours and you moan wantonly, craving her so much that the feeling is akin to physical pain. Your whole body is burning, melting, your blood hot and heavy as it gathers between your legs.

You tentatively begin to run your hands over her body, following the line of her hips over her lower back, then up the ridges of her spine. She shivers underneath your fingertips, the same goosebumps that cover your body spreading across her still damp skin. As her tongue flattens against yours, her own hands curling firmly around your backside, you cannot hold back the desperate whimper that falls from your lips.

“I want you,” she whispers into your mouth. “I want all of you.”

“I am yours, Alicent,” you say. “I will always be yours.”

She breaks away and takes your hand to lead you over to her bed. Your lips are already swollen, your mind clouded by your need of her. She gently pushes you onto the soft mattress, expensive, silken fabrics welcoming you in her space. It feels too intimate, to be here, to lay where she lays. When she comes to rest on top of you it is like a vision from the Heavens, her slowly drying curls falling like a veil over your face until it is only you and her, breathing in tandem as the world around you blurs into nothingness.

Her mouth is hot when she kisses you and you meet her eagerly, pull her down until your bodies touch and you feel her weight on top of you. She moves her leg between yours, her thigh pressed against your core, and you whimper as the warmth of her touch spreads within you. A throbbing pain settles there and you cannot help but cant your hips to rub against her, soon grinding more feverishly as her tongue delves into your mouth. Alicent's hands roam your body but you hardly take note of each individual touch, so focused on the pleasure that builds inside of you.

"Please," you whisper, inching ever closer to a tipping point, your lungs struggling to inhale enough air.

Alicent looks down at you through heavy-lidded eyes, as though she wants to fully take in your reactions, helping you along as she presses her thigh firmer against your cunt, fingers teasing at your nipples. You gasp, forgetting to breathe as the pleasure tears through your body in hot tingling shudders. Alicent swallows your moans with her mouth, reaching between your legs now to feel your release, two fingers pressed against your wet core until they enter you easily. She carries you through your crest with slow rolls of her hand but soon the pressure builds again and you clench around her intrusion, unable to hold back.

When the rolling waves of pleasure finally subside, kisses turn slow and aimless and you take a moment to calm your racing heart. Alicent presses her lips to your face and neck with an ardent intensity while you hold her in your arms, fingers curled around her thigh. You can feel her arousal dripping against your fingertips and begin to stroke her there, revelling in the gasps she releases against your skin. The gentleness with which she touches you sends tears to your eyes, for what you are not quite certain. Perhaps it is the realization that you have never been loved like this, the fact that it is your queen, the woman you have been dreaming about for years, who holds such affections for you.

"Alicent," you say and she lifts her head to meet your gaze. "Please, I want to taste you."

At first she seems hesitant, almost like the young girl she used to be, uncertain whether your intentions are true. But after a moment she seems to come back to herself and remember who you are, her gaze softening, gaining confidence and trust. She settles on her back beside you, propped up by silken pillows with her skin glowing like embers, draped in the faint light of the fire and a dozen candles.

She is beautiful with her lips swollen by your kisses, her pale breasts exposed and hardened, a faint line of hair leading from her belly button to a thicker tuft at the apex of her thighs. You admire her for a moment, kneeling in front of her with your limbs still trembling in the aftermath of your pleasure. What love you held for her before this night has grown insurmountably and you believe with all your heart that this cannot be sin, that it cannot be wrong when it is nothing short of worship.

You gently spread her thighs, revealing her to you fully. Reverent kisses to the insides of her knees, down her thighs that feel so soft against your lips. She moans when you caress a particularly sensitive spot and the sound is like music, urging you to leave more kisses all over skin, following the lines on her abdomen up to her breasts. You take one into your mouth, sucking gently at her hardened nipple until it is pink and swollen. Alicent weaves her fingers through your hair, the other hand caressing your shoulder. Her hips buck, wanting for attention, and you finally succumb and settle at her core.

With your eyes locked on hers you leave a kiss on her mound. Alicent links her fingers with yours and presses your intertwined hands to her abdomen as if to ground herself. Her other hand brushes a stray curl from your forehead. You slowly press your mouth to her cunt, tongue dipping between her folds to taste her. She moans again, louder this time, and you continue to attend to her, dipping your tongue into her and kissing every part you can reach. You forget yourself after a moment, lost in the whimpers and gasps that fill your ears, her soft skin and sweet taste.

As her pleasure builds, Alicent's hand fully tangles in your hair and she pushes your face deeper against her, her other hand gripping yours so tight that you begin to feel a distant pain. You cannot help your own wanton moan, wanting to make her feel like she made you feel. As you focus on her pearl, applying gentle pressure to her most sensitive areas, you use your second hand to spread her folds and dip your finger into her entrance. When you meet no resistance you add a second one and begin to rub them back and forth inside of her. It does not take long until her hips stutter as she rolls them against your face, the music falling from her lips now muffled by her hand.

You can feel her release as though it is your own, her muscles clenching around your digits, her release wet on your tongue as her whole body shudders. You continue until she pushes your face away, looking up at you see chest rising and falling rapidly, her brow damp and lips parted. A sense of deep bliss settles inside of you at the realization that you made her feel such pleasure, that she allows you to see this intimate side of her that you are not sure anyone else has ever seen.

She releases your hand to brush her hair back and you sit back on your heels to clean your face, taking in the sight of her without shame this time. You are not sure you could leave her now, not sure if you could ever have enough of her, already feeling the need again to touch her, kiss her, worship her.

After a moment Alicent reaches out, her hand wrapping around your wrist before she pulls you toward her. Curling against her side you sigh at the softness of her body, hiding your face at her neck. She welcomes you, arms slung around you tightly as you notice her calming down more and more. You are exhausted, in a way, and yet you are not sure that the night will come to an end so soon. Her hand in your hair and the fingers trailing the curve of your breast remind you that she has not had enough of you either.

For the moment you are both content holding the other close. You breathe in the scents of her bath, listen to the slowing rhythm of her breath. Alicent trails gentle kisses along your brow, then her arms tighten around you and her mouth comes to rest by your ear.

"Promise you won't leave again."

You pull back, shifting to bring your mouth back to hers. “Promise you won’t make me.”

Thank you so much for reading! Kudos, comments, reblogs etc are as always much appreciated but most of all I hope you enjoyed the story ♡

Masterlist – my Ao3

Blessing in Disguise

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

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

Part 2: here

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Blessing in Disguise (2)

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

a contended husband is no menace to the kingdom

Aegon being forced to marry his niece instead of Helaena, much to his chagrin. At least Helaena wasn’t a bastard, but now his father wishes to embarrass him more by wedding him to a brown-haired princess and keep him aside. Aegon is so grumpy until he meets the newly-grown Velaryon Princess once more. He underestimated how much of her beauty she got from her mother, and truthfully, she was more comely than he’d expected.

At least he should have something pretty to look at, he thinks.

However, he’s soon shocked by just how much he seems to like the Princess. She’s sweet and kind to him, despite her timid nature. She tries to stay close to him and speak and learn of his interests - only his less than savoury responses seem to leave her crestfallen; something Aegon has found he doesn’t like. He doesn’t like to see the way her smile falls when he is rude to her, or when his mother spares the girl another insult. It’s incredibly unlike Aegon when he first stands up for his betrothed against his mother. He didn’t even stand up for himself and yet he couldn’t take watching the sweet princess curl in on herself anymore.

