#Aemond fanfic
Text
Crush
Modern Aemond Targaryen x Female (Oneshot)
Summary: Months ago Aemond hesitated to tell you how he felt. After your boyfriend breaks up with you, he won't make that mistake again.
Word Count: 3807
Warnings: MDNI, 18+, SMUT, Little plot, lots of smut, profanity, Size kink, Praise kink, Aemond being hot, seductive, funny, and adorable.
Personal Favorite 💖
Masterlist
‘Why the hell did I let them talk me into coming to this club?'
You know your friends are only trying to help you get through a rough breakup. “It’s time to stop moping and sitting around in your pj’s,” they tell you. “You need to get dressed up, go out, and have some fun,” they insist. So you give in, pampering yourself with a full beauty routine, choosing a racy bra and panty set, and putting together a little black outfit.
Checking yourself in the mirror before you leave, feeling better than you have in the past two weeks, with some of your old confidence coming back knowing that you look good. When your little trio walks into the packed club, you’re glad your friends talked you into coming out tonight, instantly feeling the intoxicating energy from the flashing lights, pulsing music, and dancing crowd.
Snagging a spot at the bar, you buy the first round of drinks, genuinely smiling for the first time since your boyfriend broke up with you. You’re enjoying your second drink and playfully teasing one of your friends when you spot him on the dance floor. Your now-ex-boyfriend who has his hands on his new girlfriend’s ass.
Wanting to act like it doesn’t hurt, you let your friends drag you out to dance. You try to enjoy yourself; you really do, but now the music is too loud, the club is too hot, and you just want to get off the dance floor. Giving your friends a weak smile, you let them know you need a break from dancing and head back to the bar.
Squeezing into a gap at the crowded bar, you try to catch the bartender's attention. While you wait, your mind goes back to your ex-boyfriend. Even though the spark between you was fading, the breakup came out of nowhere. How quickly he had another girlfriend led you to think he may have been cheating on you. So strong was your suspicion, you went to get tested just to be safe. ‘Doesn’t matter,’ you tell yourself. ‘It’s over, and you’re better off without him,’ you try to convince yourself, but it still hurts to be replaced so easily.
You’re drawn from your thoughts when a drink is placed in front of you. When you look up, the bartender says, “It’s from the guy at the end of the bar.”
Turning to look in the direction she’s pointing, you see the buyer of your drink, his long silvery white hair an easy giveaway to his identity. With a tilt of his head, he motions for you to join him.
You’re relieved to see a friendly face, so you don’t hesitate to pick up your drink and make your way over to him. With a genuine smile, “Hi Aemond, I didn’t see you over here.”
Aemond Targaryen returns your smile and immediately offers you his seat at the crowded bar. “Fortunately, I did see you.”
“Thank you, and thanks for the drink too,” you tell him as you slide onto the stylishly modern barstool, draping your leather jacket over the back.
You’ve known the Targaryen siblings for about a year, with Helaena being the one you met first. Since you were new in town, she took you under her wing, showing you the best places to hang out and eat and introducing you to people, including her brothers. Aegon is laid-back with a great sense of humor. He’s also quite a flirt, but a playful smack from his sister made it clear that you were her friend and not to be messed with.
Aemond, who’s a few months younger than you, is very different. Nowhere near as open as Hel and far more serious than Aegon, he's always intrigued you. He’s soft-spoken and reticent, holding back much of who he is, and that makes him difficult to read. You think that guardedness stems from a childhood accident that cost him an eye and left his face scarred.
For a while, you wondered if he liked you at all or if he was just trying to be nice because of Hel. But at parties, your boyfriend usually ended up playing games with Aegon and the guys, and you somehow ended up hanging with Aemond, just talking. Having those chances to talk one-on-one, you discover quick intelligence, a wry sense of humor, and a few shared interests. You decide that he’s just naturally reserved—someone who needs time to relax around people.
“You’re welcome. I’m glad I saw you,” he says, leaning down a bit to be heard better. “You look amazing."
Smiling at the compliment, “You clean up pretty good yourself."
While you’ve struggled to get a handle on his personality, there is no question in your mind regarding his looks. Dressed in black, his button-down shirt and trousers look tailored to his tall and trim build, he exudes sleek athleticism. His casually rolled-up sleeves show off his slender forearms, a stylish, expensive watch on his wrist, and beautiful, large hands with long, slim fingers. His angular face has chiseled features that give him a uniquely handsome appearance. Not even the faded scar or black leather eye patch can detract from his striking good looks. Tonight, his pale, silvery hair is simply pulled back into a loose braid that ends between his shoulder blades.
Taking a sip of your drink, you give him a curious look. “I’m surprised to see you here. Let me guess, Aegon dragged you out and then disappeared in search of something in a short skirt and heels."
“Are we that predictable?” He asks with a crooked grin. “Aegon wanted to meet up with some pretty little thing he’s had his eye on, and I apparently need to get out more.” Reaching for his own drink, ”What’s your story?”
“Some friends decided I needed a night out,” you admit sheepishly. As you answer, you see your ex-boyfriend back on the dance floor.
Aemond, noticing your stare, turns to see who you are looking at. He then moves around to stand between you and the dance floor, blocking them from your view. “Forget about him; he’s not worth it.”
You look down at your hands folded in your lap, trying to push down the hurt you feel when he urges your chin up with his fingers. He looks at you intensely and says, “Don’t cry over that asshole. You deserve far better than the likes of him, babe.”
Meeting his gaze, you nod your head and pull yourself together. ”You’re right. It may take some time, but I’ll be fine.” You down the rest of your drink with a determined smile.
Before you can stop him, Aemond somehow manages to catch the busy bartender’s attention and motions for another round of drinks. When you protest, he leans closer, putting his arm around you and resting his hand on your shoulder. “I’m taking care of you tonight, pretty girl.”
“You'll be better than fine, and it won’t take as long as you think,” he continues with a cocky little smile. “You just need someone who knows how to treat you."
A little jolt goes through your body; whether it’s from the heat of his hand resting on your exposed shoulder or the difference in his demeanor, you’re not sure. This is a more confident and assertive Aemond that you haven’t seen before, and the little nicknames are completely new.
But unsure of your instincts, you jokingly say, “Yeah, some day my prince will come.”
“Hmm. Maybe he already has, princess,” he replies before leaning very close to you, his lips almost brushing against your ear. “I’ve always had a crush on you, always wanted you.”
His words cause a flutter in your chest. When he takes hold of your hand and starts rubbing his thumb on your skin, your breath catches in your throat. “You never said anything." is all you can manage to get out as you turn your head to look at him in surprise.
“That was a mistake I‘m not making again."
Your faces are only inches apart; you’re studying him with wide eyes while your mind races to process this new revelation. The sounds of the club disappear; all you can hear is the pounding of your heart. Closing the slight distance between you, his lips barely brush against yours before pausing, waiting for a signal from you to continue. When your lips instinctively part, he takes that as the go-ahead to kiss you slowly.
His mouth is soft and hot, and his tongue running along your bottom lip feels so good. He pulls back much too soon for your liking, now that passion has sparked inside you. When you impulsively reach to wipe a trace of your lipstick from his mouth, he quickly captures your thumb, drawing it into his mouth, licking and sucking on the tip before releasing it with a kiss.
As warmth rushes through your body, you can feel your skin tingling. The thinking part of your brain tells you this is a bad idea; it’s too soon after your breakup and too impulsive. But the seductive look on his face, the breaking of physical barriers, and his admission of wanting you has started a throbbing between your legs.
Since you’re still stunned silent, he takes the initiative. “Tell me what's going on in that pretty little head of yours."
Biting your bottom lip, trying to sort your thoughts, you ask, “Why didn’t you ever tell me?”
Aemond’s mouth tightens at the question, “I wasn’t sure if the attraction was mutual or if you just saw me as Hel’s kid brother. So I hesitated.” He looks away from you before adding, “Then you met him."
Knowing that opening himself up to others is not easy for him, you gently squeeze his hand in encouragement because you’re raw from your breakup and you need to know just what you could be getting yourself into with Aemond.
Shrugging his shoulders. "You seemed happy, and I thought I blew my chance with you.”
Little things about your friendship start to click in your mind, bringing a smile to your face. Now you’re the one holding his hand, rubbing circles with your thumb on his skin.
With a hopeful smile, he asks, “Can we get out of here?”
His request makes your heart thump in your chest, and you shift your hips in your seat before asking, “Where to?”
“My place?” Quickly adding, “We could talk some more or..." leaning close to your ear, his voice dropping lower with desire. “I could show you how much I want you, princess.”
Deep down, you’ve always loved the sound of his voice, and this new seductive tone causes a shiver to go up your spine despite the heat that is spreading through your body. Almost before you realize you're doing it, you’re slipping off the barstool, hoping your legs won’t shake.
Steadying yourself with a light hand on his chest and smiling up at him, you take a breath and say, “Alright, we can go... talk.”
Your reply earns you a rare, dimpled grin from him. He helps you slip on your jacket before firmly grasping your hand to begin leading you through the crowd to the exit. On your way out, you pass a grinning Aegon, but Aemond only glances at his brother, not bothering to stop.
Once outside, in the chill night air, he puts his arm around you as you walk through the parking lot. “You’re just going to ditch Aegon?” You ask with a chuckle.
“He knows what I’m up to,” he replies with a smirk. Laughing at your expression. “Aegon would get your boyfriend to play those stupid games at his parties so I could have some time with you.”
Reaching his car, he pulls you into a slow, deep kiss, holding you close to him with his large hands on your hips. Soon you’re fisting at the soft, expensive fabric of his shirt because it feels so fucking good kissing him, feeling him press his hard body against yours. You let his tongue tease its way past your lips to dance with yours as his fingers dig into your skin before he reluctantly pulls back to open the car door for you.
During the drive to his place, you text your friends, reassuring them that you are with Aemond and that everything is fine.
Curious about something, “So when Helaena would suggest a girls movie night, but we would end up at your place, you put her up to that?”
“I did not; she volunteered to do that.”
“My friend sets me up so her brother can walk around like a slut in sweatpants and a messy man bun. Wow, you Targs are something else,” you laughingly tease.
“I was desperate, pretty girl." His blush was visible even in the dim light of the car. “But you noticed,” he chuckles.
Aemond’s apartment is in one of the pricier buildings in the city, but you know his family has money. You’ve been here before, hanging out with the siblings for movie nights. Before you can even toe off your heels by the door, he pulls you to him with one arm around your waist, burying his face in your neck, nipping at your skin, then soothing the little bites with his tongue, making you moan softly.
“Wanted you so bad for so long,” he murmurs between little wet kisses over your throat.
Playfully, you tease him while tugging on his long braid. “Have you been thinking dirty thoughts about me all this time?”
“Fucking filthy thoughts,” as he crushes his lips against yours in a demanding kiss that takes your breath away. You both work to shrug your jacket off, letting it fall to the floor. You can feel the wetness forming between your legs as his long fingers caress the bare skin of your waist.
Pulling his shirt up, your hands explore the lean muscles of his flawless skin. When you bite at his lip, he groans into your mouth and grinds his hardening cock against you.
Trailing his lips down your neck, “Tell me you want me. I need to hear it," he pleads.
“I want you, Aemond; I want you to fuck me,” you moan breathlessly.
With your words, the last shred of restraint either of you had disappeared. By the time the two of you reach his bedroom, both of you are half naked, leaving a trail of clothing and shoes along your path.
“Fucking gorgeous tits,” he mumbles against your hardend nipple before taking it into his hot mouth again, sucking eagerly. Your other breast is being cupped in his strong hand, his fingers teasing the delicate peak. “Perfect tits all for me,” he hums as he switches to begin lavishing the other with attention.
His loose braid is long undone, and your fingers are tangled in his silky, soft hair. You can’t resist the urge to bait him a little. “You think just ‘cause you lick it, it's yours?”
His eye immediately shoots up to your face, and you feel a rough hum against your skin. Backing you up until your legs bump into his bed, he playfully pushes you down on the mattress.
“Aemond?” You squeak as you see the evil gleam in his eye. Kneeling on the floor, he pulls your legs to the edge of the bed and presses his face between them, rubbing his nose over your covered clit and inhaling deeply.
Resting on your elbows, you watch him tug down your panties, leaving you naked. He pushes your thighs wide with his large hands, and you see him shamelessly stare at your soaking wet pussy. “Who made you this wet, princess?"
You let out a gasp as he flattens his tongue and licks the length of your slit, never taking his eye off you. “Mine now,” he says with that familiar smirk of his.
Giving him your best, not impressed look, “It’s gonna take more than that, Targaryen.” you reply sassily. You watch him stick out his long tongue and start flicking your clit, before placing his lips over your little bundle of nerves, alternating between sucking gently and swirling his tongue over it.
Before long, you fall back on the bed, closing your eyes and giving yourself over to the wonderful sensations his mouth creates. His lips and tongue move through your folds, teasing your entrance, before returning to your swollen bud. Every little whimper or sob he pulls from you seems to spur him on. Compared to your ex, Aemond is the pussy eating champ.
Finding a rhythm that has you moaning “Fuck, you’re good at this.” He swells with pride, determined to make you a quivering mess. He relentlessly applies just the right amount of pressure on the right spots again and again. Your world is nothing but sloppy, wet sounds coming from between your legs and the orgasm building deep inside you.
When you reach down to tangle your fingers in his hair, your nails rake his scalp, causing him to moan into your pussy. "Mmm, baby, I’m close..don’t stop,” as you start to grind your hips against his mouth. Before you know it, waves of ecstasy that have your toes curling are crashing through you,leaving you shaking and breathless.
Aemond stares at your quivering pussy, watching more wetness leak from you. “You never answered my question. “Who makes you this wet? Hmm?”
Still blissed out from your orgasm, you gasp as he slides a long finger inside you. “You do, only you,” you whimper.
“That’s my pretty princess,” he coos as he adds a second finger, slowly dragging them in and out of you. “You gonna let me fuck this pretty pussy?”
‘Mmm yes,” While he rises from the floor, you move to the center of the bed, stretching contentedly and giving your legs a rest. You enjoy the sight of his erection straining against his boxers while he opens a drawer in his nightstand and pulls out a condom packet.
“Aemond, we can skip that if you want. I already got tested after the breakup; all good.
“I’m good too, promise," he says as he drops the condom back in the drawer. Lowering his boxers, he frees his hard cock. You wet your lips with the tip of your tongue at his perfect size while you watch him lazily stroke himself. Just looking at him makes your pussy clench; he’s the perfect blend of beauty and masculinity.
“Do you realize how fucking gorgeous you are?” You wonder aloud, your voice smokey with your arousal, taking in the glorious details of the sight before you. From his tousled hair falling past his shoulders to his defined, lean muscles and slim hips, you think he is a work of art.
His pale skin, already flush with his own desire, colors even more down to the tip of his beautiful, long shaft. Joining you on the bed, positioning himself so he is looming over the length of your body, he lowers down to kiss you, his hair falling in a silvery curtain around your head. You can taste yourself as he plunges his tongue past your teeth, deliciously invading your mouth.
Wrapping your arms around his waist and your hands on his back, you pull him closer, wanting to feel his weight on top of you. The soft hairs on his chest and legs tickle your sensitive skin, while his cock is hot and hard against you. You part your thighs wider to let him settle between them, curling a leg around his hip.
“You ready for my cock, pretty princess?” His voice is rough with his need to be inside you when he starts moving his length between your sensitive folds, coating himself with your slick wetness.
Nodding desperately, “Mmm, yes,” you murmur, ready to start writhing beneath him.
Finding your entrance, the head of his cock slowly pushes into you, making him hiss, and he doesn't stop until he can’t go any deeper. “Fuck, you're tight around me.” Slowly, he withdraws halfway before sliding back in and holding himself steady. Giving you a cocky grin, “I think you’re used to something smaller being in you.”
You know it’s true. You’ve never felt this full before, so wonderfully stretched. Your eyes go wider, and a moan escapes you when he gives a more forceful, deep thrust into you.
“Hmm, I’m right,” he smirks knowingly. His muscles flexing with each snap of his hips.
Sensing that he eats up praise the way he eats pussy, you’re happy to give him what he wants. “Fuck, you’re big; it feels so good.” Each time his cock hits that sweet spot inside you, a little jolt of exquisite pleasure goes through you, and you grip his hips harder, raking your nails along his skin.
“So beautiful.” He’s captivated by the sight of your tits bouncing as he pounds into you. “Taking all of me so well, princess.” He coos as he hooks an arm under your knee, the new angle causing more friction against your patch of nerves as he somehow picks up his pace.
“Close, so close,” you whimper. It’s not long before the tightened coil suddenly snaps, making you cum hard with an earth-shattering orgasm that leaves your body shaking.
Your pussy clenching around him starts to send him over his own edge. His balls tightening as he keeps fucking you through your climax. His release leaves him grunting and shuddering as his cock twitches and spurts hot cum deep inside you.
Both of you are left reeling as Aemond rolls off and flops on his side next to you. He gently gathers you into his arms, pulling you close and burying his face in your hair.
You can hear his soft hum of satisfaction, and you can feel his heartbeat against your hand on his chest as you lie in his arms, both of you trying to catch your breath.
“You good, princess?” He asks and gives you a soft kiss on your forehead with your contented sigh of "yes." Soon you both force yourselves from the too-comfortable bed to clean up. When you come out of the bathroom, Aemond gives you a soft, well-worn t-shirt to put on while he is already wearing gray sweatpants that hang low on his hips, no shirt, and his hair is up in a messy bun, earring a muttered, ”Slut,” from you.
“How come I call you princess, and apparently my nickname is 'Slut'? he teasingly asks.
“Awww, would you rather I call you ‘Prince Aemond'? You come back with mock sarcasm.
Grinning, “Prince Aemond, I like that.” Laughing when you roll your eyes at him, he heads to the kitchen for water and snacks for both of you.
#aemond targaryen#aemond smut#aemond#modernaemond#modern aemond#aemond fanfic#aemond fanfiction#aemond fic#aemond targaryen fanfic#aemond targaryen fanfiction#aemond targaryen x reader#aemond x fem!reader#aemond x reader#aemond x y/n
162 notes
·
View notes
Text
The Fall from the Heavens (27)
[ dark • Aemond x Strong • niece female ]
[ warnings: fingering, masturbation, sexual tension, smut, angst, dirty talk, kissing without consent, swearing ]
[ description: A cool distance turns into friendship and more when two children see that they can find refuge and understanding in each other. However, naïve dreams collide with the reality in which every event has consequences and what once could have been love becomes a dark, newly painful obsession. Angst, sexual tension, obsession, violence, madness, very dark Aemond. ]
The story in this series is an alternate reality from the oneshot Stay and love, leave and die, in which Aemond reads the letters his niece has sent to him over the years. They are the same characters and it shows what would have happened between them − I have changed the background story from their childhood slightly for the sake of the plot.
Characters & Series Moodboard
Lady Strong Moodboard
Aemond & Lady Strong Moodboard
Aemond & Lady Strong Childhood
* English is not my first language. Please, do not repost. Enjoy! *
Next chapters: Masterlist
_____
When her uncle decided that they would spend the night in Dragonstone for a moment she thought she had overheard herself − she was unable to contain her delight and outburst of joy at his words, feeling that he had somehow rewarded her for her efforts.
Or at least she thought he had.
His sudden change of plans was unlike him, and she was aware of that, knowing his nature.
He detested deviating from the plans he had previously made for himself.
However, she recognised that perhaps he wanted to show her and her family his sincere intentions, to prove that she was not just a prisoner in his eyes and that he, as her husband, could also sleep under their roof without being one.
She wasn't sure if she had ever been as happy in her life as she had been the moment she flew through the sky next to Vhagar, Caraxes and Syrax; her heart was filled with heat and hope, her uncle's words echoing in her mind like a sweet whisper.
I am proud of you.
Those words meant more to her than any of his other confessions.
Of course, his confession of love was a wonderful thing, but she had always been waiting for him to appreciate her as a person, not just a woman he saw by his side.
With this, she finally felt equal to him.
Her optimism extinguished as quickly as it had appeared as soon as she crossed the walls of the family fortress. Although her heart screamed with joy at the sight of familiar rooms, smells and sights, the faces of her brothers left her with no illusions.
She swallowed loudly as she saw the hateful look on Jace's face; she knew him and she knew that he was hurt.
He was disappointed and heartbroken, he felt humiliated and, deep down, betrayed by her, even though she never meant it.
Luke clearly didn't know what he felt himself, because he just lowered his head, unable to look into her eyes.
She felt a squeeze in her throat at the sight, a discomfort in her stomach that told her that perhaps this wasn't her home at all anymore.
She was no longer welcome here.
She was snapped out of her reverie by Rhaena − her step-sister was the first to approach her, warmth and longing in her gaze, some kind of understanding from which she felt tears under her eyelids. They hugged each other tightly, though they had never done so before − her words made her feel a tightening in her stomach.
"I'm so happy you're alive." She muttered in a breaking voice, and she smiled involuntarily at her words.
"Me too."
As Baela approached them, also enclosing her in the tight embrace of her arms, she thought with a shrug that even though she hadn't let them into the depths of her heart for so many years, they truly cared and worried about her.
At the very end Joffrey ran up to her, sobbing loudly.
"− why have you been so long in King's Landing? − why did you leave us? − Jace wouldn't read me my favourite book −" He mumbled cuddled into her belly, her hands combing through his dark curls with the calm motion of her fingers.
"− forgive me − I'm here −" She said softly, looking at her older brother and swallowed hard, seeing the murderous glances they exchanged over the table with her husband.
She looked at her mother, who nodded, understanding what she wanted to convey to her.
"You are certainly exhausted. Take up your old quarters, daughter, I will immediately command them to be brought to order and prepared for you." Rheanyra said calmly, and she bowed before her.
"Thank you, my Queen." She said softly, looking into her eyes. Her mother swallowed hard and nodded, allowing them to leave.
As they stepped inside her chamber, she felt a squeeze in her heart and some kind of elation; all her belongings were in their places exactly as she had left them, as if no one had been allowed in here since she had been forcibly held in the Red Keep.
She shuddered, snapped out of her reverie when her uncle moved ahead of her, strolling around the room with his hands folded behind his back, intrigued.
It seemed to her that some part of him wanted to understand what her life had been like and who she had been for the eight years during which they had been separated.
She saw him walk over to her old oak desk and run his fingers over its top, thoughtful.
"− is this here? −" He asked casually.
She felt heat in her lower abdomen at the thought that he meant the place where she had written letters to him.
"− yes −"
She swallowed quietly as he hummed at her words, watching as he sat in the chair where she sat many times leaning over the parchment, scribbling words on it meant only for his eyes. He tapped his finger on the armrest, turning to face her in profile as he gazed out of the window, apparently absorbed in memories.
She thought that although her return home had proved more uncomfortable than she had thought, she was grateful to him.
Whatever decision he had made that morning had led them here and was proof of his intentions.
"− we should rest, husband − if that's what you wish, we'll have supper alone −" She said quietly, smiling at him, wanting him to know she wouldn't force him to sit at the same table with her family.
She thought she would spend the evening with him, give him the feeling that she was not speaking with anyone behind his back, and perhaps in the morning, before they flew away, she would ask him so that she could speak to her mother at last in peace and solitude.
Comforted by this thought and the fact that it looked like all was not lost, she began to tell him about her life in Dragonstone, to show him the books she had written to him about in her letters, the places she had flown to on Larax.
It seemed to her that her husband was only partially listening to her; his gaze was thoughtful, his face expressed weariness and discouragement. She knew that something was making him uncomfortable and she suspected that it was about the place they were in; however, she did not know how to help him, to give him the feeling that neither he nor she was in danger here.
"− uncle − will you tell me what troubles you? −" She finally made an attempt to find out what had been on his mind since the morning. He shuddered at her words and looked at her with a horror as if he was about to faint.
"I'm tired." He replied quickly, without thinking, as if he wanted to answer her anything just to end the subject. She sighed quietly, recognising that she couldn't push him too hard.
Not after what they had managed to accomplish.
"Let's go to bed."
She felt a squeeze in her throat as, already lying on the bedding, she watched as he took out his dagger and tucked it under his pillow; she looked at him and met his calm, impassive gaze.
She decided not to say anything, understanding where his caution came from, not wanting to discourage or frustrate him.
She smiled involuntarily, content as his body clung to hers as soon as he lay at her side. She heard him murmur as she snuggled his face between her breasts, felt his arms embrace her waist and tighten around the material of her nightgown on her back.
She loved it when her mother sang lullabies to her when she was a child; it always calmed and soothed her. She had never dared to sing to him when they were children, fearing that her voice was too squeaky and unpleasant, but now she decided that maybe that was just what he needed.
So she sang, humming softly, once in a while placing a warm, lingering kiss on the top of his head − she felt his embrace slowly growing weaker, his muscles relaxing, his breathing quiet and even.
She sighed quietly feeling him fall asleep.
Someone's jerking and growling roused her from a deep sleep; when she opened her eyes for a moment she didn't know where she was or what was happening.
She recognised her chamber but did not know what her uncle was doing in it, convinced that he still had not answered her letters, as he had not done so for eight years.
After a moment, however, her mind seemed to regain focus and she remembered that she was his wife after all, and that his silhouette lying beside her was not a figment of her imagination.
She raised herself up on her elbow seeing that his body convulsed once in a while, as if he was trying to break free of something, whimpers and grunts came out of his throat, however, his mouth did not open, tears began to fall from the corners of his eyes one by one.
"Uncle! Uncle, please, wake up!" She called out, grabbing his arm, feeling her heart pounding like crazy.
She was frightened and jumped back as his eye opened suddenly, his figure rose to sit up, and he began to pant like a wild animal, quivering all over. She looked at him in disbelief, horrified to hear that he was struggling to catch his breath.
Was he having nightmares again?
Was he dreaming again of the night he lost his eye?
"− easy, my love − breathe −" She whispered tenderly, gently touching his back; he flinched all over and looked at her as if he didn't recognise her − his eye was wide open, his nostrils twitched in accelerated, heavy breaths.
"− Rhaenys − Rhaenys −" He mumbled like a small, terrified child and fell into her arms, bursting into a sob so loud that the voice stuck in her throat.
She embraced him immediately, letting him find protection and comfort in her arms, stroking affectionately his hair and back, placing warm, soft kisses on the top of his head in an attempt to reassure him.
"− I'm here, my love − I'm here −" She mumbled, feeling that the fabric of her nightgown was all wet with his tears, his hot, broken breath enveloping her skin.
She felt like he wanted to melt into one with her, to hide deep inside her from whatever it was that scared him.
He was silent for a long moment, trying to calm himself; she hushed him tenderly, whispering that he was safe, that she was by his side, that all was well. She finally heard him swallow hard, his voice trembling and uncertain.
"− there's something − there's something I want to tell you −" He muttered. She blinked, twisting comfortably in her seat, feeling her heart begin to beat faster.
"− I'm listening to you, my love −" She whispered, stroking his hair. She released him from her arms when she felt him wanting to rise.
He sat on the bedding with his side facing her, running his shaking hand over his face, his healthy eye closed as if afraid of what was about to leave his mouth.
"− I − fuck −" He began, swallowing hard − her hand rose to his back, stroking it reassuringly.
"− easy − take your time − start from the beginning −" She encouraged him softly, not wanting him to fall silent again, seeing that he wanted to throw off whatever had been weighing on his shoulders since they had left Harrenhal.
"− you may remember − Lord Strong wanted to speak with me soon after we arrived in Harrenhal −" He said uncertainly, and she nodded, reminding herself that this was indeed what had happened.
"− yes −"
Her uncle swallowed hard, drawing in air loudly.
"− he told me at the time − that my grandfather had no intention of letting your mother and Daemon leave the Eyrie alive if it turned out they wouldn't accept our terms − but now I think they wouldn't have left alive anyway − Larys had his spies there −" He muttered and fell silent, freezing completely as she did, her heart beginning to pound like mad.
My grandfather had no intention of letting them leave the Eyrie alive.
"Will you be by my side even when all is lost? Even if there is nothing left but darkness? Is that what you had in mind then?" She mumbled out in pain, feeling that there was a complete void in her mind. "Will I be there for you even if your grandfather kills my mother?"
"− n-no −" He began quickly. "− will you be there for me even if I fail to prevent it knowing that I didn't tell you −"
She felt a constriction in her throat and lower abdomen, felt tears of disappointment and sadness flowing into her eyelids − now it was her body that trembled in convulsions, his gaze full of shame and horror directed at her.
She sucked his cock, she let him take her, and he knew that the next day her father and her mother could be murdered.
She pressed her lips together, shaking her head and laughed low.
"− you will betray me − you will run away − those are your words, aren't they? − you were always the first to accuse me − was it because you were trying to cover up your own conscience? − you wanted me to let you down so that you wouldn't feel guilty about doing it over and over again? −" She asked with a cold mockery, from which he bowed his head in embarrassment, in a subconscious reflex he had inherited from his mother plucking the cuticles around his fingernails.
He did not answer.
"− what should I do now? − divorce you? − say I won't come back to King's Landing with you? − not speak to you for eight years? − tell me, uncle, what do you think you deserve? −" She asked dispassionately, feeling the tears of rage and grief one by one run down her cheeks.
She saw him tremble at her words and curl into himself, as if he were again the same little boy who had cried in her arms when his mother had reprimanded him for inappropriate behaviour.
She pressed her lips into a thin line as he hid his face in his hands and wept helplessly, as if his whole person, everything he had built around himself was just falling apart in front of her eyes, showing him his insides, what was left of him.
He was vulnerable.
"− fuck − I − I wanted to tell you, but I was afraid you'd change your mind − that if you warned them they'd see it as a betrayal and wouldn't want to pact − that's why I didn't let any of us stay in the Eyrie − I −"
"− because my mother agreed − but what would you have done if things had turned out differently? −" She asked coldly, and he swallowed hard, covering his eyes with his hand, as if he could not bear what he felt or this conversation.
"− I don't know − I don't know how I could have protected both you and my family then − what decision of mine would have saved you from death −" He muttered and she pulled herself up from the bed, recognising that she didn't feel like listening to this, that she had had enough of him and his guilt when it was always him, him, him disappointing her.
From the first night she had returned to him, when he had closed her cheeks in the brutal grip of his fingers she had seen in his eye what had now become clear to her.
He was weak, and when he was afraid, he resorted to violence.
She heard him stand up behind her, panting heavily, wiping his tear-wet face with his hand.
"− no − don't leave − I told you because −"
"− because your conscience didn't give you peace − because you didn't want to carry your guilt alone −" She hissed, turning towards him with furrowed brows.
She felt that fury, not blood, was flowing through her veins now.
He swallowed loudly at her words, looking at her wide-eyed.
"− if you've never hidden anything from me − you've never concealed anything from me for fear that I might react impulsively, leave − but if you did, come back to bed − I won't touch you −"
She pressed her lips together in fury, recognising that he must have been mocking her, but then she felt an unpleasant sting in her heart that proved she had doubts.
She heard again the words of one of her servants in King's Landing whispering in her ear that when the time came, Prince Daemon would help her escape; she heard again the words of Alys speaking of the prophecy she had not shared with him for fear of his reaction.
Had she really never hidden anything from him?
Her whole body screamed for her to leave; she wanted to do it, but felt that if she did, she would be lying to herself and to him, creating an image in which she was without flaw.
She could say that she had the right to do it, that she had good intentions, but didn't her uncle think the same about his decisions?
She glared at him and let out a loud breath, returning to the bed without a word, sinking into the soft sheets, turning her face away from him. She heard him breathe heavily, and after a moment, the bed creaked under the weight of his body settling against her back.
"− tell me −" He whispered.
She sighed heavily and grunted, recognising that her faults were less than his anyway.
So why did she still feel shame and a squeeze in her gut?
"− after I tried to take my life I was told that my father could help me escape − don't ask how − I also didn't tell you about the prophecy I heard from Alys −"
"− that fucking witch is a liar −" He growled, and she let out a loud breath, impatient.
"− it is possible − but I also heard this prophecy from your sister's mouth − both of them spoke of two rivers of blood merging into one, taking the shape of a dragon's crowned head −" She choked out finally, her husband stirring beside her in his place, surprised.
"− what could this mean? −"
"− I don't know − I was afraid that when you heard it, you would want to give up on the negotiations and return to King's Landing − Alys warned me, so she probably knew what your grandfather was planning to do −" She said regretfully, thinking that strange woman was more concerned for her safety and her family than her husband.
She heard him swallow hard, letting the air out loudly.
"− forgive me −"
She lay in silence for some time, feeling anger that he expected her to simply forget everything, understand his reasons and forgive him as always.
No.
"− I will forgive you, but I have my conditions − we will stay here longer − for a week or two, I will decide in the morning −" She said coldly.
"− but − my mother will be convinced that they are holding us by force −" He began, but she would not let him finish.
"− you will write a letter to your brother informing him that my mother has accepted his terms, but is also setting her own − that we will stay here to discuss all the details, show our goodwill − if your mother wishes, she can travel here in her own person − you can leave Dragonstone when you wish, but I will stay here as long as I desire, and you will show no opposition −" She said impatiently, feeling her heart pounding like mad, her hands clenched into fists.
Her husband swallowed loudly at her words, tense.
"− I − very well −" He muttered finally, knowing that any other words would forever cross him out in her eyes.
She hummed under her breath, covering herself tightly with the bedding and closed her eyes, figuring she wouldn't turn towards him for the rest of the night.
"− don't try to take me or embrace me −" She commanded and he sighed quietly.
She swallowed hard when she felt him place his large hand on her head and begin to stroke her hair exactly as he had when they were children.
She felt furious that it was so pleasant, so soothing, that he knew she loved it.
"− my Rheanys −" He whispered tenderly. She pressed her lips together at his words, feeling a single, lonely tear run down her cheek.
The next morning she was awakened by a rustling noise and the sound of a quill scratching on parchment; she lifted her sleepy eyelids and saw his silhouette sitting behind her desk, bent over a letter he had apparently just written.
She felt strange at the thought that he was sitting in the exact place where she had spent years writing him messages that had never received a response.
She knew, however, that she now had the upper hand over him and that her word was an order to him.
She was not going to imitate his cold nature and not speak to him − they had to maintain a semblance of at least a warm relationship so that the image of their marriage, on which the whole agreement between the two parties was supposed to be based, did not begin to crack.
He lifted his gaze to her when she stood up, but they did not exchange a word between each other.
He did not know what to say.
Her maidservant walked in at her summons and bowed before her, bending her head humbly.
"− my Lady, will you have your morning meal before your travel? − your mother would like to speak with you before you leave for King's Landing −"
"− we will have a meal, but convey to my mother that there is no rush − my husband and I have decided to stay here for a few weeks as an expression of our sincere intentions − my husband is in the process of conveying this message to his brother − my uncle is in need of new garments, provide them for him without delay and bring them to my chamber −" She said calmly; her servant blinked, shocked and nodded, immediately disappearing behind the door.
Despite what she had learned and the rage she felt, she was pleased − the roles had been reversed and although her husband was not her prisoner, he was attached to her and was forced to stay in a place that disgusted him.
Good, she thought.
She wanted him to feel what she had felt during the month she had spent in King's Landing, imprisoned by his mother and grandfather.
"− I wish to spend this afternoon with my mother − if you so desire, I can show you in which chamber the library is located −" She said lightly, without looking at him however, taking a bite of bread spread with confiture. Her husband rolled his eyes, displeased.
"I have no intention of leaving your quarters." He replied indifferently.
She raised her eyebrows in amusement at his words.
"You are not my prisoner, uncle. You can walk and fly wherever you please. Holding someone by force is not in my nature." She murmured softly − her husband gave her one tired look.
She smiled at him in a way from which he swallowed hard and looked away, sighing heavily.
He knew she was enraged and he wasn't going to get in her way.
One of the aspects she enjoyed upon returning home was that she had finally retrieved all her robes; her uncle looked at her from the side, watching as her servants helped her put on a golden gown with long black sleeves that reached the ground.
"− make braids around my head − my husband adores it when I wear this hairstyle, is he not? −" She sneered, glancing at him over her shoulder. She only saw him roll his eyes, running his hand over his face, not saying a word.
He knew he had to endure everything she was throwing at him with humility if he didn't want to make his already bad situation worse.
She had no idea what he could do to regain her favour, her trust, the respect she had for him.
"− have a pleasant day, husband −" She threw over her shoulder, leaving him alone in the chamber, recognising that she did not care what he did.
As she stepped into her mother's quarters, Rhaenyra rose from her seat, putting down the quill she held in her hand, approaching her with surprise and uncertainty written on her face.
"− is it true? − are you planning to stay in Dragonstone? −" She asked in a trembling voice �� she smiled and nodded. Her mother sighed in relief and walked over to her, embracing her tightly with her arms, snuggling her head into her neck.
They pulled away from each other after a moment, her hands gripping her cheeks, her thumbs stroking her skin as if she remembered a time when she was still a small child.
"− let's sit down −"
Being in her chamber again was like a dream to her − she couldn't believe she was sitting at the same table again, surrounded by the same furniture and bed with a red curtain, with the windows open to a view of the great sea.
"− does he treat you well? −" She asked suddenly, taking her hand in her own.
Her mother's question surprised her, but it also filled her heart with warmth and emotion.
"− I − yes − despite his harsh, difficult nature −"
"− so how did he let this happen? −" She asked, exposing a part of her wrist with her thumb, where her pale scar was clearly visible. She swallowed loudly, not knowing what to answer her.
She wanted to tell her about the moon tea, but hesitated.
She didn't want her to think that her husband knew about it, that he was a worse person than she assumed.
It devastated her to think that she still had to tell half-truths.
"− I did it as an act of desperation − when he found out he wouldn't leave my side for weeks − he wouldn't let anyone but himself, Helaena and the maester cross the threshold of my quarters − he let me see Luke −" She muttered, looking at her at last. Her mother lowered her gaze, sighing quietly, tired and pale.
"− when Daemon passed on your words to me, I was furious − I didn't understand how you could do this to me −" She began and fell silent, closing her eyelids for a moment.
She felt an all-consuming shame at the thought that she had failed and disappointed her as a daughter.
"− forgive me − I would never question your rights if it were only about you − but you know very well that it is not −" She said cautiously − her mother lifted her gaze to her and nodded.
"− I know −"
They fell silent for a moment.
"− can I trust him? − your husband − and my brother −" Her mother asked coldly; she raised her gaze to her, surprised to feel that her lips involuntarily parted.
I don't know.
"− yes −" She muttered. "− he refused Maris Baratheon to take her as his wife − he himself proposed a form of compromise, and his elder brother supported him − Aegon is not a good man, but he cares about his children − he knows he will not leave them a secure, safe throne − just as you would not leave it to your sons −"
They said no more.
She spent some more time with her, just holding her hand, wordlessly trying to comfort her, thinking with weariness that she had to give up everything that was rightfully hers.
She finally decided to take pity on her husband and return to her chamber, not wanting to leave him alone for so long in a state of anxiety and uncertainty.
She felt her heart stop as she stepped into her quarters and saw no one inside − a cold shiver ran down her spine at the thought of him leaving her.
He had returned to King's Landing without her.
She pressed her lips together, involuntarily feeling her heart begin to pound like mad with pain and sadness, her eyes glazed over with tears that she was ashamed of, thinking it shouldn't hurt so much, and yet it did.
She looked around the room quickly, looking for a letter or anything else that might say he had left her some word, but found nothing of the sort; she shuddered when she heard someone's dim voices in the distance and walked over to the window.
Her father and her uncle stood facing each other on the beach with their hands folded behind their backs, discussing something animatedly, a clear tension between them.
She felt regret towards herself, her body filled with an overwhelming relief that he had not left her, that he had not betrayed her again.
She thought the gods had been cruel, allowing her to love this man so deeply.
She blinked, startled, when she heard the door from her chamber open; she turned and saw the figure of her eldest brother, who only spoke up when they heard a loud clatter of wood behind them.
"− how could you do this? − choose him over us? −" He growled with regret, resentment and disappointment, his big brown eyes filled with anger and pain from which she felt a tightening in her throat. She furrowed her brow and shook her head.
"− we both know what the truth is − you can't rule with lies −" She replied, shrugging her shoulders; Jace moved towards her and she flinched all over, surprised at how pale he was, his lips tightened into a thin line − she had the impression he was trembling all over.
"− this was my inheritance − my throne − my crown − and you chose him, a man who did not write back to your letters for eight years, who humiliated you by calling you a bastard, and you shared a bed with him the first night you saw him, like some... −" He didn't finish and fell silent, the word he wanted to say stuck deep in his throat. She felt her lower lip tremble at his accusation, her eyebrows arching in pain and anger, her eyes red from tears of shame and humiliation.
"− say it − you've already spoken the word in your mind −" She sneered, lifting her chin higher, challenging him.
"− I won't call you an unworthy name −" He muttered lowly, and she laughed involuntarily at his words, shaking her head.
"− you think that makes you a better man? − look at this −" She hissed, lifting her hand up, exposing her wrist tugging impatiently at the material of her black sleeve. "− here is what I have done for you and for your crown − should I do it again? −"
She swallowed loudly, surprised when she noticed that something in her brother's expression had changed − Jace had grabbed her wrist and locked it between his fingers, but there was no aggression in the gesture, his thumb stroking her smooth, bare skin.
They stared at each other for a moment, breathing loudly; she felt that there was a kind of tension between them from which her heart was pounding like mad, but she wasn't sure what it was caused by; something in his gaze, in his brown, misty eyes and parted lips, made her feel hot.
"− do you love him more than our mother? − than Luke, than Joffrey? − than me? −" He asked in a trembling voice and she shook her head, not understanding what he meant.
"− Jace − it's a different kind of love − I −"
"− what kind? −" He hissed. "− the kind where you're constantly betrayed? − in which someone mocks your parentage? − locks you up like some prisoner? −"
Gods.
"− Jace −" She gasped, feeling that something in his questions, in his gaze, in what he wanted to hear from her had broken her down, her whole body began to quiver.
She shuddered as he approached her suddenly, as his free hand cupped her warm cheeks, as his forehead pressed against hers, his voice trembling as the words left his throat like a river.
"− I am your oldest brother − you were born to be mine − I would be good to you − you know I would −"
"− brother, what are you saying? − you had no objections when my mother decided to marry me to Ronnel −" She said disapprovingly, furrowing her brow in anger.
"− it was our mother's decision − how could I oppose her? −" He asked with a frown, as if he really believed what he was saying, a cold shiver ran through her body as his thumb ran over the soft skin of her cheek, hot with emotion.
"− you have never loved me − not in this way, we both know it well − you have always preferred to lie to yourself rather than face the truth − you do not look at me as the woman you desire, but as an inheritance that was taken from you −" She said with pain, feeling that what he was saying was not due to any deep feeling he had for her, but to his anger that she was not waiting for him docilely like his throne and his crown.
Her brother swallowed hard at her words, his hot, ragged breath enveloping the skin of her face.
"− when you were born, our mother told me that you might be my future wife − and I always, always saw you this way −"
"− you mocked me with Aegon −"
"− I craved his attention − he was older and impressed me − didn't you do anything you regretted as a child? −" He muttered wearily; she felt her heart stop at his words, a drop of cold sweat run down the back of her neck.
What was she supposed to answer him?
"− brother − I am married to another man − of my own free will −"
"− you are a traitor −"
"− how dare you −"
"− you are a traitor, but I still am unable to hate you −"
A squeal of terror stuck in her throat, her body froze completely as his lips pressed against hers in a greedy, hot, sticky kiss, his fingers digging into the soft skin of her cheeks, refusing to let her move away.
She cried out and pushed him away − before he could make any move her hand slapped him in the face so hard that he took a few steps back, clutching his red cheek, panting heavily.
"− get out −" She muttered, placing her hand over her heart, feeling as if it was about to burst out of her chest. "− get out of my chamber, brother − I'll forget this...conversation ever took place −"
Jace swallowed hard, horrified and ashamed, as if it had only now occurred to him what he had actually done.
What would Baela say if she saw this?
It seemed to him that they both couldn't believe he had done it − Jace had turned and walked out, leaving behind an open door and a complete blank in her mind.
She thought he wanted to take it out on their uncle, to take away something that belonged to him.
That she was just an object for him on which he had decided to vent.
She thought with pain that he, unlike her husband, had never tried to truly understand her.
When her uncle returned to her chamber they did not exchange a word − he seemed distracted and frustrated to her. He took one of the books from the bookshelf and sat by the fireplace, pretending to read. She lowered her gaze, playing with her fingers, thinking only of the fact that if she hid it from him, she would be just like him.
She didn't know for a long time how she should put it into words, but she figured he'd be furious either way.
"− Jace kissed me − on the lips −" She muttered, glancing at him fearfully − his eye opened wide, looking at her in disbelief, his jaw clenched in such a way that a shudder went through her.
He was silent for a moment, as if he had run out of words, which frightened her even more.
"− he did WHAT? −" He growled, closing the book with a loud slam, pulling himself up from his seat like an enraged bear.
"− he kissed me − grief and humiliation took his mind away − I − wait − gods −" She muttered, standing up as soon as he headed towards the door, which he opened with a loud clatter, running out into the corridor after him.
"− Aemond − no, no, no − stop! −" She hissed, grabbing his arm, but he pulled away from her, opening door after door until he found himself in the right room − Jace and Beala were sitting together at a table, apparently discussing something.
Her older brother rose from his seat and turned pale at the sight of them, horrified.
Her husband walked into his quarters with a wide, menacing smile, exactly the same one he bestowed on him and Luke when they saw him duelling with Criston Cole in King's Landing. He put his hands behind his back, shifting his body weight to one leg, cocking his head.
"− haven't you learned yet not to take what's not yours? − hm? −"
"− Aemond −" She said warningly, but her uncle didn't listen to her, his healthy eye wide open, as if he was just waiting for this.
An opportunity for confrontation.
"− your sister when we were children told me that she never desired you as a man − she knew even then that you were a cunt −" He sneered amused, revealing his teeth in a wide grin full of feigned recognition.
"− Aemond, that's enough −"
"− how dare you? − you are a guest under our roof − get out −" Baela thundered.
She felt a squeeze in her heart at the thought that she knew nothing.
She moved ahead and stood in front of her husband, looking at him with furrowed brows.
"− we are leaving −"
"− no − I'm speaking with my nephew −"
"− we are leaving, uncle, or I swear I will never return with you to King's Landing −"
"− so I'll stay here with you − Jace as ruler of Dragonstone will surely be delighted to host us, won't he? − he seems to have a weakness for you, sweet wife −" He murmured in a voice filled with poison, from which a strong shiver ran along her back.
"− Jace, say something at last! −" Baela hissed, furious that her betrothed simply looked at their uncle and remained silent, unable to get a word out.
"− I made a mistake − I shouldn't have done it, forgive me − I −" He directed his words to her, to his sister, sadness and regret in his gaze, from which she involuntarily felt sympathy.
"− you made a mistake? − I seem to be able to understand the feeling − I have made a similar one many times, as well as others, even worse ones −" Her husband hissed, gripping her cheeks in his hand − her voice stuck in her throat as his fleshy lips clung to hers in an aggressive, loud kiss, his tongue forced its way deep into her throat.
She sighed as he turned her back to him, pressing her brutally against his chest and grabbed her neck − she grasped his wrist as his free hand slid down her lower abdomen, his fingers dug into the material of her gown beneath which her womanhood lay, she could feel his hot breath on her cheek.
"− so beautiful, isn't she, nephew? − I couldn't help myself either − I can't count how many times I took her − how many times I have filled her with my seed − right here −" He breathed out into her ear and she closed her eyes, feeling with horror and disbelief that her nipples had hardened, that her walls had clenched around nothing at his embarrassing words, feeling his finger tease what lay between her thighs despite her resistance.
"− u-uncle − stop −" She muttered, a moan stuck in her throat as she felt his erection behind her throb hard at her words, pushing against her buttocks, his fingertips dug deep into her folds hidden beneath the fabric.
Gods, he wanted her brother to watch this.
Baela looked at Jace as if she suddenly understood everything, her eyebrows arched in pain and disbelief.
"− what did you do? −" She asked quietly, her older brother shook his head, all red, turning his face away, unable to look at it.
"− I −" He didn't finish; her uncle let her go immediately, panting loudly as she did when Daemon walked into the chamber, looking at them, then at Jace and his daughter.
He grinned.
"− what is the meaning of this...commotion? − hm? −" He asked, raising his eyebrows in amusement and mockery; she looked away and glanced at her uncle, shaking her head with furrowed brows, letting him know that he was to remain silent.
Her husband pressed his lips into a thin line, but did not utter a word.
They stood in awkward silence, with only the quiet fizzle of the blazing fire in the fireplace around them.
"Mmm." Her husband hummed and turned away, heading for the door. Not knowing what to do, she simply moved after him, casting only one apologetic glance at Baela.
When they finally returned to her chamber she let out a loud breath.
"− what was that supposed to mean? −" She asked in frustration, wondering what had possessed him.
She tried not to think about how embarrassingly wet she was now.
"− I don't know what you're referring to, wife − I've merely shown my nephew the depth of my understanding as to his desire −" He grinned, grabbing a jug full of wine, pouring himself a full cup of it.
She licked her lower lip in impatience, standing still and watching him − their gazes met as he raised the goblet to his lips and took a deep sip from it.
"− what − are you wet now? −" He sneered and she felt a hot wave of shame surge through her body − she felt like her cheeks had turned scarlet.
"− don't mock me − this was humiliating −" She growled, furrowing her brow, a smirk on his face that she didn't like.
"− if you say so, wife −" He muttered, approaching her lazily, playing with his cup in his hand, raising it to his lips again "− I, however, think you'd rather I did something else −"
He said and took another sip of wine, swallowing it loudly, towering over her with a look from which a pleasant shiver ran through her core.
"− I think you'd rather I fucked you good in front of him − for me to slip my fingers under your skirt and sink them into your leaking cunt −" He murmured, leaning over her so that the tips of their noses were almost touching, her walls swelling all over at his words − she felt a drop of her own wetness run down her thigh.
"− am I wrong? −" He asked, cocking his head curiously, taking another sip of wine from his goblet without taking his eyes off her.
She drew in a loud breath as he set his cup down on the table standing beside them with a loud clang of steel, taking a step towards her, his lips parted in desire.
Gods, no.
"− don't touch me −"
She saw him squint his eyes as he hesitated, his nostrils flaring in accelerated breath.
She knew he was hard.
She knew he wanted to soften her up.
"Mmm."
