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flowerandblood · 2 months

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Object of Delight (3/3)

[ dark • Aemond x Arryn • widow female ]

[ warnings: sex content, oral sex, fingering, smut, angst, domination, swearing, postpartum depression ]

[ 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. Despite his initial reluctance, a bond develops between him and his wife that he cannot understand or comprehend. In this chapter I combine several requests into one. The female character has a specific eye and hair color. ]

Part 1 − Object of Desire Part 2 − Object of Despair Epilogue

* English is not my first language. Please, do not repost. Enjoy! *

My other works: Masterlist

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The frequency and fervour with which he fucked his wife caused it to be less than three moons before the measter brought him the joyful news during one of his sparring sessions with Ser Criston, informing him that she was expecting his child.

He explained that he had been summoned by one of her servants when she suddenly fainted, and as it turned out, the cause of her indisposition was his inheritance in her womb.

He couldn't help the smirk of satisfaction and the amused look he threw Cole, for here it appeared that, in fact, her deceased husband had simply failed to perform his duty well − his seed was weak and his lineage would be forgotten.

Although he was buzzing with curiosity and desire to see her now, to take her in this blessed state, he decided not to show his weakness and make it to the end of his training following his daily routine, heading to her chamber immediately after taking a quick bath.

His long white hair was still a little damp when he crossed the threshold of her quarters − the door closed quietly behind him, and he looked at her sleeping figure lying on her bed, covered in thick furs. He hummed, walking slowly closer, recognising that she had made the right decision to rest − in her current state she needed to look out for herself more than before.

He stood over her in silence for a moment, fighting the burning desire to touch her face, to take an unruly strand from her cheek, but hesitated.

He only made gestures that someone might call affectionate after their intense closeness, when she slept snuggled against his naked chest, her hand on which she wore a golden ring in the shape of a sun with a sapphire eye, his gift to her, proof that she was capable of pleasing him both in and out of bed, rested on his heart.

He stroked her soft, smooth hair then, her bare shoulder, looking at her out of the corner of his eye, musing. The fact that she spent the nights with him became natural to them − he did not summon her and she did not wait for his permission, following him to his quarters immediately after supper. They didn't speak much, didn't confide their secrets to each other, instead getting to know each other's bodies intimately.

They were able to lie on their sides in the dark for hours satisfying and teasing each other with their mouths without giving each other fulfilment. He enjoyed watching out of the corner of his eye, trailing his lips over her hot, leaking womanhood as his wife sucked unhurriedly on his cock, licking and teasing it with her pink tongue, her caresses gentle and tender, making his fingers involuntarily clench tighter on the naked skin of her hips right next to his face.

There was something liberating to him in the fact that she did not require him to make confessions or sacrifice his regular daily life; although it had always seemed to him that a wife was merely an extension of her husband and his shadow, she preferred to remain a separate entity and he chose not to overuse the power he had over her, not finding it necessary.

He shuddered, snapped out of his reverie when her eyes opened lazily − she smiled barely visible, softly, perhaps even warmly at the sight of him.

"Are you trying to scare me?" She muttered, turning only to sink deeper into the soft bedding, looking at him calmly, her eyes bright, her face smooth, without a trace of a grimace.

He snorted, amused, turning his head away for a moment only to look at her again, sighing heavily − even though he tried to keep a grave face he knew she had noticed his contentment with the news that had reached him.

"I have been informed that you are carrying my son in your womb." He hummed low, deeply − she blinked, smiling wider.

"I don't know if it will be a son." She replied softly, and he hummed again; she shifted back as he walked closer to her bed and lay on his side, his face turned towards her, laying his head on the pillow right next to hers. They looked at each other for a moment in silence, feeling that although neither of them used words, this was a day of their shared joy, for here was the fruit of their efforts.

He raised his large hand at the thought, unable to contain himself − his fingers took a strand of her black hair and flicked it over her back with a light gesture. She smiled wider, knowing that he couldn't stand it when something covered her face.

Her eyes.

Taking advantage of the fact that he had already touched her, he involuntarily ran his thumb over her soft, plump cheek. He saw that she had closed her eyes, sighing quietly, his gaze focused on her long, dark lashes. His fingers tightened around her neck, drawing her to him and she purred loudly as his swollen lips pressed against hers in a wet, loud, hot kiss.

He pulled away from her with a quiet click, but her lips ran invitingly over his, telling him that she craved more, so he sank into their fleshy texture again, slipping the tip of his tongue between them, a sweet, innocent moan came from her throat causing his cock to throb impatiently in his breeches.

He took her more gently than usual, rocking his hips lazily deep inside her, each time the tip of his swollen manhood rubbing the spot between her muscles, from which a shiver of pleasure ran through her whole body, her fingers tightening on his muscular shoulders, her body beginning to meet his, wordlessly letting him know that he could accelerate his pace.

Her short, slender fingernails dug into the bare skin of his firm buttocks as he began to thrust into her more aggressively, wanting him to do it even harder − he stroked her cheek as she began to babble, asking, begging him to give her what she needed.

"− we need to be more careful now because of the baby − I know, I know you need it, shhh −" He hushed her, closing her mouth with his own, his hands gripped her thighs, with sure, deep thrusts pounding into her at an angle that he knew gave her the greatest pleasure − she arched her back with a sweet moan as his thumb began to tease her bud with circular, intense strokes, her walls began to squeeze him, soaking him all over in her moisture.

"− Aemond −" She mumbled pleadingly, in the way he adored most − he looked down at her panting loudly, resting his free hand on the bed frame in front of him, thrusting into her again and again with the sticky splat of his thighs against her buttocks, his cock throbbing hard, demanding fulfilment.

"− I know − I'll lick you good tonight and slap those buttocks a little − sounds good, hm? −" He gasped, looking at her with affection from which he felt a squeeze in his throat. She nodded her head quickly and cried out − he felt her muscles clench at the very thought, sucking him inside, her cheeks red from exertion and desire, her swollen, full lips parted wide, her hands trailing over his hot flesh.

"− yes − please − fuck me good − o-oh gods −" She mewled sweetly as her body shook with eager, overpowering fulfilment − she tilted her head back, writhing beneath him, her weeping cunt began to clench on him greedily, intensifying his pleasure.

"− good girl −" He exhaled wearily as with a few desperate, sloppy thrusts he came inside her with a loud sigh of relief, looking at her in disbelief.

The woman who had given him what he craved.

"− you did so well for me −" He whispered, leaning over her, being careful not to crush her with his body, sinking his nose into her soft cheek. She wrapped her hands around his waist, stroking his back, making a shiver run along his spine every time her fingers brushed over his hot, sweaty skin.

She knew there was a deeper meaning to what he said and that it didn't just refer to their intense closeness.

Her abdomen swelling from his inheritance was his reason for being proud − his hand lay on it and stroked it involuntarily during the evenings or mornings she spent in his company.

As she lay naked beside him at night, sweaty and welted from what he had done to her, her cunt all puffy and sore from the caresses of his tongue, he hugged his face to her womb, smiling involuntarily when he sometimes managed to feel the movement of the little dragon that was growing inside her.

Despite the maester's recommendation that they should not cohabit with each other when she was in such advanced pregnancy and their strenuous attempts to confine themselves to the use of their mouths alone, as she lay beside him, cuddled with her back to his chest, his manhood swelled involuntarily, slapping against her buttocks.

She would then spread her thighs invitingly, teasing him with the strokes of her hips, tilting her head back, whispering how wet she was, and he, impatiently lifted her higher, forcing the fat head of his cock with their sigh of relief into her tight, throbbing opening, and although they knew they should do it slowly, they fucked each other rough.

"− can't you last a few fucking days without my cock? − isn't it enough that you came on my face tonight? −" He exhaled, listening as his thighs slapped fast against her buttocks with loud smacks, his manhood thrusting into her with ease, her insides slick with her juices, his fingers between her thighs, their tips playing with her clit, not letting her escape.

"− I came having your cock deep inside my mouth − have you forgotten already? −" She gasped and he groaned low at the thought, quickening his pace, clamping his hand around her neck so as not to make it difficult for her to breathe and accidentally hurt the baby − he hid his face in her hair, feeling that he was embarrassingly close to another fulfilment.

"− no − that's not something you can forget − fuck −" He muttered, feeling her sticky walls begin to suck him inside in orgasm, her moisture spilling over his thighs, her moans making him let go, letting his hot seed spill inside her.

"− gods, so good − I can't stop −" He mumbled, and she sighed heavily, moving with him for a moment longer, stroking his arm that embraced her swollen abdomen.

"− me too −"

On the day of the delivery he was restless, pacing around his chamber, full of tension, unable to sit still. She felt the first contractions in the morning and collapsed as her servants helped her dress, whimpering, terrified that it had begun.

He consoled himself with the thought that her mother, the Queen and his sister were with her, that she was not alone, but he could not stop thinking about Aemma, her grandfather's sister and his father's first wife, how she had died and that, although he tried to push the vision away, the birth could prove complicated.

He swallowed hard, running his hand over his face, unwittingly seeing in his mind her pale, lifeless body, her empty violet eyes, her cheeks drenched in tears, her nightgown soaked in blood at the height of her thighs.

He groaned lowly, trying to calm down, repeating to himself that this would not happen, that she was not Aemma and he was not his father.

Hours passed, however, and he still hadn't received any news of her condition − he felt like he was dying inside, for some reason he wanted to weep with despair.

He saw himself with his hands placed deep in the fire of his fireplace, holding his dragon egg, clenching his lips in pain, begging the gods for it to crack.

He shuddered, snapped out of his reverie, rising to his feet as the maester stepped inside his chamber, his attention immediately drawn to the fact that his hands were all dirty in blood.

"Your Grace. You have a son." He said in a trembling voice, and he looked at him dully, as if he did not understand what he had said.

"What about my wife?"

He moved immediately to her chamber when he learned that she had endured the birth very badly, that there was no contact with her, that she had a fever.

That she might not survive.

He didn't even look at the wailing child in his Queen's arms − he walked immediately to the bed where her mother was sobbing, stroking her hands.

She looked exactly as in his vision, pale, her gaze blank, directed somewhere far away, her chemise all red with blood − if it weren't for the fact that her breast was rising and falling in shallow breaths he would have thought she was dead.

"− Your Grace, you shouldn't −" He heard the voice of one of the ladies of the court, but he just stood there looking at her with his lips pressed together, feeling a squeeze in his throat and chest so strong that he had the impression that his whole body had begun to tremble.

He involuntarily moved towards her, climbing onto the bed, leaning on his knees, his trembling hand touched her hot, sweaty cheek, all wet with tears.

"− my love − my love, speak to me −" He whispered, but she didn't even look at him − she only twitched, one last, lonely tear flowed from the corner of her eye.

Something about the sight broke him − he pressed his forehead to her temple, panting hard, her wonderful scent filling his lungs again.

"− don't leave me − don't leave me alone in this world −"

He didn't know if his words had reached her, her fever intensified by the night he had spent by her side with her mother. He sat in a chair watching as she washed her face, already dressed in a clean, snow-white undershirt, covered by thick layers of furs, her body quivering all over, sunk in a deep, restless sleep.

"− I thought the worst was behind her − after that bastard −" She began, but pressed her lips together, as if unable to get it out of her − he looked at her anxiously, feeling his whole body tense up.

She had never told him about her first husband.

Nor had he ever asked about it, not even wanting to recall that another man had had her before him.

"− was he not a good husband? −" He asked impassively − Lady Arryn looked up at him with big eyes, her eyebrows arched in despair and anger at the same time.

Her hair were as dark as his wife's, but her irises were golden and bright, shining in the candlelight around them.

She swallowed loudly, her chin trembling all over, as if she couldn't get it out of her.

"− I − I didn't find out until a year later − that when it turned out she was bleeding, that she wasn't carrying his child − every month he made her sleep in godswood, in just her nightgown − h-he said − gods, he said that until she gave him an heir, she was like his sword, his book, or his horse − her servants took pity on her and when he fell asleep, they would take her to their chambers beneath the stronghold −" She muttered, tears of grief and bitterness running down her face. He looked at her dully, feeling as if he was about to vomit, his stomach painfully clenched − he ran his trembling hand over his face, hearing her words during their wedding night inside his head.

A wife is a gift. Like a sword, a book or a horse.

He closed his eyes, swallowing hard, feeling a burning wetness under his eyelids that he did not let flow.

Her silhouette lying under the weirwood tree, then, as he followed her.

He thought she stopped visiting this place when it became apparent that she was expecting his child because walking such long distances began to be difficult for her.

"− my husband did the right thing − he deserved it −" She exclaimed, and he didn't speak again, knowing what she meant.

He only breathed a sigh of relief the next day when her fever had diminished and she was still breathing. She would wake up and only babble, her mother would feed her and help her dress, and he would just be beside her, overseeing everything, wanting to make sure nothing escaped his attention.

He knew that his son was in the care of his mother and sister.

As she began to regain consciousness, it was decided to introduce their son to her − one of the wet nurses, a plump woman with a wide smile brought in her arms an infant with his white hair and her mother's golden eyes. He smiled involuntarily at the sight, hoping that the appearance of her child would give her strength.

"Look, my Lady. It's your little boy. Would you like to feed him?" The woman asked softly, but his wife merely looked away, tense, staring out of the window, her fingers clenched on the thick fur that covered her. He pressed his lips together at the sight, feeling that something was happening deep inside her, that something had taken place during the birth that had broken her.

She did not want to look at the baby, touch it or feed it − she only expressed in a weak voice her satisfaction that their child was healthy.

Her mother tried to persuade her to at least take her son in her arms, that she would then immediately feel maternal love and attachment, but she shook her head quickly, tears running down her face as if she didn't even want to imagine it.

"− Your Grace, I'm afraid a heavy birth has caused your wife to lose her senses, she is rejecting her own child − I believe that at this point she is dangerous to Your Highness' son and should be left alone for a while to calm down −" The maester told him as he left her chamber to change and refresh himself, his lips tightened into a thin line at his words.

"− weigh your words − my wife is suffering, and you are to find the cause of it −" He hissed, furious, the man swallowed hard and nodded, not speaking again.

When he returned to her quarters, he noticed to his surprise that her bed was empty, her mother asleep in her chair, tired, no one else around.

He went outside in a panic, wondering where she could have gone, heading towards the godswood, however, he froze in a half-step walking down the corridor when he noticed that the door to the chamber his son slept in was ajar.

He walked slowly inside and stopped, noticing her silhouette sitting next to the cradle, looking blankly at the sleeping infant, her face indifferent and expressionless. She lifted her gaze to him at last, as if snapped out of her reverie, her eyebrows arched in pain, her fingers clenched on the fabric of her nightgown.

"What's going to happen to me now?" She muttered in a trembling voice and he shook his head, not understanding what she was asking.

"I do not follow." He replied; she lowered her gaze, her lower lip quivered, tears ran down her cheeks − she seemed to have fallen into some kind of state of panic.

"Now that I've given you a son. What are you going to do with me? Will you pretend I don't exist? Will you find yourself a lover?"

He stared at her stunned, feeling the quick pounding of his heart and the squeeze in his throat, horrified at the direction her thoughts were taking.

"Where did those words come from?" He asked in disbelief, feeling that he was struggling to breathe, his hands clenched into fists.

She hid her face in her hands, shaking her head, bursting into a loud sobs as if something inside her had cracked.

"I can't. I can't, I can't, I can't." She squirmed, drawing in air loudly − he moved towards her, kneeling in front of her, pressing her face to his chest.

"Calm down. Please." He whispered, her fingers clenching tightly on the material of his green tunic in a helpless gesture of despair.

"I am worn out. I'm a worn-out, empty vessel. There's nothing more I can give you." She whimpered, and he clamped his eyelids shut, pulling her close. Her body fell to the ground right beside him, and he wrapped his arms around her tightly, cuddling her into himself like a small child, stroking her soft dark hair reassuringly.

"You are my wife. I will never betray you or our family. We can wait with begetting another child until you are ready. After all, we have our ways of doing that, don't we?" He asked in a soft, trembling voice, trying to comfort her, to let her understand that nothing was over, but on the contrary, in his eyes, it had only just begun.

"I've been contemplating for some time that I should take you in front of that guard who looks at you so shamelessly when you're wearing gowns of thinner material. When your breasts are visible through it. That would give him something to think about, hm? And the most important thing. Vhagar. The mother of my child must know what it means to ride a dragon." He hummed into her ear, playing with strands of her hair, feeling her shiver at his words, that she was returning to him, her body no longer trembling, her breathing calming.

"I thought I'd already ridden the world's greatest dragon." She whispered, and he involuntarily smirked and snorted, kissing her hair.

"Not like this."

They stayed like that for a while in each other's embrace, sitting on the floor, stroking each other's cheeks, shoulders and hair, for the first time so close, so tender, so sincere. They shuddered when they heard sobbing and whimpering coming from the cradle − they both rose and he turned his head, calling the guard, telling them to bring a nursemaid.