Aegon and the Princess marry in the great sept, both bride and groom feeling surprisingly pleased with their fate. Aegon has warmed to the girl and begun to feel the impacts of being loved and cared for for once in his life. The Princess has realised that behind the cold and crass exterior of the Prince, he is but a boy wishing to be loved and held.

Rhaenyra comes back for Luke’s petition years later to see her daughter again in person, giggling away with her husband in the throne room. The husband and wife are clinging to each other, the princess dressed in a resplendent gold gown, as they whisper conspiratorially whilst looking around the room. Rhaenyra feels her chest tighten at the small bump protruding from her daughter’s skirt - she had yet to receive a letter announcing this most recent pregnancy. Rhaenyra had wanted to keep her daughter away from the greens at all costs but now looking at her daughter so happy and content, she wonders if maybe her perceptions of Aegon had been incorrect.

(please why couldn’t this man just be happy!)

rafe with his son from his high school gf! he’s always cuddled up with the baby and doing his normal activities, just plus his cute as shit kid (all the girls stare at him and he loves it, complimenting his son and how much he looks like his father. rafe 100% has kids that look like his carbon copy and it just makes him so smug)

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

jon

jon snow who spends his entire existence in winterfell so desperately obsessed with his stark half-sister, feeling so much shame and guilt for his incestuous feelings towards the girl. only for it to all fall into place once he learns of his heritage; he wasn’t a disgusting creature, instead he was only following his ancestors. he was a targaryen and he shouldn’t be denied that of his culture now, should he? jon who returns to his stark girl with the full intention of claiming what he believes to be rightfully his, no matter the oppositions.

alicent hightower x rhaenyra’s daughter! reader

warnings: pseudo-incest, age gap (like she’s literally old enough to be reader’s mother), kinda perv! alicent i guess?

thinking abt alicent w/ rhaenyra’s daughter! reader, as her only daughter, you were her very much protected and loved child, she was nothing but very defensive over you, as lovingly as a mother can be. but when you reaches the maturity, the queen starts to see you with a different perspective, you weren’t just the spoiled little protected daughter of her enemy, but a pretty young lady who caught her attention and thoughts. she loved how much you looked like rhaenyra in looks but was much more innocent and quiet than she was at your age, she loves to see the smile forming on your pretty lips when she tells you that you were so alike your mother when she was younger but even more gorgeous, she loves to watch your big eyes eying her when you think she wasn’t looking and loves to know that rhaenyra is fully aware of the queen’s exchange of looks with her daughter.

she has this growing feeling between her legs when she saw you bite your lip, the dreams she have at night about taking your purity with her fingers, taking of your dress and expose you to her wishes, lay you down with your legs wide open, presenting yourself to your queen, then ruining you for any man, for any marriage, having you begging and crying for her to do the most profanities and unholiness things with your soft body, to take you in ways only a husband could, to make you hers, property of the queen and no one else, she thinks about stick her nails on your smooth milky thighs and uses her mouth to make you scream for forgiveness from your grace… oh how she desires you to herself. corrupting your immaculate presence of a princess and turn you in nothing more than a desperate adorable mess for her eyes only.

but it’s unnatural, of course, she tells herself that all of this it’s just purely desire of her heart to hit rhaenyra where would hurts the most, and that the gods would never be able to forgive her for such thing… that doesn’t stop her for pleasing herself at these thoughts when her only company in her dark room is the shallow light of the moon, though.

rafe gets what he wants, no matter what

(rafe isn’t a nice guy in this - you’ve been warned, pure brain rambling)

rafe cameron is a guy who absolutely hates periods and makes the worst and most sexist jokes when his gf is on her period. he’s talking about how gross they are and how his girl is so moody and doesn’t want to be touched. he can’t get some while his girl is bleeding, he says to topper and kelce. it’s only when topper suggests that there are other ways to have fun does rafe truly begin to see the light at the end of the tunnel.

rafe who starts to beg his girl to do anal, saying she owes him for making him celibate for a whole week. he’s saying he’ll go slow, be gentle, just the tip. rafe manipulating his girl and pretending to be hurt by her refusal. she doesn’t love him enough, he cries. he would do anything to please her because he loves her, but she mustn’t feel the same way. rafe who gives pleading looks and pouting lips until he finally sees her resolve start to crack. once she agrees, he probably doesn’t let her back out of it. rafe would view this as the ultimate sign of his girl’s devotion to him, letting him in there. it would also be the perfect bragging material for his boys, but she doesn’t need to know that. she just needs to lay down and let him be where he wants to be, and he will be nice to her (as nice as he can be).

victory is sweet for a tormented prince

MDNI, 18+!

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

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

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

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

Headcanons: Gwayne Hightower

(written with wife!reader, but with no physical descriptors)

No doubt about it, that man loves to eat pussy. He enjoys the act itself but it’s really about getting to watch his wife writhe and whimper under his tongue, his ministrations having her hips jerking off the bed. He has to hold her down with his forearms so he can keep enjoy his meal. He loves to slowly add in a slender finger one at a time, curling them up against the spongy sensitive walls to push against that special spot.

Gwayne enjoys getting head, but only once he’s trained up his wife to his standards. He has to coach her to not gag, to let his heavy cock sit in her throat. He doesn’t like to make his pretty wife cry though, and he’s always letting her take his cock at her own pace. Oh he’d be crazy for eye contact too, always having to lock gazes as he cums.

If he’s on top, he either chooses missionary (again, eye contact) or he mounts his wife like a stallion and fucks her from behind. Gwayne loves to press his entire body weight up against her, chest pressed against her back. He presses her body into the bed until she can’t move, only able to let him thrust into her hard and deep. He’d probably get a kick out of it if his wife begins to try and escape from the pleasure, and he can just press into her further.

Ok but truly I believe Gwayne would love if his wife is on top. She’s not in charge though, but he enjoys having her above him. He’s a bit lazy sometimes and enjoys the reprieve. He’s got his pretty wife riding him slowly, his hands dragging her hips up and down and back and forth. He’s still in control and he guides her movements, and he just loves to sit up and be face to face with his girl, mouthing at her full breasts as she begins to tremble in his grasp.

Gwayne won’t leave his girl unsatisfied. Minimum of two orgasms each round. I don’t make the rules, sorry. He just loves to hear the sweet, sweet sounds as his wife reaches her climax, her body clinging to him.

Breeding kink!!! Man loves the thought of his little wife carrying his child and having little red-headed babes running around Oldtown. He’s pushing his cum back inside of her with his cock, staying inside all night to seal her up.

I don’t think he’s into exhibitionist stuff or doing it in public. He respects his wife too much and doesn’t really want any scandals tbh. The maids getting to hear the noises from their chambers is enough.

The only time he decides to make a point is when he and his wife visit the red keep. His nephew’s gazes linger for too long on his wife, their eyes shining with lust. Aegon even tries to approach her, but Gwayne intervenes. That night he leaves their chamber door slightly ajar, knowing the boys reside down the hall. He’s got his wife squealing and thrashing in pleasure as he makes her cum over and over again, never giving her a moment of calm. He knows without a doubt that the Princes will hear, and he bares a smug grin the next morning as he sees his nephews as they break their fast. Aemond can’t even look at him properly, but Aegon just grins and raises his glass to his uncle.