She immediately summoned her servant wishing that she would help her pull off her gown and let her hair down. After this, she lay down in bed, covering herself with thick furs, not looking at him or speaking a word to him. She swallowed hard when she heard him lie down right next to her and closed her eyelids when she felt his hot breath on her neck.
She thought he would try to touch her, embrace her and give her a reason to push him away, but he just lay behind her back, driving her crazy.
She waited for some time, listening to his quiet breathing, and decided that he was surely asleep by now; her hand slipped silently into the material of her nightgown, lifting it up. She swallowed quietly, tightening her lips as her fingers sank into her leaking, soft, hot womanhood begging to be fulfilled, teasing and squeezing the bud between its fleshy folds.
She felt herself grow hot, her heart began to pound like mad at the indecent idea that these was his hand touching her in front of Jace, making him watch, wanting him to see what her fulfilment looked like.
She felt her walls clench greedily around nothing at the thought, her fingers teasing the spot between her puffy folds with circular, intense strokes.
Involuntarily, her hips began to rock softly to the rhythm of the flicks of her own fingers, she felt that she was wonderfully close to fulfilment.
"− what are you doing? −" She heard his low, cool voice and froze completely. She swallowed hard, sliding her hand, sticky with her own moisture from between her thighs, and remained silent, unwilling to give him the satisfaction.
"− go on −" He said in a hoarse, deep voice from which a shiver went down her spine. She heard a rustling behind her and then the sticky sound of skin slapping against skin − his hot breathing quickened, heavy and ragged. "− come on −"
She couldn't help herself; his fingers dug into her swollen folds again causing a wave of heat to pass through her body − she felt pleasant tickling sensations in her lips, fingertips and nipples. She moaned quietly when she felt his nose pressed against her hair, her hips involuntarily began to rock when she heard him begin to pant, the splats behind her getting louder, louder and louder.
"− fuck − you know I'd lick you good there − hm? −" He sighed and she felt her whole body quiver, her fingers teasing her puffy pearl all sticky from her own wetness.
"− mhgm −" She whined, tilting her head back, feeling his hot, uneven breath on her ear, his swollen, wet lips run down her neck.
"− are you leaking? − are you leaking at the thought of how good I would make you feel? − at the thought of your brother watching me fuck his little sister? −" He breathed out, and she moaned loudly as she felt a wonderful, relieved sensation at his words, her fulfilment shaking her like a hot, tickling wave.
Her slit pulsed all under her fingers as her own moisture leaked out of her, she shuddered when she felt his warm, rough tongue run across the bare skin of her neck, leaving a slick, wet mark on it.
"− fuck, Rheanys −" He muttered and after a moment he gasped − she felt something sticky and warm spurt out onto the back of her nightgown.
His seed.
Gods.
She closed her eyelids, trying to calm her breathing, furious at herself and her weakness.
"− let me embrace you −"
"− no −"
She heard him huff, sighing heavily, his face still sunk into her neck.
"− move away, uncle −"
"− I inhale the wonderful scent of vanilla after having experienced fulfilment with my wife −"
"− your wife does not wish for this −"
"− sleep −"
She pressed her lips together and swallowed hard, thinking with frustration that she hated him with all her heart.
#aemond fic#aemond fanfiction#aemond targaryen#hotd aemond#aemond smut#aemond angst#aemond fanfic#canon aemond#aemond targaryen smut#aemond targaryen angst#aemond#aemond one eye#prince aemond#hotd fanfic#prince aemond targaryen#aemond x oc#aemond x original female character#aemond x original character#aemond x female#aemond hotd#house of the dragon#hotd fandom#hotd fic#hotd fanfiction#ewan mitchell#ewan mitchell smut#ewan mitchell angst#ewan mitchell fanfiction#ewan mitchell fanfic#aemond x niece
215 notes
·
View notes
Text
The Silver Dragon (2)
Youth
Lady Arianwyn and Prince Aemond grow up side-by-side.
Pairing: Aemond Targaryen x OC (Daemon and Rhea's daughter)
Warnings: none
Author's Note: This chapter is entirely new! The old chapter 2 will be back later as chapter 3. Also, I have not been around babies or toddlers or even kids under 10 since I was that age myself, so if I got any childhood development facts wrong, just pretend that I didn't!
Series Masterlist - Previous Chapter - Next Chapter
Only four days after Prince Aemond Targaryen saw his eleventh moon, he took his first steps. It was a matter of necessity. His nursemaid had set him on the nursery floor too far from Aria – all the way on the other side of the rug!
He did not really know who Aria was.
He did not know that her full name was ‘Arianwyn,’ for everyone only called her Aria – except for the large men in bronze suits, who called her ‘Lady,’ or sometimes “Little Lady.” He did not know that she was his cousin, as he did not know what a cousin was. He did not know that she had not always been with him or that she was younger than him, for he had no memories without her there.
All he knew was that Aria was always there, and he was always with her.
But in that moment, she was too far away. He took one look at Aria’s sad and confused face, and he knew he needed to get to her. If he didn’t do it soon, she would start to cry. He hated it when she cried. It made him want to cry.
So, he started crawling toward her. Slowly, he was moving too slowly. She looked more and more like she was going to cry, and Aemond decided there wouldn’t be anything worse in the world.
He pushed his arms against the floor, bracing himself as he raised up onto his legs, as the bigger people did. When he lifted his arms again, he saw Aria staring at him, no longer looking like she was about to cry. While he was glad, he still wanted to go to her.
“Hurry, get the queen!”
Aemond remembered that last word, ‘queen.’ He heard it a lot when his second-favorite person was around. Was she here, too?
He turned his head to look at the part of the wall where people came through but didn’t see anyone. The turn cost him, though. His legs grew wobbly, and he had a sinking feeling in his stomach that he was going to fall. He couldn’t prevent the fall, but maybe he could control it.
His arms flailing, Aemond leaned forward and took three steps closer to Aria before he fell on his face.
Three steps were enough, though. Aria had crawled forward to meet him in the middle of the rug, a wide smile on her face as she squealed with delight. Tears had already sprung to Aemond’s eyes from his fall, but when he looked at Aria, he forgot why he had wanted to cry.
“Aria!”
“Aymmmmmuh!”
Aemond knew words now – several of them. It infuriated Arianwyn. Especially when his favorite word was her name, and she could not say his back.
She knew his name. Whenever someone said “Aemond,” she knew they were talking about him. She just couldn’t get the word out. The first part, the “ay” sound, she usually got right, but it always fell apart from there.
The worst part was seeing his frustration when she failed, yet again, to say his name. She wanted Aemond to like her – needed him to like her.
He wasn’t like Aegon, who was too big and played in ways she couldn’t, or Helaena, who barely liked to play at all. They weren’t even there most of the time. They were big enough to leave the nursery and go to different places like “garden” or “great hall.”
But Aemond was perfect. He played exactly how she liked, and though he was bigger than her, he never played too roughly. When Aunt – who Aemond called “mama” – took Aegon and Helaena out of the nursery, he stayed with her. He always stayed with her. Even when they were in their cradles, she could still see him from across the room.
“Aymmnuh,” she tried again. And failed again.
Aemond frowned and shook his head. “No.”
Another favorite word of his – Aegon taught it to him. Arianwyn huffed, the sound echoed by the hatchling dragon sunning itself in the window.
Some weeks prior, she had woken in the hour of the wolf to find that the egg that had lain in her cradle had shattered. Shards of black speckled with storm gray and ice blue were strewn across her blanket, and the comforting heat she had grown accustomed to warming herself against was gone. As she began to cry, she noticed a shape looming over her, perched on the edge of her cradle.
The night nurses screamed, shouting at the guards outside the door. Both the man in red and black and the man in bronze looked at her and the dark shape at her feet with wide eyes before running down the corridor so fast their clanging armor sounded like a thunderstorm.
The noise woke Aemond, who looked from Arianwyn to the shape that had leaned down to peer at her. “Dwa- dwagon!”
Arianwyn watched as it jumped down from its perch. She could barely make out the shape in the darkness and against the deep brown of her fur blankets. It did look like the toys they played with that the others called “dragon.” Two membranous wings, a thin, flicking tail, a long neck covered with small spines, and eyes like living ice.
It moved cautiously as it approached her until she could see the faint lines of gray and white within its blue eyes—a dragon. Her dragon.
As she now frowned at Aemond, her dragon was sprawled on the stone of the windowsill, wings spread lazily as it echoed her frustration without even opening its eyes.
“Dragon!” Aemond exclaimed.
“Muhmuhnd!” She was so close, she knew it. She had all the pieces. She just needed to put them together. “Ay!”
Aemond stared at her, a hint of a smile on his face from knowing she was about to try again.
“Ay!” Her face was scrunched in determination as she shouted. The nurses paused their work and looked at her as well.
“Ay-muh!”
Aemond started clapping. One of the nurses whispered to another before slipping out the door.
“Ay-muhn!”
In the window, Arianwyn’s dragon sat up, small clouds of smoke puffing from his nostrils as it began to climb down from the window.
“Ay-muhn-duh! Aemond!”
One of the nurses pressed a hand to her chest and said a word Arianwyn didn’t know. The others started rushing around. But Arianwyn didn’t care. She was looking at Aemond, who clapped and smiled wider than she had ever seen.
“Aemond!” She shouted again, delighting in his responding laugh.
He pointed at her. “Aria!”
“Aemond!”
“Aria!”
“Aemond!”
There was a new baby in the nursery—two, actually, but Daeron had already been there for four moons, so his novelty had worn off.
Aemond and Arianwyn sat together on one end of the room, watching as he was held by his mother, Rhaenyra, who was also Aemond’s sister. That made him Aemond’s nephew, the nurses had explained.
They had also explained what he was to Aria, but he didn’t quite understand it, as it was somehow much more complicated. Aegon said he understood, and Helaena had nodded, which meant she probably understood, too. She didn’t talk much, and when she did, it never made much sense.
Aegon also explained that the new babe, whose name was “Jacaerys,” but everyone just called “Jace,” was something called a bastard. It meant that Jace’s father wasn’t his father; some other man was. But that didn’t make sense. Rhaenyra was married to Laenor, which meant Laenor was Jace’s father, for the Mother only gave babes to people who were married and very much in love.
When Aemond had asked more about it, Aegon rolled his eyes and said, “You’ll understand when you’re older.”
It was something that was often said to Aemond and Arian, and they did not like it very much. They would have to wait a long time to be older, and they didn’t want to wait.
They also did not like that they were not allowed to play with Jace as they did with Daeron. Rhaenyra said they were “too big.” But when they asked Rhaenyra if she would play with them while Jace was sleeping, she also said no, even though she was definitely big enough. She only ever came to the nursery when Jace was awake and left the moment he fell asleep.
Aemond decided he did not like Rhaenyra.
She had never come to see him, or Aegon, or Helaena, or Aria before Jace was born. Now that she had finally come, she all but ignored them. When they tried to talk to her, she seemed annoyed. Worst of all, he had seen her giving Aria a mean look several times.
His mother did not get along with Rhaenyra very well, so he assumed it was fine not to like her.
However, his father loved Rhaenyra. He came to visit her and her babe often, which would annoy Aemond if it didn’t also mean he got to see his father more.
Since his father was the king, he was very busy and didn’t always have time to see his children in the nursery. But now that the nursery was very full with six children, he made the time, Aemond’s grandsire, who was also the Hand of the King, said.
The king spent most of his time with Jace, but that was probably because Jace was the newest. He still held Daeron, played with Arianwyn and her dragon, complimented Helaena’s insects, admired Aemond's drawings, ruffled Aegon’s hair, and read them all stories from Old Valyria – the fantastical empire where their ancestors were from.
Aemond loved those stories. So did Aria. They tried to memorize them so they could tell them to each other whenever the king wasn’t there. Sometimes, they even acted out some of the stories, with Helaena, Daeron, and several of Aria’s attendants–including her lady’s maid, Brynna, and any number of her twelve guards–as their audience.
Her attendants also told them stories about Aria’s other ancestors, the Bronze Kings. Before there were any Targaryens or Dragons in Westeros, the Bronze Kings ruled over Runestone. One day, Aria would, too.
They didn’t know what Aemond would do. He was a prince, but he wasn’t the heir. There weren’t many stories about second sons. Whenever they asked, they were again told, “You’ll understand when you’re older.” But they never worried for long. There were lots of other exciting things to think about, like when Aemond’s dragon egg would hatch.
Arianwyn looked around the large room with wide eyes. She had never been to this room before, even though she had now been to many different rooms in the Red Keep. At least Aemond was there, so she wasn’t alone. Still, she wished she had been allowed to bring her dragon – which she had named ‘Emrys’ after a recent visit from her cousin, Ser Gerold.
Brynna was also there, but she sat in a chair by the door sewing something, so she couldn’t hold Arianwyn’s hand. Aemond did so happily. She was pretty sure he was also nervous. His eyes were moving all around the room, too. But his face didn’t look afraid.
Aegon was also there, but Arianwyn didn’t find comfort in his presence. Ever since Aegon left the nursery, he became mean. He was never very nice, but Arianwyn never thought he had been mean. He liked to make jokes that were not very funny, but he laughed anyway.
Most of the jokes were about Aemond and how his egg hadn’t hatched. It didn’t make much sense to Arianwyn, as Aegon’s egg hadn’t hatched either. But he had just returned from a trip to Dragonstone – their family’s other castle – with a hatchling from a different egg. He named it Sunfyre, because it was gold and pink and shiny.
Helaena also went, and though she did not find a dragon from Dragonstone, when she went with their father and Aegon to show Sunfyre the Dragonpit, she met Dreamfyre, who was once ridden by Princess Rhaena, their grandfather’s sister. Helaena and Dreamfyre bonded almost instantly, and the king was very happy.
Aemond and Arianwyn hadn’t been allowed to go along to Dragonstone at all. Arianwyn, because she was too little and already had a dragon, and Aemond, just because he was too little. He had been sad since then, and nothing Arianwyn did seemed to cheer him up for very long.
She squeezed his hand a little, causing him to look at her, his face still empty. “Are you excited?"
At the other end of the table, Aegon scoffed. “There’s nothing to be excited about, trust me.”
Arianwyn rolled her eyes. The first time she did it, it annoyed Aegon, so now she did it whenever possible. “I’m excited. I want to learn everything!”
The corner of Aemond’s mouth quirked up as if he would smile. But it fell back when Aegon started talking again. “You want to learn ‘everything?’ Perhaps you should become a maester, then.”
His tone was mocking, but Arianwyn considered the possibility. The maesters had the biggest library at the Citadel in Oldtown. Perhaps she should be a master; then, she could read all the stories she wanted. But that would require her to be in Oldtown, which was very far away from Runestone.
“Can I be a maester and Lady of Runestone?” she asked.
It went completely silent. Then, Brynna sighed sadly in the corner, and Aegon started laughing.
Arianwyn’s stomach sank. Had she said something wrong? She looked around, hoping someone else would tell her why Aegon was laughing. But Brynna just looked tired, and her guard for the day, Ser Warren, looked like he was hurting, or maybe had smelled something bad. Either way, his face was all scrunched up.
“Shut up!” Aemond shouted, startling her enough that she clapped her hands over her ears. He glared at his brother, his face reddened and angry. “Don’t laugh at her!”
Aegon kept laughing. Aemond kept shouting. Ser Christor looked like he was about to panic. Brynna abandoned her sewing and ran to calm everyone down, but it didn’t work. Tears started to sting behind Arianwyn’s eyes, so she shut them tight, ducked her chin, and shook her head back and forth. That always made the nightmares go away. Maybe it would make this go away, too.
Suddenly, Aegon’s laughing and Aemond’s shouting stopped. She lifted her hands away from her ears and opened her eyes just enough to see Maester Orwyle entering the room.
“Prince Aegon, perhaps it would be wise to keep your lessons separate from Prince Aemond and Lady Arianwyn’s.” His voice was just as gentle as when he came to the nursery when one of them was sick, but Aegon still scowled at him. “Unless you would prefer to repeat the fundamentals of the curriculum?”
Aegon pushed his chair away from the table so fast it fell over and gave a smile that made Arianwyn nervous. “I don’t give a fuck.”
Ser Christor’s eyes went wide. Brynna gasped and put a hand on her chest. Aegon didn’t acknowledge them before stomping out of the room.
After the door slammed shut, Orwyle sighed. He smiled at Aemond and Arianwyn, but it seemed fake. “I am very excited you two are beginning your lessons; you have always been curious.”
He sat at the table across from them and opened a large, messy book. “Before we begin, do you have any questions about how lessons work?”
Aemond said nothing, pouting, as he often did around Aegon, with his arms crossed.
Arianwyn raised her hand above her head. “Grand Maester, what is a ‘fuck?’”
“Just grab it!”
“It’s too high!”
Arianwyn huffed, crossing her arms as she looked up at Aemond, standing atop a chair trying to reach a large leather-bound book. “Do you want me to try?”
“No!” Aemond’s face reddened. “I can do it. Besides, you’re shorter than me – how could you reach it if I can’t?”
She thought for a moment. If Emrys lived in the Keep, she could have him pry the book out, but he was in the Dragonpit now. Even after three moons, she still woke, expecting to find him tucked against her chest, fast asleep.
But he’d gotten too big to stay in the castle, and Arianwyn had to take him to the Dragonpit. The king and Aemond went with her and helped her with her High Valyrian while she explained to Emrys that he had to stay there now. It didn’t stop him from flying back to the castle for the first fortnight, but he eventually learned to stay in his den.
“I don’t know,” she finally admitted. “Maybe I’ll have an idea if I get on the chair.”
Aemond shook his head, his brow set. “No, you could fall.” Before she could get her next argument out, he continued, “I can do it. Watch.”
He braced one hand on the edge of the shelf while the other just skimmed the spine of the book they were trying to reach, then jumped. Arianwyn called his name, certain he would fall and hurt himself or even destroy the book.
But then, Aemond was again standing steady on the chair, the book in his hands and a happy grin.
“You did it!” The very moment he was off the chair, Arianwyn hugged him tightly. He could not hug her back with the heavy book in his hands, so he just dropped his head on her shoulder. “Come on, let’s go read!”
She dragged him back to the table in the small alcove, where they had already set out pen and paper. Once Aemond had set the book down and opened it to the first page, she picked up the pen and got ready to write.
“Before the Andu-Andals came to Westeros, and long before Aegon Targaryen con… conchu… um…”
Arianwyn pointed to the word he struggled with. “Conquered. Remember how he’s called ‘Aegon the Conqueror?’”
Aemond’s cheeks flushed. “Yeah, I know. Con-kerd. I was just…making sure I was saying it right.”
She didn’t quite believe him, but she didn’t want to correct him either, so she gave him a smile and nodded for him to continue.
“…before Aegon Targaryen conquered the Seven Kingdoms with his dragons, the lands were inhuh- inhah… inhabee...”
Arianwyn again pointed at the book. “‘In-hah-bih-ted.’ I’ve heard it before but can’t remember what it means. Do you?”
“I…” He slumped, looking pointedly away from her. “No, I don’t.”
They both looked at the book for a moment before Arianwyn handed the pen and paper to Aemond. “Write it down,” she instructed. “In our lessons with Orwyle tomorrow, we can ask him.”
Aemond looked from the book to the paper, then slid the book to her. It made more sense this way, Arianwyn thought. She was better at pronouncing big words, and he was better at writing things down so they would be ‘legible,’ a word Orwyle said but had never really explained.
“In-hah-bih-ted,” Aemond said as he wrote the word down. He whispered the pronunciation a few more times before looking back at Arianwyn. “I’m ready for more.”
She smiled broadly before looking at the page again. “The lands were inhabited by the First Men, who had built mighty kingdoms that…”
When he was younger, Aemond used to look at the Dragonpit from the seat at the nursery window. For hours, he would dream about one day walking through its mighty doors, mounting his own dragon, and finally claiming his birthright as a Targaryen prince.
Now, he had half a mind to tear down those doors himself.
The task would be far easier with the assistance of a dragon, however, which at the age of eight, Aemond still did not have.
Aegon and Helaena did. His bastard nephews did, somehow. Arianwyn did. But Aemond did not.
Still, he was forced to attend lessons with the Dragonkeepers, watching the others and only imagining doing the same with his own dragon. It wasn’t so bad when Aria was with him. Aegon made jokes, but stopped when she snapped back at him. After that, he would target their nephews. Aemond sometimes even laughed with him.
But then, during one lesson, Dreamfyre snapped at the younger dragons as they pranced around her. She did not cause any physical harm, but Vermax refused to leave his den for days, and Sunfyre would splay out on all fours the moment he saw the mighty she-dragon and stay that way until she left.
After that, the Dragonkeepers decided it prudent to separate Dreamfyre from the younger dragons. Not entirely, for she needed to learn to tolerate them before they could all fly together. She would continue to train with only one – Emrys.
It made sense. Emrys annoyed Dreamfyre the least. And when Aegon made Aria mad, the black dragon would often snap at Sunfyre.
So, Aemond was left to face the torment of being a Targaryen without a dragon alone.
Without Aria there to stop him, Aegon redoubled his teasing. Worse still, the bastards figured out that if they followed Aegon’s lead and made their own jokes at Aemond’s expense, he would not make jokes about them.
The Dragonpit, once a source of hope and inspiration, was now Aemond’s hell.
It started with small, simple japes or whispered comments about his lack of a dragon. But over time, it worsened.
The remarks became crueler and, sometimes, included a crudeness that rankled Aemond. “It’s still good practice for you,” Aegon said. “Even without a dragon, you’ll still need to know how to ride whatever beast mother sends you off to marry.”
The jokes evolved past mere verbal mockery. Once, Aegon and his bastard lackeys had an old saddle that one of their ancestors had used brought in. For Aemond to practice his riding stance, they said. But when he took the seat, he found himself sitting atop a pile of dragon dung they had placed in the saddle and concealed with a sheet of burlap.
He never should have trusted them. He knew it.
But he wanted to.
He wanted to practice his riding stance, to finally sit in a dragon’s saddle, even if it was on the ground rather than an actual dragon. He wanted to feel reins in his hand and imagine the wind flowing past him. And a part of him even wanted to be friends with his brother and nephews.
That small, weak part of him was soon thoroughly snuffed out.
Just after his ninth nameday, Aemond was approached by Aegon and their nephews. He’d long since vowed not to trust them, but his brother’s words shot through his defenses like Valyrian steel through armor.
“Let’s go get you a dragon, brother.”
“What?” Aemond’s heart stopped in his chest. Had one of the she-dragons laid a new clutch of eggs, or had one of the eggs in the warming chamber hatched? Perhaps a new wild dragon had been spotted?
“Look, you’ve just celebrated your nameday,” there was something genuine in Aegon’s voice, unbelievable as it was. He set a hand on Aemond’s shoulder, but it didn’t reassure him as much as it unsettled him. “You’re nearly a man. And you’ve been training with the Dragonkeepers for so long that you’re more than ready to try and claim a dragon. Unless you’re still waiting on that egg?”
That egg, once a deep blue swirling with purple, green, and silver wisps, had turned to stone years ago. It still waited by the hearth in his chambers, just in case of a miracle. He shook his head.
Aegon smiled and turned toward the dragon dens. “Come on then, let’s go.”
“Do the Dragonkeepers know?”
Lucerys ran up behind them, a half-toothless smile splitting his face. “No! We –”
“We didn’t want to tell them because… well,” Jacaerys stuttered momentarily, and Aemond’s faith wavered.
“They wouldn’t allow it if they knew.” Aegon didn’t look back as he led them down the sloping entrance to the dragon dens. “I can’t understand why. Surely, they know you’re more than ready.” He glanced over his shoulder. “Just imagine the look on their faces when they see you come into the arena on the back of a full-grown dragon!”
And Aria, Aemond thought. She would be thrilled for him. He could picture it perfectly, the gleam of utter glee in her eyes as she smiled as wide as she could. And she would be able to ride Emrys soon, she’d told him. If he claimed an adult dragon, they could fly together.
The fantasy ended the moment the last of the daylight disappeared. That rush of anticipation faded, leaving him with only reluctance and fear.
Not that he had time to act on it before Aegon seized his arm and pointed into the massive passages lit only by distant torches. “Terrax makes his den down there.”
Aemond nearly choked as he named the formidable dragon that had hatched during Aegon the Conqueror’s reign and remained unclaimed since. “You want me to claim Terrax?”
“Yes!” Aegon spoke as if it were the most obvious thing in the world. “Don’t you think you deserve one of the largest and most powerful dragons in the world?”
“I… I suppose so.”
Aegon patted Aemond’s shoulder, then pushed him forward a few steps, sand flying up around him. “Then get on!”
He made no move to follow. Neither did their bastard nephews.
“Are you not coming with me?” The thought of approaching Terrax was daunting enough. To do it alone was nearly unthinkable.
Lucerys opened his mouth, but Jacaerys thumped him before he could say anything. Aegon just held Aemond’s gaze. “We are but must follow behind, so we don’t spook Terrax. Too many unfamiliar scents will put him on edge.”
It made sense, according to everything he’d learned about dragons. Unbonded dragons were especially sensitive to unfamiliar people, it was why novice Dragonkeepers were always accompanied by an elder.
Still, this wasn’t something Aemond wanted to do alone. “But you will be behind me?”
“We will,” Aegon assured, a hint of annoyance entering his voice.
“You swear it?”
“I swear.”
Aemond searched his brother’s face for any hint of deception but found none. Either he had become a more proficient liar, or he was telling the truth. This was his brother, his future king. If he couldn’t trust Aegon, who could he trust?
He could trust Aria. Always. If only she were here, he would be far more confident. And braver – he wouldn’t let her see him afraid. If she were here, he’d march right into Terrax’s den and lay his claim. He remembered the image he’d pictured of her proud face when he told her he’d claimed a dragon and decided he would do anything to make it real.
One step forward. Two. Three.
It was not long before it was so dark that when he looked behind him, he could not see Aegon, Jacaerys, or Lucerys. But knowing they were there was still a comfort, even if he had to walk the shadowed distances between torches.
The dragon dens, at last, came into view. The first few – one on the left, two on the right – were empty. The next one on the left had a massive nest of straw, wood, and sand occupying nearly every crevice of the room.
A low growl echoed through the corridor. Perhaps it was simply a dragon snoring. Maybe one had already scented him. The only way to know for certain was to continue.
As he approached the next den on the right, the growl came again, louder this time. Aemond said a swift prayer before moving closer, as quietly as he could.
He pressed his back to the wall and crept forward, waiting for the den itself to come into view. Waiting to see what lay inside. He reached the threshold and slowly peeked into the den.
A large green eye met his.
Terrax whipped his massive head toward Aemond, letting out a piercing roar.
“Ly.. lykirī! Dohaerās!” Be calm. Serve.
Terrax did not. A glow began in his throat, and heat threatened to overwhelm Aemond.
He was going to burn him.
Aemond ran, stumbling in the sand. He had to get away, get out, escape.
“Aegon!” It was both plea and warning.
No answer came.
“Aegon!”
The heat was growing, growing, growing. A whooshing noise chased him.
“Aegon! Jacaerys! Lucerys! Help!”
The tunnel was bright as day now. Sweat rapidly formed and fell from his brow.
The fire was upon him.
He had one last prayer.
“Aria!”
Aria was waiting in the library when Aemond finally escaped the thorough scoldings he’d received from both Elder Dantis, the leader of the Dragonkeepers, and his mother. “Aemond! Come look what Ser Gerold sent from Runestone!”
He should have been thrilled, should have felt excitement rushing in his veins at the prospect of new books directly from Aria’s home. But he wasn’t. He wasn’t even heartened by the fact that she’d waited for him for so long. He felt… nothing.
“Aemond?” As he came closer, she seemed to finally notice his disheveled appearance. The ends of his hair had been burnt away, and soot and sand clung to his clothes. “What happened?”
“I…” He took his seat, keeping his gaze on the blank parchment before him. This was what they always did: sit together while Aria read, and he wrote down new words or questions they had. It was his favorite part of the day.
Why did the prospect now make him want to cry?
He shook his head.
Aria exchanged a glance with her guard – Ser Christor always seemed to be on duty while they were in the library. She moved her chair closer to his. “Lēkia?”
He squeezed his eyes shut. Her voice always soothed him and made him feel happy and safe. But right now, it seemed to echo Terrax's horrible roaring.
A small, gentle hand came to rest on his. The touch… felt good—soft, safe, and cool.
But then she spoke again. “Please, are you alright?”
Aemond managed a slight nod. Terrax’s fire went above him, so he managed to escape without any burns, but his clothes and pride were ravaged. As was his faith in his brothers and nephews.
“Why won’t you say anything?” Damn it all, she was about to cry. He could not stand to hear anyone speaking right now, not even her. Yet he could not stand making her cry, either.
He picked up the quill she’d laid out for him, dipping it carelessly into the inkwell. He wrote, “I am well, but I really badly don’t feel like talking.”
“Oh…” Aria frowned but nodded. Aemond knew not talking would be hard for her; she always had so much to say. But she was willing to be silent for him. He could have kissed her for it.
She moved the book between them and began to open it before shutting it again, reaching over it, and grabbing Aemond’s parchment. There was little ink left in the quill, but she just managed to squeeze out, “Tap my hand when you want to turn the page.”
It felt like everyone in the whole world was looking at Arianwyn. It was certainly everyone in her world.
The king and queen. Aegon, Helaena, and Aemond. Princess Rhaenys and Lord Corlys. Ser Criston Cole. All her guards from Runestone. The Grand Maester and Orwyle. The other lords of the Small Council. Countless other lords and ladies that Arianwyn had met but did not remember well.
Ser Gerold had arrived only the day before with several lords and ladies from Runestone and their bannermen.
Even Rhaenyra was there, though she didn’t look very happy about it. Ser Laenor was next to her, Jace and Luke in front of them, their dark eyes wide as they looked at Arianwyn and Emrys. She tried not to look at their eyes for too long – it felt rude, considering those eyes were quite the source of gossip.
“Emrys umbā, āeksio.” Elder Dantis motioned toward her now-saddled dragon. “Īlos pradagon?” Emrys is ready, lady. Shall we begin?
“Issa,” Arianwyn replied. She wasn’t quite sure whether she was really ready or not, but she couldn’t disappoint all those who had come to watch her first flight. So, she approached Emrys, stroking the smooth black scales of his snout.
He had grown impressively, now nearly twice as large as the King’s wheelhouse. According to the Dragonkeepers, it was unusual for a dragon to grow this fast away from Dragonstone or Valyria. There was much speculation about why, but Arianwyn didn’t care. She would love him no matter his size, though it did help that he was already large enough to ride.
He grumbled slightly, his icy eyes glancing at the crowd and the scales and spikes along his spine flaring. In many respects, she thought, he was quite like a spoiled cat.
“Hae urnēbosy pōnte daor gaomās,” Arianwyn whispered. Try to act like they aren’t watching us.
His grumbling turned to whining.
“Sepār zūgan,” she admitted, “yn kesir kosti. Īlon kosti gīmin. Ao kostā gīmin.” I’m nervous too, but we can do it. I know we can. I know you can.”
Emrys huffed a warm breath onto Arianwyn, a gesture of affection and conceding, before nudging her toward his side and the ropes that led to the saddle.
He did not like the saddle. That much was evident from the claw marks nearly covering the worn leather and how he would roll over on his back whenever the Dragonkeepers tried to put it on. It always took Arianwyn herself to talk him into letting them. But he was getting better about it. Slightly.
The saddle was not hers. It had been passed down in the family for generations, meant for young dragons who were still growing rapidly. Still, as Arianwyn settled into the ancient, worn leather, she could not help but think it fit her perfectly.
She dared one more glance at the crowd. The king was beaming. The queen looked as though she were about to faint. Ser Gerold and her Runestone guards looked to be somewhere between the two. Rhaenyra wasn’t even looking, though her husband and sons were.
Arianwyn looked last at her cousins. Helaena wore the same dreamy expression she always did, though her lips seemed to be moving slightly. Aegon was harder to read. She had expected him to look at her disdainfully or mockingly, but he didn’t. He looked happy, though it didn’t make much sense.
And Aemond. Her heart ached to look at him. She knew he was happy for her – more than happy, even. But being here today must also cause him such pain, driving home the fact that he still had not claimed a dragon. Guilt stung in her chest. She should have told him she wouldn’t mind if he stayed behind at the Keep.
But then, he smiled. There was still longing in his eyes for his own mount, but he smiled so brightly that Arianwyn soon smiled back, suddenly anxious to show him what she could do. She straightened her posture and grasped the reins.
“Emrys! Sōvēs!”
By the time Emrys again landed in the courtyard of the Dragonpit, he had entirely shed his dislike of his saddle. As he flew over King’s Landing, he had trilled and hooted his delight for all to hear. Arianwyn had as well, shouting and hollering with every move – rising on an air current, diving so low Emrys’ wings skimmed the surface of Blackwater Bay, and pitching around the towers and spires of the Red Keep.
Neither had ever felt so alive. But it was time to return to the ground.
Arianwyn was swarmed the moment she dismounted.
The king reached her first, clapped her on the back, and told her how proud her father would be if he were there. It was meant to be a comfort, but she flinched at the words. If he were there. But he was never there. She was nearly ten years old, but she had never met Prince Daemon, or even received a message from him.
Fortunately, the queen noticed her discomfort and subtly pushed past her husband to embrace her. “You were brilliant, Aria,” Alicent said. “I’m so proud of you.”
“Not bad at all.” Aegon, to her surprise, had also approached. He smiled at her. “Might even call it good.”
Arianwyn rolled her eyes. “How generous of you.”
He smirked. “I’m known to be sincere on rare occasions.”
She didn’t have a chance to snap back at him before she was lifted into the air and spun around. Ser Gerold held her close to his chest, and she swore she heard tears in his voice. “A dragon riding Royce! Who could have ever guessed? Oh, if only your mother could see this.”
“Would she be happy?” Arianwyn was suddenly gripped with fear that her mother would disapprove of her riding Emrys. Perhaps it was too far from Royce tradition for the late Lady of Runestone to tolerate.
Gerold lifted her so she could look directly into his dark gray eyes. “If your mother saw you now…” He really was crying now, but he smiled. “She would be so happy, Aria. She would be so thrilled that she might even ask to ride Emrys herself.”
Never able to resist his smile, Arianwyn smiled back. “Emrys isn’t quite large enough for two right now. But I would take her the moment he was.”
He finally set her down, his eyes flicking away for a moment. “I’m so proud of you, Aria. But I think there’s someone who also wants to say so.” With his hands on her shoulders, he turned her around.
Aemond was standing precisely where he was when Emrys had taken flight. He held his hands behind his back and looked away when Arianwyn met his gaze.
She had to push through more admirers – her guards, the Small Council, and other adults she couldn’t recall the names of. But they didn’t matter right now.
Yet when she stopped in front of Aemond, she didn’t know what to say. Talking about her flight might make him feel bad, but she so badly wanted to share her joy with him. Impulsively, she threw her arms over his shoulders and hugged him.
After a moment, he hugged her back.
“You’re amazing, Aria,” he whispered.
She sighed and rested her head on his shoulders. “You are, too.”
Aemond laughed almost disdainfully. Arianwyn held him tighter. “It’s true! One day, you will have a dragon, and I know you will be the fiercest rider our family has ever seen. Then, we can fly together, you and me.”
He let out a shaking breath but held her tighter, too. She could hear the faint smile in his voice. “You and me, Aria. Forever.”
“Forever.”
Taglist: @heartb8k2 @queenofshinigamis @leptitlu @xxxkat3xxx @malfoycassimalfoy @lokiofasgard12
#aemond#aemond fanfic#aemond targaryen imagine#aemond targaryen fanfic#aemond targaryen#aemond one eye#aemond imagine#prince aemond#aemond x oc#house of the dragon aemond#house of the dragon#hotd#hotd aemond#aemond fic#hotd fanfic#aemond xf!oc#aemond x original female character#aemond x original character#the silver dragon
31 notes
·
View notes
Text
Little Love
summary: aegon comes to your chambers crying and needing comfort, but what happens when your husband walks in?
pairing: aemond targaryen x reader x aegon ii targaryen
warnings: mature/explicit, 18+ (minors dni!), no use of y/n, afab reader, mommy kink!! i cannot stress that enough!! astronomical amounts of titty suckin', nipple/breast play, oral (f receiving), handjob, fingering, piv, angst but happy ending, hand on throat but no choking, subby aegon, breeding kink, creampie, consensual threeway relationship, let me know if i missed any!
word count: 6k oops
a/n: header image is for aesthetics only & is not used to describe the reader! a huge huge thanks to my honorary wife & this fics adoptive mother @toms-cherry-trees 🩵 thank you for all your help with this one!!
likes, comments, & reblogs are very appreciated but never required!
🌟add yourself to my taglist to be notified when i post new fics!
“Aww,” you coo softly, eyes filled with adoration as you study the man on your lap, “Are you mommy’s precious little baby? Hm?” You brush a silvery lock of hair off of his face, trailing your thumb over the light flush across his cheeks as your other hand rubs soothingly over one of his biceps.
Aegon hummed and nodded as best he could around your pert nipple, bright eyes lazily blinking up at you. One of your thumbs gently sweeps away tears from the corners of his eyes while you gently rock him as best you can, gazing at him with a smile. You stay quiet for a while, taking pleasure in the way he clings to you so needily, the way he’s looking at you as if you hung the stars in the sky.
You can’t help the sigh that leaves your lips at the feel of his warm mouth around your nipple, his tongue flicking and teasing at the sensitive skin as he carefully suckles it in his mouth. “Shh,” you whisper, calming Aegon when you see another wave of tears threatening to spill from his violet eyes, “I promise there is nothing to worry yourself over, my little prince,” you tell him softly, trying to squeeze him somehow closer to you, “Just rumors, nothing more.”
You couldn’t help but feel protective of Aegon, your heart twisting as you remember the state he was in at the beginning of the evening when he had first loudly burst into your chamber.
The fire in the hearth warmed your skin as you sat on the sofa in the small sitting area of yours and Aemond’s chambers, easily guiding the needle through the fabric of your embroidery as you hummed a song. With a sigh, you held the hoop up and tilted your head as you examined your work, nearly dropping it when you jumped at the sound of the heavy doors of your chambers crashing open.
You jumped up, whirling around to see who could’ve possibly been disturbing you in such a manner, already glaring before you’d even turned your head. Your narrowed eyes widened however when you saw Aegon striding toward you, a pained look on his face.
“Is it true?” He had questioned, coming to a stop a little ways away from you, voice shaking even through the angry tone of his voice.
“Is what true?” Your eyebrows furrowed together in confusion as you clasped your hands in front of you.
His frown had faltered for a second, eyes already sparkling with tears as his hands clenched at his sides. “The whispers in court,” he explained, gaze flitting from you to the stone floor, “The rumors about – about you and my brother.”
Shaking your head, you had carefully walked toward him, “My love, I am sure they are untrue,” your voice had been gentle, “I cannot even imagine what they would be ab—“
“That you’re pregnant!” His voice was thick with unshed tears as he spit out the words, “That you must be!” This had left you dumbfounded, unable to do anything but gawk at him, which had only served to upset him further. He had sighed heavily and fixed you with a tearful gaze, bottom lip quivering, “So it’s true?”
“No!” You rushed out, emphatically shaking your head as you hurried to him. “My love, my sweet baby,” your fingers carded through his hair when you reached him. You had gently pulled his gaze to yours before you had cupped his cheeks, your fingers already damp from the tears streaking them, “That is nothing more than court gossip, I promise you. I swear upon the Mother, you’ve nothing to worry about.”
The dam had finally broken as he hiccuped out a sob, his shoulders sagging. “D-Do you mean it?” He’d asked meekly, voice so small you had felt your heart squeeze painfully in your chest.
“Oh,” you had taken his hands in yours and led him to your bed, sitting him down at the edge as his body started shaking with sobs. Sitting next to him, you wrapped your arms around his neck, gently cupping the back of his head as he slumped against you and rested a wet cheek against your chest. “My little prince, I swear to you I do,” you pressed a kiss to the top of his head, rocking the two of you together, “You know Aemond and I would not do that to you.”
His fingers had clung to your sides as he sobbed, hands bunching in the fabric of your gown. “They’re saying it’s been long enough,” he’d said mournfully, “Th-That it’s been three moons since the w-wedding and y-you must be by now.”
You’d stroked his hair comfortingly and rested your chin on the top of his head, feeling his hot tears trail down your cleavage, “You know your brother and I would speak with you first, my love. We would not leave you out, you know how this arrangement works.”
The only answer you got was a small sniffle, his shoulders still trembling, although not nearly as badly. You had let him calm down for a moment more, rocking him against you while you hummed his favorite song.
Eventually, he had calmed down, his shoulders steadying and his breath evening out. You had almost assumed he was asleep before you heard him whimper against your collarbone, pink lips mouthing needily at your skin. Your lips had quirked up in a smile as you had gently pulled him up, his small whine making you chuckle as you looked into his eyes.
“Do you need some time with mommy, my little love?”
Which is how you found yourself in your current position – reclined on the plush pillows of your bed with Aegon’s head in your lap, his lips eagerly suckling at your breast, not getting any real milk but the action calmed him still. You shiver slightly in the cool breeze that wafts in from the balcony, the air growing colder now that the sun has set.
Aegon sighs contentedly, his warm breath fanning across your chest as small whimpers and whines slip past his lips. The small noises make you chuckle as you run a hand over his bare chest, “You’re my favorite little prince, do you know that?” You whisper, softly tickling his side enough to make him giggle and squirm. He smiles around your breast and nods happily, his nose digging into the fat of your breast as he presses himself more firmly against you.
You stiffen a little at the sound of your chamber door opening once again, unable to see the entryway from the decorative screen you and your husband had placed in front of the bed. You make no move to disturb Aegon, though – bless the poor maids but there is not much they haven’t seen already. It is not a maid, however, that rounds the corner and you are instead met with the wide, surprised eye of your husband.
After a second, the shock melts off of his face and he smirks at the sight of the two of you, his older brother still suckling away at your breast as if nothing were amiss. “My, my,” he tuts, stalking across the room to deposit the stack of books he carries onto the small breakfast table by the balcony before returning his attention to you once more, “I left my wife this morning dripping with my spend and already I return to a babe.”
“Aemond!” You hiss, frowning when you hear Aegon whimper at your chest, “Please, he is already in a state.”
“And in our chambers,” Aemond takes a seat at the table, unlacing his boots before setting them to the side, along with his leather tunic, “Normally you two reserve this… intimacy for his rooms.” His long fingers quickly untie his trousers, leaving them hanging from his slender waist as he moves about your chambers, poking the fire in the hearth back to life and tidying the papers on the writing desk.
You soothe Aegon when he whimpers again, looking up at you with questioning, unsure eyes as a blush blooms on his cheeks. Even if his brother knows the details of your relationship with him, and even though he had walked in on him in this exact position before, he couldn’t help but feel so shy and vulnerable when he got this way.
“Shh, my sweet,” you speak softly to the man at your breast, running your fingers through his pale hair, “Just relax, you’re okay.” Your words seem to settle him and his eyes grow droopy and half-lidded once more, a contented groan rumbling through his chest.
“You should have seen him earlier,” you turn back to Aemond, eyes following him as he walks to your dressing table, “Poor thing came crying about court gossip.” You didn’t miss the small eye roll your husband gave at you calling his brother “poor thing” but you chose to ignore it for the time being; you didn’t love their endless taunts and teasing but they were still brothers, after all.
“And what was the sweet babe weeping about this time?” Aemond asks, his voice dripping with derision as he takes a cloth from the small wash basin on the dressing table and quickly wipes at his neck and shoulders, droplets of water streaming down his defined frame and running into the lines and dips of the muscles on his chest, arms, and abdomen.
Aegon growls at your chest, not missing the mockery in his brother’s tone. You try to calm him but it’s no use, he pulls off of your chest and throws Aemond a vicious look; you merely make yourself comfortable against the pillows and sigh tiredly. Gods be good, you thought, staring up at the stone ceiling as if the Seven would appear to offer their guidance; you love the two brothers more than anything else but you could do without their brotherly spats.
“Well?” Aemond goads, his eye widening as he stares at his brother, a silent challenge.
“He feared I was pregnant,” you interject quickly, attempting to quell the coming squabble before it broke out, “Apparently the ladies of court have nothing better to do than monitor my condition.” You put an arm around Aegon as you speak, as if keeping him close to you would keep the two men from bickering.
“You are my wife,” Aemond huffs out a sardonic laugh, a smirk playing at his lips as he wrings out the cloth and leaves it to dry on the side of the wash basin, “Why would it be of his concern if –”
Aegon growls against your breast again, letting your nipple fall from his pink lips as he fixes his brother with a glare, one that falters for half a second as you protectively tighten your hold on him. His dark eyes continue to glare at Aemond, following his every move as he comes to stand at the side of the bed, arms crossed over his chest as he studies the two of you.
“Hush, my love,” you pet at his head and shoulders in an attempt to soothe him once more, glaring at your husband in warning, “This is nothing we need worry ourselves with tonight.”
Aemond comes to sit next to you on the bed, giving Aegon a quick glare before he leans down and places a tender kiss to the top of your head. “You’re right,” he says into your hair, one hand coming up to cup the side of your face, “We need not trouble ourselves with it tonight.”
Aegon huffs against your chest once more and gives his brother a final warning glance before looking up at you with a questioning gaze, pouty lips parted in an unspoken question.
“You need some more time with mommy?” You ask him softly, grinning when he shyly nods, still so skittish of his needs around his brother. You coo and give him a nod, unable to stop the sigh that leaves you at the feel of his mouth on you once more. His tongue delicately licks at your hardened nipple before he sucks it into his mouth, still teasing it as he suckles.
You admire him for a moment, studying the way his long lashes fan out over his cheeks once his eyes slip closed, his arms wrapped protectively around your middle as he kneels at your side.
Finally, you turn your head to Aemond, surprised to see his eye trained on his brother, watching as he nurses at your breast. “Husband?” You ask tentatively; your relationship with both brothers was not a secret, at least not between the three of you, but even still, you rarely had them at the same time.
His eye finally meets yours and he smiles, cuddling you closer, which earns a small whine from Aegon as he’s forced to move a fraction of an inch with you. “You needn’t worry so much,” he keeps his voice soft as he speaks, trailing kisses down your temple and cheek, “I’m merely thinking.”
“About?”
“Putting a babe in you,” he all but growls into your ear before kissing the delicate skin just below it. “Seeing you grow with my child,” he continues, one hand skimming up your arm before he cups your unoccupied breast, long fingers kneading it gently before they pinch at your nipple, “Watching as these swell with your sweet milk.”
A shiver rolls through you at the thought, and at the salacious groan that vibrates from Aegon’s mouth. Your husband smirks at your reaction, watching proudly as your eyes become cloudy and unfocused.
“Do you like that?” Aemond asks against the column of your throat as his lips and teeth and tongue work against your skin, sucking marks into the flesh, “Like the thought of my seed filling you up, finally taking root?”
You hardly register Aegon’s whine, eyes squeezed shut as you feel your husband pressing himself to you, lips pressing against any bit of your skin he can reach, chuckling softly at how easy it is to work his brother up.
“Wouldn’t that be something, brother?” Aemond questions sarcastically, his eye glimmering mischievously, “Wouldn’t she be so beautiful with my babe in her?”
The older brother grumbles something against you before redoubling his efforts, making you gasp as he begins suckling at you harshly, nose twitching in annoyance. You calm him as best you can, a shaky hand coming up and carding delicately through his hair – Aemond’s ministrations making it hard to concentrate.
“You’ll be such a good mother, sweetling,” Aemond says lowly, kissing his way down your stomach as he moves to kneel between your thighs, “So perfect and sweet and caring.” He continues, punctuating each word with a kiss against your abdomen, his long hair tickling the skin of your thighs.
“Aemond,” you pant softly, back arching as Aegon’s teeth just barely graze against your sensitive nipple, “Please!” You beg, though whether it’s to get him to stop taunting his brother or carry on with you, you cannot say.
“Shh,” he presses wet kisses against one of your thighs, lips trailing slowly up to where you want him most before he tilts his head and begins kissing up the other thigh as well, his pace torturously slow, “I always give you what you want, do I not?”
A loud, uncontained moan tears itself from your throat as Aemond presses a kiss against your folds, groaning into your heat as he tastes you. “Gods, you’re dripping,” he growls into your cunt, practically making out with your center as his hands come to rest on the tops of your thighs, holding you in place, “Did your babe not care for you at all?”
At this, Aegon pauses, whining against your breast as he lifts his head, thin tendrils of drool connecting his shining lips to your hardened nipple. The feeling of his mouth lifting off of you has you finally opening your eyes, only to be met with his wide, uncertain eyes.
“Mommy?” His voice is so small, so terribly worried at the thought that he may have disappointed you somehow.
“Oh, sweet prince,” you whisper, voice catching in your throat as you gasp at the feel of Aemond sucking your aching pearl into his mouth, worrying the sensitive skin between his lips. Your brows furrow with concentration as your eyes meet Aegon’s, your hands gently cupping his cheeks, “Don’t worry yourself,” you have to pause again as a curse slips past your lips, “You’re my perfect little baby, you could never disappoint me.”
You finally manage to pant out your reassurances, eyes nearly rolling to the back of your head at the feel of Aemond’s hot tongue licking into your center, his nose pressed firmly against your bud as he fucks you on the long muscle, groaning into your slick folds as he savors your sweet taste. You stare desperately into Aegon’s dark eyes, back arching as your husband feasts on your cunt with practiced ease, the slick, squelching sounds of him licking into you and suckling at your pearl making you mewl and blush.
“You’re so beautiful, mommy,” Aegon murmurs softly, violet eyes staring at you with rapture, as if he’s trying to absorb the pleasure radiating from you, “So pretty.” He breathes finally and leans down to press a soft kiss against your lips, whimpering when he feels your tongue press into his mouth.
The men hold you like that for a moment, letting you lie back on the bed as they attend to you – Aemond murmuring dirty praises into your cunt as he licks at you wildly, flicking shapes and patterns against your pearl that have your head spinning; Aegon swallowing your wanton moans in his own mouth as he moves his lips against yours.
You whine against the older brother’s mouth when you feel your husband’s fingers gently prodding your center, gathering wetness on them before carefully pushing two into your heat. “Seven, you’re tight,” his breath is warm against your glossy folds, “Always so tight, feels so good, sweetling.” He purrs before quickly wrapping his lips around your bud once more, gently sucking at the tender flesh but combined with the pressure of his fingers, it’s enough to send you into a tailspin.