"No." She said softly, coming closer, leaning over the cradle, taking their son into her arms. She embraced him and began rocking him, shushing him reassuringly as she looked at his face.

"− hello, little one − I know − it's not your fault −" She muttered with difficulty, tears in her eyes − he looked at this sight with a squeezed throat and swallowed heavily.

"− come here − are you hungry? −" She asked, sitting down on the window sill, slipping the material of her nightgown off her shoulder, exposing her breast, all swollen, full of milk − he felt his manhood throb involuntarily in his breeches at this sight.

She breathed a quiet sigh of relief as their son, nestled against her breast, found her nipple and, in a natural, subconscious instinct, began to suck on it greedily, clamping his small hand over her skin.

She looked at their child with curiosity and some kind of warmth that moved him.

He approached her, leaning over her, kissing the top of her head, sinking his nose into her soft hair, looking out of the corner of his eye at this almost mythological sight of a woman feeding her offspring.

"− what did you name our son? −" She asked quietly, and he felt hot in his chest hearing her use the word our.

"− I waited with this decision for you − you are his mother −" He replied softly, taking an unruly strand of her hair from her face. She mused, looking at the infant suckled to her breast and smiled softly.

"− Jaehaerys −" She whispered, and he hummed under his breath, delighted that they had thought of the same thing.

Of their common ancestor.

"− so Jaehaerys it will be −"

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sapphire-writes · 1 year

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Teacher's Pet (modern!HOTD)

read the second installment Lessons

pairing: professor!Aemond x student!Reader

summary: A night out during the spring semester of your senior year of university leads to a run-in with your former professor.

warnings: NSFW 18+ (explicit sex, unprotected, fingering, oral fem-receiving, overstimulation, titty sucking, praise, degrading language) mature themes, power imbalance

word count: 4.5k

note: I got a saucy little anon saying y'all needed a student x teacher fic from me, and to celebrate 3,000 besties I had to deliver!! thanks for all the love and support, you all mean the absolute world to me! Excited to keep creating for you all, ilysm 😘

You and your best friend Sara Snow grew up together, and spent nearly every waking moment attached at the hip. You know those friends you have that are more like siblings than friends? Sara was more like your twin. So when she stayed in your hometown going to Winterfell State, and you traveled to Citadel University, it was like you’d lost a limb.

Which meant you had to visit each other as frequently as possible. Sometimes you’d travel back home and visit Sara, and other times she’d come to you. Sara preferred visiting you, she loved the wine bars and clubs of Oldtown.

“The vibe is just different here,” she says, sipping her wine, “I love it. Very chic.”

You’d chosen a new wine bar to explore this time around. It’s a super cute place, with low lighting and a chalkboard bar and tables, with chalk for drawing laid out on all the tables. Sara, being mentally 12 years old, had already drawn a veiny cock in front of you. You swipe it away with your hand.

“Rudeness!” she says, pouting as you destroy her artwork.

“Stop drawing dicks,” you tell her and she narrows her eyes.

“You’ll have to kill me,” she teases, eyes flickering toward a blonde girl who passes on her way to the bathroom.

“You’re staring,” you tell her and she sticks her tongue out at you.

“She’s been staring at me for a while,” Sara tells you, grinning, “I for one, plan to get laid tonight.”

“I love that for you,” you tell her, smiling.

“This guy at the bar, totally checking you out right now,” Sara says, sipping on her wine.

Your face flushes and you turn your head slightly to look. Sara makes a noise of disapproval, setting her glass down.

“Don’t look,” she whispers, pushing some dark hair over her shoulders.

“I’m not,” you hiss, tilting your head.

“You totally are,” Sara accuses.

“What’s he look like?” you ask.

Sara’s dark eyes scan the man, you watch them move seemingly over his form.

“Tall, platinum blonde, like seriously, must have an extensive hair care routine,” she says, nodding, “We love that, love a man with good hygiene.”

You snicker, living for her analysis.

“He’s lean, but like you can tell he’s muscular,” she glances at you, “I know you’re a hand whore, and I can tell he’s got nice hands.”

“You’re so rude,” you accuse, blushing because she’s right.

Sara scoots off of her seat.

“C’mon, we’re going over there,” she tells you.

“Okay,” you agree and she links your arm pulling you from your seat.

You finally get a look at the guy and your stomach drops.

It’s your professor.

Not this semester, but last semester. Westerosis Literature taught by Professor Aemond Targaryen. A great class, hard as hell. He worked you fucking hard for that A. You mean to tell Sara but you’re still in shock as you come face to face.

“Hey there,” Sara says, smiling sweetly, “I couldn’t help but notice you checking out my friend, thought you’d like to buy her a drink? Maybe keep her company while I visit the loo?”

Aemond’s eyes rake over you, clearly recognizing you. You blush furiously, mouth gaping.

“She likes Sauvignon Blanc,” Sara tells him, motioning to the bartender, “I’ll be back, take care of my girl.”

And with that, she flounces off toward the restroom.

“I’m sorry professor,” you tell him, nervously playing with your fingers, “If I had known it was you I wouldn’t have let her drag me over here.”

“Something tells me your friend would be hard to deny,” he tells you as the bartender comes over, “A glass of Sauvignon Blanc please, and I’ll take another gin and tonic.”

You flush as the bartender nods, getting your drinks.

“She’s very persistent,” you tell him, nodding in agreement and casting your eyes to the floor.

Aemond cannot keep his eyes off your glowing cheeks, the way your lashes flutter against them as you avert your gaze.

“I can just take this back to the table,” you say, grabbing the glass of Sauvignon Blanc he paid for.

Aemond shakes his head.

“You shouldn’t drink alone,” he tells you, patting the empty chair next to him, “Indulge me for a bit, will you?”

You look back towards the table you shared with Sara, though she has yet to return to it. She’s probably chatting up that girl she had her eyes on. You bring your gaze back to Aemond.

“Okay, if you’re sure you’re comfortable with that,” you tell him, slipping onto the stool.

“Because that paper was cruel and unusual punishment, even for you,” you tell Aemond through a laugh.

You’re on your third glass of wine, the hours ticking away as you converse with your former professor. Sara has made herself scarce, though she’s been texting you.

“You did rather well if I recall correctly,” he says, with a sly smile on his face.

You roll your eyes, taking another sip. You’ve always been a good student.

“Only because I dedicated a week of sleepless nights to that assignment. Seriously, you should be paying for my therapy after that,” you tease, leaning your cheek against your hand.

You’ve gotten closer to him during the night, your knees brushing against his thigh, heel clad foot mindlessly rubbing against his calf. You’re not sure if it’s the wine or the ease of the conversation that has you feeling so comfortable around him.

“Send me the bill,” he jokes back, a soft chuckle rumbling in his chest.

“I’ll put it in your mailbox tomorrow,” you giggle, taking another sip, “You know, I was really disappointed when your Essosi Literature class was full this semester.”

“Is that so?” he asks, sipping his gin and tonic, raising an eyebrow at you.

“Now I’ll never have the chance to take it,” you continue, “Unless you teach a summer course, otherwise your popularity has thrown off my entire plan of study.”

“My apologies,” he insists, grinning at you, “My popularity, you say? I thought I was a hard ass.”

“Oh you are,” you assure him, “But that doesn’t mean you’re not popular.”

“How so?” he pushes, a long finger dancing around the rim of his empty glass.

Your eyes follow the circle he traces, up the veins on the back of his hands. How have you never noticed how sexy his hands are? You’ve never been this close to him, his lectures always held in one of the large lecture halls on campus rather than the more intimate classroom settings. You wet your lips, desire pooling in your belly before you meet his eyes once more.

“You know,” you tell him, unable to keep the secretive smile off of your face, “I mean, you must know.”

“Know what?” he murmurs, staring at you with such intensity it makes your thighs tremble.

You brush a strand of hair behind your ear, chewing on your lower lip. This will be your last glass of wine, you feel too giddy, too at ease in the presence of your professor. You’re going to regret this little flirtation in the morning, you can feel it in your bones. But the alcohol is liquid courage, and you’re a senior after all. Once this semester is over, you’re out in the real world, done with Citadel University.

“You’re popular with the ladies of campus,” you tell him, “and the men, and everyone else.”

Aemond quirks an eyebrow at you.

“Oh really?” he asks.

“Of course, I mean you’re the youngest tenured professor, you are a hard ass grader but your lectures are so enticing, and it helps you’re easy on the eyes-”

You choke as soon as the sentence escapes you. A freudian slip if you’ve ever had one. Aemond’s mouth quirks up into a wolfish grin.

“I’m so sorry,” you tell him, covering your mouth.

“It’s alright,” he assures you, but you’re off on a nervous ramble.

“That was seriously so shallow of me and inappropriate to say-”

“Y/N,” he says, resting a hand on your knee, “It’s alright, really.”

You laugh nervously, enjoying the feeling of his hand on your leg. You can feel the heat it emits through your tights. His hand is huge, and you lose yourself in the moment wondering how it might feel against the bare flesh of your thighs, you neck-

“I should see if Sara texted,” you tell him, reaching for your phone.

You’re greeted by a dropped pinned location and a text from Sara saying she went home with the blonde from earlier. Lucky bitch.

“And she’s left me,” you say aloud.

“Everything alright?” Aemond asks.

“Yeah, yeah. This has been great,” you tell him, “Thank you for keeping me company, but I should probably get home, call an Uber.”

“Let me drive you,” Aemond insists, “It’s no problem.”

You bite your lip. You shouldn’t do this right? He’s your professor, your teacher.

“Are you sure?” you ask and he nods.

That’s how you end up in the passenger seat of his mercedes, the dark leather seats warm and inviting. You know you’re staring as you watch him drive, long fingers gripping the wheel, the other hand resting on his knee.

As you pull up to your apartment, you swallow the lump that has formed in your throat. You almost want to invite him up. He watches you closely, as though sensing the words swimming around your head. No, you're not doing this.

“Thank you, professor, I appreciate it,” you tell him, leaving it at that.

“I think I embarrassed myself big time Sara,” you tell her groaning on the phone.

There wasn’t much time to debrief the night before Sara had to head back to Winterfell. You brought yourself to the campus coffee shop, settling in to complete some homework while you had some free time.

You’d been staring at your laptop screen, and the empty word doc that was pulled up, for the better part of an hour before deciding to call Sara.

“You did not,” she insists, “I don’t care if he is your professor, he was totally into you.”

“He was just being polite.”

“I know polite, and I know eye fucking. Professor Big Dick was the latter,” Sara insists.

“Sara!”

“You know I’m right,” she tells you.

“Fuck,” you tell her, placing a hand against your forehead.

“Look, if you’re that worried about it, go talk to him,” Sara says, “Drop by his office or something, bring him a coffee and tell him you’re sorry.”

“You don’t think that’s weird?” you ask, nervously chewing your thumb.

“I think it's weird you didn’t suck his dick when he drove you home,” she answers honestly.

“Bye Sara,” you tell her.

“Love you too bitch,” she says, making a kissing noise into the receiver.

You decide to take Sara’s advice, bringing Aemond a coffee as an apology for your behavior. You walk through the building; it’s quiet with no classes, not many people pass you on your way to the faculty offices. Most doors are closed, but you see Professor Targaryen’s door is ajar, signaling his presence.

You’d been to his office one time before, dropping in for office hours the previous semester when working on your midterm. He grilled you hard, and you left feeling frustrated but with a strong desire to please him. You always did crave academic validation.

You knock on the door, greeted by Aemond’s gentle timbre telling you to enter. He’s seated behind his desk, a book open on his lap. He’s wearing gray slacks, a simple button down shirt and his silver hair is pulled away from his face in a loose, low bun. His violet eye lights up as you enter, blue sapphire prosthetic winking in the afternoon light that filters through his window.

“I don’t mean to intrude,” you tell him, closing the door behind you.

You walk further into the room and place the coffee cup on his desk.

“What’s this?” he asks, closing his book and placing it on the desk.

“An apology from a tremendously bright student?” you tell him, smiling nervously.

“What do you need to be apologizing for?” he asks, picking up the coffee, inspecting the order on the side.

You chose black to be safe, not knowing this is how he preferred his coffee. Aemond takes a sip, humming appreciatively.

“I just really didn’t want to make you uncomfortable, I know I was a little tipsy, and I hope I didn’t cross a line or anything,” you tell him.

Aemond stands, picking up his book and walking over to his bookshelf. It’s stacked with books, classics and other contemporary novels.

“You’re very thoughtful, Ms. Y/L/N,” he comments, sliding the book back where it belongs.

“Thank you, professor,” you tell him.

“If anyone should be apologizing, it’s me,” he tells you, walking in front of his desk.

He leans his back against it, resting his palms on the edge.

“Why would you apologize?” you ask, tilting your head with curiosity.

“Well, if anyone’s responsible for making our interaction inappropriate it's me,” he tells you, jutting out his sharp chin, “I’m your professor, you’re my student.”

You flick an eyebrow up at him.

“You were my professor,” you tell him, “I’m not in your class anymore.”

“Still, that power imbalance doesn’t just go away,” he insists, eyes meeting yours.

There it is again, that look. The one with such intensity it makes your knees weak. You can see his tongue poking his cheek as though he’s contemplating something. Your breath catches in your throat and you nervously wet your lips.

“I’ll make sure it doesn’t happen again,” you tell him, “No more flirting with strangers at wine bars for me.”

“I’m not a stranger,” he says.

“You know what I mean,” you tell him.

The air between you is warm and inviting. It’s like the bar all over again, you can feel some invisible force pulling you closer to him with every word you exchange. It’s so effortless, this playful banter, you fall into it easily with him. You have to stop, have to stop before you cross another line.

“Anyway, take the coffee,” you tell him, “and let me know if you decide to run that summer class, cause I’ll totally take it.”

“You’re graduating,” he teases.

“They’ll let me hang around, I can be very persuasive,” you insist, kicking yourself for the insinuation.

Aemond lets out a breathless laugh.

“I’m sure,” he says smirking.

You stare a moment longer, appreciating how his tall, lean frame looks resting against his desk. Your gaze drops to his hands again. His hands. You blink, steadying yourself, but he’s definitely noticed the mental lag you had.

“Goodbye, Professor,” you tell him, “Have a good rest of your day.”

You turn walking toward the door. You reach for the handle, pulling it open slightly before a hand reaches above your head, pushing it shut. He keeps his hand on the door as you turn around to face him.

“Don’t leave,” he murmurs, bringing his opposite hand to trace a line down the side of your face, before cupping your cheek.

Your breathing turns ragged as his thumb strokes your cheekbone. He’s so close you can feel his breath on your lips, and smell his cologne. His hand strokes the doorframe, following into down until he reaches the handle, flicking the lock into place.

“I thought we weren’t doing this,” you whisper, hands clenched into fists at your sides.

“Then why’d you come here?” he purrs.

“I was being nice,” you tell him, as he brings his other hand to your waist, pulling you against him.

“Such a good girl you are,” he whispers and then his lips are on yours.

Your hands fly to his neck instinctively, pulling him as close to you as possible. His mouth feels so perfect against yours, the mingled taste of spearmint and coffee sharp on your tongue as you greedily drink him in. Your hands fist the back of his shirt.

You’re practically gasping against his mouth as his hands move to cup your ass, before he bends his knees to lift you up by your thighs. You wrap your legs around his slender waist, continuing to kiss him all the while, moaning as he slips his tongue into your mouth.

He turns, walking you away from the door and placing you on the corner of his desk, hastily brushing his arm to move loose papers and knick knacks out of the way, sending them crashing towards the floor. Not that either of you care. Your hands work quickly, tearing at the buttons on his shirt, revealing his chest. Your nails rake down his abs, reaching for his belt. You’re desperate and you don’t care, you need to feel him inside you.

Aemond removes his lips from yours, laughing breathlessly at your eagerness before swatting your hands away.

“Let me,” he murmurs, sinking to his knees in front of you.

His hands travel up your thighs and you squirm against his touch as they disappear beneath your skirt. You feel his dexterous fingers loop through your underwear pulling it off of you. You assist him, bunching your skirt in your hands revealing your dripping cunt to him.

“So wet for me,” he purrs, “Are you always like this?”

“Fuck,” you mewl as his tongue flicks out, tasting the wetness between your folds.

He hums with appreciation, as though tasting a fine wine. Aemond pressing his face into you, nose nuzzling against your clit, sending spark waves of pleasure dancing upwards toward your navel. His tongue swirls around your center, dipping into your tight heat.

“Did you sit through my lectures with your pussy dripping like this?” he asks, voice rough with desire.

You squirm against his mouth as he wraps his lips around your needy clit, suckling gently and flicking his tongue around the sensitive nub. Your hand flies to the back of his head, foot digging into his shoulder blade.