Gwayne Hightower corrupting his sweet Targaryen niece!

His young niece is sent to Oldtown with her younger brother Daeron, much to Gwayne’s delight.

Though she’s a Targaryen, she looks so much like her mother and Gwayne is simply infatuated with her. His niece was Helaena’s twin, the girl much more lucid and rooted in the earth than her sister.

Gwayne who takes her under his wing, allowing the pair to form a strong bond as she learns more about Oldtown and the history of the Hightower’s.

Gwayne watches as his sweet niece seems to grow even more beautiful as she’s older. He notices the attention she draws and the leering gazes men level at her. It makes something in his chest burn.

His niece was expected to return to Kings Landing when she became of age, and yet the time has passed and her mother and father have not sent for her yet. Gwayne comforts his sweet niece though he’s secretly happy and enjoying her presence remaining longer.

Gwayne finds it more and more difficult to resist his niece as she clings to him more in her sadness, his body growing warm at the idea of taking her for himself. He reasons with himself: if her mother married her other daughter to her full-blooded brother then surely an uncle is a less egregious pairing. Gwayne’s been influenced too much by the Targaryen views at this point.

Gwayne seizes the opportunity to corrupt his niece once and for all when she cries desperately in her arms. She’s sobbing about how no man will ever want her as a wife if she never returns to the capital, how her family do not love her, how her mother sent away.

He’s taking her teary face in his hands softly, brushing her hair back from her face as he looks into her wide eyes. The heavy kiss he places on her lips has her momentarily shocked before she tentatively responds. Gwayne’s slowly guiding her lips in the way he likes, revelling in the feeling as her fingers begin threading through his hair.

Gwayne doesn’t fuck her straight away, no, he waits and waits until his niece is so dependant on him, hanging off his every word. She’s visiting the sept with him each day, dining with him and letting him kiss her as much as he wants.

But once he does, there is no one in the world that he would let take her away from him. He would show Otto the bloodied sheets from their coupling and watch his face fall in horror, disgusted at the sullying of a proper Targaryen princess. Otto didn’t think he had it in him, not to do something so vile.

Gwayne gets his way and soon his pretty little niece is standing in front of him in the Sept at Oldtown, exchanging vows with him.

Alicent is beside herself. Her sweet daughter corrupted and defiled by her own uncle, someone she trusted her with.

Gwayne and his new wife are the picture of marital bliss, always giggling and mumbling to each other. The maids in the keep at Oldtown are always giggling as they walk past their chambers; the gasps and groans escaping enough to make a grown man blush.

Gwayne fucks his wife good. I said it. He’s a munch too and 100% makes his wife cum at least once before getting into the main action. He’s got his niece wrapped around his finger and anytime he wants her, he has her.

It’s no surprise when the Red Keep receives a raven announcing the pregnancy of the Targaryen princess, a babe expected no more than 9 months after their wedding (they got down to business right away!).

(Aegon’s giggling at the rage colouring his mothers expression. He loves seeing her so unsettled and makes a note to tease her AS MUCH as possible.)

rafe cameron getting his high school gf pregnant

rafe who knocks up his high school gf at the end of their senior year

he was high at the time and forgot to use a condom (he’s always been gunning to fuck her raw, he just doesn’t think about the consequences)

his pretty girlfriend is so angry and upset and yet she tells him that she’s keeping the baby

her parents want to send her away but somehow ward convinces them that the cameron’s will take care of her - she’s family now

something stirs inside of rafe when he sees her growing larger, her belly peeking out of her tank tops, he starts to feel even more possessive of her

his father drags him to her ultrasound and something shifts in him when he’s told it’s a boy. he finally sees an opportunity to be the man of the household and be great like his dad

rafe is probably high when she goes into labour, missing it completely. he only knows she’s in the hospital after his sister sarah calls him angrily, his coked up ass showing up at the door after his little son was born

rafe who, despite it all, loves his son so much. he feels so protective over him

he’s determined to be nothing like ward and tries to dote on the little boy, not realising he can’t buy his affection just yet

the little family sit out on the porch all the time soaking up the sun, their son resting on rafe’s bare chest

rafe is 100% always shirtless with his kid resting on his chest - he remembers seeing something about skin-to-skin once and won’t let it go

rafe and his little son walking around figure 8 with topper and kelce, visiting the country club and drinking, just with a baby

his lifestyle doesn’t change, he just does it all with a baby

rafe is a big believer in the trad housewife and will keep his gf at Tannyhill to look after his kid while he does whatever he wants

sarah loves her nephew to bits and her and wheezie are constantly coddling him while his mother rests

at the start of season one, ward talks to rafe about how he thought having a kid would make rafe responsible, but it didn’t

rafe’s high school gf is probably quite sad most of the time, always left with her son and alone, no friends other than sarah, not that rafe notices

rafe’s whole psyche is still rooted in proving himself to his father, but now he also wants to prove that he can be a better father than his own, and he’s always trying so hard to make ward see that (no matter the cost)

part 2>>> here

Aegon the Conqueror and the Stark girl he takes captive!

He takes her when he conquers the North, seeing her beauty from afar. As the new King of Westeros, he’s entitled to whatever he wishes, and he wants her.

Aegon the Conqueror who keeps the girl locked away in his chambers, not letting her out. He lets Rhaenys in to sometimes talk to the girl, but Visenya is never allowed in.

The Targaryen king restrains himself at first, though he slowly begins to walk in on the girl’s baths, dress her in flimsy nightgowns and having her sit by his side as he works.

Aegon gives in one night, pushing the girl down on the bed and sheathing himself inside her tight cunt. He has to use spit to lubricate his cock to allow him to bottom out. The struggle she gives him only excites him more. His pretty Stark can only gasp as he moves inside of her, her wetness coating his cock. Aegon grins at the sight of a ring of cream forming at the base of his cock.

Aegon who fucks his captive each night, getting his fill until he’s fully satiated. She’s so soft and plush and he can’t help but grip her flesh tightly, kneading it between his fingers as he thrusts into her.

Aegon who always cums inside of her cunt and keeps his cock inside of her, not letting any of his seed escape. He especially likes to fuck his cum back into her and adding more throughout the night.

The Stark girl who wakes up from her slumber aside the king to feel his thick cock moving slowly inside her again. She can only part her legs wider and let Aegon grope at her breasts and his fat head bullies into her sensitive cervix.

The hottest!

Rhaenyra’s daughter on her knees before king aegon, begging him to transmute her mothers death sentence. Her sobbing only makes him angrier. “She killed my son!” He roars. “Please, I’ll give you many more sons, I’ll give you anything, just spare my mother please” she cries. The thought intrigues him; he does need a new heir, helaena’s in no state to give him one, and his niece is rather comely… perhaps he will take her up on her offer… perhaps he’ll make Rhaenyra watch…

THE HOTTEST!!!!!

Oh Aegon is so very intrigued by her words and Rhaenyra notices; she only sobs out to kill her instead. The King knows now it would be the best punishment against the would be Queen.

"Hmm, take my sister away. Me and my niece need to get more acquainted." Aegon purred; those bright eyes of his never moving from the pretty Princess.

"My sister always enjoyed your company - I believe that has not changed."