You pull away from Aegon with a gasp, back arching off the bed as you whine Aemond’s name, blushing as you hear the loud wet sounds emanating from where his fingers fuck into your cunt. Faintly, you hear Aegon whimpering next to you, his soft cries almost in time with yours as he presses soft kisses along your neck and shoulder.
“Mommy, my mommy,” he whispers in reverence, leaning across your chest to get to the breast he’s neglected thus far, kissing softly across your supple skin and teasing your nipple with the tip of his tongue before finally suckling it into his mouth, closing his eyes with a soft groan as he nurses, getting lost in the feel of you beneath him, your skin on his.
Aegon’s lips around your nipple has you breaking, every muscle in your body seeming to tense up as your high overtakes you. A strange mixture of their names leaves your lips in a rough moan as you squeeze your eyes shut, fire exploding through you.
“That’s it,” Aemond groans, crooking up his fingers within you as he feels your walls pulsing around them, pressing them into that rough patch he has memorized in your heat, the one he knows prolongs your peak, “Gods, that felt like a big one, sweetling.”
Somehow, you find it within yourself to nod tiredly, chest heaving as you catch your breath, slinging an arm over Aegon’s back as he sighs happily against your chest.
“Made you feel good, mommy,” he chuckles proudly around your breast, nipping and licking at your nipple as he tilts his head to meet your gaze, earning an annoyed huff from Aemond as he presses calming kisses against your thighs and hips.
He’s so proud of himself that you can’t help yourself from smiling and giggling, your fingers carding through his hair. “Oh, yes you did,” you coo, “You made me feel so good, my precious boy.”
Below you, Aemond bites at your thigh as a warning, making you jump. “Keep it up and you’ll only give him a bigger ego,” he rolls his eyes and presses wet kisses in a trail up your stomach, stopping only when he reaches Aegon, still lying across you. The bed dips as Aemond crawls back up to lie next to you, kissing his way up your neck and jaw before finally slotting his lips against your own.
A whimper escapes your lips as he does, one of your hands reaching up to run your fingers through his long hair, the pale strands threading between your digits like silk. He sighs into the kiss, one of his hands coming up to gently cup your neck, not choking but merely staking a claim. The action makes you mewl and he uses it to his advantage, quickly sliding his tongue across your bottom lip before entwining it with your own as he licks into your mouth. You can feel your face heat up as you taste yourself on his lips, squirming in his hold as Aegon continues licking and suckling at your hardened nipple, sending shivers of pleasure up your spine and quickly reigniting the flames in your belly.
Aemond smirks as your moans change in pitch, the familiar high-pitched, whiny cadence causing him to let out a low, vibrating growl himself.
“Please, Aemond,” you whisper against his lips, whimpering as he trails his kisses down your jaw and neck.
Your husband groans softly against your shoulder, a shudder rolling through him at the breathy way you say his name, his favorite sound. “You need not beg me, sweetling,” he sighs, gently gripping your hips and nodding for you to roll onto your side, “I’ve got you.”
Aegon whines as Aemond moves you, struggling to keep his soft lips latched around your peaked nipple, which earns him another eye roll from your husband. Quickly, you settle onto your side, both arms immediately wrapping around Aegon to hold him close. His pale hair tickles your lips as you press a sweet kiss to the crown of his head, softly giggling as he desperately suckles your nipple back into his mouth; your sweet boy could be at your breast for hours and it still wouldn’t be enough for him.
The bed dips on either side of you as the two men bracket you between them, Aemond behind you and Aegon in front. Your husband presses kisses against the back of your shoulder as he slots himself against you, the warmth of his chest pressing against your back sends a shiver down your spine and makes your already stiff nipples harden to the point of aching.
“Iksā sīr gevie, ñuha ābrazȳrys,” Aemond whispers against your shoulder as he trails a hand over your curves, humming appreciatively as he palms the swell of your arse, “Avy jorrāelan sīr olvie.” (You are so beautiful, my wife, I love you so much.)
You whimper at his words, your heart twisting happily in your chest as you recall their meaning from the lessons he had given you during your courtship. “Avy jorrāelan tolī, ñuha valzȳrys,” you manage to moan brokenly, “So much, Aemond!” You breathe, foggy brain unable to keep up with translations any longer. (I love you too, my husband.)
A gasp leaves you as Aemond presses himself against you tightly as you realize that he had managed to tug off his trousers at some point, his length slotting beautifully between your thighs as he ruts against you.
“Gods!” Your slick folds part greedily as your husband rubs against your center, coating his cock in your juices, the tip rubbing deliciously against your pearl, “Oh, Aemond!”
“Shhh,” he breathes against your ear as one of his warm hands latches onto your thigh and pulls it up, giving him more room to guide his cock into your heat, “I’ve got you, sweetling, I have you.”
You nod, near delirious, practically sobbing as he finally guides himself into you, filling you perfectly. Your head lolls back, further into his embrace as he slowly presses into you, stretching you as he finally bottoms out, stones pressed firmly to your backside as a low, gravelly groan vibrates against your back.
“You feel so good,” you moan breathily, your fingers scrambling through Aegon’s hair as you press his mouth against you, earning a whimper from the prince as he takes your breast further into his mouth, suckling at it greedily, spit leaking from the corners of his lips.
“Feels perfect,” Aemond huffs, grunting as he begins moving his hips against yours, eye squeezing shut at the feel of your slick walls sucking him in as you quiver around his length, “You feel perfect, tight little cunt.” He mutters, more to himself than to you, hissing the words between clenched teeth.
You let yourself get lost for a moment, a light sheen of sweat blanketing your skin from the heat of the two men around you. You make no attempt to stop soft, satisfied moans from slipping out of your lips, breathing your pleasure against Aegon’s forehead as Aemond rocks into you, thrusting his hips in a well-practiced pattern as he fills you again and again. Your husband’s grip tightens on your thigh, making your eyes roll back deliciously as Aegon flicks his tongue against your nipple before greedily sucking it back into his mouth.
A few moments later, you’re brought out of your reverie by a slick feeling at the front of your thigh, small whimpers and whines from the man at your breast finally managing to trickle their way into your consciousness.
You finally open your eyes, letting out a soft moan as you take in the sight before you – Aegon suckling desperately at your sensitive breast, his dark eyes looking up at you pleadingly, already shimmering with unshed tears, as he ruts his hard length against your thigh, already leaking glossy trails onto your skin with every movement.
“Ohh,” you coo softly, pressing a kiss to his sweat-damp forehead as you wrap your hand around his length, feeling it immediately twitch in your grasp, “You need mommy to take care of you?” You ask breathily.
“P-Please,” Aegon whimpers brokenly, flicking his tongue over your nipple as he nods his head, “Hurts!” He whines, voice thick as tears leak from the corners of his eyes.
You press another comforting kiss to his forehead, gasping in time with Aemond’s hard thrusts as you begin slowly teasing the prince’s hard length, cooing again as you feel him pulsing in your grasp. “What a good boy,” you whine, swirling your thumb against his leaking tip, “Getting so hard from hearing mommy get fucked, hm?”
You feel him shudder against you, a low groan sounding against your breast as his hips fuck up into your hold. He whines as you let go of his cock for a second, quickly running your fingers around where Aemond spears into you. Your husband grunts behind you at the sensation as you quickly gather some of your juices on your fingers, moaning brokenly as you flick them around your pearl for a second before returning your attention to Aegon.
Your face heats as you suddenly get a dirty idea and you take a second to spread some of your juices across your unoccupied breast, chuckling breathily as Aegon immediately abandons the one he’s currently suckling on, a loud moan snaking past his lips when you wrap your slick fingers around his cock once again, easing his thrusts into your fists.
“Greedy babe,” Aemond grunts from over your shoulder, watching as Aegon frantically licks around your breast, humming excitedly at your sweet taste before latching onto your nipple once more, “Suckling at any part of my sweet wife he can reach.”
A fire lights in your belly at Aemond’s words as you’re surprised he’s addressing Aegon at all, his teasing lilt only adding to the heat within you. The prince whines within your grasp, his face flushing to a deeper shade of pink than it already is and his violet eyes shoot daggers in his brother’s general direction, not caring that he can’t see them.
Suddenly, Aemond lets go of your thigh, leaving you to sling it over one of Aegon’s pale hips as he continues thrusting his cock into you, deep and slow. His hand instead settles on one breast and he lovingly palms at it, humming with satisfaction at its weighty feel in his hand.
A loud whine leaves you as his fingers pinch around your overly-sensitive bud, tweaking and tugging at the swollen skin. Your back arches, loud whimpers tumbling past your lips as his touch borders on pain. Aegon growls at your sounds of discomfort, letting your nipple fall from his lips as he sits up just enough to throw him a malicious glare over your shoulder.
“Ngh!” Your little prince grunts, smacking Aemond’s hand away from you before wrapping an arm around your waist protectively and pressing soft kisses to your abused breast, “Mommy?” He questions softly, teary eyes searching yours, desperately wanting to make sure you’re alright.
“Shh, shh,” you soothe sweetly, carding your fingers through his hair as he lays his head on your pillow once more, “Mommy’s okay, my sweet, thank you.” Your words are breathy, feeling halfway forced out of you as Aemond’s thrusts speed up, your mind growing fuzzy as the head of his cock moves against the sensitive spot within you perfectly, making you clench around him. Aegon continues thrusting into your grasp, his hands frantically grabbing onto any parts of you he can reach.
“Pathetic,” Aemond huffs at his brother, biting into the sensitive skin of your neck, “So whiny, fuck, so whiny under your muña’s touch you can’t even speak.” (Mother’s)
Aegon whines again, a high, pitiful sound against your beast as he latches onto you once more, low groans ripping through him as the leaking head of his cock rubs against your soft thigh.
“Hush,” you admonish, one arm hugging possessively around the prince, “Mommy’s taking good care of her sweet little boy, isn’t she?”
“Y-Yes,” Aegon breathes brokenly around a soft moan, his cock twitching desperately in your hand, “Yes, yes, yes!” He chants around your breast, soft little words in time with each stroke of your hand.
You can see him start to lose himself — watching as his eyes grow ever more glossy, tears welling up in the corners while throaty sobs and sighs warm your breast, his length seeming to get somehow thicker in your grasp as the head of his cock positively weeps against you.
“What a good boy,” you sigh encouragingly, smiling proudly, glowing with the knowledge that you can reduce him to such a state, “Are you close, my sweet?”
He nods desperately, soft grunts accompanying the thrusts of his hips up into your grasp. You keep your pace steady, your own head swimming as your release builds within you.
After another few seconds, Aegon begins shaking helplessly in your grasp, his chest heaving as sobs are wrenched from his throat. “That’s it,” you murmur softly, feeling your cunt clench around Aemond’s length at the sight of the prince coming undone before you, making the other man groan loudly behind you, “Come on, I know you’re so close, show mommy how good she makes you feel, my love.”
As always, your soft approval is what unravels him. You moan loudly, watching him fall apart in your arms, relishing the soft moans and sighs of your name as they fall from his pouty lips, the way his hips stutter in your hold. You gasp softly at the feel of his cock twitching between the two of you, his spend coating his belly and chest in pearlescent streaks.
Before he’s even had the chance to recover, your sweet boy finds it within himself to bring one hand down, greedily seeking out your bud. He sighs happily when you cry out his name, his fingers circling your aching pearl perfectly, just in the way you’d taught him, his chest still heaving with his own release.
“Oh, Gods!” You gasp, your own hips rutting back and forth between the two men, “So c-close, fuck!” You whine, the fire in your belly threatening to consume you.
“That’s a good girl,” Aemond grunts, hips thrusting into you at a maddening pace, “Do you want me to breed a baby into your wet little cunt, sweetling?”
You and Aegon whine at the same instant, yours in pleasure and his in annoyance. Your walls clench desperately at your husband's thick length, making him chuckle breathlessly behind you.
“Find your pleasure, sweet girl,” he groans, his thrusts somehow perfectly timed to the swirls of Aegon’s fingers against your bud, “Peak and I’ll put a little babe in your belly, my love.”
Aemond’s promise, Aegon’s soft whine, and the feel of their touches mingling on your slick heat finally pushes you over the edge once more. Your cunt pulses around Aemond as you slip over the edge, your pearl buzzing and twitching under Aegon’s fingers as flames of pleasure lick up your spine, sparks exploding behind your eyelids as you cry out against Aegon’s neck.
Your release claws Aemond’s out of him as well, the feeling of his seed emptying into you spurring your peak on further. You whimper, mouthing at the pale skin of your prince’s throat as you feel warmth bloom within you, your husband’s harsh strokes finally slowing to a stop.
The three of you lay silent for a while, the only sounds in your chambers being soft pants and sighs. Finally, Aemond carefully pulls his length from you, soothing you gently when you whine.
“Seven,” he groans softly, watching his seed slip slowly from your spent center, “Perhaps this time we should let it take.” He muses as he gets up from the bed, retrieving a fresh cloth from your dressing table and quickly cleaning your center and thighs.
“But,” Aegon whimpers softly, drawing your attention back to him as he looks at you with wide, worried eyes, “What…what about me?” The meekness in his voice makes your heart ache as you hurriedly hush him, wiping tears from the corners of his eyes with your thumbs.
“You don’t worry about a thing, my little love,” you reassure him, pulling him into your arms and rocking him slowly against you, “No matter what the future holds, you will always be my precious little prince. I swear it.” You promise, pressing soft kisses to each of his cheeks, one of your hands tickling at his side until he squirms and giggles against you, burying his head in your neck with a tired sigh.
Aemond huffs again, setting his eyepatch on the table by your bed before he assumes his spot next to you once more, slinging an arm over your waist as he makes himself comfortable.
On your other side, Aegon shuffles down the bed once more, making you giggle softly as he presses feather light kisses to your breast, sighing happily at the mere feel of your supple skin against his lips as he cozies himself against you.
“Maybe we should hold off on the moon tea this time,” Aemond ponders, mumbling against your shoulder as his fingers trace soothing patterns into the soft skin of your hip, “Surely an actual babe could be no more difficult than the one we already seem to have.”
Aegon whines, Aemond chuckles, and you tiredly groan.
tagged lovelies: @helloworldiamnotarobot @drakonflames @marysucks-blog @hopelesswritergall @phantombitch @fan-goddess @aemshaircare @cuddlejeongin @imaegontatgaryenwife0 @valeskafics @beautbuck @watercolorskyy
(tags are based on your answers to my google form; if you were mistakenly tagged, please contact me & update your answers on the form! thank you!)
#aemond targaryen#aemond targaryen smut#aemond targaryen x reader#aemond targaryen fanfic#aemond smut#aemond x reader#aemond fanfic#aegon ii targaryen#aegon ii targaryen smut#aegon ii targaryen x reader#aegon ii targaryen fanfic#aegon targaryen#aegon targaryen smut#aegon targaryen x reader#aegon targaryen fanfic#aegon smut#aegon x reader#aegon fanfic#aegond#aegond x reader#aegond smut#house of the dragon#hotd#house of the dragon smut#house of the dragon fanfic#hotd smut#hotd fanfic#smut#fanfiction#my writing
3K notes
·
View notes
Text
You Want This, You Need This
The only daughter of Rhaneyra Targaryen is firmly devoted to her mother's cause, and yet she finds her way through the passages of the Holdfast, to the bedchamber of a Prince she should hate // Main Masterlist
Aemond Targaryen x nameless female character (daughter of Rhaenyra)
Warnings: 18+, smut, enemies with benefits, hate sex, degrading, angst, Targcest (uncle and niece)
Words: 3.7k
A/n: Me making a poll then doing whatever I want 🫶
There’s no use in waiting for sleep to come to her, she’s too restless for sleep.
Her bedroom is full of alcoves and adjacent chambers, good for hiding and keeping the room cool during the summers. In one of the alcoves is a mural. If she presses a particular space on the wall with much force, she can push it to reveal an entrance into the hidden passageways of Maegor’s Holdfast.
Light is lost beyond the threshold. A gentle but piercing breeze washes over her, through the thin and billowing fabric of her night shift. There’s always this lingering excitement when she opens the doorway. She equates it to the thrill of flying, cutting through the wind on dragonback. Only she’s not in the sky, she’s staring into darkness, daring herself to take a single step.
As children she and her brothers had found many of these hidden doors throughout the castle, the perfect sort of places to hide in when they were in trouble, the perfect place to eavesdrop and move through the keep undetected. When their mother found out she had discouraged them from venturing too far, lest they end up like the piles of bones left by rats and other rodents that had never found their way out.
The paths within the walls are treacherous, but she knows some of the routes by heart. She knows how to head down to the kitchens, she even knows a way which leads past the dungeons, to a chamber which houses the skull of Blaerion, the Black Dread, out to a beach along the shore of the bay, out of reach by any other means.
There is one particular room she has in mind tonight.
She treads carefully, tracing her fingertips against the wall so that she does not lose her way. When she comes to a series of steps she takes even more caution. She counts twenty steps, then turns another corner and keeps walking until the stone underneath her fingers turns to wood. It is a door, one which appears as part of a panelled wall on the other side. She pushes it open, hoping he has left the latch undone, and he has.
The room’s warmth is a welcome sensation. She makes as little noise as possible as she enters and closes the door behind her.
He’s sitting by the fire, turned away from where she stands, head lowered slightly and his silver hair spilling down the back of his chair. She almost always finds him like this, practising one of his self righteous rituals. He reads until the hearth and the candles have burned out because it enforces his own belief that he is a more dedicated son than Aegon, more intelligent and more worthy than the Velaryons– than her and her ilk.
His shoulders stiffen as the soles of her slippers tap delicately against the floor, moving towards his bed. She imagines him frowning, or perhaps smiling to himself as he closes the book in his lap.
She perches at the edge of the mattress, pushing her shoes off and letting them fall to the floor. “That was quite the display in the training yard this morning,” she says in a clear voice.
Everything he does is agonisingly slow. He grips the arms of his chair as he rises, slots the book back onto a shelf, and finally turns to face her. He is dressed in a simple black shirt and the breeches he usually sleeps in. His hair is half tied, his leather patch secured around his head, over the space where his left eye should be, sliced out by her own brother’s hand.
The low light of the hearth casts shadows in the sharp edges of his face, the lines around his mouth, the curve of his lips, proud but restrained. His remaining eye is trained on her, glaring at her like a hunter approaches prey.
“You were there to watch your brother, I thought,” he says in that softly threatening voice of his. He comes close enough to loom over her, though just far enough that their legs do not touch. “Or did you find your eye wandering?”
Jace’s first mistake had been to go down to the yard early. Aemond was always there in the mornings after flying Vhagar, to train with Ser Criston Cole until noon. His next mistake had been to succumb to Aemond’s goading. Their uncle is never one to use violence at first, not like Aegon who would brawl with a gull if he thought it offensive enough. Aemond likes to use his words to tease and probe, to lure an opponent to action, and Jace almost always falls for it. The moment her brother had challenged Aemond to a sparring match she knew what the outcome would be. Jace was a promising fighter, but he simply could not match Aemond’s height, strength, speed or skill.
Her heart sank for her brother, but it couldn’t force her attention away from Aemond. He moved like a dancer, all fluidity and control, like he already had the entire performance planned out in his head. He toyed with Jace, kept his defence up, only to knock his sword from his hands and place his own blade at his throat in a sudden flash of silver and steel.
She’d had to bite the inside of her lip to stop herself from smirking.
“You humiliated him, before spectators,” she says.
Aemond frowns in mock sympathy, taking her chin between his finger and his thumb to tilt her gaze up. “I would do it a hundred times over, for my own pleasure if not for anything else.”
She tilts her head. “And what of my pleasure?”
He hums cryptically. The corners of his mouth flicker upwards. “Your pleasure is only my concern within the confines of this room.”
He’s looking at her like that again, like he wants to devour her.
He traces his fingers down her throat, her collar, the neckline of her shift. His touch is sparse but familiar, exploring the curves of her body through the fabric, patterns she’s felt before, spaces he already knows and seems to have mapped in his head.
He leans in closer, his other hand pressing into the bed, invading her space, infiltrating her senses with the scent of smoke and lavender. She could drown in it, the scent of him.
She shudders as he runs his nose over her neck, following the heat of his breath with a lingering kiss against the sensitive spot of her skin. “What is it you want from me tonight?”
She has an idea in her mind, one she’s been toying with since she had seen the look of pride in his face in the yard.
“Lie down, on your back.”
He stands straight. Eye still fixed on her, he does as she says, making himself comfortable against the pillows.
She draws out every movement, just as he likes to do to her. She straddles him, settling her hips against the growing hardness in his breeches. She rests her hands against his chest, runs her fingers over his skin and the patch of silver hair revealed when she pulls on his shirt.
His hands are on her immediately, running up her thighs, gripping at her waist, bringing up the hem of her shift and tutting as though it has caused him some personal insult in hiding her body from him. He pulls it over her head and surges up to kiss her, capturing her lips with the desperation of a man starved. His kisses are always like this, slow and consuming, pulling her in closer and closer like he expects her to try to escape, like the only air he wants exists in her lungs.
It’s fast and overwhelming, and at first she’s content to just let it happen, to let herself be carried away in the currents of his wants and not her own, but once she’s a little more settled, she pushes him back against the bed.
He stares up at her, blood rushing to his cheeks, lips parted and panting. For all the times she’s seen his stoic exterior at court, she thinks he looks best like this.
“I thought you were concerning yourself with my pleasure?” she says, not bothering to contain her smile.
“I thought you liked it when I take what I want,” he retorts.
“I want you to do as you’re told.”
He huffs a laugh, but his gaze softens and his tongue wets his lips, his eye roaming appreciatively over her bare body, until he stops at her small clothes. All it takes is a few gentle rocks of her hips before his jaw tightens and his fingers dig deeper into the flesh of her waist. She swears she feels his hips twitch beneath her, but he makes no move to take what he wants.
She leans back on her haunches as she drags his breeches below his hips. By the sight of him, hard and reddened at the tip, she knows he at least finds something about this arrangement appealing.
She discards the rest of their clothing, his shirt, her small clothes, the leather eyepatch on his head. She pauses when she reaches for it, waiting for him to protest, but he doesn’t. He gives her a small nod and she slides it up to reveal the true extent of his scar, the twisted red flesh around the sapphire wedged in his socket.
She has seen it countless times before. She needs the reminder of who he is, how much he must hate her.
Now that they are both bare she resumes her position, pleasure like a flame licking up her spine as she traces circles over her centre. Aemond grinds himself against her, breathing with a strain in the back of his throat. The sound only makes the wanting feeling in her gut tighten. She can feel herself clenching over nothing, her body begging for more friction and the release it promises.
She feels she is wet enough to take him now, and her stomach drops in anticipation.
When he whispers her name, she knows she has him exactly where she wants him.
She closes her hand around his cock, giving it a few half-hearted strokes and lining it up to her entrance, only to hesitate. “I hear your mother is intending to invite Borros Baratheon to court,” she says.
Aemond catches his lip between his teeth, staring at the space where their bodies almost meet if she would only lower her hips.
“Might he bring one of his comely daughters? He has four, doesn’t he?”
Aemond huffs and meets her eye. His hands are still on her waist, his thumbs tracing circles over her belly. “Where did you hear this?”
She tries to pretend such a simple touch from him does not excite her or tempt her to relent.
Daemon has spies in the Queen’s household, not that she knows the specifics. Her mother had discussed the matter with her, expressing concern for the Hightowers’ intentions. It has been decades since a Lord of Storm’s End has stepped foot in the Red Keep, and Daemon believes their rivals are trying to close ranks, amass allies outside of the capital. Perhaps such a deal may be sealed with a marriage pact.
“What,” she breathes, trying to smile, “that his daughters are comely? I can only assume, for I’ve never met them you see–”
In the blink of an eye she’s beneath him.
Aemond brings a single finger to her lips. “I thought we had agreed not to discuss political matters in private,” he says.
“I did not realise the matter was political–”
He cuts her off when he snakes his hand down her body and pushes his thumb against her pearl. She hisses, her hips bucking to meet his touch.
“Are you trying to bait me, niece? Hmm? Is that what you came here for?”
She shakes her head as he circles over her. For such minimal effort on his part, it sparks something frustratingly bright in her, back arching, warmth settling between her legs and beneath her skin.
“Is that really what you want me to be thinking about? Wondering which one of the Baratheon girls is the prettiest?”
His fingertips tease over her entrance, but he doesn’t push them inside, instead they’re replaced by the head of his cock. She presses her lips together, determined not to make any kind of noise he could take for weakness, for wanting, but she feels it all the same.
“Presently, I’m only thinking about what I can see, and what I see is a spoiled little Princess, laid out beneath me. Poor thing, she’s trying to look smug, but I’m not sure I’m convinced, not when I’m about to fuck her tight, little cunt.”
Her pleading is mindless, falling from her lips as effortlessly as her breath. “Please… please… please…”
She wonders if it is her want or his own he eventually succumbs to. He pushes in slowly, delighted at the slight moan he elicits from her, sharing her air as she gasps at the pleasurable ache of being stretched out around him.
“I’ve heard rumours too, that Rhaenyra has been sending ravens to Highgarden,” he says as he starts to snap his hips against hers. “What business would your mother have with the Tyrells, I wonder?”
Rhaenyra has her own plans for a marriage pact, plans she’s known about for months. “What indeed?” she says, trying to smile as he ruts into her.
Aemond almost growls, burying his face into her neck. As his voice is harsher so are his thrusts. “My sister will sell you to a sickly little boy, is that it? Why would Rhaenyra want an alliance with the Reach?”
Because the King is little more than a breathing corpse and who knows how much life he has left in him. Because eventually, he will die, and they both know what will come next.
She’s always known her part in this, the only daughter of Rhaenyra Targaryen. Her brothers may well fight in battles to defend their mother’s claim, but wars cannot be won without the necessary support. The Reach, The Riverlands, The Vale, The North, they must all be secured one way or another.
With his face hidden from hers she allows herself to admire the way his muscles move and flex under the smooth, pale skin of his arm. Since leaving childhood behind, he seems to have this idea of efficiency, with no tolerance for excess. His arms are slight, but defined where he trains with his sword each day, where he hauls himself onto Vhagar’s saddle and steers her around Blackwater Bay.
“It’s always been expected of me,” she says, tracing her hand over his skin, almost perfect, save for a few marks: a burn after an unfortunate encounter with Vermax when he was just a hatchling, a scar above his elbow where he fell from an apple tree, and crescent shaped indents from their last tryst. “I will do my duty.”
“Duty?” He stops, grabbing her by the neck so her breath hitches in her throat. He leans into her, pressing his forehead against hers, caging her between his body and the bed. She sees nothing but a single eye and a sapphire, nothing but contempt. “You’re the antithesis of it, crawling to your uncle’s bedchamber every night, begging to be fucked.”
Anger flares in her blood. She clamps her hand around his wrist and digs her nails into his skin, hoping it will mark him. “I have never begged for you,” she spits, teeth bared, lips grazing over his, “and I never shall…”
Her words fade on her tongue when he resumes a punishing pace, urging her closer to oblivion with every thrust.
“Oh there you go,” he coos, “that feels good, doesn’t it?” He’s on his knees now, one hand still on her throat, the other on her thigh, forcing her legs further apart, fingertips pressing painfully into her flesh.
She tries to pull away from his grip, pushing herself further into the bed amongst the pillows, but Aemond has always been stubborn and does not relent. She has nowhere to go, no other option but to take it.
“You’ll be sent off to some castle in a miserable corner of the world, live the dull life of a Lady. Your Lord husband will trade swords and shields for you like a brood mare and fuck his children into your belly each night.”
She feels her peak building within her, the weightlessness rising and rising, she can hardly take much more. “Do you believe I will think of you?” she says with a grin, “as he touches me, as he spills inside me…”
Aemond grunts, folding his chest over hers, brushing his lips over her cheek as he hisses, “wanton little whore. I am the one you seek out, and as long as you do, you are mine.”
It tears through her quickly, a spark that turns to flame, a piece of kindling caught alight, pleasure that reduces her simply to feeling, warmth and the absence of his weight on her body. She claws her nails into nothing, empty space where she expects to find his skin.
Aemond has pulled away from her, groaning as he comes, spilling over her stomach and thighs. She watches him, jaw slack, brows angled like he’s in agony.
She basks in the numbness her peak leaves behind as he drags his shirt over her skin to clean the mess he’s made with a touch that is soft and slow. His eye trails along her body to her face. She sees nothing in him, not amusement or satisfaction, not hatred or remorse, and yet he comes to lay beside her, turning her onto her side, settling against her back and putting his arms around her.
She allows it, too used to the feeling of lying in his bed, too used to the scent of sweat and smoke and lavender.
Aemond’s chambers are ruled by order, every book has its place on a shelf, he does not leave papers, clothes or used cups of wine lying around. The bedchamber lies on the south side of the castle, with a balcony overlooking the bay where two of them used to watch the ships leaving the harbour. She likes the intricate tapestries, scenes of Valryian mythology, and his fondness for the colour blue. Even if she cannot see most of it in the dark of night, the silence and stillness is comforting.
“Lord Corlys’ ship was attacked,” she mutters, placing her hand over his, where his palm against her stomach. “We cannot be sure if he even survived.”
“So I’ve heard,” Aemond says, “I’ve also heard Vaemond Velaryon intends to challenge the succession of Driftmark, should the unthinkable be true.
“And I assume the Queen and the Hand will support him in this endeavour.”
Aemond’s chest stills. “They will hear the petitions and pass their judgement,” he says, quietly but finally.
“Then the decision has already been made.”
Aemond’s breathing is deep, her hair fluttering against her cheek as he exhales. Her mother has a similar way of scolding her without uttering a single word, as if to say the answer should be obvious.
With a scoff she pushes his hand away and drags herself out of the bed. The cold air stings her skin and she makes short work of finding her night shift, discarded on the floor, and dressing herself.
“Lucerys has no claim to Driftmark,” Aemond says from the bed.
“And why is that?” she says shortly, grabbing her shoes from the foot of the bed.
He won’t say it, but the word is there, in the way he teases Jace, the way his family watch her and her brothers and stare at them across the throne room with nothing but disgust. It’s there in his indifference towards her beyond the walls of his bedchamber, avoiding eye contact, muttering under his breath, insults and backhanded compliments. But the last time he said it, it cost him his eye.
She turns to face him, a defiant glare through the darkness now that some of the candles have started to burn out.
“Coward,” she whispers.
He does claim to disagree.
With her shoes on, she moves towards the hidden door without sparing him another glance.
But she hears a ruffle of fabric, his feet against the floor as he follows her. His hand closes around her arm, hard enough it feels as though it might leave a bruise. He turns her into him, placing her back and his palm against the panelled wall.
“Stay,” he says.
“Surely you would not want to sully yourself, sharing your bed with a bastard.”
“But it’s different with you.”
“How? How is it different?”
He cups her face in his hands, begging her for something but never saying it. He leans in gradually, kissing her firmly. It’s easy to follow his lead, to let him slip his tongue between her lips, let him pull and tug at her delicate flesh, to feel him and lose herself to him. It makes her weightless all over again.
Once it was easy to love Aemond. They found friendship easily as children, even when they bickered and argued, because they could always forgive each other.
Some time ago she realised that love has always been destined to fade away, like summer changing into autumn, winter snows melting away with the spring. There is no place for it amongst the animosity between their families, causes they were born to, that neither of them will ever forsake.
Aemond pulls away but stays close to her, a hand on her waist, the other on her cheek. “I want you to stay.”
“And what then? What do you think could ever become of us?” The one-eyed Prince and the bastard Princess.
Suddenly she hates the stillness of this room, the weight of his silence in her chest.
Aemond’s hand slips from her cheek, his expression falling from pleading to indifference.
She leaves him standing there, bare chested and breathless, with no light to catch in the cut edges of his sapphire. She fades back into the shadows of the passageway, amongst the cold and the dark and the bones.
The rot has set in. The King will die, and both the Blacks and the Greens will seek to claim his throne. The empty space between her and Aemond can only ever grow.
Tags (comment to be added)
General taglist: @jamespotterismydaddy @theoneeyedprince @tsujifreya
#my fics#aemond targaryen#aemond targaryen fanfic#aemond targaryen fanfiction#aemond targaryen smut#aemond targaryen oneshot#aemond x reader#aemond x you#aemond x ofc#hotd#house of the dragon fanfic#house of the dragon fanfiction#hotd fanfiction#smut#aemond fanfiction#aemond fanfic#aemond oneshot#aemond one eye#enemies to lovers#enemies with benefits
866 notes
·
View notes
Text
Wishlist. // DILF!Aemond Targaryen x Fem!Reader MODERN AU //🎄 SPECIAL
WARNINGS: MDNI, smut, p in v, unprotected sex, fingering, lactation kink, breeding kink, fluff, dad!aemond and mom!reader, afab!reader, breast play, nipple play, slight teasing, + not proofread.
WC: 1.4k
« part one // part two »
A/N: your fav dilf and your children are back in town, tis the season to be jolly 🤭 I really wanted to bring this duo back haha, happy late Christmas, sorry for the await! This can also be read as stand alone but reading the prev two fics might help! // divider credits @cafekitsune
“Aenys! Daenys! Be careful, don't run around or you'll slip!” You yelled as you spotted Aenys and Daenys running around with decorations in their hand around the Christmas tree, trying to hang them up.
Daenys trips over the decoration and starts crying, you immediately put down Aelora, your third child down in her high rise chair before rushing over to Daenys and picking her up, patting her back as she clings onto you.
“Shh, there, it's fine, Mommy's got you okay? Don't run around next time.” You tell her and Aenys immediately rushed over to you, “Is she okay?” He asks and you nod, before leaning down and placing a kiss on his forehead.
This year's Christmas was more hectic than before, having a toddler and a kid running around to decorate the tree while managing your one year old isn't exactly easy.
But luckily for you, Aemond had just arrived from work.
“Papa!” Aenys runs over to his father immediately and Aemond picks him up before showering him with kisses, “How was your day Aenys?” He asked him and Aenys started babbling off until he mentioned how Daenys had fallen over just now.
Aemond, being the concerned father he is, immediately rushed to see you holding her in your arms, “You okay darling?” He asks her, holding Aenys up with one arm while caressing Daenys's hair with the other. She looks at her dad before she shifts her weight in his direction, indicating that she wants to be in his arms and Aemond immediately takes her from your arms, carrying both Aenys and Daenys on both of his sides.
You chuckle at how comedic it looks, Aemond was strong enough to carry them both which impressed you, “Aren't they heavy? They're both growing now.” You ask and he smiles and leans to press a kiss to your lips, “Yeah they are, but I want to cherish every moment I can carry them in my arms.” He tells you and you smile.
The evening was spent with giggles and warmth and soon it was time to put the kids to sleep, they kept on babbling about how excited they were to see Santa leave them presents and wondered what they'll get, rambling on how Santa hopefully knows what's on their wishlist and gets exactly them that, you chuckle as you tuck them to bed, placing kisses on their faces and moving to the living room.
You can finally relax, you immediately go into your shared bedroom with Aemond, who already seems to be there, “Aelora fell asleep already?” You ask and he nods, “She seemed very tired.” He tells you.
You sit next to Aemond on the bed, leaning against the headboard as Aemond works on his laptop, you lean your head on his shoulder, watching him work. “Have you gotten the presents for the kids?” You ask curiously and he hums, “Mhm, I can't wait to see their reactions in the morning.” He tells you and you giggle, “I'll place them under the tree at midnight.” You tell him your plan and he closes the laptop, finishing his work and puts it aside on the bedside desk. “What if they catch you?” He turns his full attention to you now, resting his hands on yours. “Oh you know they will not wake up until morning once they fall asleep, sometimes I worry that they're such heavy sleepers.” You tell him playfully and he lets out a small laugh. “Hopefully they like the presents.”
“Speaking of presents, I haven't gotten mine.” Aemond suddenly says and you smile at him, knowing exactly what he wants, “I've even written it down on the wishlist, it seems I was scammed.” He pouts and you chuckle, “Well, Santa can't give you a whole human can he?” You joke around.
When he was asked to put something he wants for Christmas on the wishlist, he wrote down your name on it, making you blush and scribble out that from it.
“Hmm.” He hums as he gazes into your eyes and you look at him back, he leans in slowly before connecting your lips together, they move in passion as the air fills up with tension and desperation, he pulls away breathing heavily.
No words are exchanged as you both hurriedly take off your clothes, and Aemond pins you flat against the bed, showering your face and neck with kisses before gripping your tits with his hand, pinching the nipple.
You gasp when you feel his warm tongue against the bud as he sucks on your breast, he feels your milk fill in his mouth as he swallows it down greedily and pulls away, “Fuck you're still producing milk?” He asks before switching to your other breast and showering it the same attention, “H-hm? Yeah, haven't weaned Aelora off yet.” you tell him and he leaves your breast with a pop, “Not complaining, I fucking love it.” He kisses your lips once again.
His hand caresses and travels further downwards your body to your cunt before dipping into your sweet wetness, “Fuck, you're so soaked, all for me yeah?” He whispers in your ear and you swallow thickly, goosebumps arising when you feel his hot breath near your ear, “Y-yes.” You answer.
His pinches your clit, making you gasp, before slowly rubbing small circles onto it, cause your breath to pick up and pulse begin to race at the arousal. His fingers dip in towards your entrance gently as he places kisses to your neck, “Look how it's engulfing me.” He comments as he watches his finger sink into you before he starts to move.
He curls his fingers before moving them in and out in a certain pattern, hitting your gspot multiple times already, making you wonder if he had its location memorised the way he can find it so easily.
Soon you reach your first orgasm of the night, biting your lip to not be too loud, suppressing your moans in an effort to not wake your baby next room. You should really make your room soundproof, you remember the days when Aemond clamped his hand over your mouth just to keep you from being too loud.
You whine subconsciously when you feel him pull his fingers out and move down, spreading your legs wide before grabbing your calves and placing your legs on his shoulder as he positions his cock against your entrance.
“Literally the best fucking present I could ask for.” He growls as he sinks his cock into your cunt, grunting in pleasure at the pleasure of your walls clamping down and gripping onto him.
He tries to take it slow at first, but it changes the moment you clench around him, unleashing all the frustration he held back and immediately set the pace at a faster rate, causing your body to jolt up and down the bed as you grip on to his hands which were currently holding your waist as in means hold in place securely.
You soon begin to see stars at the way he's moving, your mind spins, feeling the way his cock keeps hitting all the right spots, “Will you give me another?” He asks, panting and you look at him in a daze, “Hm?” You mumble, not understanding what he's asking for.
“Another child, another babe.” He tells you, “You'll let me impregnate you? Fill your womb up with my seed? I fucking love watching you swell with my child, knowing it was me who put it in you.” His words make you more aroused, the thought of having another child with him doesn't bother you and you greedily nod your head, your mind thinking of nothing else besides wanting to be filled up by your husband.
“Fuck—!” He finishes with a grunt, and slowly rides his orgasm out, hitting your sweet spot at the same time, causing you to finish as well.
He immediately plops down next to you and pulls you into his arms, placing kisses on your forehead as you both catch your breath.
“Best fucking Christmas ever.” He pants and you chuckle, “You said that last year too.” You tease and he lets out a loud laugh, “Well, it just gets better every year.” He replies back.
“Aren't we forgetting something?” You question, mind wandering off somewhere else, trying to remember what you were planning on, grabbing your phone and looking at the time, noticing how it said 1AM, you and Aemond look at each other before your eyes widen in realisation.
“Oh right! The presents!”
You both say in unison and rush putting on your clothes just to place the presents underneath the tree.
Needless to say, it was a great Christmas for everyone.
— ! ݈݇- thank you so much for reading! i hope you enjoyed it <3 comments and reblogs are appreciated greatly ♡
#aemond smut#aemond targaryen smut#aemond targaryen x reader#aemond targaryen x reader smut#aemond x reader#aemond x reader smut#x reader smut#reader insert#aemond fanfiction#aemond fic#hotd smut#hotd fanfic#aemond fanfic#aemond x fem!reader#aemond x you#aemond x y/n#aemond targaryen x you
1K notes
·
View notes
Text
I'm A Fire And I'll Keep Your Brittle Heart Warm [One Shot]
Text Divider by @saradika-graphics
SUMMARY | Flowers come to Aemond in multiple shapes and forms throughout his marriage.
WARNINGS | 18+; Mild Smut.
WORD COUNT | 9.6k
A/N | Yet another repost, yay! This one was written based off an ask sent to me by @wonderbias and beta read by the loml @humanpurposes
Their union began as a fragile, delicate one.
By all accounts, Aemond Targaryen was a fine man that any maiden in the Seven Kingdoms would be proud to be with, should he– a skilled dragonrider, a scholar, a respectful man of honor, a prince worthy of his name and blood– choose to take her to wife.
If only he was not so stoic and dull, they said. The very jovial little lady of Highgarden will be bored of him in moments!
‘Twas the first of many whispers he heard of his apparent inadequacy with regards to his impending nuptials and marriage, and even though it killed him, he could not bring himself to disagree. The woman that he was to marry – the beautiful, kind, ladylike wisp of a girl that was to be entrusted to him– was a fair maiden who lit up any chamber she graced with her presence, a stark contrast to how he seemed to darken those that he stalked into.
Charming girl like that, she will hate him, they said. The poor thing is probably scared.
Every lady dreamed of chivalrous knights and charming princes, and Aemond knew very well that he was far from being either. They dreamed of charming men who would immortalize them in song, whose looks could thaw the hearts of the coldest women in an instant. Aemond knew very well that the Gods had refused him the chance to even try with her– what with their allowance of his mutilation at a tender, young age.
Even with just one eye, he saw many possibilities but to his dismay, he did not imagine any outcome would be favorable to him. With the scar he carried on his face and the weight of the world on his shoulders, Aemond was never meant to be the man that his intended deserved.
And so, he decided that he would keep her at arm's length and in consequence, save his pride. He'd reject her before she rejected him. He may not know it now, but matters of the heart are fickle– and to the utter disappointment of his pride, his little lady rose was very easy to love.
He would not be caught dead pathetically pining after a woman who would soon be his. He would not.
And so, their courtship remained devoid of romance and scandal. His family was made privy to each of their highly appropriate conversations, with them taking turns in chaperoning their walks through the gardens.
There was nothing that he wished to share, for he did not want to lose too much. He did what was expected of him, and she did the very same. Soon, there was respect, admiration, and a whole host of burgeoning feelings that Aemond tried hard to suppress - feelings that he clearly did not see in her eyes as she dared to look into his.
How could she feel anything for a stoic, dull, one-eyed man like him?
As he draped the red and black cloak over her shoulder and pledged to be her man of liege and limb, he told himself that he would not try. He would not give into fantasies, only to be met with rejection from a woman who was too good for him; one that may realize it soon enough as well.
After all, Aemond Targaryen had his pride. He would feed himself to the dragons before admitting to someone else being better than him, let alone be rejected by that same person. He was certainly not going to woo her, not when he knew that he would only be met with contempt and disgust.
It did not matter how badly he wanted to. He would not allow himself to succumb to such idyllic daydreams. He would not.
When night fell and the wedding feast was in full swing, his new good-father was the only one who could give his brother a run for his money with how deep he was in his cups. It was obvious how the wine-induced stupor affected the fat lord Tyrell as he bellowed for his daughter and his new good son to take the lead and join in the dancing and merriment.
Aemond was ready to retch at the thought, but what stopped him from making his irritation clear was the possibility that she may want to dance. His wife. He had seen her dance before– as graceful as an otherworldly swan. She had a better grasp at frivolous courtly affairs than he did.
His wife may want to dance. His wife, his wife, his wife. A little rose, his.
He shuffled his feet under the cloth-covered long table and allowed his one eye to train over his clothed boots. In spite of all the dancing lessons he had taken with Helaena, Aemond had never indulged before– and now, he was expected to entertain his bride each time a song played. The thought made him want to press his feet into the ground further than he already has, in hopes that perhaps the ground would swallow him whole.
His view of the dancing crowd had been taken from him by half along with his eye. Without the luxury of complete vision, he could not dance without bumping into everyone that was on his blind side. Now, he would have to– if she wanted to.
He thought he could say no, but he feared that if he were to look her in the eyes, he'd never be able to. Perhaps that was why he had refused to even look at her throughout the ceremony, despite her many admirable– yet failed– attempts to catch his line of sight and share a smile.
It was her meek, mouse-like voice that brought him out of his nervous trance. “We do not have to," she said, the words falling out of her lips like a song.
“You like to dance, my lady,” he said.
“But you do not, my prince. It takes two.” Her surprisingly understanding words were followed by a timid smile, one that threatened to rip through his defenses and get to him.
In the crowded throne room, as his new bride sets aside her happiness to accommodate his preferences, Aemond worried that his self-imposed distance from her may not last too long if she kept offering him kind glances and sweet smiles– no matter how forced and dutiful he knew them to be.
He had much to lose; his pride, his heart. He would not risk it, even if she was seemingly easy to love. He would not. He would not. He would not.
After all, Aemond Targaryen had his pride.
Soon after, her drunk nuisance of a father had called for the bedding. Aemond did nothing as his trembling bride was ushered away by the handmaidens and ladies, each of them wriggling her jewelry off as she stumbled in her steps before they carried her off.
Should he have asked for a private bedding? In hindsight, he believed he wronged her by throwing her to the mercies of the court in her vulnerability. Equally, he did not want to attempt a show of compassion– not when she may not even welcome it from the one-eyed fiend of a husband that she was stuck with.
When he walked into the chambers in his loose linen shirt and breeches, his breath hitched in his throat. Helaena had once told him that the Septas refer to women’s maidenheads as flowers. “Beautiful, ripe and ready for the plucking,” she had said, keeping her nose pointed upward in her imitations. He'd never given the words much thought.
Until now.
There she was. His wife, his flower, his rose, ready for plucking, in her translucent white shift and now untamed hair, like a fae in a dream. How could she possibly be his? How could she possibly be happy with a man as monstrous as him for a husband?
Her eyes, wide and fearful, flittered about his face, in his mind an expression of her repulsion. It pained him to think she did not even give him a chance.
But she was accommodating about my not wanting to dance…
Perhaps she did like to dance; just not with him.
These unsaid words and subsequent misunderstandings plagued their wedding night. Both believed the other did not desire them.
That night, she offered her flower to him– as is her duty– and he took great care in taking it from her. He made sure she was pliant, so that when he took it, she would be as glad and thrilled as he was, regardless of how well-hidden his happiness was.
He may have grimaced in disgust at Aegon's vulgar demonstrations and lessons about the pleasures of the marital bed, but he was thankful as he heard her moan out his name in a silent scream while she convulsed around his fingers. The silent sounds of her choked out moans and the heat engulfing his fingers may have very well been enough for Aemond to find release, and he reminded himself quickly that she will not want him when they're done. How could she, deformed as he was?
And so, he stopped wanting to be good for her, and simply endeavored to get it done with.
She was only more than willing to allow him to take her flower. If he was not so preoccupied with his own insecurities, he may have seen that it had gone past duty for her. Her loud moans proved the fact, and left little room for dispute (or doubt, in the minds of the prying ears that stayed close to the doors of their chambers, and the sharp eyes of the council who were now shuffling out of their seats).
He inched into her, and her tears and turned face only seemed to make it harder for him. Was he so beyond hope that she could not even look? What was it? Had he hurt her? He did not ask, lest he risk finding out that he was a disappointment. So he lost himself, drowned in his own head as he mechanically moved in and out, in and out, in and out.
Duty. Duty. Duty.
If he had not been so preoccupied with tearing his own being to shreds in his mind, he may have heard her moans as the bright pink tip of his cock hit a rough spot in her, allowing her pleasures and experiences she did not believe she would ever know. He may have known that she desired him, just as he did her.
His self-deprecating thoughts couldn't have been farther from the truth– he may not have realized it that night, but he would soon enough.
Flowers came to Aemond in multiple shapes and forms throughout his marriage, and the first ever flower she gave him– whether she chose to see it that way or not– came to him on their wedding night, in the form of her maidenhead.
Tourneys were a time of celebration for her.
There was something to be said about the romance of watching men ask women for favors and fight with all the might and grace that they possess. She had often dreamed that a dashing knight or a courteous prince would perhaps approach her for her favor, and then perhaps crown her Queen of Love and Beauty. If she was lucky, the man would court her too.
The man she married was the antithesis of all that she hoped a tourney would bring.
Her husband was not a bad man by any means– no. He was a good and respectful husband, slightly removed and isolated for her outward nature, but she did not mind. There were worse men to be married to, and even if he never went out of his way to be there for her, he certainly treated her well when they were in each other’s presence.
She tried with him, Gods bless her.
She would try to catch his eye at the supper table, or watch him train in hopes that he would meet her watchful gaze once or twice. She would watch in a sleepy haze as he woke early in the morn, long before she had the strength or consciousness to wish him a good day, hoping he would turn to do the same. He never did.
More often than not, a curt nod and a wavering glance was all she’d get. Still there were brief, hopeful moments that kept her active in her pursuit to build a friendship with her husband.
She would have done something absolutely obnoxious— acts that would have him sneering if it was someone else– and she’d see it. That little hint of a smile, waiting to bubble through the surface, just by the corner of his pink lips, that she would have missed if she blinked. Each time there was a tenuous beginning of a hesitant smile, she felt a tiny sliver of hope.
He was not so intimidating to her now as he was in the initial days of their union– no. In a little corner of her mind, she acknowledged that fact– that is what helped her find his hand and hold it tight in nervousness, before she could even comprehend the intimacy of the act.
The knight who had just taken a harsh tumble from his horse was carried away by servants, with his head beaten bloody and hands hanging limp by his side. If she did not know better, she would have thought him dead.
The champion then raised his hands up in victory. Thunderous clapping sounds overshadowed all else around her, but she could not bring herself to join. She was still stunned by how the other knight had fallen, and was yet to let go of Aemond’s hand.
She felt the bile rise in her throat, so she brought her other hand to her chest and bowed her head down, a feeble attempt at keeping the vomit at bay. It was awhile until she managed to catch her breath again, and by then the celebrations had moved on from celebrating the champion to the crowning of his Queen of Love and Beauty.
The eldest Lady Baratheon smiled coyly as she received the wreath of winter roses, followed by a chaste kiss to her cheek. The crowd gasped at how brazen the act was, with neither of them being married, but the high of winning makes men do the most peculiar things, she supposed. In the back of her mind, regardless of how uneasy she felt, she wished– desperately.
How she wished it was her.
A childish fantasy really. What was a publicly gifted crown of flowers worth in the face of what she had? She was a Princess of the realm now, married to a skilled dragonrider from a family of illustrious history and blood. Any children they may have will be immortalized in the annals. Nothing. A crown of flowers was worth nothing when compared to what she had– or at least, that is what she would tell herself.