His hand squeezes your inner thigh roughly, before slapping the tender flesh causing you to cry out.

“Oh gods,” you moan, head tilting back in the throes of pleasure.

“I bet you did,” he answers his own question, smirking at you.

He moves his attention away from your clit momentarily, dragging a finger through your folds. You can’t see his hands but you can picture them, his long, skilled fingers as you feel him sink one into your tight heat.

Your spine curves, pushing your pussy closer toward his face as his finger searches for that special spot inside of you.

“Oh fuck, fuck!” you cry as the pad of his finger pressing against the spot inside of you that paints stars behind your eyelids.

Aemond glances up at you, watches as your brow creases with pleasure, and your mouth forms a perfect O shape.

“There we go,” Aemond purrs, wasting no time and slipping another finger inside of you.

Every crook of his fingers has you trembling against him, his pace relentless as pressing against your g-spot. He brings his attention back to your throbbing clit, increasing the pleasure building in your abdomen, tingling up your spine. His tongue laps away, little kitten licks against the sensitive button drawing you closer and closer to orgasm with each flick.

Tears well in the corners of your eyes and your nails dig harshly into his scalp, not that he seems to mind. Aemond simply groans against you, the vibrations only adding to your pleasure.

“I’m gonna come,” you pathetically whine, shaking against the desk.

“That’s a good girl, c’mon,” Aemond insists, slipping a third finger inside you.

The wet slurping of your soaked cunt echoes in the room as he never relents the stokes of his fingers, the flicking of his tongue. It’s all too much and the tightly wound coil of pleasure inside you snaps with a strangled sob. As your high washes over you, all the tension in your body releases.

Only Aemond doesn’t stop.

“Professor,” you moan, feeling the wave cresting inside of you again.

His fingers are soaked, easily sliding in and out of your greedy cunt.

“Please, please, it’s too much,” you beg, slumping against the desk.

“But you’re such a good girl,” he insists, “You deserve one more, give me one more.”

“I can’t- holy shit!” you squeak, as his lips suck your clit.

You’ve never been treated like this before. One orgasm-if you’re lucky-has been your experience with your past lovers. But you can’t deny him as his fingers work their magic, his tongue swirls around your puffy clit.

“Yes you can,” he purrs, and of course he’s right as you feel yourself thrown over the edge of pleasure once more.

“One more,” Aemond insists and you feel tears leaking down your cheeks.

“Professor I can’t-” you tell him, and he shushes you.

“One more, on my cock, huh?” he asks, unbuckling his belt, “Yeah, you like that idea baby?”

Your eyes light up, and you push yourself on your elbows to watch as he reveals his impressive length. Sara’s always told you guys who are lean are usually well endowed. Boy was she right. Your eyes widen taking in his length, as he grips it in his hand, pumping it. You bite your lip, watching precum leak from the reddened tip.

“I changed my mind,” he says roughly, dragging you toward him like a wolf with its prey, “Two more, you’ll give me two more.”

Your eyes are round as he drags his cock through your folds. You wiggles as he drags the tip over your clit, up and down, using your arousal as lubricant.

“You’ll cum just like this,” he says, continuing the movement against your sensitive clit.

You’re squeaking and moaning embarrassingly, wriggling like a trapped kitten as he holds your thigh tightly with one hand, while the other continues to rub the head of his cock against your clit. Your third orgasm builds quickly and crashes over you just as powerful as the first two, leaving you gasping for air.

“So pretty like this,” Aemond murmurs, bringing a hand to the back of your neck to kiss you.

You whimper against his mouth and his hands move to your shirt, breaking the kiss only to pull the material off of your head. You reach around to unclip your bra, leaving your breasts free and hanging heavy with need. Aemond brings his attention to them immediately, his erection pressing against your thigh as he circlies your nipple with his hot mouth, sucking on your breast.

You’re babbling uncontrollably at this point as he switches, suckling at your neglected other breast before aligning his cock with your soaked entrance.

“You sure?” he asks, hesitating for a moment.

“I’m on birth control,” you manage to gasp, “I’m sure, please, please.”

Aemond grins wolfishly before sinking into your wet heat. His jaw slacks as your pussy greedily accepts him, warm walls holding him firmly inside as he stretches you out.

“So fucking tight,” he murmurs, slowly dragging out only to thrust back in, balls slapping against your ass.

Your head is full of cotton at this point, unable to form coherent thoughts as he plows into you. His hands rest securely on your lower ribs, as your own hands grip the back of your thighs, allowing your legs to bend at the knee. Your back is arched off of the desk, head thrown back and mouth hanging open in pleasure.

“You like that?” he asks.

You can’t find it in you to reply, answering only in a breathy moan. Aemond merely chuckles.

“Awww did I fuck you stupid, baby?” he teases, causing you to whimper.

He feels so fucking good, sliding easily in and out of your tight walls, the sounds of lewd, wet slapping filling his office. It’s filthy, it’s erotic, and it’s so so bad of you but you can’t help but love the position you’ve found yourself in.

“I think I did,” he continues, “Poor, silly, baby thought she could handle it her professor fucking her.”

Desire and humiliation tingle up your spine, spreading across your body like wildfire at his taunts. The pitch of your moans increase as he brings his fingers to play with your clit.

“She’s all cockdumb now,” Aemond croons, squeezing your breast.

He releases your breast to bring a hand to grab at your chin.

“Look at me,” he demands, and you do so with tears in your eyes.

The head of his cock bullies against your sweet spot, rubbing the tender spot with precise devotion.

“You’re going to cum all over my cock,” he tells you, “Soak my cock like the good little girl you are.”

He keeps his hand on your face, forcing you to look at him as he plows into you and your fourth orgasm rolls over you. It’s intense, almost painful with the pleasure it brings you as your walls clamp down against his cock.

“Fuck, baby,” he moans as you tighten around him and he chases his own release.

“I’m going to fill this pretty pussy up,” he tells you, and you feel him spill inside of you, warmth flooding through you.

You stay connected for a moment, relishing the feeling of him inside of you. You’re incredibly sensitive from the overstimulation as he begins to pull out, moaning slightly with the loss of contact.

Aemond grabs some tissues, gently wiping down your inner thighs and beginning to clean you up. He glances up at you as you attempt to find your bearings.

“Holy. Hell.” you tell him, breathing heavily.

Aemond smirks.

“Was that too much?” he asks, a note of concern in his voice.

You shake your head.

“That was amazing,” you tell him, shyly looking away.

You grab your bra, putting it on and reaching for your shirt as he stands. You clip your bra, pulling your shirt over your head as he hands you your discarded panties.

“Thanks,” you tell him, standing on shaky legs.

You nearly fall over putting your panties back on, Aemond’s arms catch you, helping you stand.

You chuckle nervously.

“You sure you’re alright?” he asks, his arms still holding you.

“Yeah,” you assure him, “I should go though.”

“Of course,” he tells you.

You move toward the door but pause, turning to look at him. He’s just finishing buttoning up his shirt.

“Was this…was this a one time thing?” you ask.

Aemond looks up at you.

“It should be,” he tells you.

Your heart flutters in your chest, and a smirk tugs at your lips.

“That’s not an answer,” you tell him.

He smirks at you.

“No, it isn’t,” he agrees.

You hold his gaze a moment more.

“I’ll see you around, professor,” you tell him, unlocking the door and leaving his office.

You walk quickly, heat pounding, desperate to get back to your apartment and call Sara. You hop on the campus bus, holding tightly to the railing, trying to ignore the dull ache between your legs, and the warmth of Aemond’s cum that is still trickling down your thighs.

Boy are you fucked.

note: I hope you liked it my loves! Again, thank you, thank you, THANK YOU!! For all your support and love. I'm truly so lucky to have such amazing support on this site and a place to post my silly little stories. I LOVE YOU SO MUCH!! until next time besties 😘

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aemonds-princeregent · 1 year

Text

Mean! Aemond x Chubby! Wife (Ilirigho)

Warnings: Angst, Pregnancy, Smut, NSFW, +18

Author's note: A few months ago i asked @tinfairies if I could write about them and I finally wrote it, hope you like it!

The last few weeks had been stressful for Aemond and his wife, as he was crowned and named Prince Regent, upon Aegon's accident. After the dead of Aegon's children, the Council pressured Aemond and his wife to have a heir and his wife was cruelly criticized by the ladies of the Court for not conceiving, yet.

Y/N woke up and her husband was gone. Since he had taken the crown as Prince Regent, he never woke beside her as he used to. She trully missed how the sunlight shined on his hair and his eye and safire when she would see him wake.

A maid knocked on the door and walked into her chambers to help her get ready for the day. She spend her days reading in the library waiting for the night, when her husband would come to her. But today, she felt different, she wasn't as hungry as she used to be and on the afternoon, she fainted, being carried away just in time by her maid and a Kingsguard. It was night already and she woke up in bed, the Maester was smiling at her and she felt a bit confused.

-Princess, I have positive news, you're with child, shall I inform the news to the Prince Regent?

-No, no. I want to be the one to tell him. She felt glad, Aemond and her had been trying for so long and even thought it was scary to bring a child in times of war, it was also hope for the future.

She stood up with help from her maid and walked to the Small Council to look for Aemond.

She knocked softly and opened the door. Even with a frown on his forehead, Aemond looked beautiful in the candlelight. It always made her a bit unsure, she never told him, but she was familiar with the talk of the Court ladies, that criticize her for her plump bossom, her belly and wide hips, going as far as to say thay she wouldn't conceive because Aemond wouldn't touch her, which was far from the truth.

-Valzȳrys, can you come to bed? There's something I want to tell you. She said sweetly.

-Can you see I'm occupied? His tone was cold and he wouldn't look at her. Truly, he was mad at his grandsire Otto and Ser Criston as they opposed him at every turn.

-I just thought for today...

-Can you not wait? Don't I perform my husbandly duty every night?

Duty? She thought, the word hurt her more than she thought it would. Was duty all she was for Aemond?

-If you wished to be taken so badly, you might aswell try the Streets of Silk, althought, I doubt they would take you there. His voice was cold and his eye on the papers, he wouldn't look at her.

All Aemond heard were the soft steps of her wife leaving the Small Council and the door closing, before a hearing a gasp that appalled him.

His wife had fainted and was on the arms of her Kingsguard. He looked at him with daggers in his eye and inmediately took his place to carry his wife to his chambers, as he ordered the maid to seek the Maester.

He ordered everyone else to leave their chambers and not disturb them until the Maester arrived. He layed his wife on the bed softly and caressed her soft cheeks, he wanted so badly to stare into her warm brown-eye gaze, but unknowillingly, she was denying him. A knock on the door sounded and the Maester walked into their chamber, he bowed at Aemond.

-Speak! What's the matter? Why did she faint?

-Your grace, she's pregnant. The princess wanted to inform you herself...

Everything else the Maester said became a buzzing sound on Aemond's ears. He felt sick to his stomach, his wife would give him a heir and he hadn't even looked at her when she came to look for him.

-Leave us. His voice low, but cold and domineering.

He layed next to her and caressed her lovely cheekbones and her soft bossom and belly. He loved her, he didn't tell her much, but he loved her, she was absolutely precious to him and everything he did and would do was for her, to protect her. For all he cared, the whole Realm could burn to the ground as long as she was safe.

She woke up and much to her surprise, Aemond was laying next to her, his eyes closed, sleep had taken him. She wanted to touch his scar and caress his cheekbone, but she stopped herself. Duty, she thought, perhaps, for Aemond, all she meant was duty? She started to tear up, she loved him to her core, but did he not feel the same?

A knock on the door woke Aemond up as he was called to resume his duties for the day, as he did, he ordered everyone in the Keep to attend to his wife's every request and announced to the Council that he would have a heir.

When Y/N woke up again, Aemond was gone. But the sadness from the night before, still with her. She started to cry again, of course Aemond wouldn't love her, she was just his duty, a duty and nothing more, she thought.

Earlier than she expected, Aemond came into their chambers, he layed next to her and she pretended to be asleep, as it hurt to see him.

As the week passed, Aemond missed the solace of his wife and the warmness and love of her brown-eyed gaze. She would barely touch him, barely speak to him and pretended to be asleep when she wasn't. He knew his character hadn't been the best, but she always forgave him and her tenderness for him remained. Not this time. Her maid also informed him that she wouldn't eat as much, wouldn't talk as much, wouldn't smile as much and prefered to be left alone or in bed all day.

Aemond walked into their chambers and layed behind her, caressing her soft belly and her swelling bossom, needing the touch of his wife.

-Valzȳrys, you don't have to do this, you've already done your duty... I'm with child. Her tone had her usual sweetness, but it was mixed with sadness. You don't have to bed me if you don't want... me. She said the last word trying to hide her tears.

Aemond's hands stopped and she thought that was a confirmation of her fears. But his thoughts were running trought his head, how could she possibly doubt his feelings for her?. He was a prideful man, but he could no longer stand it.

Aemond resumed his touch on her belly and her bossom, laying his head on her neck.

-Ilirigho, Yn ilirí, Nya jorrāelagon (forgive me, forgive me, my love). He whispered as if singing her to sleep. His breath on her skin and his voice on her ears sending vibrations through her. Forget what I said that night at the Small Council. -Ilirigho, Yn ilirí, Nya jorrāelagon (forgive me, forgive me, my love). -He said again as a prayer as he kissed behind her ear and moved to kiss her neck, sucking small bruises as his hands wandered through her sensitive breasts.

She turned to look at him, a question in her melting brown-eyed gaze. He looked at her with his blue eye blown black with lust. -I want you. -He said as he kissed her lips.-Nya ābrazȳrys (my wife).- He said as he sucked her lower lip. -Nya jorrāelagon (my love).- He said as his tongue explored her mouth. She allowed him in and kissed him back, hungry for him too.

Aemond then oppened her nightgown as he moved to kiss and lap and suck her breasts, his hands wandering through her belly and her hips and her thights. Soon, he removed her nightgown and kissed from her breast to her belly to her sex. She was wet for him.

-I haven't tasted you in a while, my love- He said as he lapped at her pussy, his nose softly touching her clit.

The waves of pleasure started to build up on her as he started dragging his tongue through her folds, with his right hand softly laying on her belly and the other tightly holding her hip, he sucked at her clit, bringing her pure bliss. She was moaning his name and pulling softly at his silver blonde hair. He was determined to make up for the week as he would wring her the pleasure of seven nights in one.

#aemond x reader #aemond targaryen #house of the dragon #aemond x you #aemond x y/n #hotd #aemond smut #aemond fic #aemond x wife reader #aemond fanfiction #aemond x wife #aemond x chubby wife #prince aemond #aemond the kinslayer #hotd aemond #aemond imagine #mine

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bananadrinkxxx · 9 months

Text

THE BLOOD CROWN

MASTERLIST

[Aemond Targaryen Fanfiction ]

[Dark Romance / Enemies to Lovers / Revenge]

[warnings: smut, sex content, angst, fights, domination, murder]

[Aemond Targaryen x Original Female Character ! I fem!reader]

Content for adults. 18+

Summary

"𝗜𝗳 𝘁𝗵𝗲 𝗞𝗶𝗻𝗴 𝘄𝗶𝗹𝗹 𝗻𝗼𝘁 𝘀𝗲𝗲𝗸 𝗷𝘂𝘀𝘁𝗶𝗰𝗲, 𝘁𝗵𝗲 𝗤𝘂𝗲𝗲𝗻 𝘄𝗶𝗹𝗹."

Queen Alicent had spoken the truth when these words had left her mouth, the moment the King decided not to punish Princess Rhaenyra's son for taking the eye of her child. In the night, in the safe place of her chambers, she gave the order to have Lucery's Velaryon taken and sold into slavery. But a regrettable misunderstanding causes Larys Strong's men to take, not the culprit, but Aemma Velaryon, Rhaenyra's youngest child, and banish her to a life of suffering and loneliness.

Aemma Velaryon had not been seen since then but the gods do not forget and sometimes fate strikes back harder than you would have expected.

Part 1

Part 2

Part 3

Part 4

Part 5

Part 6

Part 7

Part 8

Part 9

Part 10

Part 11

Part 12

Part 13

Part 14

Part 15

Part 16

Part 16 Part 2

Part 17

Part 18

Part 19

Part 20

Part 21

Part 21 Part 2

Part 22

Part 23

Part 24

Part 25

Part 25 Part 2

Part 26

Part 27

Part 28

Part 29 Part 1

Part 29 Part 2

Taglist:

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If you want to read it on wattpad, here the link:

𝗧𝗛𝗘 𝗕𝗟𝗢𝗢𝗗 𝗖𝗥𝗢𝗪𝗡 𝗜 AEMOND TARGARYEN - bananadrink - Wattpad

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cambion-companion · 1 year

Note

all this dad!Aemond talk got me thinking - how would he answer the dreaded "how are babies made" question? 🤣 Mom and Dad keep having more and more babies, the older ones are sure to ask this sooner or later

hahaha omg this is a wonderful ask, I just adore how we as an Aemond fandom have absolutely fallen in love with the idea of him as a father. It makes me so happy and breaks my heart at the same time!