7

exbf!jungkook x exgf!reader

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

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

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

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

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

spam callers are so fucking annoying.

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

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

fuck what now

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Dating Rafe would include… (realistically speaking)

Inspired by the fact I actually, after years of stalling decided to start watching OBX-currently just started S3-and we all love a psycho lol

Rafe it’s absolutely all or nothing, so for starters you had to catch his eye somehow

Mf couldn’t get you out of his head and wanted to know every single thing there was to know about you.

If you’re a Pogue his obsession went over the fucking top, like a guilty pleasure he couldn’t get enough of, but hid away because there was no way he could’ve been seen with a Pogue.

If you’re a Kook, he goes full cassanova, charming, smooth asf talker, he wants to absolutely woo you because he wants you to be his and to have everyone know that.

Deep fucking staring from across the room.

Touch starved, literally if he doesn’t have his hands on you somehow he can’t be at ease.

Lots and lots of love bites

Contrary to popular belief, Rafe would NEVER cheat, he wouldn’t be dating someone he isn’t obsessed with.

Can’t fucking stand men trying to hit on you, literally gets on fights almost every time you go out.

You can’t go out to parties without him, non negotiable.

Aggressive speaker, would throw a compliment within insults.

“I wouldn’t have to fight some fucking dickhead if you wouldn’t dress like that!”

Not even kidding Rafe Cameron is the CEO of lovebombing.

Stupid fights turn into literal yelling and him hitting the wall.

When he’s high it’s literally all lovely dovey and needy or aggressive as shit and throwing shit at you.

Screams in your face for the most part.

Immediately regrets it whenever he does it and apologizes like his life depends on it.

“Shit, baby… I’m so sorry, I- I swear i didn’t mean to”

Showers you with love afterwards.

MAKE UP SEX

Workships your body every time you’re in bed

“You’re so fucking beautiful…”

Man loves to get his face in between your legs and munch.

Is terrified of you leaving him and when you try to he humiliates himself for you to forgive him

Literally falls to his knees and clings onto your knees.

“Please, please… don’t leave me Y/N you’re all I have”

Would literally throw hands if something happens to you on a blink.

“Who was it?”

“Rafe, don’t-“

“Give me names”

Would kill for you

…but could also be likely to kill you too

Needs a lot of reassurance.

You’re practically his therapy and the only thing keeping him on a half decent mindset.

Asks you for help because you’re the only one to ever listen to him.

Promises you he will drop his drug addiction over and over again.

He wants to do better for you, just doesn’t know how to.

Ultimately, he does love you, but in the only way he understands love.

first time sex with the viscount (Rafe Cameron).

cw: Rafe’s nice and sweet, he’s in love with reader so that’s why he’s so pussy whipped, wedding night sex, it’s an au, rafe speaks a little bit differently to fit the style, he’s more respectful towards his newly wedded wife.

inspired by the netflix show bridgerton, so just imagine those type of sceneries,

As soon as Rafe put his eyes on you, he knew he wanted you. You were flawless to his eyes, and to a man that spent most of his time fooling around with woman, having sex with them often, he’s never had that sentiment of wanting to lock in. Before he even saw you, he only wanted pleasure, drinks and his huge fortune. It worked out well, but the pressure to get a wife was overwhelming, and he was almost going to marry a brainless blonde to make his family happy — until he met you.

For him, you were perfection as it came, perfectly maintained, docile eyes, quiet but straight to the point, smart and comical, even. All the good stuff he liked in a woman came in you and he made sure he could be a good option for you to even consider looking his way, so it didn’t take long for you to marry.

The room is quiet, the breeze slightly blows against the parts of your body that aren’t covered by your dress — he likes the colour of it, shades of baby blue and white all over you, matching your tone well. The sight of you standing there without a clue of what to do made a small smile crack onto his face - innocent, but curious, he liked it.

“It’s different, isn’t it?” His voice cuts through the room, you slowly nod.

“Yes.” You chuckle, slightly nervous. “It is.” You gulp, your hands already clenching to their own gloves. “And.. I’ve never done this before.” You admit.

He already knows that, it’s almost required for you to be untouched, but he likes that you’ve come so far to even confessing it to him.

“That… That is rather obvious.” He responds, there’s sarcasm in his voice, almost mocking in the process before it softens. “But don’t worry, I promise, I’ll be gentle with you tonight.” His words make you shiver, he takes a step closer and it feels like the room is suddenly crowded.

You knew what couples did on their wedding night, it was rather obvious, but the promise of him doing it to you sent shivers down your spine, it made you slightly squirm in place, and him coming closer to you didn’t help, if anything, it only made you think of it even more.

After a long silence, you finally speak again;

“I want you to kiss me.” You say, determined, head slightly raised upwards as you look into his eyes.

His smirk deepens, and without much hesitation he steps even closer, his lips meet yours, your eyes widen, his tongue quickly goes past your lips, takes and takes from you, sucking and lapping at every part in your mouth, sloppy as he slowly directs you to bed, dropping you in the sheets and crawling on top of you. He undresses himself, his hands going to your corset strings.

“W — Will it hurt?” You ask in a low whisper, head cocking up to him, his hands freeze in place before they continue.

“Only at first, it’ll be slightly uncomfortable..” he murmurs, leaning in, lips against the shell of your ear. “Then it’ll feel good.” He reassures, finishes removing your corset along with you dress before joining you beneath the sheets.

When he’s finally in you, he watches the way you gasp, the way your back arches and your head tosses back into the sheets, the way your nails dig into his shoulders and your face contorts into a mix of pain and pleasure spread across you features. He leans in, you moan, it’s as if you can feel him moving with every small thing he does, your moans ring sweetly in his ears.

“Shhh,” he soothes, his hands coming down to your hips to steady you. “It will get better.” He moving against you, slowly and carefully to try and soothe the pain you’re feeling, and it works, it slowly fades.

“God.” You let out, he chuckles, he notices how you start to relax under him, he takes that as an advantage to speed up, expelling constant whimpers off you.

“I promise it’ll get better, sweetheart.” He whispers.

the dangers of our desires

(OH MY FUCKING GODDDDDDD why did i actually eat this up so hard (it could be actual hot garbage wrote this while stoned and dont have the patience to edit it)

pairing: stepmother!alicent hightower x targ!stepdaughter!reader

description: as if alicent didn’t have it hard enough, her youngest stepdaughter is returning to the capitol after spending most of her life in the vale, bringing with her more trouble than alicent could have ever imagined for herself.

warnings: stepmother alicent is most def a warning causssseeeee, alicent actually being so homophobic lmaooooo, some religious themes (guilt, trauma, sacrilege of a fictional religion), swearing, smut, unedited (VERYYYYYY, i got stoned and wrote this in one sitting so dont have high hopes for grammar), probably lowk kinkier than anything i’ve ever written but we gonna rock with it anyways, viserys traumatising yet another one of his kids, slight reader description (silver hair and purple eyes), sort of dub-con? (reader and alicent are both a lil tipsy in the end but they both want it so its fine)

words: 5.8K

date posted: 09/09/24

Alicent had been queen all of five months when her youngest stepdaughter was sent to the Vale, both as a political move recommended by her own father, the Hand, in order to restore a connection between the Crown and the Vale following the untimely death of Queen Aemma, and as an act of mercy the king, who wept each and every time he looked upon her little face–guilt and rage consuming him for what decision he had been forced to make in order to her to have survived her birth. 