And yet, she craved the romance. She had always enjoyed the idea of being loved and cherished. Her husband respected her, and if she was feeling bold, she’d say he liked her– but he certainly did not love her. That much she was certain of. When she naively wished that he’d crown her, she asked if he was going to enter the lists. He had sharply turned so quickly that she feared she had angered him.
“I don’t give a sh…” He had sighed before speaking again, as though he felt tested. “I do not care for tourneys.” The sharpness in his voice had hurt her, and she did not speak of it again.
Their marriage was a decent one– but it held none of the love she hoped to have, despite all her attempts.
Did he find her so disagreeable?
All of a sudden, his hand felt cold to the touch and she let go of him like he burned her. The heat came back to her hand just as it showed on her cheeks, and his had turned cold from having lost her touch so abruptly.
“I’d like to get some fresh air, husband,” she said, and rose before he could even ask if she needed him to accompany her.
Her quick walk took her to the tent where the court ladies had been sitting, and she had stepped in right in time to hear them gossip– about her husband.
“Well he must keep it on while they… you know! It can be jarring to look at, I’m sure it is!”
“It must be terrible to see it up close all the time. I can hardly look at him from across the chamber!”
He is certainly unnerving. It does make you wonder though, do you think they actually…” the woman lowered her voice to match the vulgarity that was to follow. “Do you think they actually fuck? She cannot possibly want to, and she is not with child either…”
“Well, does it really matter if she wants to? He’s a Prince, and her husband. He’ll take his pleasure regardless.”
Regardless of where she and her husband stood, she would not stand for their marriage to become fodder for court gossip. If she stayed quiet for any longer while these empty-headed women berated her husband, she would be insulting him herself.
“Might I ask what is so amusing?” she said with sharp eyes and a tilted head. The sweat on their faces upon her arrival was apparent, and so was their nervousness.
“My Lady, we were just–”
“Princess,” she corrected.
“Yes of course, Princess. We were just–”
“Making presumptions about my marriage?”
“No… we just…”
“Don’t deny it,” she seethed, anger looking completely foreign on a soft, comely face like hers. Her nostrils flared and her nose went red in her current state, but there was no way she could stop now.
“The next time you feel the need to comment on such matters , perhaps you will all learn to remind yourself that he is a Prince of the realm and I am his wife! There will be suitable punishment, and you will all be dismissed from court at my pleasure, disgraced and husbandless. Now, we wouldn’t want that, would we?” Her words were cutting and sharp, and they had the younger ladies bowing their heads in fear almost immediately.
“I’ll have you all know that unlike the other men of the court, Prince Aemond’s scar came to him along with the largest dragon in the world. His bravery only makes him more handsome to me.”
She then fixed her attention onto the married lady of the bunch and delivered a questionable blow that she would certainly feel bad about later. “If you’ve been led to believe that the man takes his pleasure from his wife even if she does not want to, then perhaps your marriage is a lot worse than I thought. Your husband must have no regard for your wants, unlike mine. And for that, I am truly sorry.”
She did not wait for them to respond as she gathered her skirts and walked out of the tent, feeling largely annoyed and satisfied to an extent. But as she began her walk back, the fear of news of her anger reaching her husband hit her like a harsh and heavy wave.
Would he call her insolent and disgraceful? Has she damaged her marriage more than it already has been?
She did not have to wait long for her answer, for Aemond had been just a few steps behind her, watching the entire scene unfold. The angry flush on her face left her as quickly as it had come, replaced by a skittish nervousness that led to her shuffling her feet as she stood before him, at a complete loss for words.
She swallowed the spit gathering in her mouth, throat bobbing as her head remained facing down to the floor, awaiting a scolding from him for her absolutely inexcusable behavior; her husband was a man who knew his courtesies, after all. He could not possibly be happy with how she carried herself and disappointed him.
“You do not look well. Let me walk you to our chambers,” was all he said before he led her away with a hand on the small of her back.
She remained worried that he was perhaps leading them to privacy and silence so he could punish her while being undisturbed. She could not have been farther from the truth.
She expected him to scream at her, forget all the courtesy that he had shown her and throw his words at her without care. What she was not prepared for, was for him to hold her chin between his thumb and index fingers, pulling her face up to meet his.
He curiously inspected her, almost as though her little show of anger thoroughly amused him. She would not be surprised if it did– she had never been so outward in her anger in the two months that they had been married; this was a completely new side to her that he was now privy to.
“What was that, wife?” His words were measured and cut.
“They…” She was stunned to find that, despite her tongue becoming loose in moments of anger, it was hard for her to speak right now. So, she chose to gulp once more and tried to look someplace else. The uncertainty in his sharp, one-eyed violet gaze was becoming too much for her to bear– but Aemond did not give up easily. He kept her head held in place as she desperately waited for the words to come to her.
“They were being crude, and insulting you.”
He looked at her for a moment, his sharp gaze refusing to waver as the sunlight pierced through the glass windows of their chamber. He then let go of her, and handed her a goblet of wine to calm her clearly unsteady senses. He watched as she took little sips from the chalice, the restless turning of the wheels in his mind apparent on his face.
Soon after, he made up a sham of a reason about having to leave when the cheering crowds became louder and louder. She nodded and continued to sip, completely oblivious to the change of heart that her husband was having as she wondered why he brought her back to their bed.
She did not know the thoughts that now ran fast and surely in his mind. She did not know that he thought his eye had cost him a chance at a happy marriage with her. She had no idea of knowing how conflicted he felt at the new realization, for his sculpted face gave nothing away.
He turned to face her with a hand on the door. “Thank you,” he mumbled.
She nodded and smiled meekly while he stalked back to the festivities.
He held his hands tightly behind him as he tried to make sense of how light his heart felt in comparison to the rest of him.
Back in the chamber, she blushed. For all her worry that he may have been disappointed, she had been completely floored by how he had responded– he was thankful. She berated herself for not considering the possibility– and smiled at the realization that for all her husband’s prowess as a warrior, in times like these, he needed a champion too.
That night, Aemond burned the midnight oil while reading in the library, trying to still his racing heart and make sense of how it leapt at newfound thoughts of his little wife.
Across the Holdfast, in the soft candlelight of their shared chambers, she sat on her husband’s dear chair, looking at her handiwork– an embroidered silk tourney favor, with a little rose.
Her husband may not care for tourneys, but making the favor allowed her the luxury of thinking that should the possibility of him willingly entering the lists come around, he would do so with her gift on his lance. Mayhaps he would crown her Queen of Love and Beauty too– the thought makes her blush.
She would give it to him should he ever choose to partake someday. Until then, it would be safely hidden away in her shelves, amidst her gowns and other possessions.
Flowers have came to Aemond in multiple shapes and forms throughout his marriage, and the second flower that was intended for him– despite the fact that she was yet to give it to him– came to him on the day of the the twins’ name day tourney, in the form of a rose, embroidered onto a tourney favor.
They have come to enjoy each other's company.
Her coming to his defense while expecting nothing in return had lit a fire in Aemond that he could not seem to quell. What he believed she had rejected him over, she had actually taken to being proud of. What he had believed was his one big, obvious and visible fatal flaw, was something that she had taken to holding in high regard.
I’ll have you lot know that unlike the other men of the court, his scar came to him along with the largest dragon in the world. And his bravery only makes him more handsome to me.
Her words rang in his mind like the definite tolling of the Great Bell at the Royal Sept. With each chime, her assertiveness on the matter came back to linger in his thoughts, he had fallen for her – bit by bit.
Feelings had always been a conundrum to Aemond, one that he did not entirely understand or even want to. But now, with a wife who warmed him and his heart slowly but surely, with her lovely smiles and nervous face, he found that he would like some certainty in the face of all that was uncertain in his heart.
He did not know if he loved her just yet. But what he did know was that, at the pace that she had set for them, it may be a very short while before he does. His wife. His wife, his wife, his wife.
His, his, his.
Coming to terms with having a wife that actually desired his company– and him, surprisingly enough– had spurned his attempts to bring some sort of intimacy to their marriage. Gods knew that she had tried, only to be rebuffed rudely by him in the initial days of their marriage. It was a time that he now felt deep regret and shame for, one that he would not rest until he had made right.
He needed her to see that he wanted to try.
He did not know how to be the charming prince from a bard’s songs. He did not know how to make women laugh like Aegon; be as sweet and kind as Helaena; or as chivalrous and perfect as Daeron.
But what he did know was respect. Aemond understood respect as something that was earned by everyone around him, but to his wife, it should have been unconditional. It should have come to her the day he had cloaked her and made her his– but it did not. Now, he intended to make it right.
He needed her to see that he wanted to try– which is how he found himself with her on his arm, as they walked hand in hand through the corridors of Maegor’s Holdfast towards their chambers. Ah yes, hand in hand. Another one of the little joys that he savored like it was his last day alive.
Their initially cold marriage had also been fueled by his blatant refusal to simply be near her, much less touch her. Why would she have wanted to be touched by a one-eyed monster, such as the likes of him?
But the moment he realized that she did not consider him so– not in the least– led to a warmth seeping through his blood, making him crave her so much that his heart hurt. If she did not mind it, why must he not exercise his liberties? And if there was some joy to be derived from it, why would they not want to indulge?
And so he had begun. A stolen touch here, a featherlight graze there.
His huge, calloused hand, seemed to be always holding her dainty one as he accompanied her throughout their time in the castle; on the small of her back as they maneuvered through feasts and dances; around her waist as they closed the distance between each other in their sleep, with her back to his chest; clutching onto her thigh to keep her in place for when she turned around and draped her tiny leg upon his waist.
His hands, all over her.
It was not just these fleeting, quick touches that Aemond had grown to enjoy. With their bond growing stronger with each passing moment, he had realized that their marital duties were simply not duties anymore. They had gone from believing that the other had tolerated their presence, to trying their level best so that the other would know how much they desired them. The growth of their marriage was evident in how their carnal indulgences had evolved.
Where he had held himself to hover over her so as to not facilitate any unnecessary touches, he had now taken to covering her entire being with his own. His hands around her hip as he pounded into her; her hands on his chest as the tip of her fingers grazed and pinched at his nipples. His hands in her hair as he mouthed at her heaving breast; her hands around him as she held onto him as tightly as she could, never wanting to let him go. His hands on her cunt as he drew peak after peak from her before thrusting himself into her; her hands around his cock as she pumped him before impaling herself by straddling him, just the way he liked.
Their sounds of pleasure had been held back and muffled in the beginning, but now they were uninhibited sounds taken by the wind, made with the intent of being heard and making desires known.
Oh yes, their marriage had grown.
This is what Aemond had been pondering as he led her through, with servants making their way for the young prince and princess as she held onto her husband with one hand, and a piece of rolled parchment and some charcoal on the other. He enjoyed their touches now, and it made his heart soar that he did not have to doubt her want for him either.
Yes, they could make something out of this.
“How was your time in the gardens, wife?” It made him happy that with the growth of their marriage, she had taken to exercising her liberties. So, when she had come to him requesting charcoal and bound parchment so she could begin drawing again, he was only happy to oblige.
“Good. I managed to sit and watch the flowers flit about in the wind for a time, and I drew a bit as well. Then the court ladies came to join me as they…”
Aemond listened to his wife as he sat himself on his chair by the hearth, most intently, and with the utmost concentration that he could muster. He could not bring himself to make selfless romantic declarations of love, or speak to her more than he was able. But he could listen, and that is what he would do.
Not a word unheard, not a moment missed. He needed her to see that he wanted to try.
She prattled on and on about her day, and how the court ladies had gossiped about each other when they thought the other wasn’t listening. He listened to the way her voice heightened when her recollections were happy, and he noted the way she frowned when she was in disapproval. He observed how her eyes widened at shocking narrations, and how her hands seemed to move like they had a life of their own.
He kept observing, losing himself in his newfound knowledge of her, her, her… and it was not until she stood close to him, her body slotted between his legs as she held her hands behind her back that he realized she had stopped speaking.
“Go on.”
He did not expect to be given something, not when his name day had just passed. But that is exactly what happened.
“For you,” she said. With her raised eyebrows and coy smile, she managed to place a parchment roll into his hand. Aemond made note of how her head faced down and her feet shuffled as she stood in wait for his approval.
He unrolled the parchment, careful to not cause even a stray tear at the edges. His eyes raked over the drawing, one of clear skill and years of training of the highest level– one befitting a lady.
“I shall treasure it, thank you.”
She smiled at his acceptance, and he nodded. He was not a smiling man, but he hoped that she knew how much he appreciated these gestures. He hoped that their marriage had grown enough for her to notice his quirks, just as he had made note of hers.
Flowers came to Aemond in multiple shapes and forms throughout his marriage, and the third flower that she had given him was a charcoal sketch of a rose, into which she had poured her heart and soul.
As the days passed, their mornings became brighter.
While she had hoped that the initial days of their marriage would have some semblance of love, and if not, at least affection to some extent, her hopes had been quickly dashed with the closed off and curt behavior that her husband seemed to have made his own. Neither did he ever wish her a good morrow upon sunrise, nor did he kiss her goodnight like in the songs.
But now, there was more.
Where there was coldness, there was now warmth. It was not heat, not like wildfire, no– it was warmth, like from the calm blaze of their hearth. She might not have awoken to a smile, no– her husband was not a smiling man– but she always woke to an arm snaked over her breasts, pressing into her. Where there was distance, oceans between them, there was now a shared intimacy, one that they had both been quietly happy about. She was not put to sleep with a kiss, but whenever she slept on the chaise waiting for him to arrive, he now ensured that she was put into comfortable clothes and carried to their bed with care.
He may not have cared for her in the beginning, but she knew he did now. Her husband was not a romantic man, but his small gestures were enough to make her feel happy and content.
The shift in their dynamic was not just visible in their daytime activities, but in the passions of their marriage bed as well. On the first night that they had coupled, he had been careful, experimental, doubtful. But as the days went by, he had become surer, rougher… insatiable.
She enjoyed this new side to him. She enjoyed being the woman that belonged to a fierce prince, the one that he so clearly desired. She enjoyed being held by him as he moved her up and down his cock, his head buried in her breasts as he breathed in the heady smell of sweat and sex. She enjoyed being impaled by him, her small body being split into two, all while having him whisper words of appreciation in her ears.
My little wife, my little flower. Made for me… only for me, he would say. Tell me who this cunt belongs to, he would growl, hands slapping her little nub over and over until she caught her breath, found her voice again and appeased him.
You! Gods… to you, my prince, she would whine, holding his hand in place, hoping he would fuck her with his fingers once more, just the way she liked.
It came as no surprise to her that ever since they had become welcome to each other’s affections, they had been a lot more active in their marriage bed– so much so that the lewd moans and loud curses had become court gossip.
When she had addressed the matter with him once soon after they had fucked, Aemond had smiled, albeit darkly– the only kind of smile that suited him. Dragons do not concern themselves with the opinions of sheep, he had said. His insinuation that she was now a dragon too, all while his warm breath fanned her neck and his large hands squeezed her backside, was all she needed to quell her worries.
And of course, as was the natural order of these things, she was now with child.
She had been overjoyed when she had found out, and a tad relieved too. The court ladies whispering about her womb was not something she appreciated– their assumptions about her being barren, even less. So when she found out, she insisted that she be the one to break the news to her husband– her time as an expectant mother would never completely be her own, given the station she had now married into.
But this, this moment could be hers and his. It would be theirs alone.
And so, she sat in wait at the training grounds, watching him as he expertly maneuvered his sword and slashed at his mentor, Ser Cole. Dodge, lunge, slash. Dodge, lunge, slash. Dodge, lunge–
Ser Cole had bested him, having noticed the predictability in his movements. Aemond of course, being the headstrong man that he was, refused to give up. The anger in his face at being won over in a fight did not escape her, and she would be lying if she said it did not awaken desire in her once more. Before she could think further however, one of the lords in the audience had piped up.
“Perhaps the Prince would benefit from a token of luck from his dear lady wife!” He said, and the watching crowd around them seemed to agree as they cheered and whistled. Aemond was flummoxed, not knowing how to cope with being faced with the topic of his wife while in the middle of a fight. It was only then that he noticed her, red-faced and smiling as she was– before he could say anything, she had taken the lead.
“I’m afraid I’ve come empty handed, my lord. I’ve nothing to offer him right now!” She quipped with a smile. It had warmed him to know that she was jovial enough for the two of them, allowing him the luxury of staying quiet as she became his champion during situations like these.
“Ah well, he knows you’re here now, Princess! If that does not add to his fire, I do not know what will!”
Perhaps it was her presence, or it was his own prowess as a swordsman. But Aemond was quick to come through this time around. The crowds cheered for their Prince, and so did the man who had taught him to be all that he was.
“Well met, my prince,” Ser Cole said. He patted her dragon prince on his shoulder and walked over to where the swords were arranged. Aemond quickly followed in reverence to his teacher, one that he did not freely give to most. Soon after, the crowds had dispersed, and she watched as his slender, tall form stalk towards her.
“Since when do you frequent the training grounds, wife?”
“Can a wife not seek her husband out when she wants to?”
She could not have imagined rhetorics like these tumbling out of her mouth in the initial days of their union. But they were now closer than they had ever been, and she had discovered that it would not hurt to take initiative, especially given how quiet of a man her husband could be.
He was not the charming prince from the books or the songs, but she certainly loved who he was– inquisitive, considerate and respectful.
“Hm. Perhaps.”
Their walk back to their apartments was a slow and quiet one, with her knowing that he preferred his moments of quiet soon after his training. They soon settled into the solar, with the food spread out for them to break their fast.
As was his habit, Aemond stripped himself of his clothes as she checked the water in the tub with the tips of her fingers, water rippling as her hands moved. He was quick to step in and let his hands rest on either side of the tub, his legs ramrod straight but slowly loosening up as she ran a washcloth over him with a gentle softness that is most unlike him.
Her hands glided over his chest, arms and he caught hold of her when her hands moved to clean his neck, beckoning her to come closer. “My dutiful little flower, hm? Come to assist her husband and answer his every beck and call.”
“I am nothing, if not dutiful.” She said, playful smile teasing him as her breasts threatened to spill out of the neckline of her dress– causing his cock to half-harden at the sight. She kissed his cheek and set the washcloth down, hands traveling to his alabaster hair as she ran her fingers through it, allowing her wet hands to trudge through. When she was done, he was quick to pull at her hand from his side, causing her to bend to meet him, eyes to eye.
“You have a council meeting to get to, husband. Now is not the time.”
She knew very well what he wanted. It was what she wanted too– which is precisely why her own protests meant absolutely nothing to her as she gave in, dress riding up to her thighs and billowing wet in the water as she straddled him. Her cunt was already soaked for him, and he was hot and ready from all the energies that training seemed to have put into him. She rocked her hips forward and backward, adjusting to his girth, while sighing and breathing at the feeling of having him in her. It did not matter how many times he’d taken her, she would never get used to feeling so full.
Soon enough, he had her held harshly by her waist in a bruising grip, his teeth nibbling at her sensitive nipples as he moved her up and down, up and down, up and down. The water crashed out of the tub like waves crashing onto shore and she was quick to fall apart in a mix of pain and pleasure, moaning his name in her broken voice, followed by a silent scream. His release followed soon after, cock twitching in her as he drew her closer, closer and closer still. When she felt his cock soften after a time, she got up and he let her, following close behind.
“You fought well today, husband.” She said, in a feeble attempt to coerce a conversation from him as they sat at the table. He was a man of silence, and she was not. He did not prefer it, but she would try anyway - because there were times when he indulged her.
“Hm. Thank you.”
The smell of cut fruit was intoxicating to her, more so than usual. She had heard of women craving peculiar kinds of food during their time as expectant mothers, so she supposed that this may have to do with the little dragon that she now grew in her belly. The rest of their time eating moved in a swift silence– a comfortable one. The only sounds they heard were of the servants in the corridors and the birds chirping from out the window.
When they finished, the trays were taken away and he got up, ready to leave to sit in on the council meeting that his grandfather had called him for. He was halfway out the door after nodding to her when she took his hand, and he stopped.
Her hands held onto his as tightly as they could, and she was skittish as she continued to look down at the floor. By now, he knew her quirks well enough to know that she did that only when she wanted to say something.
“Go on.” He urged her as his other hand reached for her too.
She drew in a sharp breath as she bit her lip. “I… I am with child, husband.”
She did not know what to expect from him of her news– but his silent sigh and slight smile as his hands reached down to cover her belly in his hold is enough of a reaction. “Thank you,” he said, his gratitude and happiness made obvious– to her, even if not to anyone else. She did nothing but smile as his forehead met hers in a soft touch– their touches were always passionate and rough while in the privacy of their chambers, so it was peculiar for her to be treated this way. She found that she enjoyed it, just as much as she enjoyed being roughly handled by him.
She then stretched the fingers of one hand, revealing a little silk patch, a little tourney favor with a rose stitched on it. A flower, from his little flower.
“I know you do not prefer tourneys, but… it is my hope that you would at least keep it with you while you train.”
His hands ran over the soft silk, fingers tracing the intricate patterns that she had clearly taken her time with. He was quick to smoothen it out and pocket it, following it with a kiss to her lips.
“Thank you, for everything.”
The favor was only meant for the training grounds. But a week later, when she found it peeking out of his pocket while they walked around the gardens, she smiled. Soon, she found out that he kept it with him all day.
Flowers came to Aemond in multiple shapes and forms throughout his marriage, and the fourth flower that she gave to him, came to him in the form of a favor with an embroidered rose, one that he kept on his person at all times.
There was something to be said about the comforts of silence.
Her husband was not a smiling man, nor was he an ardent conversationalist. Being a woman who leaned towards being both, she had begun their marriage with the intent of treading lightly, lest she annoy him or risk having him dismiss her halfway through. And she did try; Gods knew that she did.
Royal marriages were a sacred duty– those held in its sanctity would have to hold themselves to a higher standard, no matter how much it hurt them. With that being said, she was eternally thankful for Aemond understanding her preferences and trying to meet her halfway. She had been prepared for a man who would coldly dismiss her and her wants, but she had not been prepared for one that would actually want her.
One of the greatest pains of being born a noblewoman, she supposed, was that happiness in itself, was a privilege– one that she wished was not as such. She wished for it to be an easy thing to have, and as such, understood that she had been blessed with a quiet and peaceful marriage - one that did not take from her more than she was willing to give. It did not matter how many times she thought it over– she never failed to be as grateful as she was at the first realization, many moons ago.
These were her thoughts as she accompanied her husband in the library. Aemond sat opposite her, on the other side of the table with his finger running over the texts of the Summer and Winter Annals, deeply engaged in the knowledge that the book had to offer on the now lost Kingdom of Sarnor, once a famed trade partner of Valyria.
The fresh assortment of flowers lay haphazardly on her side of the bench, while she worked towards entwining them all onto the coir to make a crown. She often stole a glance at her husband as she repeatedly adjusted herself on her seat, one that was bigger than her usual one - to accommodate her, and the babe that she now carries.
An heir, a royal heir. There is dragon blood in you now, he had said.
She felt it, what with her babe’s constant reminders - boy or girl, the kicks were hard and swift, and it never failed to take her by surprise.
Aemond was a very fast reader, she gathered. His pages turned a lot faster than hers did, and his eyes never stuck to one part of the parchment for long - they flitted about and were restless, aiding him in his desire to learn as much as he can in the least amount of time. They have been married for half a year by now, and yet she manages to learn something new about him every day.
Her deft fingers worked through the stems of the flowers, piercing the sharp ends of the coir through them. In and out, in and out, in and out, she went - establishing a pattern that she ended up memorizing, whether she was cognizant of it or not.
Aemond stood up as he noticed a guard waiting near the doors, summoning him on behalf of the King. Her crown was now completely done, and she admired her handiwork as she twirled it in her finger and smiled. Aemond was now speaking to the guard as she ran the tip of her fingers over the petals. She brought it closer to her nose to smell them - the flowers were not as fragrant as they were once before, but there was a faint scent that she adored.
He nodded, and she could not help but smile again as he approached her. It struck her harder with each moment, how the Gods had blessed her with him - him with his infinite knowledge, calm disposition and otherworldly beauty. She wondered if the babe she carried would look like him - she hopes, hopes and hopes that they would.
He took the crown of flowers in his hands and handled it with the same care that she put into making it. It looked thoroughly out of place, yet so at home in his hands - much like herself.
A mildly happy lift at the edge of his lips caused a sharp dimple - one that made him look harsh, content and menacing at the same time. She may have wished for a Prince from the songs all the moons ago - but right now, she could not help but think that she had been blessed with someone greater, even if she knew that he did not believe it himself.
He placed the crown atop her head, crowning her. She remembered wishing he would crown her Queen of Love and Beauty at the twins’ name day tourney - but at this moment, as his fingers glided over her smooth hair to set the crown of white roses into place, she was happier than she could have ever been at any tourney.
“Escort the Princess safely to our chambers,” he ordered, after rubbing her growing stomach and giving her a kiss on her temple before going to meet the King. She stood slowly, and noticed that one unused and withering flower had been left behind. The air from outside the castle gushed through the windows, and it was purely by instinct that she grabbed it by the stem and placed it inside the pages of Aemond’s book before the pages flew - so it would be marked and he could begin where he left off if he so wished.
Long after her exit, Aemond came back to his bench after finishing his meeting with the King. He noticed the protruding stem, and he could not help but feel the warmth coarse through his chest as he opened the tome and found the withering flower pressed inside.
Flowers came to Aemond in multiple shapes and forms throughout his marriage, and the fifth flower that she gave to him came to him in the form of a dried rose, one that he kept tucked safely inside his favorite book.
It was moments like these that made Aemond believe in anyone but himself.
Being able to love someone blindly was not a gift that Aemond ever found himself capable of giving. Ever since the loss of his eye, he had grown to be full of spite and resentment, believing that having his dragon was enough to make the loss of company around him worthwhile. Nobody knew how to speak to him anymore– how does one comfort a boy who could only see half the world around him?
And then, she came to him. His wife.
With her free smiles and open heart, she had made her way through into the center of his. He found that he preferred her there, where she belonged. She had made her home in his heart, and he marveled at how despite not matching up to her in any way that mattered, she had found it in herself to allow him to take shelter in hers.
It brought him shame to think of how they could have fallen in love much sooner if he had been open to her affections and not been so wrapped up in his own presumed fallacies. But with time, he learned that in a world where marriages remained cold until the bitter end, a late bloom of happiness was a gift that he should learn to treasure.
It is a girl. Do not ask me why I believe so, husband. I simply do, she had said.
The tomes say a bigger belly is indicative of a boy. I read it, he had countered then.
He stood corrected. Aemond would tell the entire realm that his worldly knowledge did not stand a chance against his wife’s intuition– the little girl he held in his arms was enough support for his claim.
She slept soundly in his arms as he sat in his chair by the hearth. His wife, tired from her taxing labors, had taken to sleeping through most of the last three days, and he had not left his daughter’s side, not once.
He held her head as his mother carried her for the very first time, eyes shining in joy as she thanked them both for making her a grandmother once more. There were very few things that gave Alicent Hightower joy, and watching her children have babes of their own was one of them.
He rested the tip of his fingers over her smooth and frail silver hair as his grandfather took a good look at her, allowing himself a moment with his guard down. Aemond had not seen his grandfather look at anyone with such reverence, not unless it was Helaena, Jaehaera or his own mother. And now, Aemond suspected that his grandfather, for all his cold demeanor, did have a soft corner in his heart for the women of his life.
He had towered over the crib as the twins took turns gawking at her, after spending hours begging to see their new cousin. Aemond brought them after they promised to not make too much noise– both mother and daughter were fast asleep. Jaehaera had asked him if she could braid her hair when she grew some, and Jaehaerys poked at the new babe's nose (her mother's nose) with his thumb in curiosity. Aemond laughed, for he was intrigued by her too– only, it was better contained.
He held her tightly to his chest with his hand over her head as Aegon came to meet his newborn niece– completely sober and bathed, upon Aemond’s threats of murder if he came anywhere near his babe with his foulness. He smiled as he dropped the little dragon toy in her crib, looking over at the exhausted mother who could barely keep her eyes open. Aemond’s one eye followed his brother’s then, and visibly softened at the sight of his wife. Aegon laughed and quipped, “I never thought I’d say this brother, but I suppose you do wear the lovestruck look well.”
He had rocked her in silence as Helaena cooed at her, elated at the thought of becoming an aunt to a niece. This family is in dire need of more women, she had mumbled absentmindedly once. “She’s beautiful,” she whispered and Aemond enthusiastically agreed.
She is beautiful, and she is his. His own daughter, given to him by his own wife.
In the nights, when he was left alone with the women around whom his entire world now revolved, Aemond let tranquility take him. And it was in moments like these, that he learned to love them both with all that he had– blindly, and unconditionally.
It was in moments like these, that he learned to believe.
Flowers have come to Aemond in multiple shapes and forms throughout his marriage, and the sixth flower that she gave to him, came to him in the form of his little daughter. A little flower, from his flower.
The flowers kept coming to him throughout the many years that followed, and he valued every one of them– for they had all come from her, and they were all a part of her.
His flower. His wife. His very own.
NO TAG LIST. Please follow @randomdragonfics and turn on post notifications for all my fic updates!
MASTERLIST
#aemond targaryen#aemond targaryen x reader#aemond targaryen x you#aemond targaryen x female reader#aemond targaryen fanfic#aemond targaryen smut#ewan mitchell#aemond x fem!reader#aemond x you#aemond x reader#aemond x y/n#aemond smut#aemond fanfic#aemond targaryen fic#house of the dragon#aemond targaryen imagine#aemond fanfiction#aemond one eye#prince aemond targaryen#prince aemond#aemond targaryen x ofc#aemond targaryen x oc#aemond targaryen fan fiction#aemond fic#aemond#pro aemond targaryen#aemond stannies#aemond angst#aemond targaryen angst#aemond targaryen fanfiction
1K notes
·
View notes
Text
Teach Me
Aemond Targaryen x female reader smut (Rhaenyra & Harwin Laenor Velaryon's daughter)
After your family gathers in King's Landing for Maelor's name day celebrations, tensions build between in more ways than expected. A lesson in High Valryian from your uncle Aemond causes a mutual infatuation to bubble over.
w.c: 9,398 (i know)
c.w: SMUT 18+ , targcest (uncle & niece), NO use of Y/N, oral (m & f receiving), afab reader, foreplay, unprotected p in v sex, the slowest of slowburns to ever exist, mild aemond angst, but also kinda soft aemond(?), fluff to finish ofc, small implied age gap, reader is briefly mentioned to have Srong features, pet names (in high valyrian), use of High Valyrian all translations in text as it is spoken (E.G "Rytsa Skorkydoso glaesā?" (Hi how are you?)) (i didn't translate these everytime bc i used them a lot so: mandianna = niece (child of your older sister), iāpa = uncle), pls let me know if i've missed any
a.n: so this came from a post i did the other day, and @sinistersnakey9419 gave me the idea for this fic and it had me giggling and kicking my feet fr. also, this took me like a week to write because i kept adding more plot teehee.
dividers: @saradika ♡
It was a week into your families stay at King’s Landing. The Red Keep was a familiar place, but it was no Dragonstone. Your Grandsire, King Viserys, had made it his wish of his for his family to be together to celebrate Maelor’s name day which was to be a multiple day affair. And he meant all of his family, regardless of the fabricated tensions that divided you. As Rhaenyra’s second eldest and only surviving daughter, you felt an unspoken pressure to help maintain the peace between the brothers of the family. One side couldn’t help but torment whilst the other was quick to defend his family by any means. You missed being back on Dragonstone, but this was an exciting place to be. Days were filled with activities befitting of a young lady, and you enjoyed spending time with your Aunt Helaena – both of you appreciated a sisterly figure from within each other. There was one presence you couldn’t quite understand. Aemond. Your uncle had watched you closely since you first arrived, it had been a time since you had both seen each other. He had grown into a very tall and incredibly handsome man; he was more pleasing to the eye than he should be. His large frame and equanimous demeanour loomed over you, even from the other side of a room. His gaze stuck upon you like a hound tracking game. You couldn’t help but assume, like most other members of his side of the family, he held nothing but judgemental distain for you and your brown-haired brothers.
The mornings were always the same, Viserys had wished for you all to break your fast together daily. That had started to dwindle until the King had heard of it and demanded you eat together regardless of his presence. It was going about as well as it had the past week, Aegon’s head in a cup, Alicent on edge at every second.
“The maesters have been helping us with our Valyrian.” Spouted Lucerys, he was sweet, too sweet and sensed a smog of tension over the room. Rhaenyra smiled, appreciating your brother’s attempt.
“Let us hear it then.” Daemon announced leaning back in his seat.
“Rēbagon se gerpa kostilus.” (Pass the fruit please). Lucerys seemed impressed with his statement, Daemon seems confused for a moment before leaning forward and sliding the dish of grapes over towards Luke. A short scoff was heard from across the table, Aemond sat casually, smirk laden on his lips.
“Something the matter, Uncle?” Jacaerys spoke through slight gritted teeth. Aemond raised a hand in a defensive motion, smile still playing at his lips.
“What my brother wants to say,” Aegon peeled his face up from the tablecloth and took a swig of whatever was in his cup at this hour, “Is that your ‘High Valyrian’ sounded more like Old Ghiscari.” Lucerys smile faded as he looked to your mother for reassurance. You sighed, looking down at you half-finished plate as yet another verbal disagreement erupted between the men in your life. You rose to your feet with more haste than you anticipated causing your chair to wobble and crash onto the stone floor behind you. The room fell silent, and you felt everyone’s eyes burning into your skin.
Your gaze remained vacant, lingering on the table, “May I please be excused.” You were embarrassed: of your outburst, your family’s inability to get along, your uncles’ comments. Mostly due to the fact they were right, Lucerys’ nor Jacaerys High Valyrian was perfect, and it just added to the rumours that spread about your family. Your mother had barely spoke an ‘of course’ before you took your leave, nails digging crescents into your palms.
Leaves rustled beneath your feet as you paced the grass of the Godswood, it was always a small sanctuary of peace for it’s quiet and empty nature. You closed your eyes and let the sun beam down on your face, if you imagined hard enough you could feel the cold breeze from your balcony at Dragonstone. A harsh snapping of a twig pulled you from your thoughts, your head shooting up towards the direction of the disturbance. Aemond stood a few paces away from you, palm raised in a surrendering motion. You released a breath you had been holding onto, bringing your hands together to fiddle with the clasp of your bracelet. “I did not mean to startle you, Mandianna,” He took a stride closer towards you, hands clasped behind his back. “You caused quite a scene. For a princess.” Your eyes stayed fixated on the ground beneath the two of you. This was the first time you had ever been alone with Aemond, and he was being agreeable? It was hard to deny how beautiful he was, even just from the stolen glances towards him. You knew about sex, parts of what it entailed. From a few detailed paintings to the small snippets you overheard from the younger handmaidens. You hadn’t spent an awful lot of time thinking about it apart from when conversations of finding you a match came around. That was until this week, something about being around Aemond meant fighting away thoughts of him a regular occurrence.
Finally, after what felt like an eternity, you picked up your chin to meet Aemond’s stare. It was softer, and more inquisitive than his usual piercing gaze. Your stomach dropped as thoughts of him bending you over and fucking you right here in the Godswood clouded your mind, how his hands would feel over your body, his tongue across your neck and between your thighs, how it would feel him sliding – “Keli jiōraton aōha ēngos byka genes?” (Cat got your tongue little mouse?). You felt heat rising towards cheeks and across your chest as you tried to mask your raised heart rate. You were pretty sure Aemond couldn’t read your thoughts, but the small smile that played at his lips made you feel otherwise. Something about your close proximity, the way you could make out each detail of his face, and his intoxicating smell had muzzled you. Lips parted to respond but nothing came out. You felt helpless in the best way possible. “A Velaryon princess who can’t hold a High Valyrian conversation, you disappoint me Mandianna.” Aemond turned on his heel, briskly walking towards the wood’s exit.
Maybe it was the need to please, the burning between your thighs, or the fact he was no longer facing you, but the words escaped your lips before you could even process what you had said, “Teach me.” The small wave of confidence dwindled when he turned his head back to face you.
“Teach you?”
“Teach me what you think I should know, Iāpa.” You didn’t know how he would respond, nor did you know how you wished for him to respond. Aemond raised a brow and smiled to himself, your small use of High Valyrian and how your statement could be interpreted in many different made him intrigued to see where this would lead.
“Tomorrow evening, after supper. Meet me in the library’s reading room.” Without needing a response, he once again made his way out of the wood, leaving you flustered and equally excited, yet dread filled.
As supper slowly began to drew to a close, your excitement manifested in a small bobbing of your leg. Actual conversation rang out between small groups on the table, Lucerys and Helaena had included you in there’s but all you could focus on was keeping your thoughts clear. Everything about Aemond drew you further in his lips softly against his cup, the way his index and middle finger tapped along to the quiet music that had been played, but most of all the way he would catch you watching with a satisfied smile. You partially walked back to your chambers, before feigning forgetting a ring behind at the table, and insisting to your mother and Daemon that it couldn’t wait until morning. Part of you wondered if you shouldn’t have lied, there was a simple explanation: getting lessons in High Valyrian from your uncle Aemond. Except this would not go over well with your immediate family. For you could hold a conversation in High Valyrian, it was Aemond you couldn’t speak to specifically. You were actually quite proficient in High Valyrian, not as much as you’d hoped to be but a whole lot better than your brothers. Whether it was common tongue or Valyrian Aemond rendered you speechless, and now you were willingly walking into a situation where he had complete control. You knew for certain how much you longed for him, but other than glances you couldn’t figure out what he truly felt. Part of you wanted to be under him at every moment possible but if he didn’t feel the same, if his glances were all a trick, you’d be ruined.
After stepping through the library, you took one final breath before opening the heavy oak door to the reading room. It pushed open with a small creak to reveal Aemond sat at the desk, tattered book in hand. “I thought you might’ve gotten cold feet,” he closed the book and softly placed it on the table, “Come take a seat.” He arose, pulling the wooden chair beside him out from the table, allowing you to sit down. You nodded your head slightly before taking a seat, smoothing out any creases in your dress. Taking a moment to examine the reading room in the dark, you noticed the two brass cups and a wine jug, along with numerous High Valyrian scriptures and books with plain parchment and a fresh quill. Aemond himself was wearing his usual attire, except his black coat had been unbuckled a few straps, and the sleeves rolled up to his elbow. You swallowed, eyeing the wine. Everything seemed real of a sudden. You weren’t used to drinking wine, especially alone at night. Sensing your nervousness, Aemond picked up a cup and placed it in front of you, “Just because it is my drink of choice for the evening,” he poured a small amount into his own cup, “Doesn’t mean I expect you to partake, Mandianna.” You paused for a moment before shaking your head ‘no’ and sliding your cup away. “Very well, read this out for me, I want to hear what you can do already.” He relished in how you squirmed when he was close to you. You looked down at the papers in front of you, ‘Aegon the Conqueror, The High Valyrian Scriptures’. You knew all about Aegon the Dragon, but the words escaped you as Aemond stood behind you, left hand atop your chair, right hand holding up his weight on the table. You felt a few strands of his long hair tickle your shoulder, the closeness of him made you feel as if you could burst. “Go on then, read it.” He said, almost a whisper. His lips were so close yet still too far, you could feel the warmth of his breath when he spoke but not the softness of his lips on your skin. This is the type of torture that scribes should mention.
“Aegon I Targaryen iksin se ēlī āeksio hen sīkuda Dārȳti se-“ (Aegon I Targaryen was the first Lord of the Seven Kingdoms and-). You paused as Aemond moved from behind you to stand beside the table.
“I didn’t say stop.” His firm tone excited you more than you wanted it to.
“se dārys va se Dēmalion Āegenko.” (and king on the Iron Throne). You continued, looking up to Aemond for approval. He nodded before gathering up the papers from in front of you and holding them in his hands. Puzzled, you turned to face him “But-“
“Too easy, you know how the story goes, tell it to me in High Valyrian.” Aemond looked pleased with himself as he sat back into his own chair that now faced yours.
You looked down at the floor for a moment, before continuing “Ziry kithsair bȳre hen sīkuda Dārȳti se-ziry se-“ (He conquered six of the seven kingdoms and-he a-nd-). Yet again, your words escaped your lips as Aemond’s gaze wandered over your body, free to visually devour your form now you were not in the company of others.
He inhaled sharply and rose to his feet, “Valyrio Eglie iksis iā kostōba udrir, se ēdruta sagon spoken hae mēre. Aōha udra issi nākostōbā, ao ȳdragon tolī rāpa. Eman daor drīve geptot naejot dohaeragon ao byka genes.” (High Valyrian is a powerful language and must be spoken as one. Your words are weak, you speak too softly. I cannot help you little mouse.) His words came at you fast and rather harshly, you hated the effect he had on you, and you hated how he judged you for it. You searched his face for something more, surely all of this was not over, the yearning looks, the candlelight, the wine, did it not mean something more? As your mind raced you looked towards the floor and wished it would envelop you. Aemond sighed, and placed the scriptures that you had read from under your chin and used them to lift you face up towards his. Your brows furrowed slightly as you looked up at him standing over you. “You don’t understand do you Mandianna,” He chuckled softly, tilting you head to his will. “Nyke would qogralbar ao ēva ao could gaomagon daorun yn ilagon isse ñuha baer mirre tubis byka genes.” (I would fuck you until you could do nothing but lay in my bed all day little mouse.) He dropped the scriptures onto the table, taking his leave with such haste that you felt he air pass by through your hair. Once his footsteps dissipated you felt as your jaw went slack. The wetness grew between your legs as you squeezed your thighs together, attempting to relieve some of the mounding pressure.
Your heart thudded in your chest like a drum, you swiftly shut the door to your chambers and tried to steady your shaky breathing. After shedding yourself of your dress you made your way to the vanity and undid your hairstyle of the day. As your fingers worked between your hair you imagined Aemond’s large hands making their way through it, your fingers delicately glided across the crook of your neck before resting upon the warmth of your chest. If Aemond wanted to play games then you would gladly oblige, except this time you knew he wanted to play.
Your reading was interrupted by the ever-persistent King’s Landing ladies in waiting, you’d usually grumble except it was the first day of Maelor’s name day celebrations and you were taught the importance of good first impressions. Today would be important as Lords and Ladies of every great house would be there and you were yet to find a betrothed who was approved by the heir to the iron throne, your brothers, and Daemon, who once sent a young lord away teary eyed with embarrassment. You smiled to yourself as the ladies working on you bickered between what way to style your hair for the occasion. “What about something mostly up, with a few small braids, and the red gem hairpins? I think that’ll match the dress I picked out for tonight.” They glanced between each other, smiled, and got to work on your dark hair. Part of you was filled with excitement, it had been a while since you had an excuse to dress up, and it was even more thrilling at the thought of catching Aemond’s attention over all the other Ladies present. As the late afternoon rolled around you were finally considered presentable to the guests in the great hall. You eyed your reflection, your hair lifted to expose your neck and clavicle, dark fabric fitted to your shape with delicate blood red beading sewn into the neckline and down the sleeves finished with your gold jewellery pieces. Just as the ladies were about to leave you had an idea, “Wait! Do you have any of the rose perfume oil?” You spoke with a smile. A few knowing glances were shared between the two eldest ladies as a younger one brought over the small crystal bottle before dabbing a small amount on each wrist and on either side of your neck.
The rest of your family waited beside the towering doors of the great hall, “Finally, I thought we’d all starve.” Joffrey spouted with a huff earning a short laugh from Lucerys, a half shove from Jacaerys and a raised brow from Daemon. Your mother waved them off and placed her hands either side of your upper arms, “What a beautiful young woman you have become, my sweet child.” Rhaenyra looked upon you with great admiration as always. You smiled and squeezed her hand as you all stood together as the doors were slowly pulled open. You could feel your heart beating in your ears as the chittering in the room slowly dissipated and all heads turned to face you all. You bore a brave face following after your parent’s movements down the steps and towards the King’s table. After greeting the king, you were all seated, the family had grown rather exponentially since Rhaenyra’s wedding to your father Laenor which you had heard many stories about. You sat towards the outer curve to one side of the table, and out of the corner of your eye you saw Aemond, already watching you. So not to give him the pleasure of your gaze, you made conversations with your family next to you.
A short clearing of a throat pulled you from your conversation with Jacaerys, “I am Jorick Lannister, your graces,” He bowed his head towards you, “I was wondering if I may have the honour to ask the Princess to a dance?” He flashed his best smile at you.
You looked expectantly to your mother and Daemon, “If you wish to, then go dance.” Rhaenyra grinned, she gently touched her own elbow against Daemon’s, and he muttered something about there ‘being worse choices in the room’. You stood up from your seat, perhaps a bit too eagerly and walked around to the side of the table where the Lannister stood. He extended his hand, palm up towards you and lead you down the few steps to the crowd of dancers. You stood a pace apart and looked at the man in front of you, he was certainly handsome, dark blonde hair that waved towards the nape of his neck, gentle grey eyes. As you looked into them something caught your eye behind them. Aemond was alert, not sat in his usual laid-back posture with his cup resting in his hand on the arm of his chair. He was sat forward, stiff as a statue and boring daggers into the back of your dance partner. You swallowed as you saw the grip he had around his cup; it was solid metal but from the look on his face alone it could crumble. The music swelled as Jorick took your hand in his and placed his other upon your waist.
As you both moved across the floor, he leaned in to speak to you “How are you enjoying the capital princess.” Jorick spoke above the music.
“There’s a certain beauty to it, but I’d be lying if I said I didn’t miss Dragonstone.” You spoke with truth.
Jorick chuckled, “Ah yes, it is the perfect home for a dragon. I do believe you would grow to like Catserly Rock your grace. It’s no island but the coastline is just as harsh, I miss the sound of it when I try to sleep somewhere new.”
You heartily laughed at his statement as he twirled you in a circle. “I have said that ever since we got here! But no one else seems to understand it.” While he laughed and agreed in return.
Meanwhile at the King’s table, Aemond’s jealousy bubbled harshly. Already did he have a hard time resisting taking you into his arms and treating you as you deserved, but watching another man, a Lannister at that, hold you the way he wanted to, enraged him. He counted the guards in the room to simmer his anger, but then imagined fighting them off as he cut down every person between you and him and taking you into an embrace. He was completely and utterly enamoured with you, ever since he watched you climb off of your dragon from a tower of the Red Keep. Gone had the child he knew as a babe himself and was now replaced with a woman who plagued his thoughts. Your darker hair that framed your face, eyes that crinkled when you laughed and held so much emotion, the way you smile brought him an unmanageable amount of joy. He couldn’t hate you, no matter if he tried. At this moment, he wished for it to be simple. That he wasn’t your mother’s brother, that he was just a Lord of some other house, dancing with you and holding you close. A world in which he could have you, touch you, without bearing the reprehensible disappointment of his mother or the feeling of his heart being crushed right in front of him. He had once and for all had enough after the 6th eager meek had hovered around you after each song had finished to ask for your hand. Aemond rose to his feet and made his way to you on the floor with large strides dipping in between the guests. Queen Alicent watched him with worry, he wasn’t known to dance or partake in many festivities like these.
You parted ways with your last dance partner and smiled as you were approached by yet another Lord, “My princess, I am Erich Baratheon and I would love the honour of-“ He started before being cut off by the sudden appearance of Aemond: he’d brushed past the suitor on his was to you, not harsh in any sense but it definitely took you both off guard.
The broad Baratheon was dwarfed by not only the Targaryen’s height, but his mere presence also. “Perhaps is it my turn for a dance, Mandianna.” The request seemed so lewd and intimate coming from him, despite it being what would otherwise be an innocent dance between family.
“I was just asking the Princess for a dance. Perhaps you may dance with her after?” The Baratheon mustered his bravest voice, a touch deeper than it had been a moment ago. Aemond’s gaze lingered on you a moment longer before he turned his head round and down with a rather dramatic tilt to amplify the inches between the pair. From this angle you could fully admire his jawline and neck. You imagined kissing across his sharp jawline, travelling down to his throat. At this moment you were so overcome with lust you imagine grazing your teeth against it and biting gently just to release some tension. After a very short stare off on the Baratheon’s end, “Perhaps not, uh- goodnight, Princess.” He had turned to walk away before even finishing his sentence, leaving you and Aemond face to face on the floor.
“That wasn’t very proper of you, uncle.” You spoke above a whisper, struggling to hold back a small laugh.
“Luckily it’s not so expected of me.” His face bore a small smile. An actual smile instead of a sly all-knowing smirk.
“I didn’t take you for a dancer either.”
“Well, someone had to put a stop to the herd of sheep begging to stomp on your feet all evening.” You couldn’t help but chuckle in agreement. Some of the Lords had been nice, decent dancers, with something to say. Others spent their time ogling your exposed skin or asking about your inheritance. You could not deny as conversations lulled between some of them, you imagined you were in the arms of Aemond instead. As the music began to swell, he offered you his hand which you gladly accepted whilst his other hand tentatively made its way to your upper waist. As he led the dance, he never looked away from you, it felt as if you were slowly melting into him. Able to ignore the few judgemental looks and quiet whispers from the people around you and just focussing on the man in front of you.
Back at the King’s table, your interaction had not gone unnoticed. Alicent’s worry had faded, she knew you had always been a sweet girl. She looked over to Rhaenyra who had already been watching her to gage a reaction and the two exchanged a small smile each. “Mother, are sister and Uncle Aemond going to get married?” Joffrey asked in matter-of-fact way, causing Rhaenyra to cough on the wine that she had sipped whilst Daemon chuckled and ruffled his dark curls.
You’d made a mental note to thank the gods for the current song choice, a slower one. Your hands flush together as the two of you rotated and eyes never leaving each other’s. As the end of the song drew close Aemond’s body moved behind you, left hand upon your waist and right taking your hand in his and intertwining your fingers. The latter part was not a usual for this particular dance. Your breath hitched in your throat as you could feel the strength of his torso behind you. “You know uncle, I have been wanting more lessons in High Valyrian, I think a few more and we could really make some progress.” It wasn’t 100% a lie, Aemond definitely could teach you some High Valyrian, but it was mostly an excuse to be in private with him again.
“Really? Because you did so well last time?” You could practically feel the smirk on his face from behind you. “I know you can ask a lot nicer than that Mandianna.” You shuddered softly at the sensation of his voice so quiet, whispering into your ear. The music pace picked up as you glided across the floor, heart beating within your ears. As the instruments came to a halt, you felt a sense of weightlessness as Aemond dipped you and held you there, so low to the ground you felt the ends of your hair touch against it. You eyed him, brows raised and chest rising and falling, feeling fully in his hands.