"Kepa, how are babies made?"

Aemond closes his eye briefly, taking a deep breath in through his nose. He knew this question was coming; however, he had held hope that it would be his wife who was posed this question by their six-year-old daughter.

He opened his eye to find her cherub face staring earnestly back at him, her wide lilac eyes reflecting the light from the fire as she gripped tiny fingers around his pant leg. "You and muña talk a lot about 'making another baby'."

So she'd overheard that.

"Normally..." Aemond began slowly, choosing his words carefully as his daughter clung to each one with ardent interest. "A giant eagle brings the parents their baby when they want one." He tousled his daughter's curly silver hair affectionately, making her scrunch her small nose at him. "You are special, Issa byka zaldrīzes. My little dragon. You were hatched within a dragon egg and flown to us by Vhagar." He smiled at her awed expression.

His daughter took a moment to digest what he'd told her a soft "wow" escaping her in a whisper.

At this moment Aemond's wife entered the room, accepting the welcoming hug of their daughter as the little one ran into her arms. She straightened, looking questioningly at Aemond's face.

"Off to bed with you, my love." His wife ushered their daughter from the room, turning back to him once she was out of earshot. "What has you looking like you just fought off a wild boar?"

"Something much worse than that. She asked me where babies come from." Aemond ran a weary hand over his face. "Apparently we were overheard talking of having another child."

"I see." She tried to cover a laugh, coughing unconvincingly into her hand.

Aemond shook his head, smiling despite himself. "Laugh now, my ember. However you will be the one answering her when she asks again in ten years."

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vhagarsflame · 1 year

Text

His Sapphire Queen

Summary: Aemond was meant to die over the God's Eye fighting his uncle Daemon. However, he did not. He returns, broken and bleeding to Kings Landing when he finds that his sister Rhaenyra has taken his Throne and hurt his wife. He will have his revenge, he will stop at nothing to protect her and his kingdom. He even brought Daemons head as a gift for his usurping sister...

Pairing: Aemond Targaryen x Wife

Warnings: Graphic violence, beheading, NSFW, blood, gore and Saviour!Aemond. Aemonds POV.

Word count: 2,9 k ps: Written in a few hours, in the middle of the night, with a headache. Please ignore grammar mistakes. This post is constantly disappearing: can also be found on AO3 under the same name!

King Aemond Targaryen, First of His Name, King of the Andals, the Rhoynar and the First Men, Lord of the Seven Kingdoms and Protector of the Realm was shaking. His sword was heavy in his hand as he commanded Vhagar to fly higher. The Stormlands were famous for their treacherous weather and today was no different. He shook the water out of his face and spurred Vhagar on. She roared in compliance and flew faster. He knew from the beginning that this had been a trap. All of it. He had left. He had left her. Alone. He was so bent on revenge that the second he had heard that his uncle Daemon had gathered a host at Harrenhal to wait for him he had left. He had left everything behind and raced for the castle, the cursed castle of Harren the Black, overlooking the near bottomless lake The Gods Eye. He had come upon Harrenhal to find it empty and burning. Daemon had put everyone inside the walls to the sword. And then he had waited for his nephew, for 17 days. Waited long enough to draw him away from Kings Landing and his Queen, waited for Rhaenyra to sack the city in his absence. And she had. Violently.

Daemon had said as much when he mounted Caraxes and laughed in his face. "Your pretty whore won't be as pretty when my wife is finished with her!" he had spat. Aemonds rage knew no bounds. He had commanded Vhagar to follow Caraxes, and she did. The much smaller Bloodwyrm would be no match for the legendary War Dragon. Daemon knew it too. Aemond knew it was kill or be killed, as he soared higher on Vhagar trying to spot his uncle in the massive thunderclouds. The fucking fiend and his wyrm had the advantage, they were smaller and therefore more difficult to see. But now, Vhagar had smelled them, and there was nothing he could to to slow her down as she dived for them. They had hid close to the ground, hiding among the blood and broken bodies of Harrenhals army. They took off again as soon as they saw Vhagar diving for them, flinging remains left and right. Aemond could still remember the twisted bodies and agonising expressions of the people speared on the gates of the castle when he had arrived.

"Where the fuck are you." he grumbled as he clung to his sword. The steel had gotten slippery and hard to hold on to because of the blood caking it. His hair whipped at his face as Vhagar soared up again still looking for the Wyrm and his rider. The bolt of flame came out of nowhere, Aemond barely escaped it by throwing himself forward on Vhagar shielding himself behind her wing. They had been at this for days, Aemond knew Vhagar was tired, he could hear her laboured breathing and he knew they had to finish soon otherwise both she and him would plummet to their deaths in the Gods Eye. "Fight me you fucking coward!" Aemond screamed to the winds, unsure if his uncle actually heard him. "Even your cunt of a wife has more balls than you!" She did in fact, she had taken a city while Daemon nailed people to the gates of Harrenhal. Vhagar veered left and opened her massive jaws, she roared and unleashed her dragonfire upon the world. Her flames were black as night, they were hot enough to melt armour and cook the fucker wearing it from the inside. The flames engulfed the castle his uncle was currently hiding behind and streaming rivers of molten rock, mortar and iron washed down the sides of the big tower. The Bloodwyrms screams of pain engulfed the night, and Aemond knew she was wounded badly. But, somehow she was still flying. Aemond cursed the gods and rode Vhagar closer. His uncle was limp in the saddle, Dark Sister still in his hand, deadly fury in his eyes as he flew past them, then above them. And then he leaped, just as Caraxes lost his fight and fell, he had used the momentum and the thick hide of his dragon to jump, straight for them. He had done so on Vhagars blind side and she had no idea what had hit her. She was more interested in the falling carcass of Caraxes, eager to take her trophy.

Aemonds uncle collided with him in a clash of valyrian steel, flesh and teeth. His helmet had fallen off hours ago and his left arm was hanging limp by his side. Aemond no longer had his eye patch and the sapphire gleamed in the lightning storm that raged around them.

Aemond tried his best to guide Vhagar and fend off his uncle at the same time, but his uncle was smarter. He drove his sword through Vhagars wing, forcing her to land, forcing her to stop defending her rider. By doing so he had managed to hack loose one of the straps holding Aemonds saddle and he could feel it slipping between his legs. Daemon held on to the other side of Vhagar, clinging to the chains for dear life. Vhagar fell. They fell faster and faster every moment and Aemond knew he would be crushed in the fall, so would his uncle for that matter, but that would render his revenge unfulfilled. With a roar to scare the gods Vhagar used the last strength she had to land on her legs and not on her rider and his traitor uncle.

Aemond managed to climb back up in the saddle just before she crashed to the ground and got the upper hand on his uncle. His leg was stuck beneath Vhagars body and he could not move. "Go on then, nephew. Kill me if you please" Daemon grunted, his face caked in blood and his hand still holding his blade. Aemond just sneered. "Unlike yourself, uncle. I am not a coward or a traitor and I will beat you in a fair fight. Drag your carcass out from under my dragon and face me like a man" He spat and retreated a few steps. His body was still working, he was sore and stiff but not gravely injured. The scratches, cuts, bruises and burns would heal. His uncle would not. Aemond watched him as he tried to rise and understood that his left arm was ripped out of its socket. Daemons armour was almost falling off him, the straps had finally reached their limit. "I was killing on the battlefield before you were even born!" his uncle said as he came toward him, sword raised and eyes blazing. Aemond didnt answer, he paid attention to his feet and moved fluidly around his uncle. Stepping around the puddles of guts and severed heads lying on the ground. Slippery. The once so fierce warrior Daemon Targaryen looked nothing like he had in his youth. He had grown puffy and lazy during the peace, started his training again during the Dance. Aemond had held a sword everyday since he learned how. Gruelling practice every day for years, he had been trained by the best swordsmen in the realm. What he didnt learn from them, he picked up in books, reading about battle after battle and tactic after tactic.

Aemond kept moving around his uncle, making sure not to turn his back against him. Daemon was tired. It was plain as day, and then his uncles violet eyes hardened. "I cannot wait to see what my wife has done to your whore when I deliver her your head" he snarled. Attacking.

He ran for Aemond, sword out, shoulder back and weight placed evenly on his legs. Aemond deflected the blow and moved in the other direction, closer to Vhagar and away from his uncle. "I told her to chain her to the throne, Valyrian steel is not easy to break. She is to sit there until she starves to death. How long have you been gone now, Aemond? Half a turn of the moon?" Daemon laughed then, and spat on the ground. "She will be bones when I return. But don't fret, I will bury you together. In the pit used for common whores and usurper princes." Aemond roared, he couldn't breathe, think or feel. The blackened lump that was his heart that she had managed to heal cracked apart again, igniting in him a rage he had never felt before. He ran for his uncle, lifting his sword and slashing at whatever parts he could reach. Some of the slashes took, slicing into his uncles legs, torso and his arm. The last slice made him drop his blade and Aemond kicked it aside. "Now, Uncle," Aemond said as he stepped on Daemons injured arm, drawing the most pleasant noises of unending pain he had ever heard uttered. "You see, the problem is, that I have taught my wife how to keep herself alive. I have taught her to fight and to protect herself and her family. If by any sort of godly miracle your cunt of a wife has managed to chain her she will end you all." "She is already dead" Daemon spat as the colour leeched from his face. Aemond stopped breathing, there was such unending silence in his mind. It had gone from roaring with revenge and despair to complete silence in the blink of an eye. "Well then, uncle. I have no more need of you."

Aemond turned around, looked at his uncles sword, Dark Sister, the legendary blade that had once belonged to Queen Visenya and picked it up. Daemon was already on his feet, charging with nothing but his fists. Daemon did not stand a chance. One second he had the look of cold fury on his face, and the next his eyes had dimmed. Aemond had swung the sword through his uncles neck severing his spinal cord, blood vessels and sinew. His uncles head fell to the ground at his feet and his dead body fell next to it with a soft thud. His blood was leaking out of his body and colouring the already red ground and the rivers that flowed around them with the blood of the dragon. Aemond smirked and picked up his uncles head by his long white hair and walked over to Vhagar. She was still alive, not gravely wounded and definitely fit for one last trip home to rescue his wife. He had thought of the perfect gift to give his usurping, cunt of a sister as he impaled Daemons head on his own sword and climbed up on Vhagars back.

***

The streets of Kings Landing were quiet. Everything was silent. Until he reached the first set of gates. He saw former members of his mothers Queensguard impaled on spikes, some of them still alive. He pulled his hood further down over his face when people passed him. All of them were in a daze, no one even looked at the bodies. Even more bodies met him every time he walked through a new set of gates. For a conquering bitch-Queen she had not made it difficult to get to her. The red and black banners of house Targaryen had replaced the previous green and gold. The Red Keep was quiet too, but it was a different kind of quiet. It felt like he was expected. The very air hummed around him. He kept the sword behind his back as he walked up the steps to the throne room. He had not thought about what he would do if he found his wifes dead body instead of the living one. He didn't dare think it. The doors to the throne room opened and he walked through them. His eye immediately flying to the frail body of his wife. She was lying face down on the floor beneath the throne. Her dress was ripped off her, she had massive welts on her naked back, as if someone had whipped her or beaten her with a hot iron poker, repeatedly. She did not move. Aemond had never known such anger. She was chained. One end of the chain had been welded to the Iron Throne, the other was fastened to a collar placed around her neck. So tight that even to swallow would hurt. His brave wife, who was left to rule in his absence, beaten, broken and abused because he was hellbent on revenge. "Prince Aemond Targaryen, your Grace" Ser Arryk said, or was it Erryk, either way, one of the cunt twins in his sisters Queensguard announced him. Aemond spat on the floor. And there she was, with a smug look on her plain face. She has grown wider since the last time he saw her, and blood was pooling by her feet. She must have been repeatedly cut by the throne when she decided to take it. The Throne chooses, he had never been cut neither had his wife, not even when he had taken her upon it. "Prince Aemond. Come to rescue your whore?" Rhaenyra Targaryen snarled, she pointed at the frail figure lying on the floor. She had not yet stirred and Aemonds heart fell out of his chest. "You are sitting in my wifes place," he said, still looking at his wife. "Move". "I think she looks better where she is, dont you agree?" Rhaenyra replied and lifted her hand to one of the guard standing behind his wife. Before he could even think they had dragged her up by her long pale hair and tossed her toward him, the chain she had around her neck had been stretched taut and she gagged as the air was forced out of her lungs when she landed. Aemond shook. Yet, he only walked closer to his sister and removed his hand from behind his back. "I come bearing gifts" he said as he ripped her husbands head from his sword and tossed it to her. It landed at her feet with a disgusting squelch. "Are you hurt badly, my love?" he asked when his wife had regained her strength and looked at him. "No, cuts and bruises only" she wheezed, her hand clamouring to get the blood off her face. He knew that if he moved to help her the guard would kill her, and so did she. "Be brave, my Queen" he said and turned to his sister.

Rhaenyras scream filled the hall as she launched herself off his throne. "I will kill you for this" she screamed as she drew Viserys' dagger and came for him. “You killed my husband and I will have your head for it. Your wife’s next” "The Throne decides," he said not taking his eye off her "and since you have managed to draw blood to such an extent that it pools at your feet, I'd say you are not fit to sit upon it!" "Craven" she hissed and engaged. The sounds of Valyrian steel meeting clanged off the walls. Rhaenyra was not the fighter she thought she was, Aemond knew it. But he needed to tire her out, make her slip. "Funnily enough, that is the exact same thing your cunt of a husband said right before I cut off his head." Aemond growled. "I told him I would go right here, kill you and then put the rest of your bastards to the sword, as payment for my brother, his wife and their children!". Rhaenyra looked at him, for a fleeting moment she was scared. She was scared for her remaining children and Aemond used that to his advantage. He struck. Hammering the flat side of her husbands sword down on her wrist, making her lose both her dagger and her balance. Rhaenyra fell to the floor. No one did anything. Her Queensguard stood idle. "Do you see what happens when you slaughter an entire city of innocents? When you torture the Queen?" Aemond mused. "No one will come to your rescue, you are alone. You were born alone and you shall die alone." Aemond moved his eye from his sister to his wife looking for an answer, his wife nodded and kept her violet eyes on Rhaenyra as Aemond grabbed Viserys' dagger and dragged it across her throat. She did not fight back, she did not defend herself and she did not flee. She had understood that she may have had the Throne, but she did not have the Kingdom. Her fight was lost from the beginning.

Aemond rushed for his wife as his sisters blood flowed out on the marble floor. "I will never leave you again, ever" he swore and removed her chains. "Did she do this to you?" he asked as he carefully traced her wounds with his finger checking their severity and for infection. She only nodded and clung to his chest, sobbing uncontrollably and shaking like a leaf, wincing as he wrapped her in his cloak.

Aemond had Rhaenyras body impaled in the city square along with her husbands head. There they were to remain until they fell to the ground.

His wife looked so scared and distraught that he did not leave her side for a week, he bathed her, cleaned her wounds and held her at night when the nightmares took her. He swore to never leave her behind again, His Queen would never be alone again. She meant everything to him and he refused to think about the fact that he had almost lost her. "Never again, my love" he whispered and kissed her neck, her hand entangling in his hair, his hands roaming over her familiar body and an ache returning to his lower stomach. "My Queen".

#aemond one eye #aemond targaryen #fanfiction #aemond x wife #house of the dragon #team green #rhaenyra targaryen #house of the dragon fanfiction #Aemond Targaryen fanfiction

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barbieaemond · 4 months

Text

Lykirī

PAIRING: Aemond Targaryen x wife!reader

WARNINGS: loss of virginity, fingering, oral sex (f and m receiving), handjob, we ride him bitches, dom/sub tones if you squint

WORD COUNT: 8.9k

Author's note: an early Christmas gift for those who celebrate!! For those who don't, just a regular smutty piece. This was based on a request where wife!reader rides Aemond. Merry Aemondmas :)

MASTERLIST

taglist: @zae5 @multyfangirl @arcielee

"You are to marry the King's second son. Prince Aemond Targaryen."

Those were your father's words. Your sister had looked at you almost with pity and a hint of relief since that fate had befallen you and not her. You had simply nodded, accepting the fate decided by your father, just as thousands of other daughters before and after you would have done.

Your mother had come to comb your hair before going to bed, and without much ado, she had told you what would happen after the wedding, after the banquet.

"All you have to do is try to relax your nerves, and I promise it will be less painful.”

The thought had stuck in your brain until the wedding day. And the aura emanating from the prince didn't help. He was stoic to the point of looking like a statue, his posture rigid as a spindle, and there was something unsettling about him that made the hairs on the back of your neck stand when he took your hand to recite the wedding vows. Fear, but also a foreign giddiness prickling your skin upon feeling his calloused fingers around yours.