The day of her departure is engraved so firmly into every single one of their minds, the king’s blank stare, his eldest daughter’s red and tear-streaked face scowling as she barked at her father, the Hand, truly anyone to change their minds, Otto Hightower’s stern order for a Kingsguard to take the eldest princess to her rooms in order to put an end to the scene she had been causing. Alicent felt vacant that day, silently staring into the distance to avoid watching as the princess was loaded into the wheelhouse before it began pulling away and out of the Red Keep. Of course, the entourage that followed her was almost ridiculously large for a child so young, larger than any that had previously accompanied the king himself, but both Rhaenyra and her father had a hand in ensuring maximum protection for the youngest member of the royal family for her long journey. As difficult as Viserys found it to be around his infant daughter, he certainly did not ignore the fact that she was the last piece of his late wife, and he felt that she needed to be well protected because of her status and out of respect for her mother’s memory. The girl was eleven months old.

Alicent made an effort to stay as distant of the young princess as possible; lingering in the doorway as Rhaenyra visited her nursery, avoiding looking directly at her friend as she held the babe to her chest and wept; taking on her duties to the youngest princess as her stepmother from a distance, insisting that any matters of the princess that did not concern the Crown could be dealt with by the princess’s personal household. It was more of a blessing to the new queen that she was being sent away–she no longer would be plagued with guilt each time she shirked away from the motherless girl.

Rhaenyra and Alicent’s already fractured relationship only suffered further after Rhaenyra’s sister was sent to the Vale, especially since Alicent soon after gave birth to her own child with Viserys, and Rhaenyra seemed to be under the impression that Alicent was far more involved in her sister becoming a ward of Lady Arryn than she truly did in order to put her own newborn son ahead. 

The first three years to follow were strangely calm in King’s Landing. Rhaenyra had married Laenor Velaryon, Alicent had given birth to three children of her own, and the realm was still, for the most part, at peace with itself. The youngest princess, last that Alicent had heard, had begun her early education, something that Alicent was supposed to be mostly responsible for arranging, though Alicent told Lady Jeyne in a letter that she trusted the lady’s judgement and faith to the Seven to see that the princess would receive a proper education befitting a Targaryen princess. Jeyne Arryn was a notoriously pious woman, often referred to by the crudest of Westerosi lords as the Maiden of the Vale; any noblewoman who takes an oath of chastity was to be noted with a nickname as such, Alicent noticed, though she’s certain that a man would be honoured and highly regarded for such piety. 

The queen’s perspective of the young princess had shifted in the years to follow–amidst the chaos that Rhaenyra and even Alicent’s own children had been causing at court, Lady Arryn’s letters of praise for the princess were a relief for the Hightower woman, she was the only of the king’s children who was able to refrain from causing her grief, only giving her a touch of a headache by association every time that Rhaenyra fought with her over the decisions being made for her; she needed to have the finest of Valyrian tutors, needed to be as connected with her dragon as possible, deserved to have dozens of new dresses and other luxurious gifts sent to her on a semi-regular basis. If Alicent was not willing to spoil the princess for her mere existence, Rhaenyra was more than willing to do so herself, writing to her younger sister as if she were her own daughter that had been sent away. From the way that the princess had been praised for her beauty, piety, and intelligence, Alicent had felt a breath of fresh air when the king made the decision to call his daughter home in hopes of securing her a suitable husband.

By this point, the princess was ten and eight, far older than most other Targaryen princesses had been permitted to remain unmarried. Rhaenyra had offered to assume the role of her guardian and host her younger sister at Dragonstone while they search for a husband, but Alicent was not blind to her intentions and refused to allow the heir to her sister to Prince Jaecerys–Alicent always been particularly disapproving of the traditional practice of incestuous marriage among the Targaryen dynasty, though she herself had permitted her own two children to be married in order to prevent her sweet Helaena from being swept away by Rhaenyra as a bride for her bastard son. 

In the first few weeks of her presence in the capitol, Alicent found her to be very pleasant. The letters from the Vale could not have been more truthful when they boasted of her beauty and wit, and she had proven to be just as charismatic and cultured in her Valyrian heritage as the most ideal Targaryen princess. She attended her lessons, enjoyed spending time with her younger siblings–even taking an interest in learning of little Daeron’s achievements in Oldtown. Then, as she seemed to become more settled in her new environment, rumours began to reach Alicent’s ears, and she was entirely unsure of how to deal with them.

She had noticed, on several occasions now, that the princess’s sworn protector, Ser Thomas, seemed to be far too comfortable around his charge, and could even be accused of caring for the princess far more than any white cloak should. Alicent was concerned by this, but beyond an intense questioning of both the princess and the knight about some of the rumours being spread, there was very little that she could do (especially considering that her own sworn protector did not hide his affections for her very well, either). The queen had hoped that this would be the worst of the drama, but she would be sorely disappointed in the months to come.

Princess Y/n had made an effort to surround herself with some of the other young ladies at court, constantly being accompanied by some, if not all, of her entourage at all times. Alicent saw nothing truly wrong with this, it was healthy for a girl her age to find companionship with the other ladies at court, but she quickly became alarmed at the sort of company she was choosing to keep.

Most of the ladies flew far below Alicent’s radar, all self-absorbed and desperate as the rest of the court to be any true threat. However, one Lady Mathilde appeared to be different; the girls were very close, often sleeping in the same bed, breaking their fast together, walking in the gardens together… Alicent saw from the beginning that she was cunning, and much too forward for Alicent’s tastes, often being found gossiping or flirting with anyone who would give her the time of day. She feared the impact that such a friendship would have on the princess, but Alicent could not risk insulting Mathilde’s house, who was already quite critical of the Hightower rule.

When she first caught wind of the impropriety that was supposedly taking place among the princess’s social circle, she knew she needed to step in. Far too many times now she had received complaints of the princess and her closest companions enjoying far too much wine in the gardens, or being quite loud well into the night when they all should have been abed, and her response to Alicent’s questioning was becoming more and more irritating for the queen; the modest, obedient girl had turned snarky and unapproachable.

Alicent had reached her wits end, getting the third complaint of the day for the princess’s daily activities, pushing past the knight at her door with a few tense words of dismissal, climbing her way up the stairs and through the unguarded door of the princess’s chambers, noting to herself to have Ser Thomas punished for leaving his post unattended. 

Her feet stopped abruptly, eyes widening at the sight before her as her breath caught in her throat. Before her, on the extravagant four-poster bed, Princess Y/n was splayed out with her shift unlaced to leave her chest exposed as the skirt was bunched around her hips to make room for the girl who knelt between her thighs. Her eyes were closed, silver curls splayed out on the mattress as she arched her back, fingers lacing through the dark locks of Lady Mathilde to hold her face snugly against her cunt. 

For a few moments, Alicent watched. The curve of the princess’s spine lifting from the feather-stuffed mattress, breasts lifting towards the ceiling as the cool of the evening air caused her nipples to harden into tight little pebbles; The sounds of her pleasure, whimpers and curses falling from her lips as the brunette sucked and nibbled at the sensitive folds of her womanhood. Alicent felt her lips purse in response to the involuntary watering of her mouth, fists clenching as she pressed her thighs together for a brief moment. 