“Kostilus, Aemond.” (Please, Aemond) The words left your lips in a soft way that travelled straight down his spine. You could not identify the emotion that swept his face as he swiftly brought you to your feet and ripped his hands from yours. His eyes shut briefly, his hands flexing into tight fist, you were not sure what had happened. As you reached out for his hand he stepped back and kept his eyes to the ground before making his way to the exit of the great hall. You called out to him softly, but he soon disappeared in between the crowds.
Confused and a little hurt, you made your way back to your seat and looked at the remainder of your meal that had surely gone cold. You felt your mother’s hand rest upon yours, and you looked to her and smiled weakly. “Where did your uncle go sweet girl?” She spoke softly and quietly, as to avoid bringing your brothers into it.
“He mentioned that he had to go for something.” Your lie wouldn’t have fooled a stranger, let alone your own mother, but she did not pry. She gave your hand a small squeeze and gave you the mother’s look of ‘I’m here if you need me’.
Aemond briskly made his way down the corridors of the Red Keep. His hands met the roughened wooden doors to a balcony as he pushed them open and felt the chill of the night air cover him. It was not enough as he felt is blood burn hot, coursing through his veins and the sight of you in his arms. Your hair cascading down past you, exposing your neck, the way your breasts filled out your corset and raised with your breathing. That damned perfume you wore and how it mixed with your scent had been a drug to him this night. Your eyes that stared up at him like a doe and looked at him like he was a god. He couldn’t help but remember your soft plump lips, the way they parted slightly when he looked your way, how you bit your lip whilst saddling your dragon and worst of all: how deliciously his name sounded coming out of them. He had not yet heard you say his name, but it being paired with such a submissive plead made it all the more torturous. He slowly breathed through his nose; head tilted back resting on the bricks. Aemond was too infatuated with you to ever hate your effect on him. His frustrations only grew greater the more he knew you. He was at a grand dinner, filled with every food and treat he could ever imagine, yet all he wished to taste was between your legs. He decided then and there on that balcony that his affections for you must go. ‘It should not be so painful’ He thought to himself, after all, you only had a few short days left in the capital.
The following day started even earlier, with the second day of the celebrations taking place in the gardens. You yawned into the palm of your hand and watched as the front side pieces of your hair were brought back and weaved into a delicate braid. “You mustn’t stay up so late princess!” The handmaiden fretted as she pulled out the dress you had chosen yesterday. You eyed it, before glancing towards the window to see the sun breaking out through the clouds, giving you an idea.
“It looks like it could really warm up in the garden under the sun, I was thinking of wearing this dress instead.” You lifted the dark berry coloured dress up in front of your handmaidens.
“I think you may get cold your grace.” One of the younger handmaidens spoke eyeing the dress, after a harsh glare from the eldest maiden she continued, “But you will look perfect no matter what!” She clarified with a nervous chuckle. You smiled at her in reassurance and allowed the cluster of ladies to dress you. Once they had finished arguing over minor details you stood back to look at your reflection. This was a dress you had never worn before, meant for particularly warm weather. It was an off the shoulder cut, that capped your upper arms with a tie. The dark coloured material was thinner than your regular dresses and the skirt flowed with any movement you made. After trying to sound as nonchalant as possible you once again asked for the rose perfume oil. After a few dots were dabbed on your wrists and neck, you thanked your ladies and placed the delicate bottle on the vanity. Once they had filed out you reapplied a few extra drops to your skin before dropping a small amount onto your fingertips and ran it through the ends of your hair. You looked beautiful, and hoped this would gain Aemond’s affections once more.
The garden party was a success from the get-go. Conversations bubbled, drinks were poured, and the food spread was something to marvel at. You were walking through the flowerbeds, arms linked with Baela, both of your laughs travelling from reminiscing on moments from your shared childhoods. “I heard you and Aemond caused quite the stir last night.” Baela giggled, nudging her elbow into yours.
“Word does travel fast in the capital,” You laughed. “And it was not a shared commotion, he was the one who left in a rush after we danced!” You reasoned with her; slight frustration apparent in your tone.
“And what a dance it appears to have been, they’d be able to smell you from Pentos.” You frowned slightly, wondering if you had overdone it today. She turned to face you, placing her hand over yours. “I jest of course, anyone would be lucky to catch your eye.” Baela’s smile was genuine and reassured your worries. You looked around the crowds of people once more, eyes fleeting from face to face. “He’s still not arrived yet.” Your eyes met hers once again as you both burst into loud laughter.
After much convincing from Alicent and a more silent encouragement from approach from Helaena, Aemond was finally making an appearance at the garden party. He thought to himself ‘What could a child so young possibly want with such celebrations?’ He justified his annoyance for his affections for you by dismissing the whole day, but being Maelor’s uncle he was expected to be there at some point. He was mere seconds into his arrival at the party before he overheard a distinct sound that made his heart sting. The familiar song of your laughter rang out from across the gardens. Every fibre of his being urged him to look for you, just to turn his head and see your face once more. Against all odds he kept his eyes trained on the floor and made his way to a quieter corner of the event in an attempt to go against his instincts and hide from you. He stood with his cup, fingers tracing across the details, a few feet away from the largely untouched array of desserts.
You grew frustrated as you looked around once more for your uncle’s presence. “Drink this, it’ll relax your nerves.” Baela handed you a cup with a dark red liquid in the bottom of it. “I know, wine isn’t for you, but this one is sweet! I think you’ll like it.” You nodded and took a sip, there was a slight burn as you swallowed it, but the fruity taste overtook it, and you nodded in agreement with her. As Baela and Jacaerys began talking intently you decided to have a look the foods on offer. You took another sip of your wine, the sweetness made you crave the sugared fruits the cooks always put out after dinner. After glancing over each table filled with every animal you could think of, cooked in every way. Your eyes made contact with a cake that was almost the size of you. Peering round the corner of the tent your eyes spotted something even more tempting. Aemond stood to himself, brows furrowed and finger lightly tapping against his cup in slight sync with the distant music that played.
“Uncle! I thought you were not going to make an appearance.” You tried to hide your excitement as you stepped into the tent and faced him. He seemed taken aback by the sudden presence of someone. His gaze shot up from the floor and lingered on your body, fleeting from your face to the way your dress fitted your figure. Just as he thought he’d mustered the strength to speak a light breeze rustled through the gardens and cascaded through your hair. ‘That damned floral perfume’ he thought to himself as he tried to hold his composure. After taking in her appearance once more, he noticed something unusual.
“I didn’t think you to be a wine drinker.” He spoke to you, his jaw clenched stiff.
You giggled slightly, “Me neither! But this one is Dornish, it’s a lot sweeter.” You took a step closer to him and held up your cup to him. “Would you like to taste?” You looked up at him through your lashes.
‘Yes’, He thought. “No.” He answered bluntly, “Thank you, no thank you.” His Adams apple bobbed in his throat as he answered, and you tilted your head slightly.
“Well, there’s plenty if you change your mind.” You smiled at him and turned towards the desserts table, various cakes, fruit pies, candied treats, decorated the large table.
You placed your cup and traced your finger across the end of the table eyeing the selection, you spotted your favourite sugared fruits. “I love these!” You exclaimed as you made your way over to the selection: cherries, berries of all kinds, plums, and peaches. You selected one of the peach slices and looked towards Aemond to find him watching intently. You popped the slice in your mouth and closed your eyes and exhaled a small ‘mmm’. You eyed the remaining sugar on your thumb and index finger. You looked into Aemond’s eye and popped the tip of your finger into your mouth and sucked the crystals off and releasing your finger with a pop. He muttered a short ‘gods’ to himself as he watched you round the table, another piece of fruit in hand. You faced him and held out the small piece of fruit. “You should taste it for yourself Aemond.” Something changed on his face, he looked down at you and slapped the fruit out of your hand and grabbed you by your wrist and led you out of the tent into the empty corridor nearby. “Uncle, Uncle!” You protested quietly once you were led far enough away to not be heard by guests.
“Let go,” you demanded, pushing his hand away. You eyed him as he turned away from you, breathing steadily, hands balled into fits. “Why have you dragged me out here?” You exclaimed in a hushed tone.
“Why have I?” He turned to face you, “Why have I?” He roared, stepping a pace towards you. Stepping backwards you felt the stone walls hit your shoulders. “It is you, you who has poisoned my thoughts ever since you got here, you who has made even existing in the same room as you arduous yet being away from you nearly impossible. You danced with every fool this side of The Narrow Sea and even then, you could not keep your eyes on them and not me. Calling me by my name. Now today-“, He furrowed his brows, remembering the sight of you in that tent. “Gods.” He whispered, running a hand over his face. “Do you really wish to torture me so?” He looked up at you, fragments of defeat washing over his face.
You pushed yourself away from the wall, taking a step towards him leaving an impossibly small gap between the two of you. “Nyke pendagon bisa iksin skoros ao jeldan hen nyke, Iāpa.” (I thought this was what you wanted from me, uncle.) His jaw remained tense, as slight confusion washed over him. You rose to the tips of your toes to whisper to him, “Hen aōha byka genes.” (From your little mouse.)
Without hesitation you felt his large hand cup the side of your face, his other snaking around your waist, the force of it pinning you towards the wall. His fingers brushed down your face, resting beneath your chin. His thumb tentatively ran across your bottom lip. Aemond leaned down to the side of your face, “Tell me to stop, tell me to stop and I will walk away.” His breath fanned over you; lips grazing against your neck. It took all of your efforts to not crumble beneath him.
“Ȳdra daor keligon.” (Don’t stop.) Your breath was shaky as Aemond brought his face to yours. You placed a hand against his chest and leaned up to kiss him before a rumble of distant laughter reminded you both of your current location.
He grabbed your hand from upon his chest and led you down the winding corridors of the Red Keep, your slippers tapping twice as fast on the floor to keep up with his long strides. As you both climbed the spiral staircase towards the chambers, voices rang out on the floor in front of you. Aemond brought you both to a halt, keeping his back against the wall and pulled your back towards him to avoid detection. “Why did we st-“ You started before feeling his large hand covering your mouth. He whispered a small shush into your ear. A heat spread across you face feeling a large bulge in his trousers, just above your ass. Once the footsteps had completely disappeared, he climbed the rest of the stairs, hand still firmly gripping yours. His spare hand pushed open the heavy door with such urgency, crashed against the wall beside it. He pulled you into his chambers, almost pulling you off your feet before only breaking eye contact to close and lock the door behind him.
He stepped towards you, unbuckling his jacket from the top. “Tell me to stop.” He once again commanded.
“No.” You spoke so quietly you weren’t even sure it had left your lips, but Aemond had definitely heard it. He pulled you close, keeping your bodies flush and brought a hand to your hair, pulling you closer. Your eyes fluttered closed as you felt his lips graze yours slightly before delving into a deep kiss. You struggled to keep up with his desperate pace at first, feeling overwhelmed a gasp left your lips in an attempt to catch your breath. Aemond pulled away ever so slightly before planting a small kiss to the side of your mouth and kissing across your jaw.
“Turn around,” He whispered. You did as he instructed and turned your back to him. His hands gathered your hair and looped it over your shoulder. His hands traced down your back to the satin ties of your dress, before undoing the bow. You felt as his pulled your dress down your arms, down your torso and heard it drop to the floor in a light whoosh. You felt exposed, this was your first time in just your undergarments around anyone other than your handmaidens, and a man at that. His hands moved to the lacings of your corset, undoing each loop as his eyes consumed every inch of new flesh he saw. He tossed your corset to the side and pulled the rest of your undergarments off, and your arms instinctively crossed your chest. Grabbing a hold of your hand, he pulled you around to face him once more. A low groan escaped his lips at the sight of you before bringing your face to his in a deep kiss. His body led you to the foot of his bed, your back hitting one of the towering bedposts.
You let out a small gasp as his lips left yours and latched onto your neck. His hand came to your jaw and tilted your head back to look up at him. “Ivestragon nyke skoros jaelā.” (Tell me what you want.) His voice sent a heat that spread across your body.
“I want you to-“ You started before he cut you off, fingers gripping your hair slightly.
“Daor.” (No.) He eyed you, thumb tracing your jawline.
You realised what he was requesting. Your brain sped through thousands of scenarios you could’ve imagined before settling on one. “Obūljagon.” (Kneel.) You spoke with all the confidence you could gather. His typical smirk returned to his lips as he scanned your face. He was not sure what he had expected you to say, but it certainly wasn’t that. A welcomed surprise, he sank to his knees in front of you. You watched as his lips peppered small kisses across your hips, running his hands up your thighs. He parted your legs and lifted your leg up and over his shoulder by the back of your knee. You gripped the footboard of the bed to steady yourself. An almost growl left his lips at the sight of your pussy mere inches away from his face. A sharp gasp left your lips at the feeling of his large fingers spreading your wetness from your core to your clit.
He brought one of his fingers to his lips and sucked the tip of it, watching your face intently. “Mmm, all this for me?” He grumbled rubbing the inside of your thigh at a painfully slow pace.
“Yes- Kessa, syt ao.” (Yes, for you.) You felt your pussy clenching, aching to be touched. His fingers moved to your pussy, teasing your folds before starting to slowly rub circles across your clit. You let out a moan, desperate for more. A smirk painted his lips, watching you in this state. Surrounded by the plush of your thighs, your small moans filling his ears, watching your nails dig into the footboard just to cope with the sensation. His middle and third finger slid down from your clit to the entrance of your pussy.
Your eyes opened and mouth parted to question the lack of contact before you felt his two fingers slide inside of you. You let out a loud moan at the foreign sensation. He worked his fingers in and out of you at slow pace, admiring as he watched them disappear into you, stretching you out and covering them in your slick. He left small kisses on your inner thigh, keeping his eye on your face. “More,” You pleaded in between moans. Aemond considered teasing you further, before giving into your request. His sped up his fingers pumping inside of you, increasing the tightening in your lower stomach. He admired your face screwed up in pleasure for one more moment before latching his lips upon your clit. A loud ‘fuck’ left your lips, and even you were partially surprised by the vulgarity of your language before all you could think about was Aemond’s tongue. He alternated between furiously licking and sucking your clit as his fingers pumped at a rapid pace inside of you. Your other hand moved up the bed post, gripping it for dear life as the man beneath you pleasured you. Your hips involuntarily bucked into his tongue as your moans grew louder and more frequent. A moan that left Aemond’s lips vibrated across your clit pushed you over the edge. You cried out his name and felt your pussy clench around his quick fingers. He continued to thrust them inside of you and delivered a few final licks to your clit, only stopping when your legs began to quiver. He slowly removed his fingers from your pussy and planted a final kiss on your clit, earning a shiver from you. He wiped the wetness from his chin with his cotton shirt before moving your leg off from his shoulder and rose to his feet and held his hand upon your waist sensing your wobbliness. He raised his fingers towards you admiring the wetness that coated them. He brought them up to your lips and you opened your mouth, feeling them run over your tongue towards the back of your throat. You sucked them clean, watching his expression from beneath your eyelashes.
Despite how hungrily he had attended to you, he looked at you like he was starved. “Better than any of the sugared fruits down there.” He gestured towards the window, and you blushed at his remark. Never had you been filled with such desire; you had just reached your peak on Aemond’s tongue, yet you needed more. His hand collected yours, as he led you over to his bed. His lips once again found yours as he pushed you towards the edge of the bed. The backs of your knees hit the bed and you plopped down. His lips left yours and you looked up at him expectantly. His fingers gripped the ends of his shirt before lifting it off of his head and tossing it with the rest of the discarded clothes. You eyed the definition of his chest, down his stomach and his arms that landed either side of your head, pushing you down onto the bed until your head hit the pillows. His lips latched onto your neck and eagerly kissed down your chest between the valley of your breasts.
“You do not know how much I have dreamt of this,” His large hand travelled up your side to cup your breast, his hand playing with the plumpness of it before his thumb ran over your nipple. “Moaning my name, naked in my bed, all needy for me.” His tongue traced the perimeter of your nipple before taking it into his mouth, massaging it with his tongue and earning another moan from you. Those moans that could sustain him for the rest of his life he was pretty sure.
“I also dreamt of you.” You spoke meekly, almost hoping he wouldn’t hear. He raised his head from your breast, brow raised.
“And what did you think about little mouse.” His smirk radiated off of him. You dreamt of him. The tightness in his trousers had become almost unbearable, but he needed to hear your sweet voice talking about him.
“I was touching you, a-and you were enjoying it.” You spoke, interrupted by a moan or two from his touch stimulating your nipples. He hummed a small ‘mmm’ in response before he moving off you and laying beside you, back propped up against the headboard. You turned to your side and looked and him inquisitively, his hand rubbed slowly over the bulge in his trousers and your mouth fell into an ‘o’ shape. He patted the bed next to his hips and you knelt facing him, unsure of what to expect. His hands reached for the tie of his trousers before you reached out and placed a hand over his. “Wait!” He looked at you with a hint of concern before you continued, “Can I try? And you tell me what you like along the way?” His jaw stiffened for a moment before he moved his hand to tangle in your hair and bring your lips to his.
You pulled your lips away from kiss and moved to kiss his neck. You started tenderly, mirroring how he had kissed yours as your hand slid down his chest towards his trousers. His breathing became more uneven as your hands touched him. Your hand fumbled with the tie of his trousers, struggling to undo it before you removed your lips from his collarbone to concentrate on the tie. He watched as your brows furrowed together, he felt as if he could finish at the sight of you. Beautiful and naked, trying so desperately to get into his pants. You finally undid the tie and looked up to Aemond with a sheepish smile, “I am not used to trousers it seems.” You giggled, and it seemed by reflex he planted a kiss on your lips.
“Dōna.” (Sweet) Your cheeks burned with his affection.
Your fingers looped over the hem of his trousers, and you pulled them down along with his undergarments as he lifted his hips slightly. Your stomach dropped at the sight of him, his cock was large and red at the tip. You froze for a second – the paintings and stories had not prepared you as well as you’d thought. You watched as his hand came to his cock and pumped it slowly a few times. His free hand reached for yours and replaced it with his own, “Just like this.” You followed the movements he had previously made, concentrating on trying to make him feel good. A small hiss brought your gaze back to his face to see his eye squeezed shut and hands gripping the sheets beneath him. You slowly increased your movements, enjoying the feeling of his cock in your hands, as you noticed a bead of precum spill his tip. Working on instinct you leant your head down and licked your tongue in a broad stroke across the tip of his cock, tasting him in your mouth. His eye immediately snapped open, “Don’t-“ He groaned.
“Sorry I-, I thought it would feel good like it did for me when you…” You trailed off searching his face. He panted, bringing your face to his. He placed his hand over yours and continued pumping his cock indicating for you to continue. He rested your forehead against his and inhaled deeply.
“It does feel good, great even, much too good.” You watched him confused, if it felt so good, why couldn’t you do it? “The difference between you and I, men and women, you may finish as many times as you please.” His voice travelled over you like honey, his free hand sliding down your stomach and rubbed his two middle fingers over your clit. “I may only once, for now, and I intend to do it in your sweet pussy.” His fingers ran small circles over your clit causing a flurry of moans to leave your lips. Your hand continued to run up and down the length of his cock, but it was hard to think straight when Aemond touched you.
“Can I feel your cock inside of me too?” Your question was genuine, if not laden with lust. It was all Aemond needed to hear before his hand reached your hip pushing you onto your back. He kissed you, hungrier than ever, barely giving you chance to keep up.
“Mirros syt ao.” (Anything for you.) He said in between kisses. He spread your legs apart, eyeing your soaking cunt, and stroked himself a couple of times before leaning over you, elbow resting beside your head. You felt as he ran his cock up and down from your clit to your core, a low groan leaving his lips. “Remember to breathe deeply, Dōna.” (Sweet). You nodded, unsure of what to expect. Aemond’s weight shifted, and you gasped as his cock slowly slid into you. Your brows furrowed as the slight discomfort slid away and was replaced with a new pleasure. His cock bottomed out, and you reached your hand to his cheek, pulling him in for a desperate kiss. He slowly started thrusting, the pace was painfully slow, but he was determined to make you feel good. As his pace picked up, his cock continuously hit a spot in your pussy that his fingers did not, causing a rather loud moan to escape your lips. “Mazemā ziry sīr sȳrī.” (You take it so well.) His praise caused a familiar tightening to start to form in your stomach.
“I love the way you feel.” Your moans filled his ears, fuelling him to go faster. His hand free hand snaked between your bodies and found your clit once more. His thrusts pounded into you, as his fingers diligently worked at your sensitive clit. The headboard begun to crack against the wall with each movement, not that either of you noticed. The quiet but delicious moans that left Aemond’s mouth were enough to ride towards your peak, the coil in your stomach tightening as you gripped your nails into his back. “Fuck! Aemond!” You exclaimed. His large cock filling you up and his fingers playing with your clit caused your orgasm to wash over you, feeling yourself tighten around his cock. His thrusts became quick and erratic as you rode out your high and his groans growing louder and more animalistic as he finished inside of you.
He panted, dropping to his elbow, and planting a small kiss upon your cheek, before pulling out of you slowly. You groaned at the loss of the fullness, missing the feeling of him already. Aemond lay beside you, pulling you by your hips to have your back against his chest. As both of your breathing slowly returned to normal you felt a small shiver run across your body, now aware of the breeze through the window. Aemond’s hand came up and ran up and down the length of your arm and pulled you close. “Is it possible to remain here all day.” You sighed, cuddling the blankets in front of you.
Aemond chuckled, “It is not our name day.” He planted a small kiss upon your shoulder. “But I do think people may notice both of our absences.” He spoke softly, with a small amount of his serious tone peeking through. You groaned, liking the feeling of being in Aemond’s arm, in his bed.
“Aemond?” You questioned, turning slightly to face him. He hummed a ‘hmm?’ in response, opening his eye. “Kessa gaomā bona run lēda aōha ēngos arlī gō īlon return naejot se rūklun?” (Will you do that thing with your tongue again before we return to the party?). A playful smirk returned to his face as he shifted above you on the bed.
“Va moriot” (Always).
#aemond x reader#aemond x you#aemond targaryen#aemond targaryen smut#hotd smut#aemond smut#house of the dragon#hotd#hotd x reader#aemond targaryen x reader smut#hotd fanfic#aemond argaryen x y/n smut#aemond imagine#game of thrones#game of thrones smut#asoif#asoif/got#fanfic#smut#aemond fluff#fluff#hotd aemond#aemond fanfiction#aemond fanfic#prince aemond#prince aemond targaryen#fluff smut#aemond targaryen x reader
587 notes
·
View notes
Text
❛ ♡. header credit. ⎯⎯ 𝐬𝐭𝐫𝐚𝐰𝐛𝐞𝐫𝐫𝐲. ❜
★ ⎯⎯ aemond targaryen has always wanted someone as his own; and with him already having claimed his vicious mount vhagar, the queen of dragons herself--- what is there to stop him from claiming you, too?
author’s note᛬ heey! 🍓 so……this is my second time posting this particular story--- however, it was a long time ago & someone anonymously requested to read it again. happily, i offered to repost it for them (with the exception that i re-edit it since my style of writing has changed / improved!) … anyways, reblogs & comments are deeply appreciated. ♡ + both aemond & reader are equally unhinged. <3 mwuah !
warnings᛬ mdni! smut, dubcon [kind of… but trust me, it’s wanted], dark!aemond, profanity, she/her pronouns, afab reader, innocence kink, corruption kink, coercion, manipulation, pussy whipped!aemond, breeding kink, cunnilingus, fingering, obsessive & possessive behavior, pet names, romance, fluff. any grammatical errors are my own--- in advance, i sincerely apologize.
word count᛬ 2.5k
𝐎𝐇, 𝐁𝐔𝐓 𝐅𝐎𝐑 𝐘𝐎𝐔, 𝑭𝑶𝑹 𝒀𝑶𝑼, 𝐈’𝐃 𝐃𝐎 𝑨𝑵𝒀𝑻𝑯𝑰𝑵𝑮.
aemond targaryen has always thought of her as his--- his to protect, his to care for, his to love; ever since he’d met her, he surrounded himself in her feminine presence, around her sweetness and innocence, keeping her close by and never letting her trail very far out of his sight.
unless, of course, it was absolutely necessary, and even then, he’d have one of his most trustworthy guards (loyal only to him) follow her around all day--- discreetly, of course.
however, during their short time apart, the one-eyed prince would be on constant edge; irritable and in a foul mood throughout the time that they were apart, not being able to trust anyone to truly protect his lady the way he knew he could.
oh, how he missed his dearly beloved so--- so much so, that the wayward prince was known for his brutal lashings and merciless beheadings (all a gift to his love) to all of those who merely breathed the wrong way in his proximity.
or simply, sweet gifts of pretty, sparkling sapphires and pearls.
still, he knew that she thought his temper and rage was charming, as she had once told him in that sweet, gentle little voice of hers, soothing his fiery temper as if she were the maiden reborn.
like his own little angel, so delicate, tender-hearted and mine, aemond thought.
sometimes, most of the time, aemond would just simply gaze at her, at her beauty, longingly; like she was the center of the universe and held all of the twinkling stars in the night sky.
most people wouldn’t dare to believe such a thing, but aemond thought it was cute when she learned something new in philosophy, excitedly wanting to share the new knowledge she’d learned from her septa with him--- even if he already knew, just to be able to listen to her sweet, angelic voice.
oh, and on those simple days, content to just listen to her babbling on about whichever subject she deemed of interest; he would lovingly hand feed her fresh strawberries, one by one; the ripest, juiciest and sweetest ones, listening as she breathily moaned in content as each one entered her pouty mouth.
meanwhile, as his little darling continued on about whichever subject interested her at the moment; the one-eyed prince watched in delight as the red juices dribbled down her chin, allowing him to quickly swoop in and kiss it delicately away, causing him to hum in content at the sweet taste.
whether it be from the strawberries themselves or the sweet taste of her skin, it mattered not to the prince--- because the next moment, he would drop to his knees and feast on her delicious, drooling cunt; burying himself right beneath her fluffy skirts as he heard her girlishly moan and whimper for him, as he continued enjoying the taste of her maidenhood.
on lazy days, the prince will sit with her in his lap, one of his strong, lean arms wrapped snugly around her waist, most protectively; meanwhile, his free hand would slip beneath her fluffy skirts and play with her virgin, soaking cunt, teasingly stroking his long, calloused fingers through her wet, puffy folds.
seven above, and the sounds of her soft, breathy little moans, almost luring him to bend her right over the wooden table in the back of the library and rut into her like some wild, depraved beast, claiming her maidenhead as his.
‘twas almost too much to bear for the prince, knowing she was already his in body, mind, heart and soul.
he always imagined what she must taste like that day, right before he would feast on her cunny, almost to tease himself--- like freshly baked sweet tarts, spoonfuls of honey, strawberries…
late at night, while in the privacy of his own chambers, he’d furiously fuck his fist to the thought of burying his face between her smooth thighs once again, wanting nothing more than to taste and fuck her cunt with his tongue greedily; before he’d come so fucking hard in his hand, his seed coating the skin of his taut abdomen and dripping down his fingers--- sticky and messy and entirely spent.
sighing heavily, aemond would barely resist the temptation to exit his chambers and go straight to hers, knowing she’d welcome him with an open heart and open legs.
…fuck, what a waste of his seed, he thinks, for he could’ve pumped her empty womb full of his seed; fuck load after load inside of her, and come by morning, she would already be carrying his son in her belly.
rightfully so; she’s be so beautiful, so fragile, so obedient, a perfect little wife she’d be for him, indeed.
meanwhile, back in the library, aemond would continue teasing her little cunny, occasionally dipping the very tips of his fingertips into her little virgin fuck-hole, feeling how fucking tight she was for him, causing him to harden almost painfully inside of his leather breeches, right below her squirming, little ass.
like his very own wanton, silk street whore.
she continued to moan and whimper repeatedly; making him gently shush her with delicate kisses across her neck, spreading her dripping arousal all around her swollen bud, hearing her mewl his name like a prayer and grip the polished library table forcibly, watching her blissed-out face until she came all over his fingers.
when he made her come so hard with just playing with her little bundle of nerves, he had to slap a hand over her mouth to muffle her cries of pleasure and whisper sweet praises into her ear, knowing how sensitive and needy she was in his arms, just after coming down from her peak and making her come so hard on his fingers.
of course, the more time he spent with her, the harder it was to resist her--- and so, most nights, when aemond could no longer resist being away from her; the need to see her being just too much for him to bear any longer, he’d eagerly seek her out, knowing she’d be in her chambers, awaiting his arrival.
just as eager and wanton as he was, it seemed.
smirking, aemond chuckled softly, embracing her; “my sweetest, my darling, my little love--- fuck, i have missed you.”
he couldn’t control himself anymore, he needed to see her, to be with her, to have her.
always.
specifically, in the late hours of the night, wanting to be as close to her as physically possible; fuck, he loved her so much, he didn’t ever want her to doubt his love for her--- he stripped them both of their evening clothes, his amethyst eye dilated and wild at the sight of her nude form.
during those private evenings, aemond had convinced her for him to claim her as his… fully, in the ways only a man could claim a woman.
with his persuasion, his silver tongue easily convinced her into saying yes; causing him to release a purr and claim her body multiple times that night, until she was a shaking, sobbing and sweaty mess beneath him, full of loads of his seed, while he held her tightly against him in his arms--- possessively.
uncaringly, the prince left all sorts of love marks all across her skin, kissing every inch of her soft, glistening skin that he could reach, suckling on her swollen, puffy nipples, knowing her plush breasts would soon grow heavy with milk for their many babes that’d come someday soon.
selfishly, just maybe; he could persuade his little darling for a taste for himself--- fucking hells, he couldn’t wait for her to grow round and fat with his sons!
insatiably, he would fuck his already hardening, leaking cock back inside of her sopping cunt, his and her own moans of pure love and ecstasy echoing off of the walls of her chambers.
however, even with all of the bliss and pleasure and love; still came her doubts and worries.
his sweet lady, his precious love, his only girl--- was utterly terrified of someone finding out about their affair.
however, the fearsome, bloodthirsty dragon prince would always reassure her; whispering sweet words of his love and devotion into her ears, calming her by kissing her love-marked skin before he would fuck her squelching cunt once again with his cock, ploughing into her mercilessly, filling her with another load of his seed, until tears would stream down her blushy cheeks.
unable to stop herself, she’d let out the most feminine moans for him, not being able to control her sweet mewls from escaping her kiss-swollen lips, sobbing out deliriously as he continuously fucked her ruthlessly, uncaring of who heard them; for the one-eyed prince was too addicted to the taste of her and the pretty, precious sounds she made just for him.
it wouldn’t matter anyway, if anyone were to find out about their love affair--- aemond genuinely honestly couldn’t give a fuck if someone were to tell her lord father that her maidenhead was claimed by him anyone.
if anyone would dare to question his lady’s virtue or purity, he would cut out their tongues, before mercilessly killing them and feed their mutilated corpse to his mighty beast, vhagar.
aemond had always been a possessive man, especially when it concerned his sweet little lady, to the point that most of the noble lords and ladies of the court started to take notice; however, the fearsome prince paid them little attention--- nowadays, his only concern in life was his darling little bride.
some days, when the weather was warm enough and the sun was shining brightly, aemond would take his lady on long walks around the red keep’s royal gardens, right after he finished his morning training session with ser criston.
as always, it was just the two of them, together; and while he watched her instead of admiring the pretty flowers that she seemed so smitten by, he couldn’t stop the tiny grin from spreading across his face at just the mere sight of her.
her, her, her.
his--- his lady, his woman, his wife.
there was a secret, hidden alcove surrounded by various cherry trees and gorgeous pink peonies, which aemond would often bring her to visit; it was almost as if it was their special spot.
then, without warning, aemond would gently press her back up against one of the trunks of the pretty, blossoming cherry trees, kissing her so sweetly, so passionately, so tenderly; it made her swoon and see constellations on the backs of her fluttering eyelids.
“marry me.”
suddenly, she felt as if her heart had suddenly stopped beating and she felt rather faint--- for a moment, her heart felt as if it had skipped several beats, because surely… her sweet aemond did not just ask the impossible of her?
again, aemond spoke.
“marry me,” he murmured against her soft, perfumed skin (that smelled of the lavender oils they’d previously bathed in that morning together) trailing open-mouthed kisses along her sensitive neck, causing a breathy whimper to escape her pretty, pouty lips.
instantly, aemond’s ears had perked up to the sound of her breathing that was quickening, his large hands roaming and grasping at her sides as if to soothe her sudden panic, enjoying the feeling of her womanly curves against his big hands, even through the silk fabric of her pretty, sapphire colored dress.
“hmm…no,” she drawled lazily, though her sweet voice was teasing, “—my father is suspicious enough already about all of the rumors going on about us…he doesn't ask, of course; i’m afraid it’s because he is too frightened of you,” she giggled softly, batting her long eyelashes up at the handsome prince.
aemond smirked, amused by his little darling.
“besides,” she continued softly, her usual sweetened voice saddened and aemond watched as his lady’s heart was visibly breaking right before his own eye, “—my father… he will arrange a betrothal for me soon and i must do my duty, as is expected of me,” she whispered, while gently twirling a few strands of her lover’s long silvery hair around one of her fingers, her face sullen--- like a little girl having her favorite treat taken away from her.
aemond hummed; a soft, dangerous sound as his face remained stoic, not displaying a single emotion that he was currently feeling--- his natural-born eye on the other hand…was a raging storm of a dark, angry violet, screaming promises of fire and blood.
“that'll never happen,” aemond murmured softly, his voice a raspy baritone, completely unbothered, “—if your father even dares to try and take you away from me, he'll suffer a most painful death; i assure you, my sweet lady.”
her heart fluttered, both of her cheeks heating up and her head began to feel fuzzy, a dreamy expression forming on her pretty face; though she wasn’t sure if it was from the warm weather or by his loving, murderous words.
“you're so sweet,” she cooed dreamily, smiling up at him as she wrapped both of her arms around his neck loosely, her fingers gently brushing through more of his long silvery hair, feeling how silky-smooth the strands were--- curtsey of the queen, his darling mother; a sweet gift of scented oils she had gotten for her favorite son all the way from pentos.
“only for you, my beloved,” the prince promised, tenderly brushing his knuckles along one of her rosy cheeks, bending down towards her shorter height and capturing her rouge-stained lips in a sweet, deeply passionate kiss--- a deep, throaty sound of lust escaping from him.
ah, she tastes of the sweetest of innocence and strawberries.
his favorite.
‘twas as if the prince could never get enough of her taste, of her.
sweetly, she releases a little whine, high-pitched and so needy for him; the sweetness of a poisonous kiss--- oh, how he wants to love her forever and bathe in all of the glorious love she had to offer him.
gods, he loved her… only, only, only her.
“my angel, so soft and pure, so innocent; and your precious heart… it is mine,” he growled, deepening the kiss against her lips--- his large, warm and calloused hands began trailing down to cup her sweet, little ass through her skirts, bundling the silky, sapphire colored fabric in his greedy hands to fondle and squeeze the soft flesh of her asscheeks; pinching and clutching possessively.
grinning wolfishly, aemond trailed his open-mouthed kisses down her delicate neck, suckling freshly new love marks into her fading, bruised skin--- all across her neck, jawline, collarbones and the very tops of her soft, perky breasts.
“marry me,” he asked once again, sounding impatient, though he wouldn’t mind begging, if it only meant claiming her for himself.
she wrapped her arms around his neck more snugly, standing on the tips of her toes to kiss him sweetly, all across his chin and the corners of his mouth, feeling his hands roam freely all over her once more before settling still, giving her backside a loving squeeze.
“be my wife,” he pleads once more, his tone of voice more desperate than ever before, sweet as sugar and the burning flesh of corpses.
she released a small sigh, moving closer just slightly so that she could brush her saliva-coated lips softly against his own, “yes,” she breathed lovingly, feeling as he visibly shuddered against her just from her mere acceptance of his begging proposal.
“i’ve always been yours.”
fin.
#꒰ ⋆ ♡⃘ 𝗇𝗈𝖺’𝗌 𝗐𝗈𝗋𝗄𝗌. ꒱#house of the dragon#aemond targaryen#aemond targaryen x reader#aemond targaryen imagine#aemond targaryen smut#aemond targaryen fluff#aemond the kinslayer#aemond one eye#prince aemond#aemond fanfiction#aemond fanfic#aemond smut#aemond fluff#hotd aemond#hotd imagine#hotd x reader#hotd x you#hotd x y/n#hotd season 1#hotd fanfic#hotd smut#unhinged!aemond#ewan mitchell
1K notes
·
View notes
Text
You see Aemond's eye
English is not my first language, be kind.
Modern!Aemond x fem!Reader
You are in a relationship with modern!Aemond
Warnings: pure smut with a bit of fluff in the end
Aemond groans, as he squeezes her hips with his hands, as she keeps on jumping up and down his cock. He clenches his jaw, throwing back his head at the beautiful feeling of being inside of her once again. Her breasts were jumping up and down in front of his face, still covered by her bra, her hands beside his head, her head thrown back. He looks at her face, contorted in pleasure and a bit of tiredness as she keeps riding him, moaning every time his cock slips back in, rubbing just the right spot inside her.
He moves one of his hands to tug down harshly the cup of her bra, letting one of her breasts out, so he could lean towards it to suck her nipple in his mouth. She moans even loudly and she sits on his cock, swaying her hips back and forth, as she puts one of her hands behind his head, keeping him close to her breast. He grunts and grabs her ass tightly enough to be leaving bruises later, and he starts moving her so she resumes her previous movements, forcing her to take his cock in and out, as he watches how she wonderfully does so, with his mouth half open.
“Yes… Fuck- That’is, baby- Just like that.” He moans as she nods and follows his pace. He let one of his hands away from her ass to bring it to her exposed breast, squeezing it, then twirling her nipple between his fingers.
“Oh- Fuck, A-Aem-Aemond!” She moans loudly and he smirks. He squeezes the skin of her ass even tighter as he stops her movements, fixing the cup of her bra as he puts his hands back on her hips, keeping her still. He plants his feet on the bed and start thrusting his hips up, fucking her from below, his eye glued to where their bodies combined so wonderfully. She moves her hands on his chest to keep her balance and she looks down at him.
“A-Aemond- S-so good..:” she mumbles as he just keeps speeding up, going inhumanly faster. The room was filled with dirty sounds, the sicky sounds of her juices that wetted his crotch, her moans, sobs and whimpers, and his grunts or heavy breathing.
She kept looking at his face, she loved to drink up every expression of his, all the time, in bed, out of bed. She couldn’t stop looking at him, finding every single detail of his face incredibly beautiful. Except for one thing. They’ve talked before, and almost every time, it ended up disappointing for her. His eyepatch. She had asked him on many occasions why he never took it off with her, why she couldn’t see how he was underneath it, and he simply answered that she wasn’t ready, that she would have been disgusted by what she would have seen. Hearing him saying such things about himself always broke her heart, so she would just drop the conversation with a sadden smile.
“I’ll fuck you untill morning, baby- Fuck, if it feels this good it’ll be worth feeling my cock fall off-” He grunts as he grabs the back of her neck and pulls her down on his chest. She hides her face in his neck, trying to cover her moans on his skin, but he slapped her ass, leaving a red print of his hand on it.
“Don’t. Let me hear you. Let everyone hear how good I make you feel.” he growls, as she presses her forehead on his neck as she tries to get a glimpse of the sight of his cock entering her repeatedly, but due to this position she couldn’t, so she just closes her eyes and moans again, clenching her hands on the duvets under them, squeezing them in her hands as she just kept taking whatever he gave her. He takes off his hand from the back of her neck and he slips it between them, searching for her breasts again, so she takes the occasion to sit back up as he keeps pistoning his hips up.
The stamina of this guy was something she just would never understand.
She puts her hands back on his chest, passing her fingers over his nipples, and she looks back at his face. His lips parted, his rapid breathing and his expression of struggle, pleasure and determination. He grunts and throws his head back as he closes his eye, the scar wrinkling the skin around it, the eyepatch moving slightly. He probably didn’t even notice, but she did. She puts her hand on his scarred cheek, caressing it, as he immediately opened his eye to watch her attently. Giving her a few harder thrusts to warn her, that made her sob harder, almost taking her breath away. She fixes his eyepatch over his eye and she leans down to kiss his chest, keeping her hand on his cheek, sitting back up after.
Aemond’s thrusts were getting harder and quicker, a sign that he was about to cum. She looks back at his face and he sees his pained expression as he tried to hold back, feeling her walls starting to squeeze him, knowing that he was just building her orgasm up. She bites her lip as he keeps looking at his face, and even if she knew that what she was about to do was really wrong, she couldn’t refrain herself, so she moved her hand and slipped his eyepatch off. She met blue.
He was… beautiful.
His lost eye has been replaced with a blue sapphire gem, his eyelid a bit wrinkly and red at the edges. But that eye, that gem… Aemond widened his eye, shocked by her action. How could he be insecure of such a sight? God, she was so lucky, she was in heaven, she felt the highest, knowing that she get to be fucked by him, touched, kissed, by him. She was flattered to even be close to him. She kept staring at him, and after finally having revealed to herself what he looked like, all she could do was just cum. She collapsed on top of him as her walls spasmed violently, never having cum this hard in her life, she just felt wonderfully, hugging his neck close to her as she let out the loudest moan.
Aemond clenches his eye close as he moans back just as loud, her walls sucking him so wonderfully that his legs just fail him when he finally lets himself cum. She puts her hands on the sides of his face as she presses her lips on his. He sighs and kisses her back, pushing her away almost immediately. She pulls away and looks at him with her lips pressed together.
“I-I’m so sorry…” She was panting, her whole body was shaking.
“Why did you even do it?” He growls as he puts his eyepatch back on, but she grabs his wrist to stop him.
“No! Please, I’m really sorry I did it like this, but please, Aemond, don’t wear the eyepatch again.” She begs him. He growls and he pulls his wrist away from her.
“What makes you think you have the right to ask this, uh?!” He was angry, he felt betrayed, and he had all the right to be, she knew it.
“Aemond… I know I-I shouldn’t have, but… You’re beautiful.” She ends up whispering her last two words. He looks at her as if she was a madwoman.
“You should be disgusted.” He hisses at her and she furrows her brows.
“Disgusted? Aemond… who told you that? Your eye is nothing to be disgusted by.” She felt her heart break into pieces at his words. He just fixes his eyepatch on his eyes and looks away from her.
“No one.” He answers coldly. She presses her lips together, feeling her eyes filling with tears. She moves off of him and lays beside him. Aemond was stubborn, what he said, he had to do. She felt it was worth it to try again.
“Aemond…” She puts her hand on his cheek, turning his face towards her. She met his glacial gaze, the one he usually reserved for strangers. It sent shivers down her spine, mixed with pure fear. Did she just ruin everything? Only the idea of losing him made her want to cry and beg him on her knees. She takes a deep breath to not burst into tears.”P-Please… You’re perfect… you’re the most beautiful person I’ve ever seen…”
His expression softens as he sees her tears, and he sighs in frustration, pulling her close, making her lean on his chest as he wraps his arm around her.
“Did you cum for my eye?” He asks so shamelessly that she blushed violently, even though it was nothing she could deny. She slowly nodded her head, looking down at her hand resting on his chest. He heard Aemond moving, then his hand came in her view field, holding his eyepatch. He was giving her his eyepatch. Her head snaps up, looking up at him. His cheeks red in embarrassment, as he was looking away from her. His eye uncovered. She smiles softly, wiping away her tears, as she leans on her elbow to look better at him she puts her hand on his cheek again, turning his head to her. He was so pretty, his cheeks flushed, his gaze drifted to the side, as he refused to meet your eyes.
“You’re beautiful.” She repeated, smiling at him. His cheeks only reddened more as he clenched his jaw.
“I don’t get you. How can you enjoy the sight of any of this?” He answers and I rest my chin on top of your chest, admiring your face.
“I just do. Simple as that.”
He finally looks down at her and he caresses her cheek with her thumb.
“I don’t think I would have ever been able to take the eyepatch off in front of you. I guess it was a good thing that you did it for me.” He says as he looks at her, his mind strangely calm. She leans towards his hand as she closes her eyes, enjoying the feeling of his soft touches.
He grabs her by the back of her neck and she brings her up to his face so he can kiss her. She immediately wraps her arms around his neck, pulling him closer as he rolls to get on top of her. He looked at her, smirking. Her reaction to his eye gave him a huge boost of confidence.
“I won't cover my eye again when we are alone, I promise.” She smiles back at him at his words. He smiles devilishly then he adds:
“Especially if it makes you cum that hard.”
#aemond targaryen fanfic#aemond targaryen fanfiction#aemond targaryen x reader#aemond targaryen x you#aemond x you#aemond x reader#aemond smut#aemond targaryen smut#aemond fluff#aemond targaryen fluff#aemond fanfiction#aemond fanfic#aemond fic#aemond targaryen fic#modern!aemond#modern!aemond targaryen#modern!aemond x you#modern!aemond x reader#modern!aemond targaryen x you#modern!aemond targaryen x reader#modern aemond#modern aemond x reader#modern aemond x you#aemond imagine#aemond targaryen imagine#modern aemond targaryen#modern aemond targaryen x you#modern aemond targaryen x reader#hotd x reader#hotd fanfic
575 notes
·
View notes
Text
These Tender Hearts Beat as One
Aemond x widowed!female character
Summary: Aemond reunites with his childhood friend, a former ward of his mother || Word Count: 7k || Warnings: too much fucking backstory lol, p in v sex, breeding kink
Aemond could always tell when his mother was stressed. Out of all her silver-haired children, her second son had seemed the most adept at knowing before she even knew herself. All that remained was for him to discover the root of her worries, and calm her ever-heightening nerves if he could.
When Aemond was stressed, angered or oftentimes merely bored, nothing truly compared to the feeling of riding Vhagar, splitting through the air above King’s Landing to stretch her large, tattered wings. His beloved dragon appreciated the exercise in any case, restless from her days fought in wars, it was some consolation for him that flying was just as therapeutic for her as it was for him.
But when his dear mother was stressed, it was rooted in self-destruction, picking ceaselessly at her fingernails ‘til they were bloody and sore. And though he bit his tongue, not wishing to replicate the behaviour of his grandfather, sometimes it felt near impossible not to say anything, not to ask what was on her mind. So that whatever was swirling around her head with panic, could instead be shared out, and therefore less weight for her to carry.
Had Aegon done something perhaps?
Was there more trouble with Rhaenyra?
Or perhaps his father had said something to upset her, which seemed the most likely. Even in his sickly state, he was still capable of unknowing cruelty.
Even at five and ten, Aemond understood this.
His mother remained quiet, and it was not ‘til he sought out the company of his dear friend, that the truth became clear.
She had been his mother’s ward for little more than three years, and already Aemond had witnessed her enter the Keep as a clumsy, loud child and blossom into what many would consider a young woman already grown, though she was little older than Helaena.
Her age in comparison to him had never once strained their friendship. In fact, at first, when Aemond was still freshly scarred emotionally by the trauma of losing his eye, he had remembered clapping his lone eye on her and scowling, thinking of her little more than a quarrelsome child.
And, as Aegon had put it, ‘aggressively annoying’.
Which, at the time, was true enough. And yet it did not deter her from trying, Aemond would allow her the compliment of that.
She was much like him, a child created and born as a sort of secondary plan in case the first did not come to pass. A mere second daughter, and not only that, but bumped even further down the chain by her three older brothers, the eldest already wed with several children of his own. It was made abundantly clear by her own parents that she was merely another nuisance and therefore when placed into the care of the Targaryen royal family, the look of relief on their faces somewhat angered him, coupled by the manner in which they left with a goodbye that rivalled his own father’s attitude towards his children.
His empathy for her situation had drawn him to her, despite his stubbornness in wanting to pretend he did not crave friendship, especially from a girl. And her own stubbornness surprised him when he discovered she did not blindly seek the acceptance of any similar-aged child, she set her sights on Aemond alone and did not relent until eventually, he came to her instead.
He found a camaraderie with her that he had yet to find with his other siblings, feeling very much like friendship with her was more natural and spontaneous, where the ones with his family were calculated, planned and rooted in a cold necessity to keep up appearances.
Not that she cared much for appearances.
Her Septa berated her for what seemed like every other day for turning up to her needlepoint lessons with dirtied skirts and stray petals in her tangled hair, all from chasing one another through the bushes of the Keep to find some entertainment. Yet, even in the face of punishment, her smile never faltered, and insisted that it was all a bit of fun.
She somehow managed to inject her bright personality into his otherwise darkened life.
Because of her, there was beauty in everything. There was serenity in sitting in the Godswood and watching the petals settle in the breeze that ran past his neck and made him shiver. There was a startling allure when he introduced her to Vhagar for the first time and her hand ran across her darkened scales, seeing her expression lift in sheer wonder, experiencing her bewilderment as if it were the first time. And there was virtue in the innocence of their relationship, and how his heart began to swell with a childlike sense of belonging in her.
The unconditional power of her friendship he was sure was all he ever needed. In the way she always uttered, dragged away for her lessons in etiquette, but beaming at him.
‘My friendship is always yours,’ she would say, like a mantra.
‘Just as mine shall always be.’
He thought for a long while that he was the most hideous person in this world, not least since Aegon had dragged him to the brothels only a few years before. And yet when he shared a chaste kiss with her under the Weirwood tree. Clumsy and impractical and yet all magical all at once, he thought that when he was older, stronger, he would ask her to be his wife.
Aemond could feel the anxiety seeping off her as soon as he stepped into her chambers. Like she had a lot on her mind but not the courage to open her mouth and say it.
“What is it?”
His heart lurched into his chest when she lifted her head, swallowing her feelings and taking a deep, shaky breath.
“My sister has succumbed to a fever. She is dead.”
Aemond sighed, as if absorbing her grief. But when he took one step forward to comfort his friend, she shook her head, “there is more.”
Her tone of voice alone was enough to set every nerve on edge. Aemond stood as if stuck to the flagstone floor, and realised that the once clumsy, small girl he had once known was acting very much like a young woman now. Worlds apart, despite being stood before her.
“I am to honour the planned betrothal with Lord Lefford, under my father’s orders.”
It was the only moment Aemond remembered wanting to vomit with nausea, he had not felt such churning in his gut even on the day he lost his eye.