The banquet had not helped either. Prince Aegon had behaved like a court jester, drinking to the point of wondering how he could stand upright, poking his brother with cruel jokes about his eye and a whore who had made Aemond a man many years before.

You didn’t know what kind of unpleasant memories your good-brother had just summoned in his brother’s mind. That woman and her cheap perfume, that way it had clung to his skin, to his thoughts for days after his only ever trip to Flea Bottom.

Then the elder Prince had approached you with his breath stinking of Dornish and it was then that Prince Aemond broke his icy silence, standing up abruptly and looking down at you. "Come, wife. It is time for us to retire."

Prince Aegon had clapped his hands as if in front of a hilarious show, saying "Finally some fun! The bedding!"

The entire crowd present at the banquet had escorted you to the prince's chambers. The servants had removed your dress, leaving you in your underskirts; you had unconsciously covered your chest, crossing your arms to hide from the greedy eyes of the men peering in the doorway, Prince Aegon in the front row with yet another cup of wine clutched between his fingers.

Master Mellos invited you to lie down on the bed, and you obeyed, swallowing, while a host of servants shielded you from view as the Maester made his humiliating inspection.

"All is in order, your Graces," the Master informed the Prince and Queen. And that was enough for Aemond to completely slip the iron mask off his face and go straight to the door. "The show is over. Get out."

"Oh, come on, little brother. Let me watch, at least. I could give you some tips."

Aemond had towered over his brother, and from your seat on the bed, you were able to see the eldest brother shrinking by the moment. "This is not some common whore you're speaking of.” Aemond seethed “She is my wife, and you will owe her the respect she deserves. One more lewd word from your mouth, and I will rip your tongue with my bare hands. Am I being clear?”

"Gods, brother, are you already so cunt-struck?"

He never got an answer, only the door being slammed right into his face.

You stood in the middle of the room, torturing your hands as he looked at you from the door. He seemed unsure of what to do, until he cleared his throat and took a few tentative steps in the room.

“You could have some wine, if you wish. It may…help you.” He said, but as he said this, he seemed to regret his own words, given how his mouth twitched as if he had just tasted something sour. Memories could come just like that, sudden and sour.

“You must relax, my prince. Have some wine, maybe? No need to worry, I will take care of you just as a prince deserves to.”

“I’d like to keep my mind clear, my Prince.” You said, keeping your gaze down, hearing his fast and deep sigh. “Fine.” he said, straightening his back as a soldier. After all, wasn’t this just another duty?

It wasn’t just that though. You were his wife now, the future mother of his children. It was his duty and his right to claim you as his own.

“Lay on the bed.”

With your heart pounding in your ears, you did as you were told but when the mattress dipped under his weight, you did not expect to see him with his clothes still on, the eyepatch firmly in its place. More so, you did not expect the harshness of his gestures as he held your waist to turn you around. The air hitched in your throat as your face met the mattress and a strange sorrow gripped your heart. Did he not want to look at you? Did he not like you?

“Try to stay still and it’ll be over shortly.” he said. He was trying to sound reassuring, but his voice came out cold and flat. His fingers latched on your underskirts, hiking them up, filling you with embarrassment as you grow completely exposed beneath him.

Aemond knew what to do. He may not have been as depraved as his brother, but he was still a man. And once in a while, when his hands would not suffice, some maid or servant girl would’ve had to bear, quite keenly on their part, his intimate attentions.

As his hands began to glide on your thighs, you shivered and said “Wait…”

Slowly your head turned to look at him, cheeks red and breath slow and anxious. “Am I not allowed to look at you?”

Your words seemed to stun him for a moment. The mere thought of you wanting to look at him made him realize how wrong he was behaving. You were his wife, not a common whore to bend over and have his moment of bliss. He had even told Aegon. That was not his intention, but there was a gap between how he felt and how he acted, a limb severed by years of pity looks and feelings trapped in his mouth and swallowed.

Almost gently, he made you turn but once you were facing him, he pinned your wrists on the mattress, unable to touch him even if you had gathered enough courage to do it. You tried to brace yourself for what your mother had told you. But she had not told you that he would touch you there, that all your senses would go numb except for that one brand new feeling between your legs. But he seemed enthralled by it just as you, his mouth parting to let out slow puffs of air as you grow wet and swollen against his fingers.

Your breath was labored, coming out in soft pants that made your cheeks purple. More so because he kept circling his deft fingers on your core while looking straight into your eyes, reveling in the way you were answering to his call, in the way he was shaping your need, your desire.

“You never touched yourself, did you?” he asked in a husky voice.

You barely shook your head and his eye glinted with something dark as he brought his face close to yours “Good. I shall be the only one inside you.”

He swallowed your shaky breath with this mouth, kissing you for the very first time, apart from the shy, almost prude peck exchanged after the wedding vows. Your lips moved shyly, trembling with the coiling pressure between your legs. And just when you thought this heat, this delicious aching couldn’t grow more unbearable, he sticked a finger inside you, spilling a loud moan right against his mouth.

One of your wrists twisted in his harsh hold, willing to touch him, to grip on something, but he didn’t let you. “Easy…” he blew on your lips “Relax. It’ll feel good, I promise…”

It surely felt good to him, to feel the tightness of your cunt squeezing his finger. He curled it and you squinted your eyes, choking a gasp that made him smirk proudly against your jaw. “Gods, you’re so tight…” he breathed as he kept rubbing slowly against your walls.

“It’s—it’s too much—“ you cried out with pain and pleasure running together, breathing his scent of ash, leather and a hint of something minty.

“How will you take my cock if you can’t even take my finger?” He whispered with benevolent cruelty, moving his finger faster and deeper.

Certainly your mother had not told you of the obscene wet sounds you would hear, of the uncontrollable moans coming out of your mouth, of his soft growling next to your ear when his breeches became too tight.

He had lined the tip of his hard manhood to your entrance, catching your breath away as tried to still your nerves, but the pain came altogether. You felt like he was cutting you from the inside. Tears filled your eyes, squinting for the painful stretching. You knew he was restraining himself; he didn’t want to hurt you more than he already was. And you almost felt affection for him, most men would not have bothered.

Then he had started to move, you felt that stranger body rubbing over and over against your walls, and finally the pain soothed, but not completely. You could tell he was enjoying it, his ragged breath and faint moans told you so, as well as the curses hissed through his teeth in a language you guessed was Valyrian. And then he had stilled completely, gripping your hips hard and firm while you felt a hot wave pulsing through your core.

The next morning, you could barely sit down for breakfast, and your aunt had looked at you with concern and a hint of amusement in her eyes. She was a veteran at court, a long-time widow, and quite happy to be so. It was her who suggested your betrothal to the Prince.

"How are you feeling, sweet niece?"

"Awful." you said promptly, shifting your weight on the seat.

"Well, this is the kind of anguish all women must go through."

"I thought that was giving birth to another human being."

"Oh Gods, no. That is the ugly part. This is the good one," she said with a sly smile "I suggest you enjoy it as much as you can."

At the time, you didn't really understand what she meant. The first night with the prince had gone...well, you thought. But he certainly enjoyed it more than you.

The second time was better. Your muscles were still sore, but the pain was but a faint discomfort compared to the pleasure you felt for the very first time in your life.

The third time he went down on you, bringing you so close to the edge only to deny your release, with cruel enjoyment on his part, making you whine with shame at the loss of his mouth and tongue on your folds.

The fourth time he bent you down on the breakfast table, all things falling in a mess of cutlery. He had pulled up your skirts and lowered his breeches just enough to thrust in, unraveling a special spot deep inside of you that had you mewling like some primitive beast.

The fifth time he had you writhing in bed, hair stuck to your head with sweat and hands clenching the sheets while he had you peak three times in a row.

It was then that you started to think your aunt was right.

That was indeed the good part.

“Are you afraid?” he asks, with a soft taunt on the tip of his tongue. You drag your eyes away from the gigantic beast before you and almost scoff. That is enough for him to laugh, quietly, but still not quietly enough for you to not notice and wonder at the view.

It’s been merely one moon since you’ve been married to Prince Aemond, and you could count on the fingers of your hand the times you have seen him laugh. It was eerie at first, you feared all the things you heard about the One Eyed Prince were true. That he was cold as stone and just as hard. And he was. But the more you spent time together, the more you were able to make cracks, and let light through.

“I’m equally afraid as any little mortal of right mind would be in front of the largest dragon in the known world, my dear husband.”

His lips stay quirked up, but his eye widens, as it always does when you call him that. He steps close to you, a few of his long strides are enough for him to tower over you, and the ground below your feet shifts.

“Come.” He says, taking your hand, “I promise she won’t eat you.” This time you deliberately glare at him, and he raises an eyebrow. “Do you need some other kind of persuasion to trust me? Perhaps like the one I used this morning?”

The early afternoon sun makes his face almost hurting to watch, or maybe it's just his bold gloating that makes his appearance so exhausting.

“That was not persuasion.” you remark, hiding the tinge of red on your cheeks “It was coercion.”

“Hmm. You didn’t seem so hostile when I made you come twice before breakfast.”

"I was hostile to the chance of the maid assisting with what we were doing."

"The maid should know better than to enter while my wife is undressing."

His eye roams over you just as he had done that morning, hunger clouding it, making your insides shrink. "Perhaps it's best if she knew. Someone must be aware of how cruel my husband is." there's a soft tease in your tone—something you are still learning, but true nonetheless.

He had ripped your nightgown with his bare hands when the maid entered to help you dress. She fled hastily, but you barely spared a glance at her, already lost to the fierce claim of his hand between your legs. He had taken you, twice, and then ordered you to dress, forcing you to have breakfast with the Queen and the Princess with your thighs still sticky with sex, sticky with him.

And he had been there, sitting just in front of you, with a piercing and delighted gaze.

He pulls your hand, and you follow, getting closer to that living relic that is Vhagar, Queen of All Dragons. She raises her monstrous head and looks straight at you with her amber eyes.

It is the first time you step so close to her, and even if you thought about it a lot, your heart is pounding fast, and your breath comes out slow and labored. She's a dreadful wonder.

She flares her nostrils and smells you, making a low rumble which results in a gust of hot wind that ruffles your hair and skirts.

“Lykirī, Vhagar.” Aemond says quietly “Issa ñuha ābrazȳrys. Kostā pāsagon zirȳla.”

You look at him questioningly, and he answers. “I told her you are my wife. And she can trust you.”

You cast a curious look at the dragon and then back at him “Is that all it takes? You tell dragons to trust you, and they resist the urge to turn you into their meal?”

Aemond curves his lips and makes you step closer, standing behind you and guiding your hand on the old green scales. “It takes much more than that.” he whispers in your ear “You have to surrender to them, completely. A dragon is no slave.”

You feel the heat beneath your palm, but it’s not that that makes you swallow; it’s the heat of his breath on your neck, right into your ear, scorching his way into your brain and inflaming every thought.

“What does Lykirī mean?” you ask, and you hate how your voice cracks on the edges.

He smirks because he knows, he always does. But he does not answer. Instead, he pulls your hand again, and you follow, circling the beast until stopping before the intricate ropes that lead to the saddle.

“Aemond, I don’t think—”

“You are my wife and you will ride with me on dragon back.” He said, commanding.

Truthfully, you gladly want to obey; there is just a slight difference between picturing riding a dragon and doing it.

Even the climbing to get in the saddle is a challenge on its own, but he helps you until you firmly seat yourself in it. Aemond sits behind you, and you look around with widened eyes, as if you are looking down from the highest tower ever built, except this is a living one, made of fire and breathing fire.

He leans over you to grab the reins, and you tense, waiting with bathed breath.

“Dohaeras, Vhagar. Soves!”

She lets out a loud screech that makes your ears hurt, but you have no time to even register it because she's already moving. You grip Aemond’s arms and brace yourself against his chest when Vhagar lurches onward and opens her huge wings to take flight.

She goes up and up, above the clouds, and your head is dizzy, with fear, with euphoria, until you are laughing like a child, like you never did in your entire life. Aemond lets go of the reins and laces his arms around you, angling his head to look at you, his silver hair violently ruffled by the wind. “How does it feel, my sweet wife?”

There are no common words to describe it. Now you know why they say Targaryens are closer to Gods than men. No man could claim a dragon or rule the skies.

“I feel like I’m close to the Gods.” you say, and he tightens the hold on you “Dragons do not answer to Gods.” he says, burying his nose in your hair “Where does this leave us?”

You turn your head to look at him, and you feel like you are looking at one of them. And yet he looks like he’s beyond any God.

“Above them. Above the Gods.”

“Hmm.” He croons, breathing your scent through his nose, and then his right hand grabs your skirt and dips underneath, until you feel his cold fingers grazing your skin. “I will make you feel like one.”

He cups your core through your small clothes, and you whimper, gripping his arm harder. He feels your heat through his palm, hotter than Vhagar’s own fire, and he sets the fabric aside to properly touch you. “My sweet wife.” he whispers, sliding a finger between your folds “Always so ready for me.”

“Aemond.” You say, holding your breath, trying to oppose but your voice cracks, and your body with it, already answering to his call. You see clouds before your eyes, but it’s all a blur, all your senses are enslaved by his touch, rubbing lazy circles on your bud. Too slow for your liking, for your need. Your hips arch and buck, chasing his hand for more friction, and he laughs, darkly. “What is it? What do you need, sweet girl? Tell me.”

He takes your chin with his free hand and forces you to turn your head and look at him. His hold is ruthless, but his tone is almost pleading. “Tell me.” he orders and you feel like he’s smothering you, sweeping away all the air from your lungs. “I-I need more…”

“More of what?” he asks, stopping altogether. “Show me.”

You look him in the eye and swallow, heat inflaming your cheeks, but there’s no place for shame, not here. It is just a faint ghost passing through you, and then it’s gone. Your hand pulls the gown up, and you place it on his, like a feather. “Here.” You breathe on his mouth “Inside.”

The howling wind does nothing to muffle his growl, and then he’s kissing you, harshly, teeth clashing and biting your lips as he accepts your plea, sliding a finger inside of you.

A strangled moan escapes you, and he swallows it, darting his tongue in every corner of your mouth. He releases your chin only to grab your leg to further open them and then he adds a second finger, moving them deftly until reaching that special spot. Your head falls back on his shoulder, gasping loudly, digging your nails into his hand.

Your breath is ragged and fast, and you uselessly try to stifle moan after moan even if there are only the skies to hear.

“Don’t.” he says grazing your lobe with his teeth “I want to hear you. I want you to scream for me.”

Your mind goes blank, as does all your restraint. You feel the tide coming to crash you, hips moving on their own accord, chasing and chasing. And then you’re drowning in it, mouth falling open and flesh and bones clenching and trembling.

He grunts softly when your nails scratch his skin and his fingers slip out, glistening; he raises them to his lips and tastes every drop of you. Still panting, he takes your chin once more with his sticky fingers and licks your lips, so you taste yourself on his tongue.

Your head is still dizzy when Vhagar lands in a clearing in the King’s Wood, but this has nothing to do with altitude. Your limbs are heavy when he helps you dismount, your legs buckle. There is a tautness knotting your bones, itching your fingertips.

You wish to touch him, because you have never, not as a wife would touch her husband, not as he has done with you.

It is only a moon and yet he has taken you almost every night and every day. He has touched you everywhere, he has molded you to his liking, and you let him do it with giddiness, undoing yourself like clay in his hands. He had put his mouth on you, and you have discovered he particularly enjoyed it, because he has done that at the most inopportune times, even in some dark corner of the corridors.

And you wondered if you could do the same with him—not because you have to, but because you want to. You want to claim him just as he claims you, relentlessly.

And he really is. He is relentless, he doesn't give you the time to wander with your hands, to discover, to touch. Fire burns him quickly and you are ashes before you realise you are burning with him.

“I didn’t know my wife had claws.” He says at one point, while you are going back to the Keep.

You wake from your thoughts and turn, watching him raise his hand to show the red marks on the back of his hand, and the sight makes you almost proud—proud to have left a mark of you on him. But you want more, and he wants more. You know it; it takes a brief look at his breeches to know that he wants more.

You dart your eyes around, but there's no one. So, you stop. Trying to gather all the boldness you never had, you step closer to him and take his hand in yours. Your eyes look up slowly, glinting with uncertainty and bravery. "Then let me soothe your pain, husband."

Aemond’s eye widens, and the air around you turn heavy, forcing you to open your mouth to breathe. You take one more step and bring the back of his hand to your lips, kissing it gently while your eyes stay fixed on his face. The other hand goes tentatively to his chest and then slides down, and for once, just once, he’s the one answering your call. His eye darkens and his lips part when your hands bashfully grab the laces of his breeches.

But you should have known better. Targaryens and their desires. Doomed to take whatever they want, whenever they want, answering neither Gods nor men.