She blinked a few times, coming back to herself. Neither of the young ladies seemed to notice the queen’s presence until she loudly cleared her throat, shaking her head to refocus.

Both girls sat up in surprise, the princess rushing to cover herself as the other hastily readjusted her hair and wiped her mouth on the back of her hand. The queen stared at them sternly for a beat before glancing up at the ceiling as she let out a deep sigh.

“Get out,” her voice was clear and commanding, stare coming back to the two figures on the bed and scoffing as either moved, “I said out.”

Lady Mathilde rushed to the door, pulling her robe over herself to protect her modesty as she escaped the princess’s chambers. Alicent did not spare her a second glance, instead choosing to stare directly at her stepdaughter, who seemed uncertain of whether she would be embarrassed or cocky for being caught in such a state.

“Your Grace,” The princess sat up straighter, “Apologies, but I did not hear your knock. As you can see, I was quite… indisposed.”

Alicent scoffed again, “Indisposed. Have you no shame? No decency?”

The princess rolled off of the bed, moving to pull her wine coloured robe over her shoulders and sitting at her vanity, “Decency. I was alone in my own chambers, it is not my fault that you do not feel the need to uphold some boundaries, stepmother.”

“I shouldn’t think it necessary, given your recent behaviour. How else could I prevent you from indulging in your depravities?”

“Worry not, Your Grace, my maidenhead is still intact, if that is your concern. My prospects for marriage will not be harmed.”

“No?” Alicent laughed cynically, “And when the court hears of your indecency? What then, when lords begin to refuse to entertain a woman of such immorality?” 

“I think my Valyrian blood would be enough incentive for most,” The princess scoffed, brushing through her silky hair, “I doubt any would truly care, so long as I provide heirs and a few moments of pleasure. My title and connection to the Crown is of much more importance than my chastity.”

Alicent stormed forward, grasping her stepdaughter’s wrist tightly in her own grasp, “Listen to yourself! Your father, the king, has spent more money than you can even imagine on bringing suitors here for you, hosting feasts and tournaments for you, offering you the finest of lifestyles and education–Think of the opportunities he has given you, and this is how you act?”

“My father,” The princess sneered, pushing herself up to speak directly into her stepmother’s face, “Wasted his coin in doing those things, not for me or for my future, but himself. He could not, in good faith, let me rot in the Vale until I am old and withered, so instead he calls me home, only so he can be rid of me for good. Nothing that fool has ever done has ever been for anyone except for himself–even now, he allows you and your father to rule in his stead, slipping the realm and his family into chaos and not willing to step in and protect anyone but himself–”

The room went dead silent after the loud clap of Alicent’s palm across the princess’s cheek. Both women gasped, Y/n reaching to prod at her swelling cheek while Alicent collected herself.

“You forget yourself. Your father is the king, and you will treat him as such. Everything your father does is in honour of your mother and the love he holds for you and the memories of her that he sees in you,” Alicent gulped, looking away as tears fell over the princess’s cheeks, “Lady Mathilde will be removed from court on the morrow. I should have never allowed her to accompany you in the first place. You will accompany me to the Sept for prayer tomorrow morning, and you will be taking extended lessons with the Septa. You will break your fast and sup with only myself or alone, and you will learn to respect your father, the king, and me, your queen. Now go to bed, and bathe yourself tomorrow morning–Your sin alone is enough to disgrace the sept, let alone any physical signs of it.”

With that, Alicent turned and fled the room, rushing down the stairs and ignoring the greetings of the white cloaks patrolling the halls as she marched into her chambers. She paused, raising her hands to grasp at her face in frustration. 

She cursed silently, then quickly blessed herself. Shaking her head, she began to pull at the laces of her own robe, falling into her plush bed and curling into herself. She was still for a few moments, waiting for her handmaidens to put out the candles and leave the room before she rolled onto her back, shakily pulling her skirt up to her hips and slipping her fingers between her thighs, head rolling back in both pleasure and annoyance at how wet she had become from watching the princess in such a primal, exposed state, breasts heaving with her stuttered breaths and husky moans. Alicent felt that angry bubbling eating away at her gut, intense jealousy surging through her at the thought of that girl touching her, tasting her in the most intimate way possible–what Alicent wouldn’t give to know how it felt to taste a Targaryen princess, a thought she had not entertained in many years.

Alicent grunted, hips stuttering into her own touch as her brows furrowed, unable to find a steady enough rhythm. She quickly rolled herself over, face pressed into her pillow and back arching to lift her dripping core into the air. She reached beneath herself, quickly moving to circle her clit with a steadier, more confident pace. A surprise jolt of pleasure wracked her body, shocked at how sensitive she was with that first touch as a heavy, dragged out moan filtered out of her, brows creasing in concentration as she fell into a steady, but rapidly quickening pace. Her fist tightened into the sheets, arm tensing to push herself up into a sitting position, legs widening impossibly further as she began riding her own fingers, hips stuttering as she reached her peak, and then gradually slowed to a stop. She slid her fingers out of herself, gliding them up her body until she was able to wrap her lips around them, tasting her own juices and imagining it was the princess’s instead. When she finally collapsed back on the bed, rolling onto her back and taking heaving breath as her heart slowed to a normal, steady beat. She laid there silently for a few moments before she finally closed her eyes in embarrassment, cheeks burning red at the memory of what she had done, and more importantly, what had stirred her on.

In the following weeks, she noticed the princess’s behaviour reverted to one that was more akin to how she had acted when she had returned from Vale. In the public eye, she had continued to portray the perfect princess, years worth of practised grace and charisma coming to aid her in impressing the visiting suitors, and even regularly accompanied Alicent to the sept for prayer. Alicent wondered, in the beginning, if she truly just had been in need of a reality check, to be put in her place in order for her to behave. Then, Alicent realised, no one–especially someone so deviant as the princess–returns to the light so easily without still being tempted by the sins of their past. The Hightower queen knew better than anyone that the princess was most certainly still indulging in her desires, and Alicent had just made it more difficult for herself to catch the princess in the act by sending Lady Mathilde away. 

For now, at least, the queen would have to settle with this arrangement. In truth, there was nothing that she could truly do to stop the girl from doing as she pleased, she just hoped she would keep it a private matter. That way, the queen would not have to deal with the matter, nor would she find herself in the position of witnessing and being influenced by the princess’s depravity. 

In fact, Alicent found herself coming to enjoy the princess’s company. She was, after all, dangerously charismatic and carried a wit that kept the queen on her toes. On a personal level, she truly did feel for the princess; her father made little effort to know her after months apart, and yet she was being forced into a marriage with some lord that she doesn't even know for his advantage. Alicent was once in a similar position, and she had a deep understanding of exactly why the young woman was so hostile towards her father.

The eldest son of House Tyrell seemed to be an ideal match for their own young princess. He was handsome, and seemed to have focused much of his time on earning a greater understanding of the princess’s Valyrian culture and heritage. He seemed quite taken with the silver-haired beauty, stealing her away to the dance floor at any given opportunity during the grand feast being held in his honour. Alicent was glad to see it, hoping that this issue would be resolved easily enough once she was focused on a husband of her own, but that itching feeling of suspicion at the base of her spine returned as she watched the princess be dragged away by her potential betrothed’s elder sister, spinning around the dancefloor hand in hand. 