She sat, looking at him as if to gauge his reaction to the news, knowing perhaps in her own heart the feelings that were shared between them. And Aemond felt his churning nausea turn to anger, at how easily she had allowed her will to be broken by a command from her father, which in his opinion, she need not obey. She was, after all, a near half a decade younger than her sister, and the man in question older than her own father.
How could she have given up like this so easily.
“You will go through with this?”
He did not mean for his tone of voice to appear accusatory, but when he saw that wide-eyed helpless expression, he knew immediately it had.
“I can hardly argue with my father, Aemond.”
He felt his fists clench hard in his hand, fingernails creating crescent shaped indents in his flesh that reddened, his reply is stiff, “you simply act as if you have no choice in the matter.”
“Not all of us get one.”
“You cannot leave.”
“I must,” she insists, her voice breaking somewhat at the look of disappointment and betrayal on his face, “please do not make this more difficult than it already is, Aemond.”
“I am not the one making this difficult,” he replies flatly, his head throbbing with an incoming migraine, “If you are as much my friend as I am yours, you will not leave me.”
She could feel herself stepping towards him, drawn by some invisible force for comfort that he was not yet providing. She knew he could be capable of being cruel, but to be on the receiving end after all they had gone through was heart-breaking.
And though she was a year his senior, standing so small before him, she felt so much a child.
“Aemond, please-” she begged, reaching out for him and wincing when he pulled away, his brows drawn together in disgust.
“Marry him and I shall never speak to you again.”
Her hand dropped to her side as if limp, as if all life had drained from her body as well as the colour from her face. Her lip quivered, “you can't mean that.”
He looked in her eyes, the raw grief of watching her slip away filling him with an unmistakable bitterness, though for what? Her? Himself? Their friendship? He could not put it into words.
“I mean every word.”
That is the last memory he has of her, looking every bit as broken as he'd intended her to feel. In the days that followed, as her family arrived once more to steal her away, Aemond felt the gnawing grip of regret when he chose not to see her off at the courtyard, watching from his window as she scanned the space around for her good friend's presence and didn't find it.
It was then Aemond began to hate himself for every bit of cruelty enacted against her from him. Her carriage disappeared into the distance until it was nothing, leaving a pit of pain in his heart.
Not a day passed that Aemond did not at least think of her and wait for any correspondence to arrive, with his name etched into the paper in her curved, feminine handwriting.
But as he'd feared, she had taken his words to heart, and no letter ever arrived, and eventually, it felt no use counting the days and moons since he'd last seen her.
The guilt would eat away at him for years, the memory of her pained expression etched into his vision. Even as he grew into a man, it would never fully fade, though he was quick to tell himself that he shouldn’t care, that she was no longer the same girl he had loved so much, not since she chose her own fate.
In an attempt to fill the hole she'd left behind, he busied himself with the sword, intent with some level of obsession at becoming the most skilled swordsman in Westeros.
Aemond would train for hours at a time, the dull ache deep within him pushed away by the strain of sparring drills and intense workouts with the sword. Though even in the midst of training, his thoughts would always be in the back of his mind, taunting him with the guilt that he felt, the shame of how he had treated her at the end.
By itself, it was not enough, but even burying his nose in books did not blur that heavy ache. But it did not mean he could not at least try.
Which is why he sighed in annoyance as he sat by the fireplace in his chambers, a large tome opened in his lap and two knocks rapped at the door.
“Enter.”
He did not tear his attention away as the maidservant entered with a short and quick curtsy, hands clasped, “Your grace, Queen Alicent has requested your presence.”
That alone was enough to draw his attention away from his reading. His mother did not request him for a small matter.
He had wondered if perhaps Aegon had managed to slip out of the Keep again, for yet another one of his excursions into Flea Bottom, and send him to retrieve his brother.
Perhaps his mother finally thought enough time had passed and he was much of a man to suggest a marriage proposal. For some reason, the thought made him ill.
“Thank you, Ser Criston,” he heard his mother say in a muffled tone once he was announced.
Aemond raised his gaze to his mother, relieved to see her calm, and dare he say, happy.
“Aemond,” she greeted softly, her smile gentle and her touch on his arms comforting, “do not look so forlorn.”
“You wished to see me.”
“I did,” Alicent beamed, clasping her hands at her front, “Come.”
He could not help but give a puzzled expression as he walked beside his mother through the winding halls of the Keep, wondering perhaps why her behaviour was so different than usual. A sort of anxiety fed through her, but not the self-destructive kind.
“We are to receive some guests today. I would like you to greet them.”
Aemond quirked a brow, confused and somewhat annoyed in equal measure, “I am not accustomed to greeting-”
“They have travelled a long way, so remember to be courteous,” Alicent added, flashing one of her tight-lipped smiles, which only served to confuse Aemond further. His mother led him to the top of the staircase of the empty, echoing foyer and instructed quickly, “do be a gracious host, Aemond.”
He did not have a mere moment to question her, before he was watching the back of his mother disappear down the very same hallway they had just walked together. All he managed was a baffled shake of his head, as if by some miracle this was all some mad dream he had conjured. He questioned why on earth his mother would allow him to greet these esteemed guests alone, out of all her antisocial children.
But ever dutiful, he descended the stairs, hearing the low voice of Ser Westerling greeting whomever was arriving in a warm, formal tone, with their silhouettes casting blurred shadows onto the flagstone floor. Aemond’s feet were planted firmly on the step without even realising it.
This esteemed guest was no stranger to him.
Though the years had matured her gracefully, Aemond is sure he would recognise her anywhere, as she looked every bit the same as that day he regretted seeing her carriage leave King’s Landing. She stood tall, her cape fastened at her front with her house crest nestled in the middle, her dark skirts framing her womanly figure as her eyes trailed the details of the Keep that had changed since she had last been there.
Aemond stared wordlessly, the emotions so long buried resurfacing as if they had never left. His breath felt hot, his mind struggling to accept what his lone eye beheld before him. That she was here after so many years separated, in the very flesh, and yet he was unable to utter a single word.
She wandered about the space, commenting to the young woman beside her, who carried a child no older than three in her arms, how it had all looked so much larger in her youth. So he took this moment where she had not yet noticed him to look upon her with wonder, frozen entirely in place with the unexpectedness of her return. His mind raced with the thoughts of what this meeting could mean, for him, for her, and for their future; and he could not deny the strong tug of guilt in his chest for how he had treated her all those years ago, and how her renewed presence only made them more real.
Clearing his throat as he approached, the lady beside her noticed him first, “Prince Aemond,” she greeted with a curtsy, prompting her also to lay her eyes on him once more.
“Your grace,” she smiled warmly with a quick curtsy, with such a formality that made his heart ache.
He craned his head to bow lightly at her, “My Lady,” he replied with some stiffness, before gazing once more into her friendly, soft eyes and allowing his shoulders to relax, “I wondered perhaps if you would recognise me.”
Her laugh made his stomach flip, “I do not think I could ever forget you. Though I must confess, I wondered the same for myself.”
Her smile could not be described as anything less than perfect and a feeling that he harboured for her so long ago began to creep back in before he could stop it, “my Lady, I must apologise right away.”
But she shook her head, looking down at her hands, “it was a long time ago.”
He did not wish to upset her further by mentioning such an incident that had harmed his pride since, but knew that her memories of it were just as vivid as his own, “And I have not forgotten. You did what was expected for a lady in your position, and yet I was too selfish to understand that at the time. Please forgive me.”
He could not take the desperation out his tone, no matter how hard he tried. And still, she smiled sadly at his words.
“You must know that I did not wish to leave you.”
“I do,” he replied quickly, the memories of his guilt burning a hole in his throat, trying to hide the bitterness he felt towards himself, “I must confess - I have missed you greatly.”
Her hands clasped at her front, she blinked slowly and swallowed thickly, “I have missed you too.”
The silence stretched between them. Years of separation and longing had left them both yearning, but lacking the courage of knowing what to say. Aemond cleared his throat, his hands behind his back with anxiety, seeing that her ‘favoured’ husband was still not yet present.
“Are we to receive your husband as well?” he asked with some stiffness, or perhaps bitterness.
She cocked her head ever so slightly, eyebrows pulled together in confusion, until a small smile of realisation graced her features, “I regret to inform you I am recently widowed.”
In any other situation, Aemond would have been mortified at her reply. But with her smile came a rush of realisation himself, and hope swelled in his heart, and he shifted his weight from foot to foot, hoping to all the gods that she could not see the way his thought ran wild in his head, and made his breeches tighten, “Widowed-”
“Indeed. I am sorry to disappoint you, my Prince. In truth, I have just come out of mourning,” she nodded, biting back another coy smile, showing in her mannerisms that it was no great loss to her.
“I am sorry for your loss, my Lady.”
She shook her head softly, “my husband left a suitable will, so that my child and I live comfortably and so there is no need for me to pursue future marriages should I not wish to.”
Her careful wording was not lost on him, and Aemond could not help the sense of glee at this new and recent change in her life, the bitter anger at having lost her to some decrepit old man years previous seemingly dissipating. And yet despite this, he attempted to keep it hidden, not wishing to seem disrespectful to her late husband.
“Might I present you my daughter,” she added, taking the child from the woman beside her into her own and resting the shy young girl on her hip. The child’s wide-eyed innocent expression unapologetically took all of Aemond in, as children often do, and he was reminded very much of his dear friend when she was small.
She was the image of her mother, save for the slightly lighter hair, with every feature of her etched into her daughter’s youthful face. And the reality of such similarities made him feel both joy and sorrow all at once.
“She is beautiful.” His voice was quiet, seeing the child in her arms was shy and reserved, unlike her mother, but thankful somewhat that her little one was not in the slightest alike to the man she had been forced to marry. Looking into the eyes of her child felt much like staring at the girl he once knew, and with that, a rush of affection.
Aemond thought, that in different circumstances, this child could have been theirs, a shared expression of their affections for one another. That all those years ago, had her father not coerced her into honouring her late sister’s betrothal, that she and Aemond would have their own children by now.
Before he could think too long, the small girl whined in her arms and she put her down immediately, the little patter of childish feet nearly had Aemond break into a grin, watching her run off with the nursemaid chasing behind.
“I am afraid she is a curious little thing. Like mother like daughter I suppose”, she smiled brightly.
Aemond nodded, the rush of memories bringing a wistful smile to his face, “Like mother like daughter,” was all he managed to reply, watching the mischievousness unfold. Yet, once the child and the nursemaid had left them alone, she chuckled softly, feeling his heartbeat slow in pace with hers.
“May I confess something to you, without fear of judgement?” Aemond asked, his heart thudding as she nodded in return, “You may think me foolish, but I must confess that my mind still lingers on the memories of our time together, and I have found no way to erase the feelings they carry with them - your return to King’s Landing has only reinforced them,” he confessed, looking into her warm gaze, “for now, when I look at you, I cannot help but feel just as I did then.”
He watched her swallow thickly, and take a deep, meaningful breath, like what she was going to say would be heavy, “and, what feelings are those, might I ask?”
His heart felt as it was beating so fast it was cracking his ribs, throat closing with anxiety. The feelings he had tried so hard to hide with a mask of bitterness now overflowing with terrifying intensity. Yet, to say such feelings out loud to her, someone he had trusted so much in his youth, made it feel all the more real. And as he stared into her eyes, he wanted nothing more than for her to share them, despite their years of absence from one another.
“That I love you - and have from the moment I met you.”
The words came out quickly, and as soon as he uttered them he felt his cheeks grow hot, knowing her response was either one way or the other and that he, a man so long disconnected from his own feelings, hiding them with his pride for so many years, was now opening up his vulnerability.
He wanted her to love him. So desperately.
She sighed quietly in relief, “I have loved you as well. And I was saddened to have left you - and will forever be vehemently sorry for that.”
Though his relief was palpable, but he shook his head first, “You were right then, and always have been, that you had no choice or opinion in the matter. Therefore, I will accept no apologies.”
Her eyes glistened with emotion at his words, and when Aemond stepped forward and took her cheek in his palm, her breath hitched in such a way he was sure they would spill forth in tears. But the strong person she had always been, she held them back.
“I feared - you would not desire me,” she confessed quietly.
Aemond smirked, “It may take more than a few years of separation to extinguish what was once there. I have loved you since that day beneath the Weirwood Tree, and I will love you until this life ends and the next one begins.”
She gave a watery smile at his sweet words, “though I have been wed once already with a child?”
He was silent for a moment as he considered her question, and not a bit of him even wondered whether it were possible, “my love is no fickle thing,” he smiled, “in time I hope I may become as close as a father to her as I may become a husband to you.”
He watched as her unshed tears formed a constellation on her eyelashes, but a relieved smile graced her delicate features. Aemond could not remember the last time he had been this close to her, able to detect the delicate scents brushed through her hair and the way her cheeks warmed at the close proximity between them, and undeniable tension.
The thought of kissing her, having her to himself, made something arousing tighten in his breeches, to his embarrassment.
He drew in a breath, leaning forward to capture her lips, but both drew back a pace suddenly.
“My Lady! Would you care to join us for supper this evening,” Alicent smiled brightly, as if knowing some great secret seeing them both stood straight and blushing. And she had to take a moment to think and stammer out her reply,
“Oh - yes, I would be delighted-”
“Wonderful! I shall see you to your chambers,” the Queen beamed, giving Aemond a sideways glance as the two women he most respected in life walked alongside one another.
He felt as if the entire evening was a true test of his will and determination. Aemond is certain Alicent meant no ill will by inviting the woman he unequivocally loved to supper with his family; but as he sat beside her, remembering how close he had been just a few hours before, it was almost as if everyone around him was aware and simply dangling the situation in front of his face.
And he cursed any god that existed that Aegon was not drowned in his cups that night, as he usually was. On this night, he was frustratingly lucid and hyper-aware.
Helaena, at first, was impartial to the sudden get-together, but as soon as she and Helaena saw one another, it was as if no time at all had passed. They were, of course, the same age when she had been his mother's ward, and as well as with Aemond, had formed a close friendship.
The princess was of course eager to catch up, and even invited her up to dance, to which she happily obliged as Aemond watched from his spot at the table. It was nice to see Helaena happy for a change.
A sorrowful thought had occurred to Aemond that both his friend and Helaena were pressured into marriages and motherhood far too young. And seeing them very much acting like young girls with one another, only exacerbated this feeling.
They talked quickly with excitement, planning to have their children meet up with one another and play in the gardens. And while they were engrossed in conversation, Aegon slid next to his brother, with a knowing smirk on his face.
“She is just as animated as I remember,” the young prince smirked, raising his eyebrows at Aemond over the rim of his cup.
“I will hear none of your depravity about her.”
Aegon threw him a faux-offended expression, “I had not even got there yet. Do you have such a low opinion of me?”
Aemond ignored him and sipped his own Dornish Red.
“You wish to marry her.”
“And you are perceptive.”
“Gods, I love it when you compliment me.”
“And insufferable.”
“What makes you think grandfather will allow you to marry her anyway? He's a dry old cunt, he will not care if you love her or not. He would have you wed to some plain-faced twat from who-knows-where.”
For one infuriatingly brief moment, Aemond had to concede that Aegon was probably right. And with one restless finger tapping against the table, he glanced over at his mother and grandfather suspiciously squished together on one end of the table, leaning towards each other and whispering in low voices, with Otto Hightower looking at his beloved friend from beneath his brow.
They were talking about her. Discussing her. And by the expression on his grandfather, analysing her.
Aemond felt his heart beat faster at the prospect that they were speaking so secretively about her without her knowledge. It seemed a stark contrast to the way the two women on the other side of the table were laughing and smiling brightly, something so rarely seen on Helaena’s face nowadays.
“She is no maiden, that is for certain. Though if you are lucky, perhaps only the first three inches of her have been tainted by Lefford’s withered old cock.”
Aemond wrinkled his nose at Aegon’s depraved quip, despite his somewhat polite request for him not too. Perhaps he’d expected too much courtesy from his elder brother. Or perhaps, more likely, with the exciting renewed presence of Lord Lefford’s widow, Aegon felt the need to perform, and exaggerate his usual unfortunate traits of his personality.
“‘Tis almost as worse as our dear sister being wed to me.”
“I am certain there is nothing worse than that,” Aemond replied quickly, behind the rim of his cup, failing to keep his gaze from forever drifting to the figure of her from across the candles and ornaments.
Aemond found himself captivated by the way she moved, the subtle grace in her gestures that spoke volumes of the woman she had become. Gone was the innocence of youth, replaced by a quiet strength and resilience that only seemed to enhance her beauty. He couldn't help but notice the way her laughter rang out like music, filling the room with warmth and light. It was a sound he had missed more than he cared to admit, a reminder of simpler times when they were just children with the world at their feet.
But now, as he watched her twirl across the dance floor with Helaena, there was something undeniably magnetic about her presence. It was as if she had blossomed into a flower, her petals unfurling to reveal a depth and complexity that left him breathless.
He attempted not to move too quickly once the festivities were over, afraid of showing her in his actions his desperation to be close to her as he offered his arm, “might I see you to your chambers, my Lady?”
She gave a shy smile that morphed into one of amusement, and Aemond is sure he felt something akin to that stomach-flipping sensation when he was flying out on Vhagar when her hand rested on the inside of his forearm, “Very well.”
Aemond chose to ignore the low snicker of his elder brother, showing him his back instead, with the woman he loved on his arm.
“You are aware I know this Keep better than I do my own home, and am perfectly capable of finding my chambers myself?” she said with a teasing lilt.
Aemond couldn't help but chuckle softly, the sound echoing in the empty corridor. "Forgive me, my Lady. It seems my chivalry gets the better of me in your presence."
Her laughter rang out, filling the silence with warmth. "Chivalry or a desire to prolong our conversation, Prince Aemond?"
He felt a surge of joy at the playful banter, grateful for the opportunity to spend even a few moments alone with her. "Perhaps a bit of both, my Lady. Though I must admit, the thought of your company is a temptation I find hard to resist."
She looked at her feet, as if to hide the rising warmth to her face, “I must confess, it is nice to once again be somewhere familiar, with the company I admire most. When my husband was alive it could often get rather lonely.”
Aemond fell quiet for a moment, swallowing thickly, trying to navigate his feelings in the midst of a difficult situation, “I hope that he was kind to you.”
She glanced up at him, her eyes revealing a depth of gratitude that stirred something within him. "He had his moments," she admitted with a small smile, "but kindness was not his strongest suit. Still, I suppose I cannot fault him entirely. He provided for me in his own way."
Aemond could sense the underlying weight in her words, the unspoken struggles she had endured beneath the facade of mere cordiality. He didn't need to ask to know that her late husband had been less than supportive.
"You deserve far more than just provision, my Lady," he said earnestly, his gaze unwavering as he spoke.
Aemond could almost feel his heart sink as he had realised they were stood before her chamber doors, her hand slipping from his arm, and yet a fire stoking fierce then at the thought of an invitation inside.
She clasped her hands delicately, her warm eyes meeting his with a gentle intensity. "I couldn't help but notice Queen Alicent and the Lord Hand engaged in such ceaseless conversation," she remarked, her voice soft and thoughtful. "I do not wish to presume—"
Aemond, catching the subtle implication in her words, swiftly interjected, "I cannot claim to know their exact sentiments." His gaze met hers, offering reassurance without a hint of desperation. "But I refuse to allow something as trivial as their approval to deter me. I've already endured the pain of losing you once."
There was a quiet determination in his voice, a resolve that mirrored the fire in her own eyes. In that moment, they shared an unspoken understanding, a mutual agreement to pursue their feelings despite the potential obstacles that lay ahead.
She nodded, a faint smile playing at the corners of her lips. "Your courage is admirable, Prince Aemond. But we must proceed cautiously. The court is a web of intricate politics, and our actions could have far-reaching consequences."
Her words were crafted in such a way that reminded him of her personality in their youth, understanding of the repercussions and yet boldly standing tall in the face of them. And with her small, mischievous smile, he knew all the same that whatever she uttered was only done so to extend her cordiality.
"I understand," he replied, his tone tinged with determination. "But I cannot ignore what my heart tells me."
"Nor can I," she admitted softly, her gaze meeting his with a mixture of vulnerability and resolve.
Silence settled between them for a moment, the weight of their unspoken desires hanging in the air. Then, with a subtle shift in her demeanour, she turned towards her chamber door. Without a word, she reached out and gently pushed it open, leaving it ajar. A silent invitation hung in the air, enticing Aemond to step inside.
Aemond's heart skipped a beat as he watched her gesture, his pulse quickening with anticipation. Without hesitation, he took a step forward, drawn irresistibly towards the open door and the promise of privacy within.
With a shared glance filled with unspoken understanding, Aemond turned towards her chamber doors, crossing the threshold into the privacy of her chambers, where their hearts could speak freely without the constraints of the outside world.
She spoke quietly, her face illuminated warmly by the soft flicker of candlelight. "I hope you do not think less of me for this," she murmured, her voice tinged with vulnerability. "You can imagine, for me there is no great ceremony in it."
Aemond's heart swelled with tenderness at her words, his gaze filled with an understanding that transcended mere words. "I could never think less of you," he replied softly, his voice brimming with sincerity.
Aemond slowly closed the distance between them, their expressions never wavering, his steps deliberate yet gentle. He reached out, his hand cupping her face tenderly, as he gazed into her eyes with an intensity that spoke of his deep affection. In that moment, the world seemed to fade away, leaving only the two of them suspended in a timeless embrace. The flickering candlelight cast dancing shadows across their intertwined figures, bearing witness to the union of two souls bound together by love and longing.
Her lips parted to whisper, “I do not wish for you to do all of this out of guilt-”
She caught herself when his thumb traced her cheek, waiting for him to answer, “I do not make this bid out of remorse. I wish to be with you, and I wish to make you mine.”
Aside from the crackling heat of the fire within the hearth, her breath was all that was audible between them, coming heavier from between her lips as his thumb feathered down her cheek and to her bottom lip, caressing the skin there. After that, he felt her eyelashes against his cheek flutter when he leaned down and pressed his lips to hers with a tenderness usually unbecoming of his personality.
Years of longing had each of them pressing closer to each other, lost in the sound of their soft kisses, and Aemond felt his clothing below his waist become tight with need once he caressed her tongue with his and pried her lips apart like the petal of a flower and tasting the sweet nectar within.
Her hands that had found his shoulders slid over the sleek leather to his front, tenderly and gingerly pulling the buckles apart to loosen his doublet. Her actions, instead of spurring embarrassment, renewed a deep-rooted vigour beneath, and Aemond’s new task was to pull at the laces of her dress behind her, and pull the fabric that had hidden her body from him.
He felt her shiver, pulling the heavy dress from her shoulder to pool at her waist, pushing them as fervently off her as he was able, “was he at least good to you,” Aemond asked in a whisper, his breath hot at her neck while she pulled at the laces of his breeches.
“I do not wish to speak of him,” she answered with determination and confidence, but a breathless, wanton whisper herself, wanting nothing more than to consummate years of harboured affections masked by friendship, “I only want you.”
Her words had his heart stutter in his chest, pulling her now almost bare form atop him as he sat back onto the bed, with her hair loosened like this and her shoulders blossoming with gooseflesh, he found that he was incapable of keeping his hands at his sides and explored the shape of her feminine body beneath the shift she wore.
Even the sheer motion of her brushing against his hardened member and her breasts filling his palms could have been enough for Aemond, but there was no returning at this point. She sighed against his lips as his fingers dipped beneath the hem of her shift to ruck the thin fabric up around her hips, squeezing the flesh of her thighs to pull her closer onto his lap.
Warmth bloomed at her cheeks, but it did not deter her as she reached between them and smiled at Aemond’s loud moan, stroking his rapidly hardening length in her palm, focussing her attention towards the velvety tip.
She lifted herself in his lap, fingers threaded at the hair at his nape as if to anchor herself to him, and both sighed with the utmost relief of their union once he pressed himself into her, and she sank her warmth onto him, enveloping him with her body. Her lips parted at the stretch, somewhat prepared and yet the intrusion still stealing the air from her lungs.
Foreheads pressed together, Aemond's hands gripped her at her waist, pushing his hips up into her as hard as he could to sink deeper inside her, “I have dreamt of this - for so long - being with you like this -”
A faint sheen glimmered on her collarbones as she slowly moved her hips on him, Aemond's legs parted somewhat, widening hers and opening her up more so he could rock up into her with her rhythm. The closeness of their position had the blunt head of his cock massage that sensitive patch within, her eyebrows knitted together in sweet pleasure.
“That's it -” he cooed quietly, almost watching the way she moved with admiration and curiosity, her tight, silky walls squeezing his length with every thrust of herself down. He felt her arousal coat the base of him, and the sound of their ever-quickening coupling filled the otherwise quiet chambers.
She held onto his shoulders, the amber glow of the fireplace picturing her expression in the most arousing way Aemond had ever imagined. Pulling her shift down her chest, he groaned lowly at the sight of her breasts and took one in his palm and mouthed at the other, taking her stiffened nipple between his lips in a way that made a shuddering moan slip past her lips.
“Gods - I would adore to watch you swell with my child - would you like that -”
All she could do was nod feebly, words unable to occupy her mouth where soft, sweet sounds of pleasure were pouring out. Aemond smirked, grazing his teeth over her bud.
“yes, you would like to serve your husband - give him children, wouldn't you - fuck-” his voice strained at the effort it took to hold himself back, his hands sliding down the column of her back to her plump backside, palms gripping tight and guiding her rhythm onto him, over and over.
She moaned loudly, the motion of being pulled back and forth and yet still impaling herself on him driving the fat head of his cock into the deepest and most forbidden parts of her.
“Aemond -”
“And once you have one - I'll fuck yet another one into you - keep you fat with child” his breathing grew ragged and shaky, “- take it - like a good little wife should-”
“Yes - yes-” she breathed quickly, the words slipping out without realising what they were for, her blind acceptance of being his wife, or the rising waves of pleasure coursing white, hot through her body.
He felt her squeezing him and hastened both of her rhythms, dragging her back into his lap and pushing up into her wet heat ceaselessly. Both the numbing ache of her peak and her bud rolling against his body in quick succession had her hands gripping around him, burying her face in the crook of his neck as her limbs flooded with warmth.
“That's it, ābrazyrys -”
“Gods, Aemond-” she squeaked, completely overcome and possessed by the heights of pleasure rolling through her, the endless rhythm of him fucking up into her only prolonging it.
Her tight walls squeezed him so deliciously that Aemond's heart leapt into his throat, completely surprised as he pulsed thickly and spilled within her, his lone eye tightly shut. His own fulfilment had his hips twitching, shallowly pushing his seed into her, and hoping that it took.
Even once he was completely spent and exhausted, softening inside her, neither moved, and he simply felt her tender fingertips at his shoulders in light soft circles, massaging him. And thought, that this is how it always should have been, had he fought for her.
Her breath fluttered against his skin, herself tired in exertion from their shared pleasure.
“I was a fool - for allowing you to slip from my grasp.”
She sat up, to look down at him, her face flushed, hair in messy waves, looking every bit as beautiful as the day he'd lost her.
But she smiled, her finger tracing the pattern impressed on the leather of his eye patch, “you may have been a fool,” she started.
Her finger hooked beneath it, and lifted it away, her expression unchanged as her thumb stroked the indent of the scar at his cheek. Aemond felt his heart soar in a way that almost felt terrifying.
“I never slipped from your grasp,” she uttered gently, “my heart was always yours.”
Aemond brushed her hair from her features, her words sending waves of ecstasy thrumming in his veins.
“Just as mine shall always be.”
General Taglist: @aemondsfavouritebastard @bellstwd @blairfox04 @buckybarnesb-tch @castellomargot @hb8301 @jamespotterismydaddy @mochi-rose @natty2017 @nenelysian @randomdragonfires @risefallrise @thelittleswanao3 @theoneeyedprince @thetrueblackheart @tsujifreya @urmomsgirlfriend1 @valeskafics @valleyof-goldenlilies @virtualsweetsqueen @watercolorskyy @emmaisafictionwhore @minholy223
#aemond#prince aemond x reader#aemond x y/n#aemond x fem!reader#aemond x you#aemond x reader#aemond x oc#aemond targaryen fanfiction#aemond targaryen imagine#prince aemond targaryen#aemond targaryen x reader#aemond targaryen#prince aemond targaryen smut#aemond smut#prince aemond fic#aemond fanfic#aemond fanfiction#aemond fic#aemond fandom#hotd fanfic#aemond x female#ewan mitchell#ewan mitchell characters#aemond stannies#aemond targaryen smut#aemond targaryen fan fiction#aemond targaryen fanfic#aemond targaryen fic#prince aemond x you#prince aemond
970 notes
·
View notes
Text
The King of Qarth I
Pairing: Aemond Targaryen x Qartheen f!reader (use of third perspective)
Warnings: angst, dubcon (but not really), handjob, fingering, p in v, hints at sexual trauma, self indulgent use of sorcery
Word count: 11k (i know...i'm sorry...)
Author’s note: The foreign words you’ll find are stolen from Greek. Second and final part coming in two weeks. English is not my first language.
taglist: @zae5 @multyfangirl @arcielee @succnfuccubus @zaldritzosrose @kckt88 @venmondiese @miraclealignertlsp369 @ilikechocolatemilkh @credulouskhaleesi @bunbunbl0gs
He had taken each one of them. Dragons, power, the Crown. Snatched them from whatever divine plan the Gods had concocted, for others, never for him, and perhaps this was their punishment.
Death would’ve been a far too kind blessing, he would come to realise in one of those endless days spent wandering, roaming to find some meal, a softer clod to lie on, an identity.
Prince, Protector of the Realm, Rider of Vhagar, Blood of Old Valyria.
They were nothing more than shrouds. Once stripped of them, what was left was merely a man.
And a son. That’s what his mother saw when they threw him on the ground of the Throne Room.
Crawling on her knees like some commoner, she begged and sobbed until her voice became raw and her throat hoarse, chanting obsessively the same plea over and over like a mad woman.
"Please...have mercy in the name of the Mother… my only son...” she had bent so much as to graze the toe of Corlys Velaryon's boots with her face. “you took them all...you took them all...”
Whether she was talking to the Sea Snake, Rhaenyra, the Gods or fate, Aemond didn’t know. He didn’t know the woman kneeling before him, if he ever truly knew her. You cannot know ghosts, only walk through them.
He could not look at her. He turned his head and watched over that crowd of traitors looking down on him, as if they themselves had not looted, slaughtered, and burned more innocent than guilty.
Trained puppets they were, obeying like green little soldiers to Cregan Stark, a northern savage who had taken upon himself the right and duty to do justice. Corlys Velaryon knew it well, having spent days and nights in the dungeons as an accomplice in the poisoning of Aegon the Elder. And there they were, taking over the reins of a kingdom shattered and embittered by war.
But with the promise of Alysanne Blackwood’s hand in marriage, the Wolf had been tamed. He had stopped howling about trials and executions. Now, caution moved and bogged down their decisions. But one thing was clear as a law written in stone: there had to be peace, no matter the cost. Hence, a marriage had been arranged, between two children who, for no reason, had been taught to see the other as the enemy, whose eyes had seen too much death; orphaned and thrown like marbles into a game that brought neither smiles nor laughter to their sepulchral mouths.
She was looking at him, Jaehaera, and in her empty eyes Aemond could see Helaena climbing up the windowsill and letting herself fall.
“What happened to Vhagar?” The Sea Snake asked “Kinslayer! What about your dragon?”
"Dead.” He lied, although he didn’t know for how long that lie would remain so. That rope in his heart had loosened, weakened, but it still held. She must have crawled off to some remote place, perhaps beyond the Neck, to recover from the injuries to her neck and right wing.
Then the Sea Snake had turned his back, consulting with his council of leeches. Exile. He heard them say. Essos. And then that word he hadn’t heard for a long time. Dragonless. A kinder word for useless. Powerless.
“Let him go, Corlys. He’s always been a spoiled brat. He won’t survive for long in those savage lands.” Someone said outside the cell they threw him in, shackled with chains on wrists and ankles like some rabid dog.
He won’t survive for long.
How he wished they were right. How he wished to look into the beady eyes of the Stranger.
Alicent would curse him, perhaps she would slap him as she used to slap Aegon for being so blasphemous, not to the Gods, but to her. Aemond was no father, and no matter how much he could try, he’d never understood the fierce, unforgiving grip motherhood had on a woman.
When he saw her for the last time before being thrown on a ship to Braavos, he realized it was the only tether that kept her alive. Him and Jaehaera.
“Just a little longer, please…just a little…” she pleaded to his jailers. With the arranged marriage, cruelties had softened, and concessions became more frequent. The Dowager Queen was granted to see her son for the last time.
“Mother!” he screamed as they dragged him away “Keep your fucking hands off me!”
He needed to speak to her. He needed her to tell him she was lying.
“Mother, there’s a woman…”
“The Strong witch? Aemond, she’s…They captured our last allies from the Reach and…they said they found a woman in the woods but…she was in pain…and bleeding….”
The Gods’ punishment flowed through the long-cowled robe of the Stranger. And he took them all.
Aegon, Helaena, Daeron. Alys and the baby.
Alicent could not bear to see the last piece of her flesh and bones being cloaked by the cold shroud of the Stranger. And so, she crawled and begged to preserve his existence.
But that, that was no existence.
It was a limbo, a hanging life for the damned. And he was one, wasn't he? He killed kin, he killed innocent men, women and children, coming from above like a heaven banished God unleashing his wrath on the world. And even gods pay for their sins.
Only he would gladly have stuck his head in a noose or waited for the hangman's blade, a death worthy of a soldier, rather than wandering like a derelict, rootless and restless, with that rope pulling and fraying day after day. Or Weeks? Moons? He had no idea how much time had passed since he’d set foot in that limbo.
He seemed to be living in a slumber, a Milk of the Poppy hallucination. And yet, the ground was real beneath his exhausted feet, as was the heat, and at some point, the hunger.
The leeches had tried to appear civil and compassionate, lying to his mother’s face about the gold they would give him, to sustain himself once reached the East. But naturally, they didn’t keep their word. If he died of starvation, he was sure they would have lit a candle to each God in the Grand Sept. They probably prayed for that to happen.
Or maybe not. Maybe there was no greater gratification and source of amusement to know that the haughty Prince Aemond was tasting the everyday humiliation of having to steal in order not to starve, of not having clean clothes, feather pillows to lie on, the disgrace of not being able to give orders to anyone, but rather having to suffer them.
He stayed in Bravoos for a short time. It was too dangerous, too close to Westeros and too wary if anyone ever caught the color of his hair under the cloak’s hood. He remembered his history books quite well. It was the only one among the Free Cities that did not yield to the Valyrian empire; indeed, it was founded by a group of rebellious slaves fled from the tyranny of the Dragon Lords.
Volantis, on the contrary, worshipped the Old Empire. But in equal measure, they worshipped slavery. The city swarmed with mercenaries and slavers, peddling men and women like meat for slaughter, ready at every corner to steal children from the streets. And in Volantis Aemond understood that if he did not want to end up in some butcher’s hands, he had to be what he had always been: a soldier. For he realized that everywhere in the world, the most valuable currency was not gold, nor castles and titles, but blood.
This man for new fresh clothes, that woman for few gold coins and a mattress to rest his back, not to sleep. Sleep eluded him, as well as remorse. Unless his body shut his mind out of exhaustion, he lied there for hours on end, with blood drying on his hands, listening to all the ghosts floating around him, and trying to find a grip—something to hold on to. Duty had been the blacksmith who forged him and the altar to which he devoted himself. Duty to his family, his brother, the crown, the throne, even Alys, yes. For all her riddles and stumps of prophecy, he wanted her. He wanted that son.
But here, he had no high purpose to serve but himself. Stripped of all honors and many more curses, he fell into a daylong stupor, made of blood, humiliations and silent cries for revenge.
Until one day, the rope went taut.
Vhagar burned away the stupor. She had found him. For the second time, she had been his salvation. And on her back, he found a fragment of who he was, but who he was supposed to be remained a distant thing, clouded in smoke.
He flew south, over the ruins of Old Valyria, and then east, crossing all of Vaes Dothrak to the Red Waste, and by the time he realized he should've veered north or south, it was too late.
He was in the middle of the widest and driest desert on the eastern continent.
The Garden of Bones, as they called it, and with good reason. For in those few times that Aemond decided to land to allow Vhagar to rest, all his eye could see were sand, devilgrass and bones. But he didn’t care about the thirst, the dry and cracked lips, the white tow his hair had become.
Vhagar was his only concern. She was starving. She could not fly too high in the skies. And so, along with all the misery and humiliation, came the dread. For if Vhagar died, the last rope, the last tether, which had perhaps kept him alive up to that point, and perhaps kept her alive, would break.
But then, just as it happens in some book of adventures, or simply in dreams, a mirage, a true oasis in the middle of the desert, surrounded by the highest walls ever built in the history of men, guarding the greatest city that ever was and will be: Qarth.
“Hmm” she ponders, pursing her lips. “I’m not sure about this one. What do you think, Nyla?”
The young maid stops her morning chore and blushes. “I think it would match your skin wonderfully, your Highness.”
She hears giggling behind her shoulders, where two of her most trusted maids are braiding her hair after oiling them with mirrh and cinnamon. “You hear that, Nyla? They’re questioning your candor.”
“I am not, your Highness.” says Dora, one of the giggling girls. “But if you were looking for a less partial opinion, let’s say a more objective one...you should have asked me or Mysha.”
“Well, as it happens, I was looking precisely for a partial opinion. Look at her. She’s changing my chamber pot and still, she thinks that shade of purple would suit me wonderfully. Oh Nyla, I think you will soon become my favorite.”
“Is that a yes then, your Highness?” the merchant wastes no time to ask, standing in the center of the room with silk drapes of several colors resting along his arm.
“Yes, Jorio. Two yards of that purple silk.”
The merchant nods swiftly, too swiftly she notices. The man is acting awkwardly since the moment he stepped into her private rooms. Usually, he’s a big talker, a true born seller. He could make believe one could heal from Greyscale if they just wrap themselves in the soft embrace of his silks. But not today. He seems in a hurry. The exhibition of his goods too quick and excited. And then the sweat, lumped in a wet sheen around his bald head.
“Anything else, your Highness?”
Her forehead creases, acknowledging a thought, new but not quite, as if it has always been there. “Perhaps something green?” she ventures.
“Green?” inquires Misha “That’s a first.”
She shakes her head in a dismissing way. “Must be my father’s sorcery.”
The shadows, kóri, they speak to you.
“What do you have in green, Jorio?”
The merchant fumbles with his silks, a turmoil moves his hands clumsily until a few drapes of fabric flutter on the ground. He stoops to pick them up, only to drop the others still clinging onto his shoulder in a chaotic rainbow of colors on the white marble floor.
“Jorio, what is the matter with you today?”
“I—Nothing, your Highness, my apologies...”
“You know if you have problems with your trades, the Salt King and I would be more than happy to help you.”
“It’s not that—no. Must be all the fuss in town.”
“Pirates again?”
“Uhm—no, it’s the…beast outside the walls.”
“The beast? What beast?”
The man swallows, visibly. “A dragon, your Highness. A huge dragon, higher than the city walls.”
“But…that is not possible...” Misha tries.
“I’m telling what I saw with my own eyes. The Thirteen gathered outside the walls. I saw the Spice King along my way here. He said they were about to parley with the Milk man, see through his reasons.”
"Milk Men don’t ride dragons.” she corrects, standing from the soft cushions piled and spread on the ground. “This man’s hair…what color are they?”
“White as midday sun.”
"Your Highness! Come..."
The Salt Queen joins Dora on one of the brightly sunlit balconies overlooking the Route of Trade. There is indeed a great bustle in the town, a motionless bustle however, gazing with open mouths and bewildered eyes at the small procession moving up the street. The City Guard is leading, with their shields and spears to protect The Thirteen, rulers of the most important trading city in the world. They are all dressed in bright colours and precious jewels embroidered in their silk tunics, hanging from their necks, wrists and fingers.
If she narrows her eyes, The Salt Queen can swear she can see the gold ring her husband wears on his nose. What catches her eye though, is not gold or any other bright color, but black, and then white.
There is a man walking down the street with the thirteen, a tall man with plain dark clothes and a mantle of silver hair, white as midday sun.
“Wife, may I introduce you to our noble guest?”
A woman comes forward to greet him when Aemond enters a lavish hall with several windows adorned with colorful drapes of silk. He is sure he has never seen so much marble in his life, feeling even more inappropriate given the state of his clothes and his whole demeanor, shamefully far from the clean, soldierly appearance that left mouth agape.
“Prince Aemond of House Targaryen, from Westeros.” The Salt King declares as the woman stops just before him. He stands tall and imposing, no matter the misery of his shabby clothes, the state of his disheveled hair falling in silver tangles down his back. He is still a Targaryen, his chin is high and proud.
“More like from the Old Valyria.” She says raising an eyebrow, and sizing him up and down. “He seems to have just emerged from the Doom, miraculously unscathed.”
The Prince does nothing but seethe his teeth behind his dry lips, a distant shame in his eye that quickly turns into a focused and unblinking rage.
“Welcome to Qarth, my Prince. I’d trust your journey was uneventful but…I can see the Red Waste takes its toll, even on Valyrian beauty.”
Aemond takes a good, long look at her, inevitably lingering on her chest, dressed as the common Qartheen fashion dictates: one breast exposed. But a lot more of her is exposed. Her shoulders, her arms and legs, a glimpse of her hips, all crossed by swirling bundles of lilac silk.
If any married woman in Westeros dressed like that in the open, he’s sure any husband would lock her up. At least he would.
“You must excuse my wife, Prince Aemond, or rather, get used to her habit of speaking her mind.”
“Come now, Xavos. Surely Westerosi women can voice their thoughts?” she moves, walking past Aemond and her husband to reach a small table inlaid with gold to pour some greenish beverage into a cup. “I had a maid once, she was from…Rich Garden?”
“High Garden.” He sternly corrects her.
“Ah, yes. A delightful creature, always smelled so good.” She says distractedly “Anyway, she fled from your lands because she liked girls and not boys and she didn’t want to devote her life to being a brood mare sucking a flaccid cock until her hair had gone white.”
Her maids snicker somewhere past Aemond shoulders, stiffening his posture at the liberties those commoners are granted. “I should hope you Westerners listen to your women more than you do your horses.”
Aemond watches as she takes a sip and laces his hands behind, slightly tilting his head for a moment. “Where I come from, women do not possess such a sharp tongue. Furthermore, and fortunately, most of them have manners. They know how to address a Prince of the Realm.”
She turns to leave the cup on the same table and glances at Nyla. “Oh, he bites.”
“This is not Westeros, dragon prince.” She says turning to face him with a righteous smile “I don’t need to ask your permission to speak. The Salt King is my husband, that is why you will hear my maids and everyone else address me as Your Highness. So, you may lower that chin and stop waiting for me to bow down to you because technically my rank is higher than yours. You might say the only one meant to bow in this room were you.”
The silence that follows is so stark that the air the Prince quickly exhales through his nose sounds like thunder, alerting the Salt King. "Come now, wife. Don't wake the beast.” he says lightly, stiffening a smile “And I mean it quite literally. You should see the size of Prince Aemond’s dragon.”
“I heard.” she acknowledges “Jorio said he’s higher than the city walls.”
“She. And twice, than your city walls.” The Prince corrects her again, just as sternly. “She’s the largest dragon alive in the known world.” His chin remains high and haughty, simply because he can. Because she knows he could raze the entire city to the ground just by snapping his fingers. So, she looks down and says “Since you will be our guest, it is my duty as matron of this house to make you feel welcomed. If you would be so kind to follow me, your Grace.” She forces her tone to be as much as corteous, but then she smiles “Is my tongue acceptably sharp to your liking now?”
“Where are you taking me?” he asks as he follows the Salt Queen along one of the corridors, made of the finest marble with high arches of white stone and gold glittering under the midday sun.
“Down and down, to throw you in the dungeons.”
Aemond stalls for a moment and she does the same. “I was joking.”
He gives her that stern, distrustful look she starts to think he has etched on his features since his first wail and huffs. “God, have you lost your humor in the Red Waste?”
She resumes her walking, and Aemond follows, glancing around as they pass through many people, some of them are dressed like maids and servants, some others with long tunics of silk and jewels embroidered in the fabric. They speak to one another, he notices, as equals. But they stop altogether upon seeing a living Valyrian walk among them.
“God?” he asks “Which one?”
“Whichever you want. R'hollor, the Many Faced…I’m not picky. It helps me sleep better at night to know I didn’t dump all my sins on one God only.”
He is sure from his education and his mother’s faith that religion doesn’t work that way, but he has more pressing matters at heart. “Will you meet my requests?”
“About your dragon?” she asks stopping before a large wooden door closed. “Can’t she hunt on her own?”
“In the Red Waste? In these barren lands? Perhaps you should put your pretty head outside the city walls and see with your own eyes how big she is.”
The woman smirks, seizing him up and down and furrows her brows. “You seem very keen on emphasizing how big your dragon is. I should hope it’s not a compensating factor for the lack of something else.”
She pushes the door open, not bothering to wait for Aemond who just stands there for a moment, a little dumbfounded by the salt of which the Queen's tongue seems to be made. His bewilderment is only destined to worsen as he crosses the threshold and looks around.
Right in the middle of the palace, amidst all that marble and white stone, stands a wild courtyard, wild and beautiful in its unspoiled nature. Climbing plants and fruit trees grow undisturbed around a large square pool, decorated with mosaics of a thousand colors, harboring the most crystal-clear water he has ever seen; small clouds of steam rise from the surface, pinching his nostrils with the unmistakable smell of sulfur.
There are people bathing together and, obviously, much to his dismay, naked.
“Do you not take baths in Westeros?” the Salt Queen asks, faking true curiosity at the puzzlement she can read on his face, slowly turning into repugnance as he looks at her with a cutting answer.
“We have decency, in Westeros.”
She does not bother to disguise the long sigh blowing through her lips and then she turns to clap her hands vigorously, three times.
“My friends, apologies for the interruption!” she announces as everyone in the pool and outside turns to look at her “I must ask you to leave the pool for the time being. Our…prude guest demands a little bit of privacy.”
She can feel the Prince glaring but ignores him altogether to stop one of the servants.
“Priya, fetch some oils. And some silks, fitting for a prince.” She turns her head to look at him from head to toe, as if valuing a new drape of silk or a new sculpture to put in the Hall of Trade, but then she creases her forehead, as she often does when knowing. “Blue perhaps? To match the sapphire.”
The constant scowl seems to leave his features and she hears his question before he utters a single word.
“My father is a warlock. Magic runs thick in his blood, he says, as well as in the blood of his blood. Sometimes I sense things, bits of knowledge, and sometimes they happen to be right. But you don’t need to be afra—”
“I’m not afraid of sorcery.” He cuts her, his tone flat, his features stoic as ever and she looks at him, curiously, perhaps wondering what lies behind all that stone.
“Very well. Sapphire blue for Prince Aemond.” his name slips into his ears in a strange, liquorous way; vowels are more open in this part of the world.
When they’re left alone, she signals towards the pool. “Please, make yourself comfortable.”
He hesitates for a moment, but it is not as if he has never undressed in front of one of his old servants. And frankly, he is too eager to get those filthy clothes off to be bothered by a foreign woman watching.
He throws everything on the ground without too much care, and she watches without too much shame, because that's not how things go there. Bodies, both male and female, they are not something to hide, but something to be displayed and worshipped.
Her eyes linger on scars, old and new, on a lithe body that once belonged to a prince and a soldier, now marked by misery, dirt and hunger.
“Everything.” she says at one point, when he’s left with only his battered cotton pants on.
Aemond thinks he heard wrong. But she only blinks, keeping her face blank.
“Is this the common way to welcome guests here?” he scorns.
“Actually, it is. At least after the incident with the scorpion.” she doesn’t bother to wait for a question or an eyebrow rising. “My husband’s great grandfather hosted a merchant from Yunkai once. He came here with gifts of all sorts among which was a poisonous scorpion, hidden in his clothes. The old Salt King died but so did the merchant. Fell face down in his chamber pot while taking a piss. Quite ironic, don’t you think? You have to be careful when handling such vicious creatures.”
He only looks at her, and she's the one to raise an eyebrow. “I could turn away if you like.”
Aemond sighs loudly, moving his cutting jaw at the umpteenth humiliation and then lowers his pants. She stares into his eye and surely, surely he thinks, she wouldn’t dare to wander down.
But a moment later her eyes sink past his snatched waist, and she smirks.
“I believe I owe you an apology.”
“What for?”
“Questioning your…natural gifts.”
Aemond blinks, running on the verge between scowling, raising his eyebrows and huffing a laugh. Certainly, it never happened to him to talk so bluntly about his cock with any highborn lady barely met, let alone a supposed queen.
“I’ll leave you to your bath, dragon prince. The Salt King and I have much to discuss.”
“Such as?” he deadpans, not really interested while he dives into the clean water.
“Well, a Targaryen Prince is not an everyday occurrence.” She says following his every move, the way water glides on his skin, silver hair floating on the surface like moonblooms. “We’ll make sure to have a feast worthy of your noble taste this evening.”
“And then talk behind my back about what to do with me?”
“Undoubtedly. And I will tell him the truth.”
“Hmm.” He hums, settling on one of the underwater steps of the pool, resting his shoulders against the rim. His mood instantly improves, so he pins her with his eye and looks her up and down. “Do you believe to know my reasons? You’re quite sure of yourself…your Highness. Unless your father’s sorcery allows you to read minds, I dare say even rather pretentious.”
“I don’t need sorcery to know that you, in the first place, do not know what you’re doing here.”
“And what makes you so sure?”
She sees that chin tilting, lifting with a hint of challenge. And she takes it. She has the truth, and indeed, she doesn’t need sorcery.
“Because Qarth is still standing.”
She gets no answer, just that diffident stern look to which she darts the faintest of smirks and then leaves the pool, under his watchful eye that stays on the door for a moment longer, before he lets his head sink underwater.
The Salt Queen gives instructions for the most sumptuous room to be given to Prince Aemond. She sees to it that he is provided with several silk suits and that food is served to him immediately when he has finished bathing. She has observed his body with pleased eyes, so scrupulously she knows the Prince has not had a decent meal in weeks.
“Did he settle?” Xavos asks when she enters his private room.
“In time, I’m sure he will. Valyrians have an impressive disposition to make their own what does not belong to them, do they not?”
She hears him murmur something in return from where he stands, on the balcony threshold that overlooks the city and its massive port. The Queen sits on a soft armchair and starts to twirl her hair around one finger, curling her mouth into a thoughtful pout. “I was thinking goose for dinner. Or salt beef? We should save goats and pigs for the beast. Apparently, poor thing is starving.”