You barely blink and he grabs you by the wrists and forces you to the ground. Cold grass and bushes stinging your back make you gasp, but Aemond is already on you, watching you like a century-long thirsted man who takes a glimpse of a water spring, as if you could evaporate from his sight at any moment.

“Aemond, please.” you beg “let me—“

But his tongue is in your mouth, hot and scorching you alive. Your eyes flutter shut, and he hikes your skirts up, taking hold of your hips. You feel his bulge against you, hard and ready, and you can do nothing else than wait, pinned down like prey, all bravery a distant memory.

Suddenly he lowers himself down, lifting your skirts with haste until you’re completely bare half down. “No—Aemond, please I want to—”

“You want what?” he asks with a wolfish grin “Deny me your sweet taste? Iksā ñuhon, ābrazȳrys.” He said that already, you know what it means. You are mine.

“You belong to me. And this…” he swears placing your legs on his shoulders while looking at your aching core as a man who found the greatest treasure in the world. “This belongs to me as well.”

He runs his tongue up and down your wet folds, humming with delight as he tastes you and sees you squirm, arching your back on the stingy bushes. You moan loudly when he slowly swirls his tongue, not able to keep track of your hips starting to move on their own, thrusting into his mouth and the sight of you like this, makes him even wilder, pushing him to open his mouth and put it entirely on your cunt, sucking harshly until anything before your eyes becomes blurred.

Your legs on his shoulders begin to shake and curl, caging him further against you, but just when you are about to come straight into his mouth, he pulls back. A weak sob leaves your mouth as your hips keep bucking against nothing and he smirks at that, untangling your legs from his shoulders, running his tongue over his lips, to taste what's left of you on him. You look at him through dazed eyes and a tinge of annoyance for the denied release. “What?” he has the boldness to ask with a sly smirk “Did you not enjoy it?” he runs his thumb on his glistening chin and swiftly licks it. "Hmm. I most certainly did."

“Aemond, please.” you claw desperately at his shoulders and forearms, forcing him to lie on you, feel something that could soothe the aching between your legs. He seems keen to grant you this mercy, molding his crotch against you so you can feel how hard and desperate he is.

“Please.” you beg in a thin voice.

“Speak it plainly, my love. I want to hear it from your pretty mouth.”

You look at him straight in the eye and what you say next is not a request nor a plea. Your mother would be ashamed of you, but you can’t bring yourself to care.

You are not begging. You are demanding. “Fuck me.”

He doesn’t need more than a few moments to get his cock out of his breeches, and not a moment later he’s pushing inside of you, your back arching on the bushes and your throat fighting for breath. He groans and starts a relentless pace, lifting his weight from you just enough for him to look at his cock going in and out, the sight only pushing him to thrust harder and harder. “Look at you.” he croons, sweet and rough “You were born to take me, to be mine.”

Your face twists with pleasure, teeth biting your lower lip while he takes you higher and higher, higher than any sky a dragon could ever take you.

He soon becomes messy and sloppy, cursing under his breath, but you can barely hear him. Your mind is sluggish and everything comes muffled: him, the birds chirping on some tree, your wet flesh slapping against his in the lewdest and most blessed way.

He curses some more, and then he’s spilling inside you, his arched mouth opening and his eye closing like a man absolved.

And yet, he does not stop. He has not claimed enough.

“Māzis, dōna ābrazȳrys. Come for me.”

Your hand clutches something on the ground, something with thorns that pierces your skin with pain, but you can’t even feel that, because you are falling, legs trembling around him, and heart stopping for an endless moment of pure breathtaking bliss.

“Gevie.” he coos with his lips on yours, falling with his body on you, still clenching and pulsing around him. He stays right where he is, nesting inside of you, and now it is the only chance you have been granted to touch him. You put an arm around his shoulders, catching your breath, and look at the skies above, thinking you are indeed above them.

It was easy to explain the dirt and grass stains on your dress. It was a little less easy to explain the twigs in your ruffled hair when you and Aemond returned to the Keep only to meet the Queen Mother along one of the corridors. Alicent merely smiled at you with a tight smile and did not spare from giving a look full of daggers to her son.

"Seven Hells" you mutter when you go back to your rooms and catch a glimpse of the mess you are in the mirror.

Aemond stays on the threshold to close the door and grins, or rather, gloats.

You step out of your muddy shoes and start to pull the laces of your dress.

"What are you doing?" he asks, and you playfully glare at him. "Am I allowed to take a bath now? Or do you want me to go around all sullied? I fear there are no believable excuses for the state I’m in."

"You can tell them the truth." he says, walking to you and replacing your hands with his to help you pull the intricate laces.

You smile softly with your back turned before raising an eyebrow, asking "Which is?"

He keeps his eye focused on the dress, a slight furrow in his brow, and stoically serious, he says "That your husband fucked you in the King's Wood."

"I could tell the maid. I'm sure she won't be stunned after what she saw this morning."

He makes you turn so you can look at him, and the sight before you makes your heart sing. His eye roams on your face softly, a rare sight on him, always stoic, always sharp, like all the angles composing this beautiful sculpture of black glass.

You always thought of marriage as a strategic deal for men, and a way for women to prove their value to the world, giving those same men sons and daughters. But you care for him. And he cares for you. That look on his face is enough for you to know that he cares for you, not merely as a brood mare.

“Gevie.” he says, quietly, and he touches your cheek, softly, making you wonder how those same hands can be so delicate and yet so merciless at the same time.

“What does it mean?” you ask, even if you are sure he will not answer. You observed that when he speaks in High Valyrian he does it almost to himself, as if to protect something he does not wish the others to know.

But this time, he meets your eyes and lowers his hand. “Beautiful.”

You look at him with your heart pounding in your throat, and then you stand up on your toes, crashing your mouth against his, almost catching him by surprise. But he is all too deft at turning the game on his side, and a few seconds later, his hands are gripping your hips and his tongue is licking the roof of your mouth.

When the door suddenly opens, you pull back, spotting the same maid from that morning who, this time, can do nothing but suffer the Prince's wrath.

"Can't you just fuck off for once?!"

You hold back a laugh against his chest and the poor maid flees in a hurry. But when he pulls you to him, tilting his head to pick up where he left off, you step back and say, "I'm afraid the Queen has requested your presence. You should go, my dear husband. I promise that by tonight I will be completely clean."

"Tonight?" he asks, raising his eyebrow. "What is happening tonight?"

You shrug your shoulders and hold back a smile. "Innocence doesn't suit you, my Prince."

"Neither does you."

"I'm afraid this is your fault. You are sullying my soul as well as...everything else."

"You won't be of the same mind when you have my child growing in your womb," and he smirks, looking at you as if he's taking a sacred oath, and then walks away.

You finally manage to take a bath and change clothes, and then you go to visit your aunt. She spends most of her time alone, sipping tea in the gardens, partly because she can't stand the other court ladies, partly because the court ladies can't stand her. Truthfully, you cannot blame them, your aunt speaks plainly—too plainly at times.

You sit down with her for tea, which you end up swallowing like salt, because your aunt takes it with a whole squeezed lemon, and no sugar.

"I saw you with your husband earlier. I may be too old for new fashion but mud on your skirt and twigs in your hair seem a bit too brazen, even for me."

You stifle a smile, recalling what happened. If only she knew he was brazen enough to have you utterly undone on dragon back, thousands of feet up.

Your eyes go distant while you fumble with some tablecloth threads, but your Aunt stares at you piercely, and grabbing her cup of tea she says "I love that look on you."

"What?"

She sips the sour liquid and puts the cup down. "That look. The I'm in love look."

"I am not!" you counter, cheeks going red.

"Of course you are. I've watched you two. I dare say he's falling way faster than you."

You look at her puzzled. Many things have changed in a moon. And you are sure you are utterly infatuated with him. But you did not know what to think of what he actually feels for you, if he even feels something. You know he cares for you, you know he loves spending time with you. You know he's passionate, possessive, almost soft at rare times. But in love? That seems too soon to consider, or to hope for.

"It is too soon to talk about love."

"In fact, I did not, my sweet niece. Falling in love and love are beasts of different species. Why do you think we say "falling"? You can't stop from falling. To love a person is an entirely different matter. Love is a choice."

You let those words sink but you prefer not to question your heart right now. There is a reason you have come here to talk to your aunt, even if you don't know how to address the matter without melting from embarrassment.

But in the end, who could you ask for advice? Your squeamish maids? The Queen Mother? Definitely not.

"Listen, I...I wanted to ask you something..." you start "It is uhm...a matter of somewhat intimate nature."

"Ah, my favourites." your aunt says, beaming "I am all ears."

You shift uncomfortably in your chair and swallow another sip of that dreadful tea "My mother...she explained to me what would happen between husband and wife to...consummate the marriage. But she didn't tell me...well, everything else."

Your Aunt is quick to raise her eyebrow "I gathered that your marriage had been consummated by now. Thoroughly."

"Y-yes, of course. But I...discovered...that there are other ways for a husband to please his wife...and I was wondering if...if I could…do those same things to please him."

Your aunt looks utterly puzzled for a long moment, and then, almost stunned, she says "Oh Seven Hells, child. You are telling me you never sucked your husband off?"

A few court ladies walking near turned their heads, going white as sheets, while you, on the contrary, take a nice purple shade.

"Oh, don't look at me like that, prissies. We all did it eventually." she dismisses them, waving a lazy hand, and looks back at you. "You should do it, if you wish. Men love it. Your uncle used to ask—"

"I don't want to hear that, auntie, I'm begging you." you say squinting your eyes.

"Listen to me, child. Men love to think they rule everything, everywhere. But it is not always like that. And if you want to rule your husband's heart, you must rule in his bed first."

That evening, Aemond wanted nothing more than to lock himself in his room with his wife and forget all the hateful political talk he had had to endure at dinner.

You had not attended, and that had bothered him. Never would he have thought of marriage as anything more than a duty, yet there he was, wondering where you were, who you were with, and why you weren't in his rooms when he set foot in there.

"Where is my wife?" he asks the maid, and she keeps her eyes glued to the floor, saying "The princess spent the evening in the library, your Grace. She told me that she would be—"

"I am here," you say, appearing behind the young maid.

You see his chest sag as if a weight is leaving him, and he casts an icy glance at the poor maid "Out."

He is rarely kind to servants, but you can tell by his tense shoulders that something is wrong.

"Aemond, what is the matter?" you ask as soon as the door closes, walking up to him with a hand behind your back.

"Where were you? Why weren't you at dinner?"

"I was in the library."

"For four hours?"

"It was a tough read—"

He grabs your arm, gripping hour wrist harshly, and you flinch. "Aemond, I swear to you.” you say watching his eye on fire and a sneer twisting his mouth “You can ask Maester Mellos."

Suddenly he lets you go, and looks down, closing his eye for a moment. But he doesn't apologize, he never does, and not because he is a Prince. It's just the way he is. He doesn't apologize, he doesn't say thank you, he doesn't say please.

"Aemond, what's going on?"

"I don't want to talk about it now. In fact, never. Not here."

You watch him carefully, and you nod as he moves to pour wine into a cup. You watch him gobble it up greedily, which is unlike him. So, you get close and move your hand from behind your back and say, "Anyway, I wasn't lying. I really spent four hours in the library...trying to decipher this."

You show him an old book, and the title catches his eye, cup held in midair. "Tales of the Dragonlords?" he asks frowning. "This is in High Valyrian."

"It is." you confirm as you move closer, and you steal his cup before saying, "Would you read it to me?" and you take a sip, of wine and courage.

He watches the liquid flow down your throat and then accepts the invitation, taking the book—the one he has read so many times he can recite it by heart. He opens it to the first page, but you say "No. Page 72."

There is a slight imperative tone in your tone of voice, and it thrills him, given how his eye glints under the candlelight. He drops it on the table, looking at you from head to toe, and says, "I'll read it to you later, sweet wife."

He steps closer but you back away saying, "Fine, then. I'll tell you what I understood so you can correct me or not." and at the same moment your own hands go up on your corset and you start pulling on the laces.

The gesture catches his eye like a moth to a flame and he stays silent as you pull all the laces and then slip off your dress, remaining in your underskirt. His gaze roams over you slowly, and with a soft smirk, he decides to play the game.

“Page 72, you said. How Dragonlords claimed Dragons.”

“Yes.”

"And why did it capture your interest? Do you wish to do it? Do you wish to claim a dragon?"

"I wish to conquer, not claim."

He comes closer and looks at you, breathing through his nose, restraining, always restraining, and then he's raising his hand to reach a lock of your hair falling on your shoulder, but you stop him, air as heavy as moss.

"The Valyrian sages say a dragonlord must surrender himself completely to the dragon. But it works both ways. The dragon must submit his will to their rider."

He looks at you without blinking, and you take his arms, guiding him closer until you turn and push him lightly on the bed. He sits and you slowly climb on his lap, knees caging his hips, heart is pounding in your throat like a hammer. You hear him taking a swift breath and pride pools in your bones because for once you have caught him off guard.

You can feel his crotch hardening by the moment, but the look on his face is not one of hunger or lust. It is pure and blessed devotion.

You wonder at the view, and your eyes roam on his face until...

"Can I take it off?"

There's no need to say what. His face goes hard as stone, eye looking away with discomfort, with shame.

"Please, Aemond." you whisper. "I want to see all of you. I want you to bare yourself to me as I did to you."

"It is not pleasant."

"I don't want pleasantness. I want you."

He stares at you for an eternal moment and then he caves.

A flash of sparkling blue catches you completely and you can do nothing but watch with lips parted, while he keeps his eye down.

You wrap an arm around his shoulders and lean your head against his to breathe one single word in his ear. "Gevie."

His arms are all around you, holding you so tight you might gasp for air. Instead you are smiling, breathing through his long silver hair. You are not sure if you aunt is right, if love is indeed a choice. You can't bring yourself to care because you are doing it already.

And then he's kissing you, seizing your tongue with his in a fierce consuming way. He slightly hikes up your hips, and his hand tries to slide between your legs, but you lace your fingers around his wrist, breaking the kiss with panted breath.

"No." you whisper, and he looks at you almost questioningly, mouth open and chest heaving.

"Lykirī."

His eye widens and you smile, secretly. "I know what it means now."

He smirks at this and does not miss the chance to be the ever diligent scholar. "But you said it wrong. The R is hard."

“Lykirī.” You say again, following his lesson, and in the same moment your hand leaves his wrist and goes down to his breeches. He dips his chin to look at it, at your hands unsure, and he too looks unsure.

“You don’t have to—“

“I want to.” You say, and your voice comes out firm and clear. “Please, Aemond. Let me…let me touch you.”

He realizes now that in all the times you have been lying together, you never managed to lay a hand on him. He likes to keep people at distance. Too many wrong hands have been on him. The Maesters’, inspecting, debating, healing without healing. That whore, taking what it was not hers to take, not yet.

But he wants you to touch him. He has dreamed of it, in any way a man could dream of a woman’s touch.

He looks at you for a moment, chest rising slowly, and then, without taking his eye off you, he pulls the laces of his breeches and guides your hand around his cock. You look down, exhaling a long breath at feeling his hard and hot flesh already pulsing.

He knows you don’t know how to do it, so his hands guide you at first, going slowly up and down, and the air comes out of his mouth slowly and labored. You look up at him, his eye is pitch black, lid growing heavy with pleasure, and your core clenches, desire pools in your belly and flows down.

He must hear the call of your body, because he releases your hand, still stroking him, and goes right between your legs. You gasp loudly, and he hums, delight dripping from his voice just as you are dripping on his fingers. He starts to pump his fingers and you can do nothing but moan, clutching his shoulders with your free hand, the other still around his cock, but the act is growing lazy, your mind can’t focus properly on what you are supposed to do.

“Listen.” he orders you, fingers moving faster and faster, and you do listen. Your soaked flesh coming undone at his scorching touch. “Who else has you like this?”

But this is a question he’s asking himself. Because no one else will ever have him bare like this.

“You. Just you.” you say hoarsely, eyes closing and hips rocking on their own accord.

“And who am I?” he whispers just as hoarsely, and yet his voice is like a whip on all your senses.

“My husband.” you cry, feeling the wave ready to drown you “Ñuha zaldrīzes.” My dragon.

You cannot care less about how you said it, because then your mouth falls open, nails digging into his shoulder while your trembling hips keep riding his fingers, clenching them like a vice.

Your head falls onward, leaning against his forehead, and you try to catch your breath. You watch his wet fingers go straight into his mouth while he looks at you, humming with pleasure. “You look so pretty like this.” he says with the ghost of a smile on his lips “I should fuck you in Throne Room with the whole court watching, so they know how pretty you are when you come for me.”

You laugh with your cheeks flushing, and he slides an arm around you, and you know he wants to pin you down on the bed and fuck you until you are muffling nonsense in the pillow. But this is not his game. This is yours, and even if you don’t know how to play, you will win.