The queen found herself lost in her cups that night. She had been sitting in between her frail husband and the droning lady of Highgarden, her high-pitched voice turning into an annoying ringing in her ears as she watched over the crowd, emerald eyes constantly in search of her stepdaughter in the crowd. On top of everything else, Aegon had been acting up once more, and Rhaenyra’s insistent involvement in her sister’s betrothal leading to the king’s heir, her husband, and all five of her children arriving in King’s Landing. 

She had found it difficult to relinquish some of her everyday activities with the princess to Rhaenyra, who had been at her side since they had arrived, fingers gracing her cheeks affectionately and insisting on doing her sister’s hair on her own. The youngest of Aemma’s children did not belong to the red haired woman, that much she already knew, but Rhaenyra’s presence seemed to pose a threat to Alicent.

Her wandering mind had drawn her eyes to the heir to the throne, where she and her husband stood off to the side conversing with some other lords. She shook her head, rolling her neck back as Lady Tyrell’s blabbering returned to her. Her eyes scanned the crowd, searching for the recognisable head of silver braids amongst the court, lips curling down as she failed to find her. 

Alicent grasped her cup, downing the remainder of the sweet wine and forcing herself to her feet. She barely offered Lady Tyrell a glance as she excused herself, quickly manoeuvring through the crowd. The queen spared no time, immediately turning and taking the far too familiar route to the princess’s chambers, though she only made it about halfway there before she discovered exactly where the princess had escaped to. 

Princess Y/n of House Targaryen was pressed against the stone pillar in a small alcove, helplessly pressing herself against the full figure of the eldest Tyell girl, moaning wantonly into their kiss and paying no mind to the fact that her stepmother had just caught her for the second time. 

“I thought we were past this,” Alicent frowned, the lack of emotion in her voice betraying exactly how enraged she truly was, sending a nervous shiver down Y/n’s spine. 

“Your Grace,” the Tyrell girl curtsied, separating herself from the princess in embarrassment. Alicent felt a touch of relief at how flustered she appeared in comparison to Lady Mathilde. “I–I…”

“Leave us,” Alicent did not remove her eyes from the princess, who shrunk into herself as the lady rushed down the corridor, barely gone for a moment before the queen was grabbing her bicep with a bruising grip and dragging her up the stairs. “I cannot believe you, just when I thought I had gotten through to you.”

The door to Y/n’s bedchambers slammed shut behind them, Alicent dragging the younger woman across the room and throwing her onto the bed, face first. The queen felt her own face burning red, unsure if it was caused by the burning anger inside of her, the wine, or the familiar feeling squeezing at the bottom of her stomach. The princess whimpered, pushing herself up to attempt to turn and face the queen when Alicent’s hand fisted itself into her silver locks, forcing her back down on the mattress.

“You will stay, I think I need to get my point across more thoroughly,” Alicent muttered, using her spare hand to tug at the princess’s skirts until her bare ass was left to the cool evening air.

The queen took a moment to admire her soft, plump flesh, dimpling skin leading down to the silver curls that peeked out from between her thighs. The Hightower woman inhaled deeply, collecting herself, before she finally brought her flat palm down against the meat of her ass. The princess cried out, skin singing with pain as her ring-clad fingerprints were burned into her flesh, limbs fighting to escape her punishment, though the queen seemed to be much stronger than she looked. Alicent continued her assault, watching with a sadistic satisfaction as her handprint was left repeatedly in the princess’s skin. 

“You forced my hand,” The queen grunted, “Everything I have done for you, everything everyone has done for you, and you still betray your duties.”

“I’m sorry!” The princess wept, “I tried, I did! I cannot help it.”

Alicent ignored her and the small pang at her heart, continuing to spank the girl before halting as her fingers landed on the apex of her thighs, a squelching sound echoing from the slap as her fingers found her dripping mound. The queen gasped at the wetness that soaked her fingertips, slowly pulling them away to stare at them.

“Look at you,” She muttered, “No matter the circumstance, no matter the woman, you are dripping and desperate.”

She finally released the princess, allowing her to turn and face her, whimpering as her sensitive ass pressed against the textured furs. She stared up at the queen for a few moments, letting out stuttering breaths as silent tears fell down her cheeks, then she pushed herself up, forcing her face into Alicent’s chest as she wrapped her arms around her, sobs wracking her body.

“I am sorry,” she wept, “I cannot help it, believe me. I wish I was never afflicted like this, but everytime I try to stay on a straight path, I find myself lost once more.”

Alicent’s hand came up to grasp at the back of the princess’s head, engulfing her in an affectionate embrace that was frighteningly soft in comparison to her previous actions. She whispered calming words to her, forcing her face back so she could speak directly to her.

“I understand,” She said, “Everyone struggles with their own afflictions…myself included.” 

“Even you?” The princess sniffled, “You seem so perfect.”

Alicent scoffed, “If I were perfect, my children would be well behaved, the realm would be at peace, and I would be satisfied without my own guilt and sin.”

Y/n exhaled, eyes flickering to the queen’s pouty lips for a brief moment before leaning up, nose brushing against hers. Their breaths mingled, lips ghosting one another’s in order to test the waters, allowing for Alicent to pull away before the decision was made.

She did not.

Alicent wishes she could blame the alcohol that she had consumed, but as her lips crashed against those of the princess, she was brought back to the many nights she had brought herself to her blissful peak with swirling thoughts of the silver-haired woman. Her hands grasped her face, holding her tightly in place as she continued her new assault, this time one that the princess was glad to receive. 

“We will fight this together,” the queen murmured, “We will help one another.”

The princess nodded, desperately pushing her face closer for another kiss, which the queen was happy to offer to her. She moaned at the princess’s taste, the sweetness of her tongue mixed with the sharp taste from the wine she had been drinking. Alicent finally pulled away, forcefully turning the princess around as she made quick work of the lacings of her dress, eagerly helping her remove and step out of the many layers of clothing she’d been wearing. She allowed herself to stare in awe as the princess turned back to face her, breasts heaving in anticipation of the queen’s touch.

“Beautiful,” Alicent murmured, fingers gliding up her sweat-glazed flesh to pinch tightly at one of the princess’s pebbled nipples and smirking at the whimper that escaped her kiss bitten lips. The queen released her touch, turning herself around and calling to the younger woman over her shoulder, “Take off my clothes.”

Y/n giggled behind her, hands finding the queen’s waist as her lips trailed her pale neck. Her voice escaped her in a husky whisper, breath hot against the queen’s ear as her fingers slowly pulled at the green gown, “Yes, Your Grace.” 

Alicent felt a shiver of desire ripple down her spine as her own clothes joined the princess’s in a heap on the floor. She turned as soon as her chemise removed and her skin was left completely bare, pushing herself as close to the princess as possible and capturing her lips in another kiss, both women fighting each other with ferocity and passion before Alicent finally subdued the princess’s attempt to seize control. Y/n pulled back, lips trailing down the queen’s neck, shoulder, and collar bones before she went to work on her breasts. Her tongue dragged over every inch of her bare chest before she finally focused on the hardened pink buds, sucking each into her mouth and offering them equal amounts of attention as she sucked, licked, and nibbled away.