In the silence that follows, she turns to her husband. “Xavos?”
The Salt King turns with one shoulder and a half-bitter smile. “We have a living threat who could burn us all to the crisp walking within our palace and our city, and you speak to me of geese and pigs?”
“It’s useless to cry over spilled milk. You let him in. You let greed lure you all like a piper with a flute. I’m wondering, on which tune did he make you dance?”
He walks to her with slow feet and looks at her after a long sigh. “Dragon eggs.”
“I should’ve known.”
“Cyril began talking of an opportunity of a lifetime. Of the Greatest City that ever was and will be becoming even greater. Think about it. With dragons…Qarth might become the center of the whole world. A newborn Valyria. If we play our hand right—”
“Quit the fancy words. What exactly are you asking of me, Xavos?”
She knows he is asking for something. She has known him for more than ten years, and he has asked, has demanded, a lot of her. She knows that when his voice drops a note, he wants something, as if whispered, it becomes less degrading.
He trails his index finger on her chin and lifts it. “To make him dance to your tune.”
“You overestimate me, husband. I cannot reason with a tiger when my head is in its mouth. Besides, he might be easy on the eye, but he’s as agreeable as a plant of spikes.”
She speaks smoothly—not a flinch or a blink at her husband's hand sinking between her lilac’s folds, and then between her inner ones. “Since when you are so reluctant about who’s allowed in your bed?”
“Don’t confuse me with yourself.” she says lifting her chin to look at him, unbothered by the circling his finger draws on her dry bundle. “I fuck who I want for pleasure, rarely out of boredom, but never to prove a point.”
Abruptly, he slips his finger deep inside, hurting her. “I should have taken your tongue as well.”
“And still…” she forces a smile over the painful grimace twisting her mouth “it would not have given you what you so desperately seek in every hole.”
His unwanted touch leaves her and he straightens, pacing lazily behind her seat. “He’s young. He’s had a rough time. Surely, he must’ve missed the intimate company of a woman.”
“For that kind of company, there are pleasure houses.”
“Don’t play dumb, now. You saw how proud he is. How do you think he will take it if we send a whore to his rooms?” Xavos grips the back of the chair and leans down slowly, speaking to her ear. “Listen to me. Cyril is right. This is a once-in-a-lifetime opportunity. We must make him feel…important…coddled, even.”
“Even if you shackle his feet with gold, you cannot turn a dragon into a lamb, Xavos.”
The Salt King sighs impatiently, and his tone drops just as earlier. “Do as I say.”
Young Nyla interrupts her masters as she enters the room, and the Queen turns her head. “Nyla, what is it?”
“We have escorted Prince Aemond to his rooms, your Highness.”
“Good.” Xavos says, and then looks at his wife with a pointed stare. “Make sure he has everything he needs.”
The Salt Queen barges in and halts on the door, bewildered upon seeing her trusted friend Mysha on the verge of tears, staring at the ground as if she’s waiting for an execution.
“My deepest apologies, my Prince, I meant no disrespect.”
“What happened?”
“Uh—Prince Aemond asked for some herbs, your Highness. An ointment, for his eye.”
“Aye. I did ask for that, not for you to fucking touch me.”
The Prince is snarling, his eye wide and menacing like a hound on the brink of defense yet hunting for flesh. His face is clean now, the Queen notices, shaven; his hair is damp and pulled back, leaving his chiseled features, that infuriating chin, and high, prominent cheekbones in plain sight. Stupid as it may sound, she can't help but think of one of those marble sculptures she likes to buy from art dealers.
“You may go, Mysha. I will assist the Prince.”
“I don’t need assistance.” He hisses with threatening calm. “Leave.”
He caved in the pool, but he will not suffer another humiliation in front of these foreigners. At least not with something so delicate and private as his eye. But of course, he realizes with annoyance, this woman will not falter at any of his empty orders.
“Are you dismissing me in my own Palace?”
He looks down, sighing and fuming, and she beckons Misha to leave the room.
“You must understand, servants here are treated differently. They’re granted more liberties.”
“I see. As the ones you so generously grant to slaves.” he mutters, and starts to fidget with a tray offering ginger roots, turmeric powder, and eucalyptus leaves.
“Oh, spare me. Of all people, you Valyrians are the least entitled to give a lecture on morals.” she counters, watching his long, tapered fingers hover without touching anything. Clearly, he was used to servants doing it for him.
“May I?” she offers, but doesn’t wait for his permission to make room next to him. “There are no slaves in this palace.” she tells him "How can you expect loyalty from someone you bought with something as cheap as gold?”
“Cheap as the golden ring your husband has stuck in his nose? He looks like a fucking boar.” he says as his eye trails on her profile.
“My husband is an imbecile. This city did not become the greatest that ever was and will be with gold. Trade is our currency. We call it antallagí. Exchange.”
“A true-born merchant’s wife.”
“Or a boar’s one?”
He huffs, and she turns, feigning shock at the faintest of smirks curling his lips. “So you’re not made of stone after all.”
She studies him for a few moments—more than is deemed proper for a married woman, in Westeros at least—but she can't help it. She wonders how it is possible that exile and moons of misery have not bent this man; what drives that rigid posture, whether it is too strict an education or it is all a lie, masking an effort to keep control, to impose it on others but perhaps more on himself.
“Ointment is ready, your Grace. It may burn a little, ginger is a godsend, but it’s tricky. I could help—”
“I need no help. Leave.”
The stone is in place once more. But she won’t have it.
She raises her eyebrows, biding all the time in the world.
Aemond chews thorns as he looks at her, swallows them, and tastes them again, piercing his tongue. “Please.”
“That must’ve cost you a lot. But it isn’t so hard, is it?”
His lips flatten in a thin line, and she smiles. “You are a second son, are you not? That’s the reason for that stubborn chin. You must stomp your feet to make anything yours.”
“Careful, woman. I’ve taken tongues for far less.”
“Why? Did you not see eye to eye with them?”
He moves like lightning, invading her space until he is a breath away from her face, and his mouth breathes fire. “Listen to me. I care not who the fuck you are or which title you make your slaves call you. I am not here to allow you to make a fool of me, Queen or no Queen. Mock me once more, and I’ll carve the word please on your vicious mouth.”
He waits for the fire to catch on, even though flames do not seem to touch her; she's unwavering and solid as marble.
“Get out.”
“I don’t—” she chokes on her words, on his hand seizing her jaw; cold fingers, leaving embers on her skin.
“I said, get out.”
That evening, the already lavish palace of the Salt King was polished and decked out duly to honor the foreign guest. The walls, lit by braziers of fire, stood like a beacon amidst a sea of marble and white stone roofs. The Hall of Trade was a treasury, crammed so full of gold that it looked like a pirate's dream. Pillows were piled on the floor, long tables held food of all kinds. A huge bowl of wine welcomed the guests, who were given a goblet they had to dip into the large bowl and drink, otherwise they would not be allowed inside. It was tradition, a sort of good omen.
It pinched Aemond's nostrils when he brought the cup to his mouth and, thankfully, drank it in small sips. Despite his prudence, by the second he felt his tongue on fire from how spiced it was. By comparison, Arbor Gold was wastewater.
He wears the sapphire blue silk tunic, with a silk belt cinching his narrow waist, but his hair is different. Mysha learned the lesson she asked, and when he gave his consent, she got to work and braided his silver hair. Most of them are loose, falling down his back in a curtain of white. Others are laced in one, two, three braids, softly meeting at the back of his head.
If he thought the Salt Queen’s hospitality was somewhat a little too forward and a lot more intrusive, he had to reconsider when he found himself cornered as soon as his silver head caught the eye of every guest. Men and women, old and young, flocked to him with eyes full of wonder, as if the Salt King had captured some wild and rare creature and called all his friends to make them look.
But they didn’t just look. They talked openly and freely, voicing thoughts that, in Westeros, would have stayed inside one’s head.
“Look at his hair! They seem like moon rays!”
“And the skin! Whiter than milk!”
“What happened to his eye?”
“If only my wife were here…she always wanted to see a Valyrian!”
He had just gotten there, and his teeth were baring.
“My friends, please! Let our noble guest breathe!” the Salt King chuckles as he comes forward among the bewildered audience, looking like the loot of some theft, for all the gold and diamonds and emeralds sewn on his orange silk tunic. “Come, my Prince. The first taste is yours.”
Aemond catches a movement on his right and there she is, the Salt Queen, in a crimson red sparkling like a bloodied dew given the little, tiny red stones woven in her silks. Her hair coils into an intricate bun crisscrossed by a paper-thin gold chain that crowns her forehead with small, rough rubies, like grains of salt.
For a moment, he’s so enthralled by her figure, and her eyes, even more piercing because of kohl, that he fails to notice the clay plate she’s holding, filled with fruits. Some he has never seen, except in books, but he has no time to take a guess.
“Your first taste, my Prince.” she chimes. “Sweet or tart?”
His gaze falls back to the plate, but not before stopping, again, for a blink, on that absurd fashion of one bare breast. “Tart.” He says tightly.
She smiles, as if she knew, and puts the plate down. Aemond watches her bejeweled fingers pluck off a grape and turn, her hand in midair but not quite outstretched toward him. He nothing but give her a pointed look, one that translates only into a stern and irrevocable I can eat by myself.
“My Prince. My wife means no offense.” the Salt King explains “In Qarth, it is deemed a great honor, given and taken, and an excellent omen for the guest's stay, if said guest is fed by the matron of the house.”
His throat bobs and the Salt Queen can’t quite decipher if the dragon prince is more humiliated or angered by the prospect of being fed by a woman like a baby who just teethed. At last, he sighs and leans in, but her hand withdraws a little, leaving him with his mouth slightly open, stretched forth like a beggar waiting for charity. It is not Aemond who bites the grape, but her who finally, after another straight stare into his eye, lets it drop into his mouth.
The crowd erupts in a cheerful clapping, as does The Salt King who goes to stand just between his wife and the Dragon Prince, placing a friendly hand on his shoulder “You see, Prince Aemond, this is one of the extraordinary gifts of Qartheen women. They know exactly how to hold...and when to let go.”
Aemond does not bother to look at him, he is too absorbed, annoyed and deep down, without him knowing it yet, enticed by the tranquil smile that curls her mouth and at the same time curls his pride, mocks it, strips it bare and outright laughs at it, goading everyone else to do so.
Behold, the pink dread!
“Without further ado, let the feast begin!” The Salt King announces joyfully and in the same moment, a delicate and sweet melody fills the room, while Aemond chews what’s left of that grape, tasting his own bile.
An hour later, Aemond is fuming. Fuming because ruling the most important and influential city in Essos, he should’ve known the Thirteen were aware of everything that went on and was currently going on in the West. Perhaps even more than he knew. Did they know something about his mother?
He banished that thought from his mind just as he trained himself to do in all this damned existence.
They knew about the Dance, they knew about Aegon the Usurper, they knew of Rhaenyra the Cruel, the Storming of the Dragon Pit. They knew the kingdom was dreadfully impoverished and in the hands of a young boy.
But they spoke about it as if they were discussing the weather. Qartheens cared nothing about what was going on outside their impenetrable walls; whether it was a new king on a throne far away or a war that had killed thousands and thousands, it was all tittle-tattle to kill time between one cup of wine and the next. He was asked about this battle or the previous one without thinking that he had lived through that war; he made it, he carried it and perhaps he still carried it within him.
He was fuming for this, he was fuming for how women, and even men, gawk at him, for their bizarre custom of hosting a feast without a decent place to sit and eat like normal people do. He was fuming because no matter how much he tried to ignore it, a spool of crimson would always catch his eye.
Grabbing one more cup of wine, he decides to take a breath outside, standing on one of the marbled balconies of the Palace. Air does good to extinguish his fires, but it does not clear up his mind. Perhaps he should blame the wine, perhaps his head is still smoky.
Because you, in the first place, do not know what you're doing here.
As much as he loathed to admit it, the Salt Queen was right. He tricked himself into thinking the main reason for his coming here was Vhagar. She was weak, due to the wing's injuries as well as the old ones, and most of all, she was hungry. But with the promise of goats and pigs, came the clarity and the knowledge that he had no reason, no plan. He only knew he had leverage—a dreadful leverage made of talons and fire on these merchants and their city. But what to do with it?
He hears voices somewhere near, and once more, crimson pollutes his sight. The Salt Queen and her husband are talking behind a tall white pillar. He can’t quite hear what they’re saying, but she catches his stare almost immediately. The talking ceases, and Aemond knows they were talking about him, of course they were.
Xavos comes out of his hiding place with a placid and benevolent expression, walking right past him without a word. But she stays, and she looks, and then she walks to him.
“That will go to your head.” She warns as he empties the cup “I didn’t see you touch any food.”
The spiced wine burns his throat, makes his tongue sour and impatient. “Is your husband aware of your excessive concern about your guests? Or is it a thoughtfulness he has ordered you to reserve only for me?”
“I’m just being considerate since you’re a foreigner and not well acquainted with Qartheen tastes.”
“How exactly am I supposed to eat? Standing?”
She huffs a laugh and shakes her head trimmed with gold and red as she gives him a bemused, though genuine, look. “Good God, how spoiled you are? I thought misery made men humble, but clearly not men of House Targaryen.”
His jaw moves annoyingly, and he leaves the empty cup on the marble, but he doesn’t let go, holding it by the edges in a white-knuckle grip. She notices it as she leans against the marble, with her back to the city, and gives him a long, inquisitive look. “After all the misery you suffered, I thought you would’ve liked the attention…perhaps you do…perhaps…you want more.”
“Do you ever stop talking?” he asks boringly, and just as sourly, staring at the city.
“I must say, I’ve hosted so many people, from so many different parts of the world, and yet…I’ve never found myself before a face so full of contradictions.”
His eye pins her. “Need I remind you how you left my room earlier?”
“With your hand around my neck, because you couldn’t take a joke.”
“I don’t like being mocked. And I don’t like being played like a pawn. So, unless this is another one of your absurd customs, tell your husband to stop parading you around me like a whore. It looks bad when you insist on others calling you queen.”
“We all play parts, dragon prince. Sometimes, they blend. But in the end…it takes little to know the real you.”
Aemond chokes on his breath as her hand slips between them like water, cupping his crotch with a grip of steel, and fire, burning from her fingertips through the fabric. She holds it like a weapon, and his defense is low. She sees his throat bobbing down once, and twice, rejection curls his mouth, but not strongly enough to shove her hand away, to not start to harden against the flames of her fingers, brushing all his length until she cups it once more.
“Whore or queen?” she whispers, brushing his parted lips “Someone in there doesn’t seem to care.”
His grip on the cup loosens, a tremor runs down his spine, and he dawdles in the sensation, one felt before, elicited by other hands, and yet new. It’s been so long. The surge to touch, to clutch, to taste, drains his head of blood. But she eludes him, tilting her head to the right and then to the left to avoid the vise of his lips; her grip loosens, running the back of her fingers against his cock in a feathery brush, touching without touching.
He grinds his teeth to choke a whimper, but then she’s cupping again; she feels him go completely hard for her, and the knowledge washes over her like tongues of fire prickling down her back and between her thighs. The soft, slippery silk allows her to unleash her lunges more fiercely, to easily close her hand around his cock, and that same silk helps her to glide her hand deliciously up and down.
He's breathing hard, almost panting, brushing the tip of his nose against hers; her eyes are open, basking in the sight, the little twitches of his mouth as bends to pleasure, the breathing turning heavier and heavier, his hand that starts to flex. She imagines how those slender fingers would feel between her folds, how easily they would slip inside, and why, why is he not touching her?
“Do it…” she breathes. “Do you want me to say please? I would…there’s no shame in begging, dragon prince….it only makes you free…”
“Your Highness, my apologies.” Nyla calls her Queen suddenly, and she stops her wicked ministrations, abruptly bringing Aemond back to his senses.
“The Salt King sent me after you.” The young maid says, apparently unfazed by what she clearly witnessed. “We’re playing kottabos.”
"Ah, yes, of course.” she tries to regain some control, although she was panting on the sole anticipation, and goes back inside.
Aemond stalls, taking a long sigh in the fresh air to try to stop the blood from boiling. And he follows.
Kottabos, he discovers, is quite a tricky game. The rules are simple: one has to throw the last drops of wine inside their cup to hit a white plate balanced atop a bronze pole. It requires a bit of dexterity, because the player must put the index finger through the handle of the drinking cup and throw the drops while sprawled on pillows, laying on their elbows.
The Salt Queen, it seems, is quite adept at this game. It takes her only two tries to hit the plate and she’s rising from the pillows, bowing her head to thank the cheerful audience. Aemond's eye bends as the crimson veils bend with her every movement; he slips between them and lets them wrap around him, even though he should not, even though he reproaches himself for letting the blood, the wine, the flesh, that has been starved of other flesh for too long, win.
“My closest friends know I’m very fond of sweets and cakes but…on such a special occasion, I choose a special reward.” She announces when the crowd has quieted down, and before she even turns around, he feels her gaze on him as if she had two more eyes on the back of her head. “A sweeter reward…or perhaps tarter.”
She moves towards him, and every step she takes barefoot on the marble is an unmasking. With every step she takes, it seems to him that she is touching him, as she did just before, and more; he feels like her fingers are slipping under the silk, setting fire to his skin.
She stops in front of him and yet, he still sees her moving, feels her moving like a sea creature and her thousand tentacles of crimson silk.
Maybe he should put the wine down.
Wine is not for you, brother mine, your mind’s too heavy. It’ll soak like a sponge and you'll fall into your own vomit.
What she does not put down is her aim, moving her hands diligently as she grabs his face and draws him close to kiss him on the lips, and tilt her head back to look at him, so close she’s breathing his breath. “This…is your first taste.”
“Good! The Queen has chosen her reward. Let us play another round, shall we?”
Again, Aemond does not bother to look at the Salt King, he looks at her and the faint twitch between her lips at her husband's words.
“Come.” She says taking his hand, and he doesn’t know what drives him to follow her, whether his mind is too soaked, or his flesh is crying out to be fed.
What is certain is that now her bare feet tread the marble of his rooms and he is closing the door.
“I hope you don’t mind if we do it here. I don’t take men into my rooms.”
“Why?”
“I’m jealous of my things.”
“Liar.”
“What?”
“So used to play parts and yet, you look down before lying. Disappointing.”
“I’m surprised you were able to look at anything above my cleavage.”
This time, he lowers his gaze, but not to lie. He knows he has looked, many times, and the excuse of not being used to such a custom starts to creak. She walks up to him and looks at him with that knowing smile that makes him want to clamp his hand on her mouth and wipe it off her face, and maybe stick his fingers inside.
“Are you a virgin, my Prince? Did you have a wife in the West? Children?”
He swallows, and her eyes fall on his throat.
“Is that guilt you just swallowed? Or sorrow?”
“Why don’t you listen to your father’s sorcery while keeping your hole shut?”
“I told you, I am no witch. Qarth is the center of the world. Do you think we don’t know what happens in the East, West, North and South?” she angles her head and whispers in his ear “We know everything… Kinslayer, Terror of the Trident.”
She speaks his war titles in that liquorose way, opening the vowels as if she is casting a spell, but he hears the mockery. It is the same that loosened the tongue at the Strong bastards, the same one perpetuated by Alys. But Alys' mockery was different. She spoke in riddles, visions and flames. This woman speaks in truths.
“Do you regret it?” she whispers, and her tentacles thread their way through the silk “All those innocents you have burned…all the ones you have lost.” lazily, she pulls at the laces of the blue tunic and he stiffens, flaring his nostrils. “See? I don’t need sorcery. The more you stiffen, the more cracks reveal.” She straightens her head to look at him with eyes darker than tar, wandering over his face and he feels branded. “I can see them around you…ghosts…why don’t you set them free?”
“What is your fucking game?” he wants to seethe, but she’s so close to him it comes out as nothing but a hiss.
She smiles again and this time the victory is full. "The game is over, your grace. I won, and you're my reward. I will admit I never had such a pretty one...care to show me that sapphire or are you still keen on playing the prude bashful prince?”
Aemond has no qualms about touching her, grabbing her face with nails digging into her cheeks as he pulls her close, turning her chin to spit anger and all his tumbled restraints into her ear “Perhaps I should shove my cock into your mouth to make you shut it, hmm? Is that what you want? What your husband wants? That I fuck you like a whore?”
She stiffens, thrashing in his hold that she may not have expected, and manages to turn her head just enough to look at him, scoffing. “Is this the only way you know to use your hands?”
A taunt, another one. It turns his eye pitch black and he leans closer to her lips, almost baring his teeth, almost as if he wants to bite the words—the mockery, the victory—off her mouth. But once more, she eludes him, tilting back and so, any reason burns and dies into his head.
“D’you want to play games, don’t you? Let’s play, then.”
Still gripping her cheeks, he roughly pushes her into the room, letting her go for only one fleeting instant of freedom, just long enough to grab her shoulders and force her to turn around. A gasp escapes her lips, but the next moment she’s bending on the table, he’s forcing her to. A thrill spills into her blood, making her insides clench with anticipation, and dread.
He traps her, planting his feet between hers to stop her from closing her legs. She tries to pull herself up with her back, but he scowls, pushing her head down to keep it firmly glued to the table. She whines as his long fingers pull at her hair, tearing the gold and red chain off, and she can hear him fumbling with the silks, the other hand hiking her crimson gowns up.
“My Prince, please—”
“Begging already?” snarling, he spits into his palm and gives a few quick tugs to his cock, hard and aching “I wonder who’s coming from. The whore or the Queen. Either way, you’ll get your reward, your Highness.”
“Wait—” she whimpers as she feels the head of his cock teasing against her folds, something coils in her belly, and something else, something cold, grips her heart. “Not like th—”
She chokes on her tongue as he slips inside her, easily but painfully, all the way in. Hissing, his hold on her hair tightens, a coarse exhale coming out of his parted lips as he adjusts to her walls, hot and wet, but tense. She’s tensing all over.
“Why are you fighting me?” he pulls her up by the hair, leaning his face close to hers “You wanted this, did you not? You have been teasing and mocking me since I set foot in here.”
“I—”
“No. I’ve had enough of your talks and taunts. Here’s what’s going to happen, whore queen. You will keep quiet and take it. And if I want to fuck you again later, I will. You are not in charge here—not you, not your husband, not all the fucking Thirteen. So don’t fucking push me, unless you want to die with fire skinning you alive.”
Without too much grace, he forces her back on the table and starts a relentless pace, fisting the crimson fabric and pulling to keep her low back flushed to his crotch. His pants mix with flesh slapping harder and faster as he tries to pour on her, and into her, the grief and rage, the misery and fire he’s made of. She writhes beneath him, arching and crumpling against the wooden with violent gasps; she feels like burning but inside, she’s torn in two.
She clamps her hand on the wood to grab onto something, just like that evening. She feels her, and his, arousal coating her thighs, just as blood did that evening.
The little girl wants to run, but the Salt Queen doesn’t want him to stop.
She’s sinking in her mind, but burning in every corner of her body and soul.
She can only moan, her mouth agape and dry, leaking saliva on the surface as her head bounces at each wild rut, hitting that inner spot over and over.
“Look at you, hmm?” he taunts her with purpose, perhaps vengeance “Fucked so good she lost her wits.”
Look at you, little whore. Bet you like it, eh?
Squeezing her eyes shut, she finds a raw voice hidden somewhere. “Harder—”
“What?” he slurs with a heavy-lidded eye, the braids are almost loose, dangling on his face at each thrust.
“Harder—” she pleads with her eyes still shut.
“Greedy wanton thing—” hips start to snap brutally, in a hurtful way, just as she wants, even if it’s hard to even breathe. Pleasure overwhelms her, drives her up towards the peak. But she finds she cannot climb; her mind is holding her down.
He grunts with each snap and curses in some foreign language she’s not aware of, and she doesn’t care; she’s too focused on letting herself burn. But it’s like sitting in front of a fire and barely feeling the flames.
And then his hips jolt faster, once, twice, and he halts, gripping her hips firmly, coming inside her with a long, satiated groan.
Completely spent, he slumps on top of her, resting his head on her shoulder blades to catch his breath. However, she is quick to slip from the scorching alcove, to slide out the door with her mind drowned but her heart pounding out of her chest.
"Your Highness!" Dora wakes from her slumber, and reaches for her Queen.
"Nothing, Dora." she says in a voice still hoarse, almost scratching. "Draw me a bath, please. And fetch mint and wormwood." Moon tea.
She starts to undo her silks and feels a distant smell of smoke sticking to her skin. Like one who has bathed in fire.
The morning after brings no clarity, because truthfully, Aemond does not need clarity. Everything is drastically simple. He is no coward. However his mind was less clear than usual, he could never blame wine for how he behaved a few hours earlier. And why would he?
Whether she was acting on her husband’s orders or not, she wanted him. And he wanted her. He could concede that he'd acted in a harsher way than usual, that he’d let rage and grief guide his purpose. It was not the first time, and it wouldn’t be the last. But it all worked in his favor. A demonstration, a shift in whatever power game the Salt King and the other merchant Kings thought to play out. He only made it clear that he was not some precious pet to be coddled and ridiculed.
She had teased and mocked him at any occurrence. He’d only showed her the price of playing with fire.
His blue silks are fresh and clean when he sits down to have breakfast with Xavos; his long silver hair is tied up in a single low braid that starts from the center of his head and gathers lazily down his shoulder.
He has yet to get used to this strange Qartheen custom of sitting on pillows to eat; at least, however, he regains his appetite when he is served dishes once familiar to him, and less exotic.
"I took the liberty of having you prepare a breakfast akin to your old habits.” Xavos says chewing bread with olives “Ham, cheese, venison. And we have fresh fish every day. Blessed be the trades."
The Prince is sincerely grateful, though he would be a lot more grateful if the Salt King were able to shut his mouth when the sun is not even high in the sky. He goes on and on about the supposed trades, and then about the salt he so proudly sells to every corner of the world. He is just about to go on another monologue about the Thirteen and their hopeful wish to receive the Dragon Prince in their Palaces when he stops, frowning at the young maid clearing the place set next to the king. “What are you doing?”
“Apologies, Your Highness, but the Queen will not attend breakfast. She feels indisposed this morning.”
Immediately, Aemond glances up at her and she’s brave enough to hold it for a bunch of seconds before looking down and making her way to the door.
“Maid?”
She halts upon hearing the Prince and turns around.
“Tell your Queen I was promised something. She said she would see to it personally. And I expect her to keep her word.”
“Yes, your Grace.”
“Wait.” he stops her again, his tone almost bored, and slips a hand into the folds of his blue silks, pulling out a gold and red chain. “Take this. She left it in my room last night.”
He throws the jewel on the table and resumes his knife and fork, not bothering to look at anyone, certainly not at the Salt King who is indeed looking at him, looking as pleased as ever, like the cat that caught the mouse.
The Salt Queen did not in fact forget her word. She promised him she would see to Vhagar’s condition, ordering to save goats and pigs to feed the beast, put them on carts and send someone with the Prince to reach the desert, where the dragon was resting.
However, she should've probably assumed that such an apparently simple task would've turned out to be a lot harder to carry out.
She’s just about to finish her late breakfast with Mysha and Dora, when Nyla breaks into the parlor with quick feet.
“Your Highness—uhm—Prince Aemond is at the door, he asks to be received.”
“What is it now? He doesn’t like how the sun rises here?”
Mysha and Dora giggle, but the Queen stays serious and turns to Nyla. “Tell the Prince he will have to wait. I am sure that even in Westeros, barging in during meals stands for bad manners.”
Nyla leaves, but it’s with even quicker feet that she returns to her Queen in barely a minute.
“My Queen, Prince Aemond is quite adamant on being received immediately. He…also says that…keeping guests at the door is a synonym of bad manners in Westeros, as he is sure, anywhere else in the world.”
Tapping her fingers on the table, it takes her a minute to sigh loudly and stand up, throwing the kerchief on the table.
“My Prince.” She greets him as she stops at the door.
In his usual soldierly stance, he looks past her for a moment before locking her blank gaze. “Still adamant on not letting me in?”
“You were not that drunk last night. I believe you heard me just fine when I told you I don’t take men into my rooms.”
“Hmm. But you did take me, and quite eagerly, if memory serves me right. Are we not past such formalities?”
“Gloating like some common man is not very royal of you, your Grace—"
“Tis’ not gloating. And I might say, not very royal of you either to beg me to fuck you harder, your Highness.”
“You’re right. Fucked me so good I didn’t come.”
The proud mischievous smile that kept stretching his mouth vanishes in a blink, and she has to sigh to stifle her own. “What is it, my Prince?”
“You gave me your word.”
“Indeed. And I kept it. What is your complaint now?”
“Your slaves refuse to escort me in the desert.”
“Well, I can’t blame them. Can’t you feed your dragon on your own? Or are you too humiliated by the prospect of carrying a cart of dead pigs?”
From the way he is staring at her, and having already tickled his pride when the sun is not yet high in the sky, she knows he will not yield on this matter.
“Fine. I’ll go with you.”
“My Queen, it is not safe.”
“Do not worry, Dora. I’ll take the Sorrowful Men.”
Aemond almost laughs to himself as he stands on the left edge of an enclosed inner courtyard of the palace, resembling the training yards of Westeros. There are men intent on training with spears and swords, dressed in strange uniforms made of blue drapes and a strange golden mask on their faces. The carving makes the mask weeping, with a single tear embossed on the gold.
Aemond has no idea how they can see, as there seem to be no holes in those eyes of gold. But his gaze returns at once to the Salt Queen, talking to one of those men, with a large turban on his head. Some kind of commander, he assumes.
He bows to her and then six of these mysterious men march forward and surround the woman.
The Prince glances at each one of them, standing tall and proud as ever with his hands laced behind, seeming unperturbed by these safety measures. In fact, he says “Truly there’s no need to trouble these men, your Highness. What do you expect me to do? Feed you to Vhagar as soon as we are in the desert?”
“These men are not a safety measure for me, but for you.”
“Me?”
“Yes. To prevent you from having certain…Targaryen ideas.”
“Six armed men against the largest living dragon seems like a somewhat unequal battle.”
Narrowing her eyes, she watches as the same placid arrogance bathes his features, but she thinks now it’s the right time to wipe it off, and she knows exactly how to do it. “Sorrows bring sorrows.”
All at once, the Sorrowful men move, drawing their spears with impressive speed and aiming the sharp points at the prince. His whole demeanor changes, becomes menacing, she notices, but he does not flinch. She walks among the weeping men avoiding the spears until she stands in front of the prince and snatches the mask off his face, to wear it herself.
“Listen to me. These men live to serve me. They were slaves once, bought with something far more valuable than gold: freedom. And they chose to stay by my side. If I told them to take the only eye you have left, right now, they would do it. If I told them to cut your cock and bring it to me right now, they would do it. A shame, I will grant you that. So, you’re right, you may be in charge here…but if you push me…you will be dead before you have the chance to say Dracarys.”
Whatever cutting remark the prince has in mind, he does not have time to say it, as he is suddenly distracted by a strange sound, a whistle, like the cry of a bird.
Aemond turns his head and the Queen does the same, recognizing that sound at once. The Sorrowful Men lower their spears and a man steps forward, dressed in a strange purple robe. Aemond stares at him warily, wondering why, in the name of the Seven, this man’s lips are blue, like a corpse.
“Father…” the Salt Queen greets him, taking Aemond by surprise, but sounding a little surprised herself to see the blue-lipped man.
He doesn’t speak, doesn’t answer to his daughter, because he can’t. He starts to move his hands in strange signs, circles and lines. And Aemond is grateful for his strict education, for he knows what that man is doing. Sign language. He is either mute, or tongueless.
Unfortunately, he cannot understand what he’s saying, but his daughter can.
“Kóri. Will you not introduce me to your noble guest?”
The Salt Queen sighs, casting a brief look at the Prince, and then she introduces him. “Father, this is Prince Aemond, of House Targaryen.”
The blue-lipped man looks at him with wide eyes, charmed to the point of looking unsettling. And then he bends into a long bow. Not even when Aemond sat on the Iron Throne, someone had bowed so low before him.
He tilts his chin down to greet him, and sees the warlock’s hands moving. “On behalf of the Warlocks of Qarth” the Salt Queen translates “I welcome you, your Grace. It is a great privilege to see a descendant of Old Valyria in the flesh. Your blood is as ancient as our beloved great city.”
Aemond cannot stop his eyebrow from raising, nor his tongue. “It seems at least one member of your family knows good manners.”
“You must excuse us, father, we have to go.” she hastens to say, but as soon as she takes one step, her father grabs her arm.
“Don’t run from me, kori. You have been knowing, yes? More than usual.” and then his hands rise and fall once more. “Trees wail. Leaves are bleeding. The doom, kori. The doom is near.”
PART 2
thank you so so much for reading!! 💕 💕
#the king of qarth#liv (in la vida loca)#aemond targaryen#aemond targaryen x reader#aemond targaryen x you#aemond targaryen x female reader#aemond targaryen fanfic#aemond targaryen smut#ewan mitchell#aemond x fem!reader#aemond x you#aemond x reader#aemond x y/n#aemond smut#aemond fanfic#aemond targaryen fic#house of the dragon#aemond targaryen imagine#aemond fanfiction#aemond one eye#prince aemond targaryen#prince aemond
650 notes
·
View notes
Text
Tear In My Heart
Aemond never cared for tourneys, for hunts, nor for any sort of pageantry; he supposed marriage fell in that category. To be frank, he never cared for you either, but then he heard whispers about you and his brother, and then thought, maybe he somehow did.
Aemond Targaryen x Baratheon!Reader x Aegon Targaryen | 2k+ | cw: fem!reader, reader has baratheon feature (dark hair), wife!reader, arranged marriage, jealousy, possessiveness, infidelity, men being men, angst, violence/hunting for sport/death, typos, etc.
A/N: mind the tags! This is part of my graduation celebration 🩷🩷🩷🩷 slayed college. Let's pretend I posted this on schedule lmao. The hotd trailers really brought me to life. Part of this fic is inspired by the 2014 french beauty and the beast film.
Tagging: @pinksirensong @aralezinspace @delicious-xx @deniixlovezelda @targaryenmoony @risefallrise @slavyanskiyahui @thebullship @sa3losa @lxdyred
Brother.
What was he?
The word was a stone, heavy but worthless. Nothing ever came from a brother besides bluntness, brashness, and bludgeoning burdens.
No kindness befell Aemond from his brother Aegon. Likewise, Aegon long knew to expect nothing but vexation from Aemond.
Yet even the most broken of bonds are bound back under the great unifier— Death.
Never before had the brothers worked towards a common goal so fast, so easily, and all without needing to utter a word. Together, they carry their game back to their camp, equally ignoring the burn of their arms.
Aemond loathed hunting expeditions. He loathed it then, he wholeheartedly abhorred it now. He regrets forcing himself into this godforsaken trip. He should have let you go on it alone, like always.
He regrets letting his slimy older brother getting under his skin. He regrets listening to all the rumors about Aegon and you. But in his defense—
"I MAY BE BLIND IN ONE EYE," Aemond snaps, causing you to flinch. He had never raised his voice at you like this before. He despises how shocked you look, how your bright eyes accused that he was wrong. It makes him fume, "but I see clearer than most."
Aemond is further irritated when your eyes began to water.
You, who was otherwise so well-kept and pristine, were falling apart in front of him. The wayward strands of dark hair framing your face irked him. The momentary thought of his children inheriting this trait added fuel to his anger. If, that is, whatever child you'd bear was even his to begin with.
"You are whoring yourself to my bovine brother!"
Your chest heaves heavily beneath your nightgown, "you would happily believe any slander to my name."
He scoffs when tears begin to fall from your cheeks. He paces towards the bed, unbothered if the issue is left unresolved. He'd rather sleep than watch you sob. The latter left a rather bitter taste in his mouth.
"What have I been but docile and serving?"
"Serving?" Aemond turns back, one eye narrowed, "to whom? Your greed and lust?"
"TO YOU!"
Aemond slightly pulls his head back, not expecting you to scream. He watches a spirit take over you. It was similar to that of the one that sometimes causes him to stare at you from across the room.
You suck in a breath, "do you not complain about Aegon day in and day out?" You blink rapidly and point harshly, "do you not wish him away and want him out of your hair, husband?"
"Don't you twist the truth for your-"
"I played his keeper so that you wouldn't have to," you motion, "I kept him in check so that you could do your errands, help your grandfather, go on your dragon rides, and yet you say you see clearer than most?"
"I saw you," he hisses, grabbing your shoulders.
You gasp and go rigid.
"I saw you embrace him in the cloak of night, in the corner of the gardens, where you thought no one could see."
You catch betrayal in his words, but it only causes you to chuckle dryly, "had you not lurked in the darkness, you'd have known he vomited on my shoulder and nearly passed out. Perhaps you would have felt compelled to help me drag him to his chambers."
Aemond clenches his jaw. He does not believe you.
You swat his hands away. You shake your head, "you're just a man. You're bored of what you have and want what you cannot."
"Ha. You are delusional if you think I want you."
You cannot help the sound that leaves your lips. You cannot help how you slap a hand to your mouth.
In that split second, Aemond spots the hurt on your face before you walk past him to your side of the bed.
You pull the covers down, "worry not. I've long accepted you will never want me."
"Oh," he growls, grabbing your arm before you can sit down, "and is that why you turn to my brother? Or why you leap at every chance to leave?'"
You wince as you turn to him.
"Now that I think about it, why is it you're invited to hunting expeditions so often?" Aemond demands under an angered breath, "d'you seek refuge in the-"
"I RUN INTO THE FOREST!" you hiss, shoving him away. His grip left a sting on your flesh and you rub it as you continue to burstp, "I run into the forest and let my instincts take over! I let myself shift into a beast and I run wild like a deer, begging to be shot down."
Aemond expression sours at your reaction.
"I live my curse as a Baratheon woman and morph into a doe, bullied by stags and dragons alike," you shudder, tears running down your face.
"Don't you play the victim here," he rebuts, "your family offered you to mine for power."
"Then why is it that I am so powerless, husband?"
Aemond doesn't bother watching you walk away, slamming the door shut on your way out.
Aggravation spills from his mouth through screams when silence drowns him. There is an ache in his chest that intensifies. It doesn't take long for him to question why he felt so hurt when what he was is angry, angry at you.
He then finds himself imagining you throwing yourself at Aegon, weeping on his lap. He imagines Aegon brushing your dark tresses back and drying your tears. It infuriates him more.
And as he convinced himself whilst in fumes that the reason why he hated your leave was how rudely you left, parts of his nightmares where coming true.
Aegon saw you storming down the hall in nothing but a nightgown, a cloak, and tears. He was too drunk to actually ascertain if you had no shoes on, but he was partially sure that there were truly tears running down your neck.
He was shocked by how shocked you were when he grabbed you by the arms and stopped you in your tracks. He knew you to have eyes that could spot a needle in a haystack, or real jewels from fake ones ten paces away. How could you not have noticed him when he wasn't even trying to hide how he staggered down the halls on his way back to his room?
"Spooked, kitty cat?" Aegon furrows his brows.
Your skin definitely had a damp sheen to it. Your gaze upon him somehow always hurt his thorax but it was amplified now with how puffy and red your eyes were.
"Where 'r'you storming off to?" he slurs.
You push him away, but even then you managed to offer consideration, as it was clear he was one shove away from dropping. You say, "unhand me, Aegon. I have no time for you tonight."
He pouts, blinking slowly, "and here I thought we were friends now."
You laugh. Your laugh has always had the power to make his spine tingle, but it was different this time. You shake your head, "the enemy of my enemy is not my friend."
Aegon slowly releases you. He clenches his jaw and sighs, "so it's Aemond who did this."
You scoff as you break away from him, "oh, spare me."
He watches you walk away from him. He feels hurt by your coldness. How quickly Aemond reaps your warmth. He calls out, "from what?"
You stop and snap from over your shoulder, "from whatever it is you think you can do!"
He was sober now, and his throat was dry at that.
"My burden is mine. I am his wife."
"And am to be king," he whispers, taking a step forward. He watches as you heave. He's long wondered what it would feel like to hear it as you did so beneath him.
"But you are not king," you reply, stepping back to maintain the space between you, "and you have your sister wife."
"Who would deny me?" he peers his face closer to you, "even a fool would deny me nothing."
"I would," you rebut.
He freezes.
"I am prize to you," you muffle out. Your manage an even voice even as hurt baptizes your cheeks, "meat between your teeth. You and him are cut from the same cloth."
"I AM NOT MY BROTHER, " Aegon snaps.
You flinch, just as you did Aegon. You shake your head and force a smile, "of course not, your grace."
The next moment, Aegon realizes he may not have been as sober as he thought, considering how quickly you fled him and how delayed his reaction to it was.
But then again, it was probably just you and your effect on him. After all, he managed to evade the incoming attack from behind, albeit momentarily; Aemond's senses were far shaper than Aegon's.
He grabs his older brother by the collar and shoves him against the wall. "All my life, I watched you be spoon-fed your desires, yet still you covet my bride," the younger Targaryen rages.
Aegon grins in challenge. He chuckles, "as it appears, you covet your own wife from me, brother."
Without warning, the first born is hurtled to the ground. He lets out an undignified grunt after he collides with the stone. He gasps when Aemond lunges at him.
It was only at this moment, he realized his brother without his eye patch. Dare he say that the sight of the sapphire added to the madness in is functioning eye.
Aemond produces a dagger and presses it to Aegon's neck. The former seethes, "I have every right to demand satisfaction from you."
Aegon groans when the cold steel kisses his skin too tenderly.
"You wouldn't last a second against me," the prince spits with venom, "brother."
"Do it then," Aegon screws his eyes shut, "and watch your marriage crumble before your very eyes."
Aemond throws his dagger to the side and slams Aegon once, "DO NOT TRY TO TRICK ME! I saw her reel from your touch."
"Oh," he utters through pain, "just as she reels from you, I bet."
Aemond releases him with a growl and heaves while looking down at him. He paces around; Aegon props himself up on his elbows, slowly coming to a stand.
Before Aegon can goad him on any further, Aemond grabs his dagger and pushes past him.
Both of them anxiously await your return that night. Aegon falls asleep whilst waiting for word from a servant, Aemond fights sleep whilst waiting for you to return to bed.
Yes, in Aemond's defense, the rumors about you and his brother was enough reason to pick a fight. In his defense, it was his right.
And for the first time, when you received invite for that hunting expedition with your cousin, no longer did he send you off on your own. He was keen to keep you at his side at all times, especially because Aegon weaseled his way into joining.
Aemond did not know why your cousin was so against the idea of hunting a stag. He was, in fact, offended by the Baratheon's adamant decline. The lesser lord dared even imply such a beast was beyond his caliber. He wasn't surprised you sided with your him, imploring Aemond to try his hand another season. What spurred him on was how Aegon agreed with you and how you looked at him when he smiled your way.
Yet, the spite he bore for his brother was the same thing that led to cooperation with him.
That night, when you thought he was sleeping, Aemond followed you outside. When you were nowhere to be seen when he got out of your shared tent, he stormed to his brother's, sure to catch you in the act.
All he got was a startled brother, cuddling up to a pillow when he ripped his blanket off, a naked one at that.
And after a bit of arguing, Aemond saw a shadow of a deer passing outside the tent. That was how the brothers ended up in the forest. Aemond was intent to hunt that stag and Aegon was intent to watch him fail.
Again, in his defense, it was dark. In his defense, of course he wouldn't believe Aegon when he said that they were stalking a doe and not a stag.
Aemond was satisfied with his shot when he heard the beast cry out in pain. Aegon was satisfied when they found the writhing deer to be, in fact a doe.
It was common knowledge not to hunt the female of a species, yet the two debated whether or not they should let the injured animal go free or put it out of its misery. They thought they received the answer when the animal dropped in agony, but instead they received horror that would last them lifetimes upon witnessing the beast morph into a bride.
Your bare body laid before them, stomach pierced with an arrow. No traces of a doe was left, there was only pain and you. Tremors took over your body. Yolur tears flowed as steady as the blood from your gaping wound.
Aemond fell to your side, eye wide as he reached out to you. He thought a touch of your trembling flesh wake him from this nightmare, but it didn't. His mind raced, but he had a moment of clarity when he felt your blood dampen his knees.
He took off his shirt and covered you. You screamed in pain when he tried to carry you by himself, and he glared at his brother when he tried to help.
Aemond does not stop him however, thus, the brothers carried your body back to camp.
When you were laid on your shared bed, Aemond ordered Aegon to wake everyone and ready a carriage back to the city. His brother runs off to do just that.
"This will hurt," Aemond tells you, "but I must cut part of the arrow and bind your wound."
Before he can do so, you wet his face with the blood on your hand as you whine, "why do you weep for me?"
Aemond's brows furrow.
You swipe your thumb on his cheek with great difficulty. "Soon you will have the freedom you desire," you mumble, eyes slowly closing, "as will I."
The pain that courses through you when your husband breaks off part of your arrow prevents you from passing out.
As an extra precaution, Aemond taps your cheek, "keep your eyes fixed on me."
Your sad eyes open. Your tears gush down like rain.
"Is this why you're invited to hunt so often?" he cups your cheek, shaking you slightly, "does your cousin, himself, turn into a stag?"
Your reply does not come easy. You speak between your breaths, "it is a curse from my father... for hunting so many of them..."
There is commotion from outside your tent.
Aemond has the mind to grab some fabric to press on your wound. You cry out again because of this.
"Why didn't you tell me of your affliction?" he speak in panic.
Stabbing pain cuts off the laugh you meant to laugh. Your breath shortens, yet you manage a response, "would you have listened?"
He must admit, all the prayers he ever prayed were only uttered to please his mother, but as Aemond held half your body in the carriage back to King's Landing, as he watched Aegon's tears fall onto you while he held your other half, he prayed as earnestly as any pious man would. He claimed he would be better, he would even share you, if that is what it took to keep you.
And just as easily as Death unified the Targaryen brothers, she collected your soul the same night.
#aemond fanfic#aegon fanfic#aemond angst#aegon angst#aemond targaryen#aegon targaryen#aemond Targaryen fanfic#aegon targaryen fanfic#aemond x reader#aegon x reader#aegon ii targaryen#aegon ii fanfic#aegon ii x reader#aemond fanfiction#house of the dragon#aegon fanfiction#aegon targaryen x reader#aemond targaryen x reader
652 notes
·
View notes
Text
The Gods and Everyone
summary: you and aemond sorely overestimate how much time you have before a small council meeting, which leaves the two of you in quite a scandalous predicament
pairing: aemond targaryen x reader
warnings: mature/explicit, 18+ (minors dni!), no use of y/n, afab reader, cockwarming, public sex, slight breeding kink, fingering, aemond being an absolute menace, dirty talk, aegon being a little shit but what else is new, let me know if i missed anything!
word count: 5.6k
a/n: based on an anon request for cockwarming! i hope you're still with me and that you enjoy this, friend! sorry it took me so long to get to it!
creds to @bbygirl-aemond for the gif!
likes, comments, & reblogs are very appreciated but never required!
🌟add yourself to my taglist to be notified when i post new fics!
You watch, concerned, as your husband flits around the Small Council chamber, your eyes following his lithe form as he checks and re-checks the parchment with notes he had written for himself earlier that morning – you’d awoken in the pale hour just before sunrise to see him already hunched over the small desk in your chambers, scribbling away furiously with a quill, his pale hair glowing in the dim light of the candle next to him. All of your attempts to lure him back into bed with you had fallen on deaf ears.
“You know you needn't do all this,” you point out, perched against the Small Council table, your eyes tracking him as he paces back and forth across the space, going over his notes for the upteenth time, “Your only job is to be on time like everyone else, husband.”
“Things will improve with time,” he rushes out, fixing you with a pointed look, “Hardly two moons have passed since Viserys…” He pauses, pinching the bridge of his nose, “The least I can do is ease this transition for Aegon and mother.”
“My love, it is a transition for us all,” you soothe, striding to him and gently taking his hand. His fingers, rough from all his years of training with swords and spears, instantly wrap around your own as he lets out a tired sigh, “You included. Aegon named you Master of War, not master of everything.”
“I know,” Aemond murmurs, eye softening as his gaze traces over you, “I find it hard to be still when there is so much chaos – Dorne has yet to be subdued and there are whispers of rebellion from the North. There is so much still to be accounted for.”
“I understand,” you reassure him, your fingers threading through his long, silvery hair, lips quirking into a smile as the gesture makes his eye flutter closed for a second. “But all this stress cannot be good for you, husband,” you sigh, gazing up at him with a mournful smile, “You need rest and calm and…and I need you.” You nearly whisper, blush creeping across your cheeks as Aemond’s eye darkens.
“Sweetling—“ He starts with a sigh.
“Aemond, please,” you cut him off, wrapping your arms around his trim waist as you lay your head against his chest, his heart thumping in your ear, “I cannot bear to hear another excuse, I feel as if you have been away for weeks.”
He’s quiet for a moment, wrapping his long, lean arms tightly around you as he rests his chin on your head, your breaths the only sound in the stony chamber. “I’m sorry,” he finally whispers, smoothing a hand up and down your back, “I miss you too, my sweet girl.”
You hum, leaning further into his embrace after going without it for so long, “You haven’t touched me in weeks.” You say quietly, his touch already igniting a spark in the pit of your stomach.
“Perhaps tonight,” his breath is warm against the top of your head as he speaks into your hair, “I will try to cut my meeting with–”
“You’ve been saying that for weeks,” you cut him off once more with a sigh, pulling back to look up at him, “I can’t take anymore, my love, I need to feel you.” You whine, nearly petulant like a spoiled child. If it were any other time, if you were any less desperate, you’d be embarrassed at your behavior. Right now, though, you could not find it within yourself to care as you stared into your husband’s darkened eye, finally feeling the passion you had gone so many weeks without.
Aemond chuckles as he looks down at you, conflicted between feeling pleased to see you reduced to such a state while also feeling a similar fire in his own belly. “Sweetling, the meeting–”
“Is not due to start for at least another hour!” You interrupt, determined to persuade him to this. Taking you in various parts of the Keep was not new to him, both of you had plenty of memories from your courtship and first year of marriage of rutting together in all sorts of nooks and crannies of the old castle.
Aemond gazes at you for a long moment, an unreadable expression on his face, though his eye remains dark with desire. After a second, he nods to himself almost imperceptibly, seeming to come to some decision you weren’t privy to. Finally, finally his lips descend upon yours as he sweeps you into an all-consuming kiss, his arms tightening around your waist as he pulls you to him, groaning lowly in his throat as he licks into your mouth. You shiver in his grasp, finally tasting him properly after so long as you whimper and whine into his mouth.