“No.” you say, climbing down from his lap, and he looks at you with hunger and a tinge of thrilling curiosity. “It is my turn to claim.” You say with all the bravery you possess.

Not a moment later, you are going down on your knees.

Another small victory, because his eye widens as he had never done before, and you can see that this, the sight of you on your knees before him, is something he has been craving for, even dreamed of it.

His breathing is slow, and you are not even touching him.

You place yourself between his knees and you lean closer and closer, anxiety twisting your insides, but you want to do this. “Lykirī, nuha zaldrīzes. Surrender.” you take him into your hand, tugging slowly, and your lips linger on the tip, heart pounding in your ears and eyes fixed on him. “Lykirī.” You say one last time and then you are swallowing him.

He hisses loudly and his lips part, hands clutching the covers until his knuckles go white. He’s like burning metal inside your mouth—hot and hard. At first, you just taste him, running your tongue over the head, and he’s cursing under his breath. His hands twitch on the covers, restraining and restraining, but there’s no need. You take his hand while looking at him and you release it from your mouth to say “Teach me.”

It’s like you have just poured fire on more fire. His eye goes wild, he takes hold of your head and starts to guide you again, making your mouth engulf him once more and deep down to the base and then up to the tip again, filling the room with a wet gagging sound. You get the gist of what you’re supposed to do, so your head starts going up and down and up and down, and he actually moans for you, head falling back for just a moment before looking back, he can’t help but watch as you fiercely claim him.

You watch his chest heaving fast and your jaw is starting to hurt but you don't care, you are too absorbed by the view before you. You are too thrilled by the fact that, for once, you have made him speechless.

He's always so bold in the bedroom, so cruel in deciding when and how to give pleasure, and now he's utterly speechless. He can only curse without breath, and gasp and groan.

“Kelītīs.” he manages to say at one point, voice all husky and cracking. You don’t know that word, and you have no time to ask because in a blink, he’s slamming you onto the bed and he’s hiking up your skirt, but you get on your elbows pushing him on his back and climbing on him.

“I’m not done, valzȳrys.” you say feeling his hard length inflaming your core, so you lay your hips on it as firmly as possible. “I claimed, but I did not conquer.”

“You are fucking torturing me.” he points out, bucking against you.

“Conquests could last for centuries, dear husband. You above all should know that.”

“All I know now is that I need to fuck you.” he says placing both hands on the sheets to pull himself up.

“No, I will.” you promise, rocking your hips once more “This is my conquest, not yours.”

You keep rubbing your drenched core on his length until a sheen of sweat glistens on his forehead, and he's so hard he's leaking from the tip. "You are twisted, wife." he says with a dazed tone and you smile even if you can't take it anymore, but you rock some more, saying "I'm a quick study. And I'm learning from the best."

Finally, when you are so wet you are dripping on him, you raise just enough to slide his cock inside of you.

You gasp together and you brace on his shoulders to start moving. You both know you are not going to last long, so you start rocking your hips slowly, taking him to the hilt until you struggle for air.

“Move…” he orders but you just take the opposite road, slowing your hips in a delicious torturing way. “Do you know what else the Sages said? A rider must know their mount, feel their heat below them.”

But Aemond does not have a single drop of blood in his head right now to give you an answer, let alone play your game; he's just fire that burns and burns and burns and just like the Sages said, you can feel his heat, burning below and inside you. He grips your hips and starts to thrust inside you like the wild beast you are supposedly claiming, until you are moaning so loud your throat hurts.

“Yes—” he growls as you bounce on him “Just like that—you’re gripping me so well—fuck"

You both turn sloppy, a mess of sweaty limbs and teeth biting, clutching at each other with bruising grips, pulling at the roots of his hair when you’re about to fall from the highest sky.

"Come on, my sweet girl. Let go for me." he breathes into your mouth, forcing you to move even faster "Let go fro your dragon. Seal your conquest." And you do.

He follows right after, spilling inside while digging his teeth into your neck like fangs on a prey, muffling his loud groaning.

And you are smiling like a fool, a lovestruck fool, but most of all, a conqueror.

Thank you so much for reading!! 💞💞

#likiri #liv(in la vida loca)#aemond targaryen #ewan mitchell #aemond x wife reader #aemond x reader #aemond targaryen x wife reader #aemond targaryen fic #aemond targaryen smut #aemond targaryen x reader #aemond targaryen imagine #aemond targaryen x you #aemond x you #aemond x fem!reader #aemond targaryen x fem!reader #aemond fic #aemond smut #hotd fic

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achaoticeternal · 1 year

Text

bewitched.

AEMOND TARGARYEN X FEM!READER

summary: more word has arrived to you regarding your husbands infidelity. as he returns to you, you present him with a choice. word count: 2k warnings: drinking. strong language. angst. adultery. pain. a/n: see end of the piece for author’s note

✧･ﾟ: *✧･ﾟ:* 　　 *:･ﾟ✧*:･ﾟ✧

choose your own ending...

— ending 1.

— ending 2.

— ending 3.

— ending 4.

✧･ﾟ: *✧･ﾟ:* 　　 *:･ﾟ✧*:･ﾟ✧

“My lady,” Your chambermaid spoke from the doorway, returning with a fresh pitcher of wine as you had requested, “Should I see the children to bed?”

“Please do,” Your voice was soft, the words fragile in your solemn state.

“It might be best for you to rest, rather than await the return of Prince Aemond.”

Her words were gentle, simply advising you to take care of yourself. But the fires of hurt and betrayal were already lit.

“What makes you believe that I am awaiting my husband?” With words more venomous than you intended, you bid her leave.

At the sound of the door shutting, you stood and moved toward the pitcher and chalice left idly by the fireplace. You poured the deep red liquid and lifted the cup to your lips, taking a generous gulp. The dull burn allowed some relief to your heightened senses. But you also knew that the alcohol only added fuel to your fire.

Rain began to pour over King’s Landing, softly thudding against the windows and stone of the castle walls. Usually, the rain would lull you to sleep, but it seemed the thunder of the skies only spurred you to continue drowning away the ache in your heart. Your eyes flickered over the second chalice that had been placed on the silver tray with your pitcher. It seemed that the servants expected Aemond to return to the Keep tonight. You were not sure if you wish for him to return or for him to drown in the heavy rains that poured from the sky.

As if the fool perfectly timed you, you glanced out the window to see the silhouette of Vhagar descending toward the Dragon Pits. In a drunken frenzy, you pulled the curtain to cover it, instead, the velvet fabric came down at your harsh tug.

The frustration would nearly boil over, but you did not allow the simple issues to push you over the threshold. As the Queen had often advised you, it was important that a lady bite her tongue and keep her composure even when she is by her lonesome. If someone saw the illusion of a proper lady shatter, it would be nearly impossible to recover from. She even revealed to you how she had come by this knowledge, sharing with you the events that occurred the night Aemond became the one-eyed prince.

Swiftly, you moved back toward the fireplace, picking up the parcel that a raven had delivered directly to you just this morning. It appeared blank to the simple eye, but when you hovered the note over the fire, the message revealed itself. The contents of it were simple, but completely shattered something inside of you:

She is with child.

Though the news had shocked you, the existence of the other woman did not. When Aemond and Daeron laid siege to Harrenhal and the Riverlands, word had traveled through the courts regarding the princes bedding other women. At the time, you had bit your tongue, excusing your husband’s infidelity as you convinced yourself it was just something he used to relieve his stress from battlefields.

But even after the marches through the Riverlands were claimed to be successful and at an end, Aemond would sometimes fly off to Harrenhal. He would say that he was just ensuring the hold that the Greens had on the region, yet you never believed his lies.

It was said that Harrenhal was cursed, blood mixed into the stone that built it. You believed the stories true after the great fire took the lives of Lord Lyonel and Ser Harwin when you were a child yourself. But now a curse had attached itself to your husband and kept him crawling back to the towers of Harrenhal.

The door cracked open, the hinges creaking as he entered, exhaustion painted over his face. Aemond was completely drenched, his hair now scrunched into waves rather than falling perfectly straight. Most of his leather overlayer had been discarded for the servants to see to, leaving him in a black tunic and pants with his riding boots.

It took him a few moments, but Aemond quickly came to realize that you were resting by the fire rather than fast asleep in your shared bed.

“Should you not be sleeping, dear wife?” Aemond called out to you while readying himself to turn into bed.

“Sleep has… escaped me recently,” You replied, eyes remaining on the fire. Only at his words did the nerves begin to spur inside you. How would he react when you told him? What would tomorrow bring? None of it really mattered, you supposed, as long as you didn’t allow your nerves to get the best of you.

Now in his proper bedclothes, Aemond began to approach the fireplace. He noticed the half-empty pitcher of wine, slightly shocked that you were partaking this late at night. Usually, you would reserve yourself to only enjoying wine at dinners or feasts, not in your marriage chambers. His eye flickered to the second chalice that sat empty on the silver platter. His slender fingers reached to grasp it, “Would this cup be for me?”

You turned your head, looking between the pitcher and chalice but never into his eye, “The maid brought it with her, probably as a formality. No one expected you back tonight.”

Aemond’s brow furrowed at the tone you spoke with, and it caught the prince off guard when you returned your gaze to the fire rather than continuing to speak with him. He poured his own chalice with wine and allowed himself to enjoy it. He stayed in place, unwavering from his position as he looked down on you.

The air went still… the taste of the wine began to sour in his mouth. He sensed something to be out of place, yet he could not pinpoint it. Usually, you would be elated to see him, but recently you were far more reserved from your husband. Aemond was not sure if he should be upset or concerned, but did not ponder on the thought too much as he allowed himself to attend to his duties rather than his wife.

With a sigh and a light cough to clear his throat, the prince finally spoke once more, “Come to bed…”

The pause settled again before your soft chuckle hung in the air. Quickly, you stood from your seated position and drowned the remainder of your chalice in one swig. You moved to the table and refilled your cup till the pitcher ran dry. Instead of crossing to your bed, you remained standing, only turned away from the man. This behavior caused Aemond to clench his jaw, subduing his urge to correct such disobedience.

“Will you not come to bed with me?” Aemond summoned you again.

Once more you chuckled at him, not sparing him any sort of look from you. Just the cruel chuckle of your acknowledgment.

“Your husband demands—”

“My husband demands me of nothing,” You interrupted him, “And he would do well to find another bed to sleep in or find himself in tonight.”

At your words, Aemond crossed toward you, attempting to snatch the half-drunk chalice of wine from your hands, “It seems you have overindulged yourself. It would do you well to sleep before—”

“Before what? Before I continue to act out of turn?” With a fierce determination, your fingers clutched down onto the chalice so that Aemond could not separate it from you. Your words dripped with poison, “Or before you return to Harrenhal and bed the whore witch?”

At the mention of Alys, both you and Aemond let go of the goblet at the same time and simply watched it fall to the ground, red liquid covering the tile floors.

“It would do you well not to speak of things you do not know or understand.”

“I understand it quite plainly that my husband is now an adulterer, just like his eldest brother and his damned uncle. It seems that disloyalty to marriage is quite a common trait among Targaryen men.”

Quickly, Aemond’s hand came to your throat, gripping the flesh to show how serious he was being, yet not hard enough to asphyxiate you, “Did you not understand my words before, my stupid little wife? It would do you well not to speak of things you do not know…”

“Oh? But I do know…” Your hands grabbed at his forearms, nails sinking into the flesh so that he would release you, “And it would do you well to learn just how smart your wife is…”

“I have known… I have known about Alys since your first rampage through the Riverlands. For moons, I remained confined to the Red Keep from your orders, and when they came to deliver news of you and your victories, I cheered. I still cheered when the maids told me the rumors between you and Alys, because I was grateful to the Seven that you were alive. Because I was still foolish enough to love you far more than you deserve.”

Tears threatened to spill over, but you swallowed them back. You would not allow Aemond the pleasure of your tears, only the fire of your anger.

“She promised me security for my life and the lives of my men,” Aemond attempted to justify himself, “I could not risk it—”

“You could have offered her gold, offered her a title, or anything else besides your body! Instead, you break your vows. And you did not stop there, because you continue to fly back to Harrenhal whenever you desire the witch’s cunt to the point where your son and daughter could not even recognize you if they ever saw you!” You huffed out, scanning his face for any sign of emotion, anything at all.

“You have allowed your lust to overcome you, disappointing your wife, your mother, and the Seven. Worst of all, you shall now have your own bastard. At least this bastard will not be raised of the Street of Silk as your brother’s bastards have.”

“How did you know?” Aemond’s voice cracked while he asked the question, “How do you know she is pregnant?”

A smirk played on your lips at the question, “It seems that the Master of Whispers is a very devoted friend of the Queen, and with the Queen being your mother, she deemed it important enough to share the news with me, your faithful wife.”

His face went pale at the realization of how many people were aware of his infidelity. While Aemond remained silent, you twisted the knife deeper into his chest. You had been tortured with this knowledge for so long that you now enjoyed the pained expression on his face.

“I have always been good to you, devoted to you. Where others cowered from you, I loved you. Despite the warnings of your blood lust and deformity, I loved you and gave you two perfect children who study just as diligently as you once did. So while you found yourself in the arms of another woman, I tried not to curse your name and assure our children that all was well, even if their father would not be present for them. But now, I look at you like a curse upon my life. You have allowed yourself to be corrupted outside our marriage, and I can no longer offer you salvation for your selfishness…”

“What would you have me do?”

You laughed mockingly at his question. Instead of providing a proper answer, you only glared further into his good eye.

“Please,” Aemond gritted his teeth, hating that he allowed himself to beg an answer from you, “Just tell me what I should do!”

“I can not simply tell you what to do. That would be to easy - what lesson would you have learned?” You shook your head and a shuddering breath escaped you.

“You have to make a choice, Aemond,” Your hand gripped his wrist, forcing him to remain attentive to your words, “Either you atone for the sin your committed and the hurt you’ve caused or you reside in Harrenhal for the rest of your days…”

“This is a choice only you can make — a wife or a witch?”

✧･ﾟ: *✧･ﾟ:* 　　 *:･ﾟ✧*:･ﾟ✧

a/n: I am considering making a follow-up to this one-shot, a blurb about the outcome of the options that Aemond has... maybe...

#mattie writes #aemond targaryen #house of the dragon #aemond targaryen x reader #hotd #hotd x reader #prince aemond targaryen #aemond x fem!reader #aemond targaryen imagine #hotd angst #alys rivers #aemond targaryen x wife!reader #aemond targaryen x alys #house of the dragon x reader #house of the dragon aemond #Aegon II Targaryen #hotd fanfic #aemond targaryen one shot

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targaryenrealnessdarling · 4 months

Text

Nūmioītsos

19/12: Future & Face Sitting - Aemond Targaryen Word Count: 1.5k~ | Warnings: mentions of pregnancy, oral (f receiving), prince regent aemond A/N: This is in the Pearl of The Realm Universe!

12 Days of Smuff Masterlist

It's something he'd dreamt of, but never really envisioned. Perhaps he'd never allowed himself to. With Aegon severely wounded by dragonfire, the conqueror's crown would no longer sit atop his head with ease, so now it sat on his.

It was lighter than he imagined it would be. Like it was the most natural thing in the world.

He was not King. But it was the closest he'd ever be to it.

The aura was strange at the Dragonpit, very much akin to Aegon's in that sense.

He remembered standing beside Helena as she'd pressed her lips together and curtseyed before her brother-husband, who had become her king and made her his queen. Remembered how she had that distant, forlorn look in her pale violet eyes. Like she knew hardships were coming.

And as Aemond turned to his little pearl to see what expression she wore, he felt his heart ache for her like he had done for his sister.

She was visibly nervous. Clasping her hands at her front, and squeezing for dear life. Her eyes were trained on the space before her, away from anyone else's. He could not blame her. She married a second son. Who would inherit nothing but a name.

She never expected this responsibility, and in a way, above the power that the crown gave him, he felt awful that he could not give his wife, who deserved the world, the peaceful, calm life she always expected.

Not a word was spoken between them, until they reached their chambers, and the doors shut with a heavy thud, like he wanted to shut out that feeling.

“I am sorry…” she whispered suddenly, standing in the middle of the room.

He was transported in his memory back to their wedding night, when she'd apologised, for maybe not being as pretty as he wanted her to be.

She had come a long way, but she still always apologised too much.

He saw her throat bob before she continued, “I could not find the right moment to tell you…”

“What is it, my love”, he replied softly, moving a waved strand of hair from her face with all the sincerity of a husband so irrevocably in love.

Her eyes lifted to meet his gaze, leaning slightly into his hand before she took his one hand in her two small ones, leading it flat to her stomach.

And then he understands.

Her nerves. Her silence.

She was terrified.

And with child.