Alicent moaned out, head tilting back as she felt the pleasure course through her. The thick red curls between her thighs felt matted with the amount of juices that had escaped her, and she’d finally had enough. She pulled the younger woman away from her breast, noting the whimper of disappointment that left her lips. Alicent kissed her again, indulging the princess’s desperation as she kissed back eagerly, before she pushed her back, pinching her cheeks together to force her lips into a pout.

“Get on your knees,” Alicent ordered, “Show your queen the fruits of the company that you keep.”

The princess wasted little time, kneeling between the queen’s thighs, leaning forward with an exploratory lick into the mass of red curls. Alicent gasped at the contact, fingers curling into the younger woman’s hair and forcing her face closer. The princess had not been at work for five minutes before Alicent raised her leg, resting her foot on the edge of the bed next to them, using extra support to begin thrusting her hips forward. She chased her orgasm ferociously, rolling her hips against the princess’s tongue, gripping her hair tightly as she guided her face into her and fucked her face ruthlessly.

“Gods, yes,” she sighed, staring down at the violet eyes of her stepdaughter, “You were born for this, to obey your queen.”

She let out a cry of pleasure as her orgasm rolled over her, caused by another person for the first time in her life. Alicent continued to roll her hips, slowing until the aftershocks came to a halt. She pulled her hips back, hauling the princess back to her feet to catch a taste of her own juices on the princess’s lips. Her hands carded down her back, down her back and grasping at the meat of her ass snugly, completely forgetting the tenderness of the flesh until the princess whimpered in discomfort. 

“My apologies, sweetness,” Alicent instead turned to gently massage the flesh, “Allow me to make it better.”

The princess was malleable for the queen as she helped her onto the bed, pushing her onto her belly and forcing her ass up into the air. The queen felt a stab of guilt as she stared down at the swollen skin of her ass, bringing her lips down to press gentle, loving kisses into the flesh before her fingers gripped the skin as softly as possible to spread her cheeks, mouth watering at the sight of her silver curls glistening with arousal. Alicent wasted no more time, pressing her face into the princess’s core with vigour, tongue working her tight hole before lowering to suck at her swollen and throbbing clit. The sounds escaping the princess were more than enough to encourage Alicent’s movements, working her sweet bud until her own release was gushing out, oozing onto Alicent’s tongue. The queen moaned at the taste, slurping up every last drop that she could find. 

Cries of pleasure left the princess’s lip as she shook with the aftershocks, offering no resistance as the Queen rolled her onto her back and paying no attention to what she was doing until another burst of pleasure shot through her at the unexpected feeling of Alicent’s hot, wet core pressing against her own. Both women sighed at the contact, Alicent’s hands coming to rest on either side of the princess’s head as she rocked her hips, pressing their lips together in a weak attempt at silencing their moans as she found a steady pace. 

The only sound heard in the room was the soft clapping of skin on skin, a squelching of their juices mingling together, and the desperate moans escaping both women. Y/n’s hands gripped Alicent’s waist tightly, raking her eyes over the queen’s body as she rode her, fingers crawling up her torso to find her breasts, squeezing and tugging on her heavy breasts. 

“Your Grace,” the princess cried out, back arching off of the mattress, “Pleas–Your Grace, I am close.”

“As am I,” Alicent muttered, head tilted back with her eyes closed, “Gods, gods, yes.”

The princess reached her peak first, body thrashing in the sheets as the wetness between her thighs dripped down onto the sheets, soaking both herself and the queen above her in her juices. Then, Alicent fell over the ledge, fisting the sheets tightly with one hand while the other grasped the princess’s throat, pulling her up to kiss her once more. 

The queen collapsed on top of the princess, red curls mixing with sliver as they lay entirely pressed together. Alicent pressed sweet kisses to the princess’s face, soothing her with gentle praises as she smoothed her hair away. 

“I love you,” The princess muttered, her voice strained with dehydration, “I love you, I love you.”

The queen fought back a smile, “I know, my sweet girl. I know.”

They kissed, this time slow and yearning, a silent agreement of the change in their relationship.

“This changes things, more than you know,” the queen sighed, “But the decision has been made, and I will do everything in my power to protect you from the dangers of our desires.”

“As will I,” the princess whispered, leaning up to taste the queen’s lips once more, both completely unaware of the figure peering at them from the doorway.

Hii

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

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

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

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

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

Down by the River

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

- Paring: niece!reader/Gwayne Hightower

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

- Raring: Explicit 18+

- Word count: 4 000+

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“Aegon!”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

And he has.

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

Gwayne and his camp bride!

Just think of the gossip that would stretch across Westeros at the news of the young princess marrying Gwayne Hightower, not to mention the rumours of her being with child. Merely speculation said the crown, and as long as her bump was hidden under her close gowns, then speculation was all it would be.

The pair were married in the Sept at Oldtown in front of all the clergy, and soon, Gwayne was walking around with his pretty Velaryon wife on his arm. She’s always by his side or hiding in their chambers, Gwayne’s hands lingering on her lower back as they stand.

When her bump starts to show, Gwayne tells his court that the Maester believes it to be twins. There’s no other explanation for the size of her bump so soon after their wedding. She’s always so exhausted too, napping wherever she can and taking hot baths each night.

I have this idea that the married ladies of Oldtown wear head coverings like those of Lady Frey. Something like this: https://pin.it/1KM9soIhO. Gwayne loves to see her so proper and stately, but he loves even more to take her veil off each night and play with her hair. Imagine it’s how a member of team black sees her when they try and rescue her, dressed impeccably in a velvety green gown and a silk veil - the very image of a reverent Hightower, her newborn babe clutched to her chest as she stares at the familiar face in shock (and fear)…

!!!!!!!!

Oh the idea of her being dressed like this; Gwayne adores seeing her like this as she walks around the gardens.

She can only compliment Oldtown; its so fresh and clean.

Her eyes are so wide as she recognises the person before her and all the Princess can do is clutch her babe tighter. "Princess..."

She began to look around as her heart pounded in her ear

Gwayne teaching his camp bride how to ride him…

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

!!!!!

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

https://www.tumblr.com/writingsofwesteros/760672391139590144/imagine-gwaynes-camp-bride-being-rhaenyra-and

Oh this is DIABOLICAL!!!

God, imagine if the girl wasn’t aware of Criston being her father though! She’s so scared of him, thinking he wishes to hurt her or kill her. At a surface level, Criston dislikes her because of her mother and her misdeeds, but deep down, he longs to bond with her and build his family.

It fills Gwayne with so much glee to see Criston notice her growing bump for the first time. The Lord Hand would be a grandfather and yet he was still denied even that. He can’t say anything to his sweet daughter lest Gwayne expose his affair with Alicent, and now that the girl clings to the Hightower, he doubts she would even believe him. He settles for starting small conversations with her as they eat, her smile growing as she speaks to someone other than Gwayne.

Rhaenyra would be thinking all was well until she got that letter from Oldtown, finally realising just how much she had misjudged both Criston and Gwayne. She wasn’t told that her daughter had begun writing letters to Criston, or that Gwayne had begun organising the Septon for his wedding to the princess - his camp bride would now be his proper bride in the eyes of the Seven, and no one could stop him.

YES !!!!!!!!!

Oh Rhaenyra really had no idea what was going on.

The Lord Hand would be a grandfather and yet he was still denied even that. Oh Gwayne is so mean and we are here for it !

The poor wife is just following her husband to be now; soon a babe will be in her arms