“Aemond,” you gasp as you finally part from him, mewling as he immediately trails kisses down your jaw, “What–”
“Seems I can never deny you for very long, sweetling,” he huffs, halfway laughing as he guides you over to the large table, pulling you up by the waist until you’re sitting on the cool stone table, your legs bracketing his trim waist, “I’ve missed you too, my love.” He confesses, sweeping a lock of hair from your shoulder before trailing kisses up across your neck and jaw, one hand already desperately pulling up the bottom of your gown.
You huff out small moans and whimpers, relishing his warm touch. His nimble fingers finally manage to undo the knot at the front of your smallclothes and he tugs them down quickly, leaving you bare for him under your skirts as they fall to a pile on the floor just beside his chair at the table.
“Husband,” you pant, tugging at the drawstrings at the top of his trousers, “Please, please do not make me beg today, I–” Your train of thought is cut off as a moan, louder than it should be given the location, tears itself from your throat when you feel his long fingers ghost over your center.
“Shh, darling,” Aemond grins as he feels your arousal immediately coat his fingers, a pleased hum emanating from deep in his chest as he feels it already coating the insides of your thighs as well, “I don’t have the patience to restrain myself today, sweet one,” he mutters, watching your face carefully as he spreads your folds and teases your entrance with a finger before carefully sliding it in, groaning with satisfaction at the feel of your walls already tightly clamping down on it, “Nor the time.” He adds with a slight smirk, pale hair cascading like a curtain down his shoulders as he leans his forehead against yours.
“Oh, Gods,” you whimper, eyes fluttering shut as your hands white knuckle the dark leather of his tunic, too uncoordinated with lust to manage the ties on his pants, “M-My love, more please!” You whisper, angling your hips to try and catch another of his fingers.
You hear him chuckle above you before he pulls his finger from you, smirking as you whine pitifully at the loss. Before you have a chance to protest, he quickly undoes his trousers, not bothering to pull them down at all and opting to merely loosen the laces at the front enough to free his cock. Your eyes widen as you watch his hand stroke over his length momentarily, taking in the way it already throbs in his grasp, the head flushed and leaking from merely having you in his hands once more.
“Ready, sweetling?” He asks, gently tilting your chin up as he captures your lips in a sweet kiss, his other hand positioning his length at your entrance.
You part from him and nod eagerly, widening your legs and angling your hips, “I’ve been ready for you for weeks, Aemond.”
He smiles softly, pressing one more kiss against your neck before finally pressing into you, growling as he sinks into your slick heat. “Seven,” he grunts, cradling the back of your head with one hand as his other slinks down to grab at your hip, “You feel better every time, sweetling.”
You moan hotly against his shoulder, sinking your teeth into the thick leather of the shoulder of his tunic in an attempt to quiet yourself. Your eyes squeeze shut at the feel of him sliding into you, filling you to the brim perfectly. You’ve been without him for so long that he feels enormous, your walls aching as he stretches you out, pressing in and in until he’s finally seated fully within you.
Without another word, Aemond started thrusting into you, slow at first but quickly picking up the pace with every firm roll of his hips into you. After only a moment, he’s already grunting like a madman into your ear, holding you to him even as you cling tightly to his shoulders yourself, your legs wrapped loosely around his waist.
You feel a fire building in your belly at a breakneck pace as he ruts into you, the hand on your hip no doubt leaving fingerprint bruises across your skin, even through the fabric of your gown. If the low groans from your husband are any indication, he isn’t doing much better. He threads his fingers through your hair, pulling you into a desperate kiss, teeth and tongues clashing together frantically as if the two of you are trying to fall into each other, to become one.
“My love, I—,” he pants against your lips, jerking your head back by the grip he has on your locks. His eye meets yours, the light lilac almost entirely eclipsed by his pupil as he stares at you hungrily, “It’s been so long, I don’t know how long I can last.”
His breath is warm as it fans over your lips and you nod dazedly, zings of pleasure radiating up your spine from Aemond’s grip in your hair only adding to the warmth quickly threatening to overtake you. “It’s okay,” you swallow thickly, eyes already rolling back with pleasure, “I can’t either.”
Nodding in return, he picks up the pace, the head of his cock rutting against the most sensitive spot within you hard enough to make you see stars. He hasn’t even needed to tease your pearl and you’re already nearly unraveling as Aemond mumbles nearly incoherent praises, the hand on your hip traveling lower, nearly cupping your ass.
Just as you’re about to warn him of your inevitable release, muffled voices sound from behind the thick wooden doors that lead into the Small Council chambers. Aemond slows within you as both of your heads swivel to the doors — just in time to hear the guards stationed outside begin to tug them open.
You freeze, eyes widening as the doors open, seemingly in slow motion. Thankfully, your husband moves quickly enough for the both of you, nimbly scooping you into his arms before hastily dropping down into his chair, hurriedly scooching it forward until both of your laps are hidden under the stone surface of the table, before kicking your smallclothes under the table at the last second.
Your head whips around to face Aemond and you give him a panicked, wide-eyed look just as people start filing into the room, unaware that you’re still being split open by your husband’s length. One hand, still on your hip, tightens, silently commanding you to be still as his lilac eye pleads the same; his other hand is already poised on the table, relaxed against the cool surface as if he doesn’t have a care in the world.
“Yes, yes, we must certainly ask him once he’s back in King’s Landing,” Lord Tyland’s voice fills the chamber as he walks in, engaged in a conversation about something or other with Lord Corlys, the two sharing a laugh before finally taking notice of you and Aemond, “Prince, princess.” Tyland bows his head at the two of you with Corlys following soon after.
You sit frozen atop your husband, gazing blankly at the two men without a word. Thankfully, Aemond has the presence of mind to bow his head politely, though he stays quiet. As they walk further into the room, you can only see Tyland and Corlys from the corner of your eye but you don’t miss the odd look they share, silently asking each other why you were present and certainly why you were sitting on Aemond’s lap. Blood rushes to your head so quickly you feel lightheaded, your cheeks stinging as a harsh blush quickly appears on your face from their attention.
Maester Orwyle files through the doorway next, doing a double take at you and Aemond before bowing his head, a gesture that you thankfully remember to return this time as you stiffly nod your head. Thankfully, the older man simply takes a seat at his place at the table without any comment, though you can hear the two other men speaking quietly in the corner of the room, throwing glances your way as they do.
Your walls tighten around Aemond’s length as the rest of you tenses up when Larys creeps in, leaning against his cane as he moves; Aemond thighs tense underneath you as you hear him suck in a breath, only slightly more hasty than normal — the hand in your hip tightens, warning you to keep it together.
“Prince Aemond, princess,” Larys nods as he approaches the table, “To what do we owe the pleasure of such… intriguing company?” He questions, tilting his head as he narrows his eyes ever so slightly, his eyes bouncing between you and Aemond.
Your head spins as you stare straight ahead, willing yourself to respond, to say anything, to appear somehow normal. Yet, nothing comes out as your center throbs uselessly around Aemond, your head cloudy with need as your eyes stare ahead blankly, though registering just enough to pick up on the small smirk playing at the corners of Larys’s lips.
“My wife appears to have taken ill this morning,” Aemond drawls from over your shoulder while affectionately petting your waist, a gesture entirely for show, a lie to placate the men in the room, but it comforts you nonetheless. He clears his throat before continuing, the only tell thus far that your warmth around him is affecting him at all, “My presence brings her great comfort, I see no reason why she should be without it.”
“I see,” Larys hums in response, his dark eyes sweeping over your form, sparkling ominously as if he knows the truth, “What shame, let us hope the Gods grant you reprieve from this…illness soon, princess.”
“Yes!” You finally squeak, snapping back to attention as Aemond just barely squeezes your side, “Yes, let’s hope so. Thank you, Lord Larys.” You breathe, managing a smile small.
You shift on your husband’s lap and immediately you know you’ve made a mistake as the head of his cock prods directly into that overly sensitive patch within you, nearly making you topple over on the spot as a small groan escapes you. Blessedly, you have enough presence of mind to cover it up with a cough, sparks jolting down your back as Aemond presses a soft kiss to your cheek, one of his hands coming up to rub soothing circles against the back of your shoulder.
“There, there, sweetling,” he says softly, again, entirely for show as you put on your best performance, “Once the meeting is over, we will have the servants make some tea for you, that will help with that cough.” Even if it was for show, you couldn’t help but shiver at Aemond’s low voice, at how he’s being so soft and caring with you. That, combined with the incessant prodding to your sweet spot, has you throbbing around him, your heart hammering in your chest. You can hear Aemond suck in another barely there gasp behind you, a groan low enough to remain silent rumbling against your back while at the same time his hand almost imperceptibly twitches on the table; his composure makes you feel all the more lightheaded, blushing somehow deeper at the fact that he’s taking you apart this easily without so much as moving a muscle. Your thighs trembled atop his lap, the insides already sticky with your arousal as you struggled to stay still, silently thanking the Gods that at least your laps were hidden.
“I’m sorry,” Corlys began, striding over from his spot in the corner with a sheepish look, “I really feel I must speak up, this is really most unusual.” He finishes through an awkward laugh, Tyland following closely behind him as they saddle up to the table.
“What is most unusual?” Alicent asks, entering the Small Council chambers with Otto, followed closely after by Aegon and Ser Criston. Her eyes sweep over the room, pausing when she sees you, though she quickly corrects herself with a soft smile. “Ah, my dear,” she nods hello to the various men in the room before sitting at the table, “May I ask why your wife joins us, Aemond?” She peers at him curiously, throwing a nervous glance at Aegon who is smirking far too much for her liking as he slinks up to the table.
“It seems the princess has fallen ill, your grace,” Larys answers quickly, slyly smiling as he turns to face the dowager queen, “Prince Aemond insisted she stay so that she may be…comforted.” You quickly look away from him as his eyes meet yours once again, piercing through you as though he can see directly through your gown.
“Yes, which is most odd,” Tyland butted in, throwing glances between you, Aemond, Alicent, and Aegon, “She is not a member of the council, she should not be present. Surely there is some way the princess could be comforted that does not involve being privy to government matters.”
Aemond stays silent behind you, glaring daggers at Aegon over your shoulder, watching carefully as he traipses over to the table and stands at its head, his eyes never straying from his brother’s as they stare one another down. The other members, some reluctantly, take their places at the table as well, each of them standing so long as Aegon does, though you and Aemond remain seated; your eyes never stray from the marbled surface of the table.
“Aemond, please,” Otto sighs from his place next to you, “The least you and the princess could do is stand for–”
“I see him everyday,” Aegon interjects, breaking eye contact with your husband as he rolls his eyes, “I don’t give a shit if the fool stands.”
Your eyes dart up at that, shocked that Aegon isn’t taking the chance to thoroughly humiliate Aemond by putting him on the spot. The king’s violet eyes meet yours, sparkling with a mischief that makes your center flutter around your husband’s length – Aegon’s smirk grows as if he knows exactly what just happened. A thin sheen of sweat makes you feel clammy as Aemond’s cock twitches inside of you, pushing him against your sweet spot all the more.
“Very well,” Alicent swiftly cuts in, determined to keep the peace, “Shall we get st–”
“Are we really going to allow for the presence of–” Corlys starts, only to be viciously cut off.
“She stays,” Aegon says flatly, shooting a bored look at the man, “If anyone has an issue with the princess’s presence they may take their leave.” His violet eyes pass over the room, almost daring anyone to move. Everyone remains still, though you can feel Tyland and Corlys glaring at the side of your head, and after a moment, Aegon takes his seat followed by everyone else; blessedly, the meeting finally begins.
The Small Council meeting drones on and on, with various conversations of coin and ships, concerns abroad in Essos, and other diplomatic matters that mean nothing to you. In the back of your mind, you know it’s hardly been any time at all but it feels like an eternity has passed with Aemond’s hard length still piercing into you, twitching against your pulsing walls every so often. A part of you wonders if he does it on purpose, gives you just enough stimulation to cruelly tease you before going stock still once more.
The small, unnoticeable to everyone but you, hitches of his breath tell you otherwise and deep down, you know he’s just as affected as you, no doubt steadily leaking into you, though you dare not consider the thought for very long.
“Aemond,” your breath catches in your throat as Otto directs his attention to your husband, everyone else's gaze quickly following, “Any further communications from Dorne?”
Behind you, your husband clears his throat and you feel him shift beneath you, sitting up slightly straighter in his seat, both hands now clasping your waist to keep you steady on top of him. “Negotiations with the Dornish remain stagnant,” he begins as you practically wilt on his lap, the added attention from the council members making the knot in your belly tighten in a way you shudder to consider, “We received a raven from Prince Qoren some days ago rejecting any dealings with the crown, no matter the amount of coin we have to offer.” He finishes, pointedly looking at Tyland, who proceeds to butt in.
As soon as the attention shifts off of the two of you, it’s like the air around Aemond changes, becoming charged all of a sudden as you feel his chest heave against your back. At the other end of the table, Tyland begins to raise his voice, debating hotly with Corlys and Otto, drawing the attention of everyone else to them.
“Do you think you can be still?” Aemond whispers, his breath hot against your ear although his voice is barely audible even to you. He must sense you freeze on his lap as the hand on your hip begins to move slowly, dragging your skirts up your legs until his hand can slip underneath them, making you tremble as he grips the soft skin of your thigh, “Tighten around my cock if you can be still.”
Against your better judgment, you do as he says, tensing as you clench your walls around him; his only reply is a low growl against your back. He stays still for a moment, trying with all of his might to appear as if he’s taking great interest in the ongoing argument taking place.
Finally, once he’s positive everyone is too preoccupied arguing over coin to pay attention to either of you, his deft fingers slip through your folds before finally twirling against your aching pearl.
You have to bite harshly at the inside of your cheek to keep quiet, trying to keep your breathing steady as you focus on not moving even though you so badly want to rut your hips against his fingers as they rub against you.
Aemond swallows thickly behind you as he slowly circles his fingers, careful to keep his pace light and steady to not stir up any slick sounds from your wet cunt, though he longs to hear them.
Your elbows rest against the top of the table, your hands clasped tightly in front of you. The conversation around you seems to shift as Otto begins prattling on about some Tyrell woman finally being with child. Aemond’s fingers suddenly pinch at your sensitive bud and a gasp tumbles past your lips before you can stop it, drawing everyone’s attention.
“Is everything alright, princess?” Alicent questions from across the table, her dark eyes narrowed with concern.
You nod quickly, coughing to conceal a moan as you open your mouth to answer her, “Y-Yes, I’m sorry,” you apologize with a weak smile, “I’m just so pleased for the Tyrells, what a j-joyous time this must be for them.” You say quickly, stumbling over the words as your core clenches tightly around your husband’s cock, his small touches driving you steadily to your peak despite the circumstances.
Alicent gives you a curious look before quickly collecting herself, “Yes, I’m sure the family is quite thankful, children are always such a blessing,” she smiles politely before turning back to her father, “Please, continue.”
Otto’s voice hardly reaches your ears as he picks up where he left off, though you don’t miss the horribly put out looks you garner from Tyland and Corlys.
Aemond’s fingers just barely speed up as they swirl over your bud, though the small change is enough to drive you wild and you can feel the way his chest heaves against your back as your walls twitch around his length, threatening to milk his cock dry without him having to move an inch.
The heat that has slowly been building within you finally begins to bubble over and your husband’s fingers show no signs of stopping as he pushes you closer and closer to your breaking point. The hand of his that has been resting idly on the table top comes over to casually rest against your clenched hands and rubs soothingly up and down your forearm, Aemond’s silent way of telling you he knows you’re close.
Your eyes flick around the room as you feel your peak threatening to spill over you, frantically checking for any onlookers at the last possible second. You nearly jump out of your skin as your eyes finally land on Aegon, only to find him already staring at you, an amused smirk plastered across his face as he studies you.
Aemond chooses that exact second to pinch at your pearl again and the small touch is your undoing. Your teeth bite down firmly on your tongue as your walls pulse rhythmically around your husband’s leaking cock, your eyes still locked on Aegon’s violet ones, now darkened with lust.
Your muscles tense up as you peak helplessly, waves of pleasure lighting up every nerve ending within you. Somehow, you find it within yourself to remain quiet and still on Aemond’s lap as your eyes finally flick away from his older brother’s and you gaze, apparently absentmindedly, at some point on the wall on the opposite side of the room as your high subsides.
Thankfully, Aemond takes pity on you and slips his hand away, his wet fingers resting gently in your bare thigh, still underneath your gown.
You slowly come down from your high as the Small Council winds down, Aegon and Otto quickly discussing a few final points before the king formally adjourns the meeting. Tyland and Corlys practically bolt from their chairs, quickly bowing before they exit as they mumble between themselves, no doubt about the displeasure of your presence.
Otto and Maester Orwyle take their leave soon after, each bowing politely. Aegon busies himself at the head of the table, leaning back in his chair as he lazily sips from his wine cup, the gleam in his eyes making you shiver.
Across the room, Alicent and Larys whisper between themselves. Strangely, your mother-in-law blushes, shaking her head suddenly and mumbling a quiet, “Not here,” before glancing around the room.
Larys merely shrugs, turning to you as he shuffles from the room, “Do get better soon, princess.” He says with a feeble bow, although the look on his face makes you blush heavily.
At that, Alicent turns to Aegon, “Would you care to come see the children with me?”
“Go on,” he dismisses her before nodding toward you and Aemond, “I wish to have a word with my brother.” He catches your eye with a quick wink.
“Of course,” Alicent mutters, glancing curiously between the three of you, “I’ll ask the maids to bring some tea to your chambers this evening, princess. They make a wonderful lemon one that always seems to lift my spirits.” She says with a kind smile, coming around to place a comforting hand on your shoulder before she too heads to the door.
“Thank you!” You breathily call after her, voice squeaking at the end as Aemond shuffles impatiently beneath you, his cock still prodding against your sensitive walls.
Aegon chuckles darkly as soon as the doors close once more, standing from his chair with a wide smirk. “I must say, I’m impressed,” he taunts, eyes glinting as he looks between you and his brother, “I didn’t think either of you had that much gaul in you.”
“What exactly are you tittering about now?” Aemond asks lowly behind you, his voice rough and choppy as his patience clearly wears thin.
Sniggering, Aegon saunters around to stand beside you, violet eyes scanning over your laps still concealed under the table, “You’ve had your cock in her the whole time, have you not?” He teases, laughing harder still as Aemond merely hums in response, “Come brother, you should be proud of yourself,” he clasps a hand over your husband's shoulder, “She was nearly falling apart when she peaked.” He comments with a final wink as he ambles to the door, stopping to throw one last amused look over his shoulder, “You might want to do something about that bite mark on your shoulder.” He says casually before slamming the doors closed behind him.
At his comment, you whirl around and your eyes grow wide as you spy a clear impression of your teeth marks in the leather of Aemond’s tunic, on his shoulder where you’d bitten down earlier. Your cheeks heat up at the thought of it being there throughout the entire meeting.
You don’t have long to dwell on the thought though as your husband roughly pushes you from his lap until you’re bent over the table, cheek pressed to the cool stone surface. “Seven!” You sequel as he unceremoniously shoves his cock back inside you, his hips pumping wildly as his hands grasp at your waist harshly, no doubt leaving bruises.
“Fucking finally,” he grunts, eyeing the way his cock disappears into your slick heat as he bunches your gown up over your ass, “‘M not gonna last.” He warns lowly, already panting with the speed of his thrusts.
Your head spins once again as his cock moves within you, his pace nearly bruising. Your teeth sink into the skin of your forearm as you desperately try to keep quiet, another peak already welling up within you.
Aemond growls and quickly threads the fingers of one hand through your hair, making you whine loudly as he pulls your head back until his chest is once again pressed against you, his other hand coming to rub against your abused pearl once more.
“Aemond!” You moan, shaking your head in his grasp, one hand braced against the table as the other grabs at his forearm, feeling his muscles twitch as his fingers swirl against your center, “P-Please, I cannot keep myself quiet, I know I can’t—“ You start babbling.
“Let them fucking hear,” he growls, eye squeezing shut as he feels his stones tightening up, “The whole keep can listen for all I fucking care, I won’t be stopping this time.”
Your eyes roll back in your head at his words, never having heard him sound this possessed and overcome with pleasure before. After only a few more thrusts, you feel your walls twitch once more, a loud gasp rattling through your chest, “H-Husband, I’m—!”
“That’s it,” Aemond groans, redoubling his efforts against your pearl as he continues to rut into you at a nearly inhuman pace. “Peak, sweetling,” he commands, his voice low and raspy in your ear, “Peak while I breed your precious cunt.”
His words nearly take your breath away and you whine loudly as another high washes over you, your walls milking your husband’s cock as they clench and pulse against it.
Behind you, Aemond groans lowly, grunting as his cock twitches strongly inside you, his thick seed flooding into your heat as he finally, finally peaks, the pleasure of it making him dizzy as he leans against your back, forehead pressed between your shoulder blades.
The two of you are quiet for a moment, your tired pants the only sounds in the chambers. Finally, Aemond untangles his fingers from your hair, both of his hands coming to rest against the cool table as he finally pulls his cock from your center, soothing you with soft shushes when you whine, the emptiness in your core such a foreign feeling after being filled for so long.
He sinks into his chair once more and pulls you with him, wrapping a protective arm around your waist as you rest your head on his shoulder. Once your breathing is steady, you pick your head up, a displeased groan tumbling from your throat as you see your bite mark more clearly up close, a finger coming up to trace over the intents in the black leather.
“I’ll need to send this to the seamstress for repairs,” you whisper with an apologetic sigh, “I believe this is beyond my ability to fix.”
Aemond chuckles beneath you, lilac eye gleaming with pride as he clasps a hand over yours as it still rests on his shoulder, “Don’t trouble yourself with it, my love.”
“What?” You question, smiling despite the way you tilt your head in confusion, “Aemond, I cannot fix it myself and I’m afraid the mark will not simply go away—,”
“You misunderstand me, sweetling,” he says, smiling as he looks down at you, “I intend to keep it as a mark of great pride. I shall wear it as a trophy for all to see.” He explains with a teasing laugh.
You playfully smack a hand against his chest, which only makes him laugh harder, “You can’t be serious!” You admonish with a wide smile.
“Why? I simply wish to remember this day,” he chuckles, “The day I made my sweet wife peak in front of the Gods and everyone.”
“Aemond!” You cannot help the surprised laugh that leaves you, “You’re as disgusting as your brother!”
tagged lovelies: @helloworldiamnotarobot @drakonflames @marysucks-blog @watercolorskyy @valeskafics @iamaegontargaryenwife0 @aemshaircare @1997babyyyy @lovellies @little-moonbeam-666 @blackswxnn @demirunner @eponaartemisa @trshngyn
(tags are based on your answers to my google form; if you were mistakenly tagged, please contact me & update your answers on the form! thank you!)
#aemond targaryen#aemond targaryen x reader#aemond targaryen x you#aemond targaryen fanfic#aemond targaryen smut#aemond x reader#aemond x you#aemond fanfiction#aemond fanfic#aemond smut#aemond one eye#aemond kinslayer#house of the dragon#hotd#house of the dragon fanfiction#house of the dragon fanfic#house of the dragon smut#hotd fanfiction#hotd fanfic#hotd smut#fanfiction#fanfic#smut#my writing#request
2K notes
·
View notes
Text
Object of Desire (1/3)
[ dark • Aemond x Arryn • widow female ]
[ warnings: dubcon, hate sex, sex content, smut, angst, domination, violence, swearing, humiliation, hard chauvinism ]
[ description: Aemond is forced to marry a widow from House Arryn as part of the alliance and support of his brother in the war against the Black faction. This story is an Anon Request, sorry it took me so long. I know anon wanted it to be a softer and sweeter story, but it didn't fit Aemond's character and what I think would be going on in his head. The female character has a specific eye and hair color. Lots of humiliation, violence and chauvinism. ]
Part 2 − Object of Despair
Part 3 − Object of Delight
Epilogue
* English is not my first language. Please, do not repost. Enjoy! *
My other works: Masterlist
______
He thought the greatest humiliation of his life was behind him when he lost an eye, when his brother and nephews gave him a pig instead of a dragon. He thought that now that he was a man, rider of the greatest dragon walking the earth − he would finally get everything he deserved, a wife from a dignified, respected House, and with her an offspring, his inheritance, an extension of his lineage.
He could not hide his expression of disappointment, disgust and bitterness when his mother informed him that instead of one of Lord Baratheon's daughters he would be marrying Lord Arryn's niece − his grandfather, intent on strengthening his brother's position on the throne felt that depriving Rheanyra of the support of the Eyrie, her mother's kin, would greatly weaken her in the ongoing war.
He would have endured this change without a word were it not for one thing.
The woman was a fucking widow.
Already intimate with another man who had taken her virginity, she was worn, marked, like an overbitten apple that now someone had to eat to the end to keep it from rotting.
He imagined in the back of his mind how the court, which both feared and mocked him, would spread rumours that the One-Eyed Prince was not only crippled but must marry a woman devoid of value and her greatest virtue, for no other lady would agree to be his wife.
However, he knew what duty was and intended to fulfil it.
Despite his mother's suggestion, he did not want to see her before the nuptial day. He felt that he did not want to further exacerbate her bad enough appearance in his eyes; he feared that she was not only worthless but plain ugly, her mind empty and shallow.
Although the nuptials were to take place in the noble family, knowing that this would not be her first wedding it was decided that the whole ceremony would be modest, only the most loyal lords and relatives who supported their cause were invited.
Looking at his reflection in the mirror in shame and disgust, at his emerald tunic adorned with golden threads swirling in embroidery reminiscent of dragon's heads, he thought it seemed too refined for such an occasion, for such a woman who could offer him nothing.
He knew that there was no fault of hers in her husband's sudden passing from this world, that it was pure politics, but he could not help thinking that it would have been better if she had died with him.
Waiting for her in the Great Sept, he felt nothing − he had not even bestowed a single glance on her when he heard the sound of trumpets, indicating that she and her father had entered the temple and were heading towards him.
As he felt her presence beside him he immediately noticed out of the corner of his eye that she was dressed in a blue gown, flowers of the same colour in her hair − curiosity forced him to at least glance at her and he swallowed loudly as his gaze met her violet eyes.
The colour of the Targaryens.
He froze, feeling his heart suddenly begin to beat faster, unable to look away from her irises, from her long, dark lashes and eyebrows surrounding her eyes like a sky surrounding the sun − unintentionally his gaze studied quickly her entire silhouette and face.
He swallowed with difficulty, turning his head away, realising that her figure was pleasingly girlish, she was young, too young in his eyes to be a widow − her dark hair was tied back, myosotis tucked into her curls at the sides of her head, her gown made of some thin, smooth, shiny material shimmering blue and purple at the same time.
He couldn't focus on what the Septon was saying; he only glanced at her again when Daeron handed him the cloak with which he was to cover her − her gaze fixed on him, her eyebrows arched in sorrow as if she was in pain, her eyes gleaming, slightly reddened, as if she was barely holding back tears.
He felt like asking if she was so disgusted with him, but no sound came out of his mouth.
With a stony face expressing indifference, he threw his cloak embroidered with a three-headed red dragon over her back and then took her hand in his, small and surprisingly smooth.
She didn't look at him when, in a trembling, soft voice, she repeated the words of her vows with him. He tried to remember her doing it for the second time in her life, that she was someone else's, warming someone else's bed, but he couldn't.
She seemed so innocent.
They hadn't exchanged a word during the wedding feast; he watched from the corner of his eye her demeanour, her face − she seemed to him absent, sad, ashamed.
He thought with a squeeze in his throat, filled with jealousy and envy, that she was a beautiful young woman, and someone had her before him.
He took a loud, impatient sip of wine from his cup, its tart, slightly sweet aftertaste spilling over his tongue, dulling his mind.
He felt like his head was going to burst.
They both tried to put it off for as long as they could, however, eventually his mother suggested that his spouse was surely tired and should retire to bed.
He pressed his lips together at her words, rising silently, looking at this strange, frightened girl out of the corner of his eye, her face turned towards him, her eyes open wide in terror.
"Come, wife." He hummed coldly, without emotion and heard her swallow hard − she followed him quietly as he left the hall, heading down the dark torch-lit corridors to his chamber.
He watched indifferently as her servants helped her undress from her beautiful gown, slowly untangling the curls of her hair, one of them wanted to remove the flowers from them, but he protested.
"No. The flowers are to stay. Let at least some semblance of innocence and purity remain." He sneered, saw that the corners of her mouth twitched, her eyebrows arched in pained humiliation.
He cocked his head, intrigued that she endured his words and what was happening with such humility.
He thought that if she behaved like this, perhaps he would take pity on her and actually put his child inside her, so that she could somehow regain her dignity, to be the mother of his heir.
"That's enough." He said at last, when she was left only in her nightgown, from under which he could see the outline of the pleasing shapes of her womanly body, waiting patiently until they were left alone.
She was looking somewhere far away, sad, tired, humiliated, her face, although pale, as if filled with mourning, was smooth and pleasant, the shade of her eyes seemed to him more blue in the firelight.
Proof that they shared ancestors, a common heritage.
For some reason he felt some kind of affection for her at the thought.
He got up from his seat with a loud creak of wood, walking with a slow, lazy step towards her − he saw that she twitched but did not look at him, her lips parted slightly in an accelerated breath, betraying her nervousness.
He walked around her, looking at her as if she were an object, assessing her figure, the shade of her hair, the shape of her face from every angle. She swallowed quietly and lifted her chin, looking at him with some kind of challenge, a decision that she would accept what was about to happen and give him no reason to mock her.
He hummed at the thought, stepping behind her, feeling her flinch all over as she felt his large hands touch her waist and then slide lower, to her womb − he felt surprised, licking his lips with his tongue, that his manhood swelled hard in his breeches when, in some sudden, involuntary reflex, her small hands grabbed his wrists, yet not stopping his movements, just trying to maintain some semblance of control over what was happening.
She let the air out of her lungs nervously, closing her eyes for a moment as his nose sank into her sweet-smelling, smooth hair, his hands stroking her lower abdomen trailing over it in tender, slow movements as if he imagined she was already carrying his child, his reason for being proud and pleased with her.
"This poor man, whose name I can't even remember, died without an heir. Why?" He whispered in her ear, a note of menace in his voice, his fingers digging into the fabric of her nightgown and her stomach, forcing her to take a step back, bumping into his throbbing manhood pushing against her buttocks. He heard her gasp softly, swallowing loudly, her body quivering in his embrace.
"The will of the Gods." She replied softly, her voice melodious, warm, pleasant to his ear. He hummed again, acknowledging her answer, his hands again beginning to stroke her womb in an unhurried, tender gesture.
"Why would I need a wife who won't give me an inheritance? Hm?" He asked in a tone as if he was curious and intrigued − he felt her whole body tense up in fear knowing that he was mocking her.
She drew in air loudly, suddenly tightening her fingers on his arm as his hand slid lower, between her thighs, the tips of his fingers began to brush her there with calm, steady strokes.
His free hand rose higher, to her neck, tightening around it warningly when he felt her buttocks begin to rub against his length, feeling a pleasant wave of heat surge through his spine and lower abdomen. He looked down at his fingers between her thighs, even through the material feeling the moisture leaking through it.
"A wife is a gift. Like a sword, a book or a horse." She cooed softly, responding with a rocking of her hips to the touch of his fingers. He involuntarily chuckled at her words, charmed that she understood exactly his approach, that her mind was not obscured by bottomless female fantasies, but stood in reality.
"Why would I need a chipped sword, an empty book, or a blind horse?" He asked lowly, his hand from her neck moved higher − his fingers cupped her cheeks, forcing her to turn her head towards him, to look at him, her violet eyes misty, bright, beautiful.
She smiled and giggled softly, startling him completely, bringing him out of his thoughts.
"It's amusing to hear you speak about blindness, husband. I hope the lack of your eye doesn't bother you anymore." She whispered with a satisfaction that made him snort in fury − she squealed quietly and closed her eyes as his fingers dug into her cheeks and shook her, as if he wanted her to come to her senses and remember who she was standing in front of.
"You are nothing, whore. Do you understand? Nothing. A worn-out cup to be filled with seed. I don't have an eye, but I do have a fucking dignity that my mother deprived me of by forcing me to marry a creature like you." He hissed, shaking her head violently once in a while, wanting it to get into her little empty head what he had just said.
She looked at him with hatred, her gaze seeming darker, more dangerous to him, her tongue hitting her palate with a quiet click of her saliva as she whispered a single word in his direction.
"Pathetic."
He didn't even know when his hand tightened in her hair, slamming her head against the table that stood in front of them forcing her to lean forward with a violent gesture − she squirmed loudly and cried out, clenching her fingers on the tabletop as she tried to catch her balance − he kicked her ankle with his foot forcing her to spread her thighs wider.
"You like it rough, hm? You find yourself better at being a whore than a wife? Very well then." He growled, his free hand undoing the buckles of his tunic, untying his breeches quickly, releasing his throbbing erection, giving it a few sure squeezes at the base, for some reason what was happening, their quick, rapturous breaths aroused him even more.
"Fucking male pride. Take what you want, you won't break me." She hissed with such hateful envy that he chuckled out loud, somehow impressed by how brazen she was.
"There's a little dragon burning inside you, isn't it? We shall see. I'm a man full of patience." He sneered, lifting her nightgown up in an impatient motion, exposing what was between her thighs, her rosy, puffy folds glistening with her moisture.
She pressed her lips together, struggling to hold back the sound of discomfort as he pushed against her, forcing the fat, pink head of his cock between her tight walls. He sighed heavily, feeling how wonderfully she clenched around him on all sides, hot and surprisingly soft.
"− fuck −" He gasped out, spreading her thighs wider with his leg − she cried out loudly as he sank all the way into her with one sure thrust, her fleshy muscles throbbing againt him in panic.
They both began panting loudly as, in some subconscious, natural reflex, he began to pound into her with the impatient, aggressive stabs of his hips.
"− fucking whore −" He growled angrily, clamping his hand painfully tight on her hair, her mouth parted wide in a helpless moan as he suddenly quickened his pace, looking down, feeling a wonderful thrill of elation at the sight of his manhood opening her slick folds wide again and again with deep, brutal thrusts of his hips.
"− bastard −" She cried out, responding however to the pushes of his hips with a fierceness from which his voice stuck in his throat. He was no longer sure, groaning low with pleasure, feeling the way her walls squeezed him wonderfully, sucking him inside, whether what they were saying was true or just a test of strength and dominance, an attempt to establish who would have the last word.
"− shut the fuck up − to think you still have the strength to babble − shall I put it in your mouth so you'll finally be quiet? −" He snorted through clenched teeth, gripping his free hand over the soft, smooth skin of her firm buttocks, slamming into her like mad.
It seemed to him that they were both moaning and panting too loudly, as if they were in some kind of frenzy, his thighs slapping against her bare skin with a sticky smack again and again, barely sliding out of her.
"− fuck − o-oh fuck, stop −" He gasped out as he felt her muscles suddenly clench greedily against his manhood at his words, intensifying his sensations. He tilted his head back and closed his eyes as he heard sweet, loud moans of fulfillment begin to erupt from her throat, her body trembling all over − she whimpered when he didn't slow down, chasing his own fulfilment.
"− I know − fuck, just a moment longer − shhh −" He hushed her and groaned low, sighing in relief when he felt that wonderful, relaxing feeling, bliss in his mind and whole body, delight as his seed spilled deep inside her, right where it belonged.
His hips rocked inside her a moment longer with her mumble of displeasure, her eyes closed, her breathing ragged, her fingers trailing over the table top as if she couldn't calm down.
"− it's alright − easy − it's alright −" He whispered, panting heavily, stroking her soft hair with slow, tender gesture, her eyebrows arched in pain as she wept loudly, tears one after another began to run down her face.
He wasn't sure if she was crying from relief that she had it behind her or from grief that she had to go through this again.
"− I know − I know −" He hummed, running his fingers over her smooth, dark curls, for some reason feeling the need to reassure her, fulfilled and content after what had happened between them, his half-soft manhood still twitching deep inside her, all slick from their shared moisture.
"− I don't blame you, wife − that man was weak, as was his seed − you will soon bear me a son −"
_____
Aemond Taglist:
(bold means I couldn't tag you)
@notnormalthings-blog @nikstrange @zenka69 @bellaisasleep @k-y-r-a-1 @g-cf2020 @melsunshine @opheliaas-stuff @chainsawsangel @iiamthehybrid @tinykryptonitewerewolf @namoreno @malfoytargaryen @qyburnsghost @aemondsdelight @persephonerinyes @fan-goddess @sweethoneyblossom1 @watercolorskyy @randomdragonfires @apollonshootafar
#aemond fic#aemond fanfiction#aemond targaryen#hotd aemond#ewan mitchell#ewan mitchell fanfic#dark aemond#dark aemond targaryen#dark aemond smut#dark aemond angst#aemond smut#aemond#prince aemond#prince aemond targaryen#aemond one eye#aemond targaryen x oc#aemond x oc#aemond x female#aemond x fem!oc#aemond x original character#aemond x original female character#aemond targaryen smut#aemond kinslayer#aemond the kinslayer#aemond angst#aemond targaryen angst#hotd angst#hotd smut#targaryen smut#aemond fanfic
523 notes
·
View notes
Text
firehaired, lavendereyed -- oneshot.
mean prince regent aemond x pregnant wife reader
a sequel to foxfaced, dragonhearted. it can be read as a standalone, though! its not as dark or mean as the first one and is (kinda) fluffy.
thank you @echos-muses for inspiring this!
word count: 2.5k
@huramuna-fics -- follow & turn on notifications for just my fic postings!
content: smut (specifics below cut), angst, fluffy, meanish aemond, prob unhealthy relationship, emotionally constipated aemond experiences emotions, reader is described w/ auburn hair, no use of y/n, not beta read, i literally went into a haze writing this there are probably mistakes, pregnancy
cloudbusting - kate bush • i bet on losing dogs - mitski
warnings: oral (f receiving), p in v, talks of choking and biting but its not in this fic, BREEDING KINK
Being the wife of a prince, a prince-regent no less, always felt like an honor. People would bow at you in the corridors, maids would bring you your favorite sweets without asking, courtiers would invite you to countless luncheons and extravagant events. It made you wonder, though– was it out of respect for your station– or out of fear for your husband?
He was constantly your shadow now, insisting on being with you at every waking moment ever since the maesters confirmed your pregnancy. His hand would constantly be guiding you on the middle of your back, towards whatever destination you were off to. He would insist you eat more for the babe, would rub your feet and prop pillows behind your back when you both retired for the day.
As he shepherded you into the throne room, he glanced at the courtesans and sworn lords alike– he had worn the crown since his brother fell from the sky in flames, burnt and scarred. He melded into the role like he was meant for it, as you so told him.
‘It looks better on you than it ever did on him, husband.’
‘Careful now, dear wife. That sounds treasonous, does it not?’
It wasn’t hard to spur him on into a feral state of being lately, as he adored your body filling out, belly stretching, breasts growing as you carried his child. His, his. He was still cold, in his way, of course– that would be something you would never pull him out of.
‘Husband?’ you had mewled softly as you came back from the maester’s chambers after receiving the news.
Aemond was sitting on the loveseat in front of the fire, one hand parting the pages of a book. He looked deep in thought, bristling slightly at being interrupted. ‘What?’
‘I’ve just come from the maester’s chambers,’ you started, walking slowly towards him like a skittish animal.
‘Why? Are you hurt?’ he closed his book with a loud snap and set it aside. ‘Come.’ he prostrated himself on the couch, legs spread slightly as an indication.
You lifted your skirts and sat upon his lap, as you do– as he commands, usually. It was easy to know what he wanted without words. He inspected your face carefully, turning you from side to side, skin taut between thumb and forefinger. Then, the back of his hand felt your forehead. ‘You aren’t running a temperature. You aren’t sick, are you, little wife?’
‘N-No… I had thought so with… the issues of late.’
‘Issues? What issues?’ he pressed, his lone eye boring into you with intensity.
‘I… ehm… have had an upset stomach– and… my…’ you blushed as you spoke. ‘My breasts have been tender.’
‘... hm.’
‘The maesters– they… inspected, thoroughly. They say I am with child… two moons.’
‘Pregnant. You’re… pregnant?’
‘Y-yes.’
Aemond stared at you for a long moment, not blinking. You had feared his reaction, you weren’t sure why, though. You knew your husband… liked you, didn’t he? In his own, special way. The way that he loved to call you stupid and bite you and choke you and never tell you that he loves you, except when lost in the throes of pleasure.
‘Husband?’ you squeaked out, anxiety swirling in the pit of your stomach at his lack of reaction. Aemond was good at concealing his emotions– but you could see the pupil of his violet eye dilating like a creature in the dark.
‘Good,’ he said simply, a hand on your waist, squeezing slightly. Then, a moment of recollection came over his face and he stopped squeezing, letting his hand laze on the curve of your body.
‘... good?’
‘Yes. Good. Do you wish praise for doing your duty?’ he grunted, already beginning to unlace your bodice. He wriggled it down your chemise and pawed one of your breasts. ‘Hm.’
‘W-what?’
‘They do seem… larger.’
He was gentle to you that night and every night after that. In touch and act alone– his words still left much to be desired.
As you both perused the throne room, approaching the iron throne, Aemond’s jaw clenched in irritation. You were well along in your pregnancy now, eight moons, and were quite round and stout, feeling all the part of a plump trout carrying eggs, trying to swim upstream–
“Where is the chair?” Aemond barked suddenly, causing you to jump.
“T-the chair, your grace?” one of the servants mumbled.
“The chair for my lady wife, you fool. Do you expect her to stand?” He thoroughly scared the daylights out of the poor servant, who rushed off to find a chair. “Incompetent.”
“... I pray he returns soon– my ankles are protesting this walk.” you murmured.
“If all of these prying eyes weren’t here,” Aemond whispered in your ear. “Mayhaps I’d have you sit with me on the throne.”
The thought of it sent a thrill through you, tingling all the way to the base of your spine and beyond. It was a wonderful fantasy, but you couldn’t get the logistics of it out of your head– you would certainly impale yourself on one of the unruly swords. “Mayhaps we can arrange something in our chambers after this, husband?”
Aemond uttered a sound between a growl and a quiet moan before guiding you further to your seat, now properly prepared. You leaned back on the chair, adorned with a pillow, putting a hand over your swollen belly.
As much as you appreciated Aemond’s… concern and vigilance with having you everywhere with him, you wished you could skip the tedious things. Your mind wondered the entirety of the session, tuning out the droning voices of the lords and only focusing on your husband’s. He sounded so powerful, commanding his lessers as if they were the sheep and he the shepherd. You didn’t lie when you thought the crown looked better on him than Aegon– Aemond was more suited towards this life.
You know he wanted it all– the title, the crown, but not at the expense of his brother, never at his expense– so he would have to be content with what he could make for himself. That included you and your unborn child. You wished so dearly that it would be a son, a son for him to continue his bloodline, his legacy.
Finally, the meeting ended and Aemond all but swept you off your aching feet to your rooms. He set you down on the bed and undressed you without much ceremony. “I couldn’t keep my mind off of you that entire time– if I were a lesser man… I may have not waited until our chambers to succumb to you.” he whispered, dragging kisses up from your knees, to your thighs and then your belly.
A gentle, but calloused, hand wrought over the stretched skin. He loved touching your belly, he couldn’t get enough of it– he was a scholarly man in all accounts, secretly in wonder of the machinations of the human body and how it could vessel something like another person. He would never admit this, of course, but you could tell just by how his eye roved your form, how he took in every detail. He parted your legs, swiping a finger between your already soaked folds– as it didn’t take much for you to become feral these days, either. You had been since he suggested the idea of the throne, forced to squeeze your thighs together through the duration of the hearing to relieve some of the ache.
“So wet for me already, are you?” he hummed, gathering your slick with two fingers this time and kissing your thigh, so close, so close to your aching center.
“... y-yes, husband– you kept me waiting,” you murmured. In your pregnancy, you’d become indignant and spoiled– and he let you. “So cruel.”
“Cruel?” Aemond questioned, a brow raised. “Cruel– you know me cruel, my dear wife,” he growled, parting your folds and licking a line from bottom to top. “Cruel would be… letting you sit for hours longer on the edge and not giving it to you,” he anointed his point by roving his tongue over your pearl, eliciting a keening whine from you. “Or mayhaps, not giving it to you at all. Shall I be cruel, wife?”
You shook your head fervently. “P-please, Aemond,” you panted, the heat of the moment and your out-of-whack hormones already making you perspire, sweat beading at your forehead. You felt like a bitch in heat, every touch of him on you was like a thousand sparks from a flint, trying to light your pleasure, trying, trying– but then dying, but it was always so close, on the precipice. “Touch me– don’t tease me.”
“Hm,” he roved it over in his mind for a faux moment. “You are doing so well carrying my child, aren’t you?”
“Y-yes, please!”
“Mayhaps I will reward you for being a good wife, a good mother.”
“Please, my king,” you whimpered, using his title only reserved for bedplay. You wanted it bad, and he knew.
Once again, his pupil waxed and waned like the moon phases, like the ebbing and flowing tide– and then he began to feast upon you like the animal he truly was. His tongue roved over your sensitive core, suckling and nipping. Your hand flew to his hair, clenching it into your fist. He had become so expert in pleasing you with his mouth, something he only started after you became pregnant– you hoped this would stay.
“A-Aemond, f-fuck,” you cursed, throwing your head back on the pillow, clutching his silky strands between your fingers. “M-more, your grace–”
He lavished you like he was starved, not letting up at any point to even let you breathe– it was a constant assault on your clit, with only a few moments of relief when he caught his breath, looking up at you like the cat who got the cream, a smug grin on his face, the glisten of your essence on him. His thumb finished what his tongue started, kneading over your sensitive bud as you babbled and cried, fluttering around nothing as you came.
You heard the sound of his belt undoing, and his hand was in yours, guiding you to his rock hard member. “Don’t you see what you do to me, hm? I quite like you round, so full of my child,” he said as he lined up with your entrance, sliding in with no resistance. “Mayhaps I shall keep you like this and we will have an entire castle full of children.” he stayed upright, hands on your thighs. You still ached for his hand around your throat, so badly– but it wasn’t good for the babe.
He began a slow, almost lazy pace, staring down at you now as he loomed like a shadow, picking up his speed. As he sped up, he reached up and tore off his eyepatch, throwing it aside. The sapphire in his eye socket gleamed at you and you swore you could see yourself reflected into it–
It didn’t take long for him to reach his own peak, grunting and growling, balls tightening. His hand also itched so desperately to lace around your throat like a necklace, but his hand just twitched and clawed into the sheets as he emptied himself into you. He, regrettably to both of you, pulled out and encircled himself around you, arms resting on your ribs as you were lulled to sleep by his breathing and closeness.
You awoke, not knowing how many hours later, to him speaking. “Nyke jaelagon ao emagon aōha muñnykeā's pungos.” I hope you have your mother’s nose. “Ao'll rhaenagon gūrēñare lēda iā egros rȳ izula. Iā kostilus tōma. Aōha muña kessa daor hae ziry, nyke gīmigon.” You'll start training with a sword at age four. Or perhaps five. Your mother will not like it, I know.
His head was laid near your belly, faced away from you, his hand draped over it softly. He didn’t know you were awake– he was… speaking to the baby. You could only catch bits and pieces of what he was saying– but it didn’t matter. It wasn’t a conversation for you to know. You closed your eyes once more.
–
“M-may the mother… guide me… and bless me with a son,” you murmured. “Bless us with a son, please.” you groaned as you tried to get up, your knees bruised and sore. You had been praying every day for the last fortnight as your delivery loomed closer. You feared to give him a daughter– as accompanying as he’d been during your pregnancy, you knew… you knew what he wanted. And you knew it was a coin flip to give him what he wanted.
You felt heavier than usual, finding it difficult to get back up after being down for so long– you felt a strain in your lower back, then an acute pop. A gush of wetness flowed down your legs. “A-ah– ser!” you called to your sworn sword, a member of the Kingsguard picked by Aemond specifically to be with you at all times when he wasn’t around. Presently, Aemond was taking a ride upon Vhagar. “Ser!”
“My lady?” the Kingsguard rushed in, eyes wide. “Are you alright?”
“T-the… the babe–”
–
“Why wasn’t I notified?” Aemond growled, stalking through the corridors as he paced to the maester’s quarters.
“Y-You were in the sky, your grace– we didn’t know how to reach you–”
“Fuck’s sake– is she alright, then?”
“Yes– uhm…”
“Uhm? What? Is my wife alright or not?!”
“Yes– she and the babe are alright.”
Aemond fumed as he opened the doors, eye zeroing in on the maester, then you. You were mortified, crying, holding a little bundle against your breast.
“A-Aemond,” you croaked. You were shaking like a leaf.
“Congratulations, your grace,” the maester spoke. “It is a healthy baby girl.”
Girl.
Girl.
Girl.
You couldn’t stop sobbing as you watched his face, impassive, turn to confusion, to longing, to grief, to anger, to…. Nothing. He stared at you blankly then.
“Aemond– please– I- I prayed to the Gods every day for a son, I’m sorry,” you blubbered. “I’m so sorry–”
“Don’t.” Aemond’s voice snapped like a whip as he walked closer. “Let me see the babe.”
You offered the bundle to him– a baby girl. She had curls of red hair like you and lavender eyes like her father. Sensing movement and a change of presence, the baby sneezed, staring up at her father. He stared back, his expression unreadable. “Vaella. Her name is Vaella.” he didn’t ask, nor suggest. He declared. Glancing back at you, he spoke quietly. “We will just have to try again, won’t we, wife?” His tone was like a fog upon you– it was proposed like a thinly veiled threat, a promise– but then his gaze softened almost imperceptibly. You wonder if you imagined it. “Kirimvose, ñuha dōna ābrazȳrys.” Thank you, sweet wife. “Ñuha hūra,” My moon. He turned back to Vaella, whispering. “Se ñuha qēlossās.” And my stars.
–
Aemond ended up getting his heir and then some, a year and a half later. You gave birth to triplets. All boys.
Maegon, Vaelar, and Rhaelor.
#aemond fic#aemond fanfiction#aemond targaryen#hotd aemond#aemond x fem!reader#aemond#aemond one eye#hotd fic#aemond fanfic#aemond smut#my writing
514 notes
·
View notes
Last Seen Blogs
coolchanuniverse
Unbetitelt
chiire
Chiire Dyumint
thescrapdealers
the scrap dealers
egerafael
kaybolan yıllar
crazy-sevens
Writing snippets