His face softened instantly despite the incessant weight of the conqueror’s crown on his temples, his violet eye searched her nervous face, as if trying to see what she was thinking.

“I am frightened, Aemond…” she uttered quietly, her cheeks pink and lips pressed together, trying outwardly to stop herself from falling apart and becoming hysterical.

His hand almost entirely covered her belly and he sighed as he rubbed it lovingly, his child inside her made him feel all hazy on love.

“Afraid of what, wife?”

She swallowed thickly before she raised her head, “Afraid of…what this all means for us now,” she replied, her eyebrows arched in worry, “for our child.”

He understood entirely what she meant. And he saw her eyes close contently as his palm rested against her cheek, brushing her hair away, “Oh, my little pearl. I will not let anything happen to you, or our babe.”

When their gazes met, she knew she had nothing but her belief in him. She had to believe him. Though her eyes were moist, with tears rimmed in them with fear of their future, she gave him a gentle smile, choosing to put her faith in her husband entirely.

“I will not have you go to sleep crying”, he whispered, softly running the backs of his fingers over her cheek, seeing her nod weakly.

“Unless you are crying my name”.

She gave a watery laugh, a pleasant smile stretching on her delicate features. And when she met eyes with him again, the smile faded into a blush, finding that her husband was in no mood for shallow promises as his hand drifted from her stomach to that sensitive spot between her legs, even above her thick skirts, she felt herself become warm.

“I-I thought…lords did not lay with their wives if they were…”

Aemond smirked, quite forgetting the crown placed atop his head when he leaned down to lay open-mouthed kisses to her neck, making her shiver.

“It is fortunate that I am no lord then, little pearl”.

His words made a warmth sink between her thighs, clutching onto his doublet tightly like he might disappear in a moment.

She sighed, eyes slipping shut as Aemond kissed and marked at her neck, not noticing that Aemond’s deft hands were undoing the laces of her dress and prying each section apart. It was only when his warm hands chased the curves of her hips and back that she lifted her eyes to him again.

“Aemond-”

“Hush - do you not wish to please your King?”

The words make her mouth go dry, a chill settling on the little baby hairs on her arms as he tugs the heavy dress off her, like he was desperate to see what was underneath. As if he had not seen her bare since the day they were wed.

He tugged her close to him as he sat on their bed, his face level with her breasts which he mouthed over lovingly, taking one of her nipples between his lips and suckling gently, both his hands tight on her hips.

“Aemond…”

He still loved that, the way she said his name so breathily and needy like that.

He fought the urge to grin, teasing the stiffened bud with his warm tongue before trailing it to the other.

“Hm - Oh, little pearl, I can hardly wait to see you fat with child - and these so full…”

She gasped in pleasure, a warm feeling sinking to the apex of her thighs.

And Aemond did grin widely when she squeaked with surprise as her husband laid back on the bed, pulling her on top of him, with her legs either side of his waist.

Being on top was not something she'd done before. And being entirely naked on top of her entirely clothed husband, makes her head spin dramatically.

“Aemond, I…I don't know-”

She shivered as his warm hands traced the outline of her body, “I have not seen that lost, blushing expression in so long, dear wife. Are you nervous?”

She nodded softly, her eyes looking away, wanting to cover herself but knowing that if she tried, it would only inspire him to tear her hands away from herself.

“My sweet, innocent wife…I only wish to taste you.”

Her eyes widen, “Aemond, I do not want to hurt y-”

“You will not hurt me. I want your cunt on my lips, now.”

She could feel her stomach flipping with nerves as Aemond guided her higher, her cheeks aflame with the idea that all this was arousing her in the most forbidden way.

“Relax..”

She could do about anything but relax as Aemond tugged her hips down, a high pitched moan slipping out when she felt his warm tongue part her slick folders and dive in, his moan vibrating through her core as he moved his lips with passion.

He hummed into her womanhood, his fingers sinking into her flesh to keep her flush down to his mouth as he feasted on her. He is sure he could spend forever between her plush thighs, almost forgetting the weight of the crown slipping from his moonlit head as he tasted his queen.

The crown almost slipped all the way off as he hand grasped his hair, her hips moving atop his tongue in micro-movements, “Gods - Aemond-”

With his one eye looking up at her body, he squeezed her thighs tighter, increasing his movements and shifting his tongue up to suckle at her bud, enjoying the way she moaned breathily and tipped her head back.

He happily sucked every bit of release that came from her as he felt her trembling atop him, her fingers tightening in his hair almost painfully as she rode out her high by fucking herself against his needy mouth, prolonging her sweet rapture by sliding his wet muscle through her quivering walls.

She jolted when he placed open-mouthed kisses to her sensitive cunt, his hands soothing where he'd been gripping at her.

Equally, she whined when he pulled his lips from her, looking down at him with flushed cheeks and dreamy, misty eyes. Her husband grinned up at her, as if in victory, the conqueror's crown laid upside down on the bed above his head from the effort of his lust.

She briefly worried she'd upset him by nudging the crown from his head.

And her heart thudded with excitement, as did his, when she leaned down, to place it back atop his head.

Aemond was sure, he had never been more hard in his life at that moment.

And he smirked with mischief as he leaned up, making her sit astride him, still trembling from her release, and unlaced his breeches.

It may take all night, but gods, he'd make her feel like a queen by the end of it.

Like his queen.

General Taglist: @aemondsfavouritebastard @bellstwd @blairfox04 @buckybarnesb-tch @castellomargot @hb8301 @jamespotterismydaddy @mochi-rose @natty2017 @nenelysian @randomdragonfires @risefallrise @thelittleswanao3 @theoneeyedprince @thetrueblackheart @tsujifreya @urmomsgirlfriend1 @valeskafics @virtualsweetsqueen @watercolorskyy @fan-goddess

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flowerandblood · 21 days

Text

The Fall from the Heavens (21)

[ dark • Aemond x Strong • niece female ]

[ warnings: oral sex, sexual tension, smut, angst, dirty talk ]

[ 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

* English is not my first language. Please, do not repost. Enjoy! *

Next chapters: Masterlist

_____

When she woke up in her chamber the sun was already slowly setting behind the walls of the Red Keep. She muttered under her breath in displeasure, twisting in her place, feeling discomfort in her lower abdomen and looked down, feeling a wave of disappointment and pain once again.

She sighed heavily, putting aside the already cold purse of water that had brought her great relief and allowed her to sleep for a few hours. Although she was distraught and terrified, the thought of her uncle's reaction and behaviour towards her made a warm, pleasant feeling spill over her heart.

She smiled involuntarily at the thought, wondering if he had just been at the Small Council meeting and would be back soon.

It wasn't long when the door to her chamber opened, and a moment later her husband walked in, pale, staring at her with wide-open eye.

Her heart pounded harder in horror at that look.

"We have received your mother's demands."

The word that she wanted to see her, to speak to her, and the fact that Aegon had agreed to it at the same time filled her with joy and horror.

She missed her and longed to hear her voice again, but she did not know what her mother was planning, what she hoped to hear from her lips.

What if she believed that her daughter had married her uncle just to survive?

That her affection for him was a lie and she would stab him in the back when she got the chance?

Her husband didn't seem pleased either as the affair became more and more complicated and there seemed to be no end to it all, no solution they could reach together.

On the second morning after King sent his response, a raven arrived in the Red Keep with word that her mother had agreed to the arrangements and would indeed be waiting with her husband in the Eyrie on the appointed day to speak to her daughter and her half-brother.

Her husband had no intention of spending a single night in the Eyrie, so he just acceded to his brother's suggestion and decided that the day before the agreed date they would travel to Harrenhal. She was not delighted with this idea, having heard many unflattering opinions about her father's brother.

Word had also reached her that a witch lived behind the walls of this grim fortress.

Still, she understood her husband's caution and anxiety, so she did not defy him, demanding something else in return.

"I will fly with you on Larax."

"No."

"If my mother sees that you did not allow me to fly on my own dragon she will not believe that anything that leaves my mouth was spoken of my own free will. She will see it as an excuse to believe that I still remain to you only a prisoner." She said impatiently; her husband turned his face towards the fire, sitting on one of the chairs at the table, licking his lower lip with his tongue in a nervous gesture, frustrated.

He did not reply.

She approached him slowly and knelt beside him on the cold stone floor, taking his hand in hers, placing a warm, tender kiss on it. She saw out of the corner of her eye that he had closed his eyelids, that he was losing the battle with himself.

"Please, husband. Give me this joy."

Though reluctant, her uncle finally gave her his wordless consent, but he remained silent throughout the evening and locked himself in his mind, tense.

It didn't help that she was still bleeding.

Not wishing to cause him any discomfort with an intimacy full of these disgusting fluids, she did not attempt to touch him, and he, apparently fearing that he might cause her pain in this state, also refrained from doing so.

The carriages filled with their belongings had long since left King's Landing when she and her uncle left the walls of the Red Keep.

She could see that he was pale, looking at her with his lips pressed together, unhappy and unsure whether he was making the right decision. He sighed heavily as she touched his cheek with her soft palm.

"I will join you in the sky soon, husband. I promise." She whispered and rose on her tiptoes, placing a moist, warm kiss on his cheek exactly as she had done that day, when he ran after her. Her husband hummed under his breath at her words and moved ahead, while she turned the other way, heading for the Dragon's Pit.

At the behest of her uncle, the servants who had been taking care of their dragons since their childhood led Larax into the main cave – her dragoness squealed loudly in despair at the sight of her, her sounds reminding her of the crying of a child.

She ran to her with tears in her eyes, feeling that the sight was breaking her heart.

She had been locked away for so long, terrified and imprisoned just as she was.

"Shijetra nyke, Larax. Shijetra nyke. Lykiri (Forgive me, Larax. Forgive me. Easy)." She mumbled, reaching out to her – her dragoness tilted her head and let her touch her, pushing against her chest, showing her how much she longed for her closeness.

As she climbed into her saddle again, as she again commanded her to move ahead, to take to the skies, and as the wind and speed blew her hair away, she felt a wonderful surge of adrenaline, freedom and happiness. She soared high into the sky, commanding her to fly in the right direction.

Larax let out a loud cry, terrified, wanting to escape, when suddenly Vhagar flew over her, her mighty wings causing a wave of air to hit them.

"Lykiri, Larax! Gaomagon sagon zūgagon daor! Sōvēs! (Calm down, Larax! Do not be afraid! Fly!)" She commanded, and after a moment she managed to regain control of her, heading after the great beast towards the fortress where her father had died.

Although she knew her husband was terrified at the prospect of letting her ride her own dragon, she noticed out of the corner of her eye his silhouette and his face staring back at her, from a distance she had the impression he was smiling.

She thought with a squeeze in her heart that he must have been dreaming of this moment since they were children.

Him and her, flying side by side on their dragons.

Exactly as it should be.

Thanks to the good weather, their several-hour journey turned out to be less tiresome than she thought it would be; she felt an immense ache in her muscles after a long break from flying as soon as they landed and she dismounted from her saddle anyway.

She had to wait for her husband, who had to land on Vhagar much further away so that no houses were destroyed, therefore she allowed herself to look around, feeling that her heart was pounding like mad.

"My Lady. What a joy." She heard the voice of Larys Strong as he strode towards her through the gates of his fortress, leaning on his staff, followed by several guards and a woman who immediately caught her attention.

Her long, straight black hair, her bare shoulders, her full breasts, her slender figure and her eyes surrounded by her dark lashes, her irises having the colour of fresh, juicy grass.

She lowered her gaze, never having seen such a beautiful and mysterious woman before in her life, finally glancing at Lord Strong, realising she should say something in reply.

She had never trusted him or had a good opinion of him.

She believed he was responsible for her father's death and she didn't want to speak to him.

"My Lord Strong. Thank you for being willing to host us." She mumbled finally, forcing a warm smile, Larys Strong nodded. They all bowed as they spotted her husband approaching from the distance, his black leather coat and hair blown by the wind.

"My Prince."

"Lord Strong. Take us to our quarters." Her uncle commanded him, his voice as hoarse and shaky as hers from the emotion they had both apparently experienced while flying.

Her uncle and Larys Strong walked through the gate first and she moved to follow them, the woman who stood beside him, whoever she was, strolled a few paces behind her, her pleasant scent reaching her nostrils.

Lavender and cloves.

"We have prepared for you, my Prince, the most magnificent quarters in the entire fortress. I have no use for it anyway; I would get tired climbing all those steps every day. Nearby we have prepared rooms for your wife, I assure you −"

"No need. My wife will spend the night in my chamber." Her husband interrupted him, pulling his leather gloves from his hands, stepping inside the room, looking around with frustration and impatience.

Having been with him on a daily routine, accustomed to him conversing with her of his own accord, she had already forgotten how much he resented speaking to strangers for longer than necessary.

"As you wish, my Prince. However, I will leave the rooms I spoke of at your wife's disposal for her own convenience. I have also assigned her a servant to ensure that while we men are conversing, she will have company. There are several matters I would like to discuss with you."

She and her uncle cast quick, concerned glances at each other; her husband hit the side of his cheek with the tip of his tongue, furious.

She knew the expression on his face, knew he was only dreaming of rest, but they were his guests and he was not in a position to simply refuse him.

Lord Strong looked at her expectantly and her uncle nodded at her, albeit reluctantly, to leave them alone. The woman standing beside her raised her hand and indicated with a gesture where they were to go, so she set off in that direction.

The chamber her father's brother had assigned her was smaller and more modest than that of her husband's, but it had a more pleasant view from the window, straight over the forest and the clearing where her dragoness slept.

She involuntarily smiled under her breath as she pressed her palm against the glass, seeing Larax, forgetting for a moment that she was not alone.

"Do you desire to change into something…more comfortable, My Lady?" She heard a low, melodious, pleasant female voice behind her. She looked up at her and nodded.

"Yes. What do they call you?" She asked uncertainly. The woman smiled, looking at her calmly.

"Alys, my lady."

An awkward silence fell between them for a moment.

"I would not wish to… misunderstand who you are and what you have in common with Lord Strong, Alys." She said after a moment; the woman burst into a hearty, light laugh and shook her head.

"I am not his mistress. I am his relative, though I do not bear his name, as any bastard would." She replied softly, her voice gentle and full of understanding, as if she were speaking to a small child. She blinked, shocked by her words, her question leaving her lips before she had time to think what she was saying.

"Did you know my father?"

The woman looked at her for a moment before she nodded.

"Yes, my Lady."

She felt her hand clench into a fist, her heart starting to beat like mad.

"His death wasn't an unfortunate ordeal, was it?" She asked in a trembling voice, the corner of the woman's mouth lifting in a grin.

"There are no such thing as unfortunate ordeals, my Lady."

She left her enigmatic response unanswered, both intrigued and terrified of her at the same time; it seemed to her that the gaze of her luscious green eyes pierced her to the core.

"After the word has reached us here all the way from King's Landing, I have been looking forward to our meeting with impatience, and while I will admit that it is not what I expected, I am beginning to understand your husband's desperation." She spoke again with a hint of amusement from which she felt uncomfortable, her cheeks flushed with embarrassment at her words.

"What do you mean?" She muttered uneasily; the woman's gaze swept over her figure, as if assessing what she saw before her and combining it with her own conclusions in her head.

"Men are easily driven to desperation, though it usually takes time. They like to gain and take pride in what they have conquered; the greater, in their mind, the value of what they enclose in their embrace, the less they are willing to let it go." She said in a light, low, slightly dreamy voice, looking somewhere to the side, intertwining her hands in front of her.

"Your husband follows you with his thoughts even when he is not looking at you. His head, even when he is not speaking to you, is directed towards you so that he can see you out of the corner of his eye. When he feels discomfort, he involuntarily seeks your face to experience understanding and comfort."

She stared at her in disbelief, wondering if she had been able to see such a thing being in their company for just a moment, unable to hide how pleased her words made her.

She lowered her gaze, embarrassed, her heart pounding like mad.

Alys helped her change into one of the gowns that had arrived in Harrenhal in the chests before them, her long, graceful fingers entwining her dark, long hair into an intricate bun of many braids surrounding her head.

She had never had a similar hairstyle before and she liked it very much.

Alys escorted her to the chamber where her husband and Lord Strong had just eaten supper, then bowed and left, leaving them alone. Her husband looked at her intently as she sat beside him at the table with a smile, Larys Strong cast her a look full of curiosity.

"Beautiful hairstyle, my Lady." He said softly, but she felt a sense of discomfort instead of gratitude, which, however, she did not give vent to in any way. She looked at her uncle, for some reason emboldened by the woman's words.

"And you, my husband? What do you think?" She asked softly, her uncle throwing her a calm, impassive look.

"I prefer it when your hair is loose." He merely replied, reaching for his goblet full of wine, taking a loud sip from it, setting it down on the table with a loud clinking of steel.

She felt like a silly little girl and lowered her gaze, feeling a squeeze in her throat as an awkward silence fell around them.

What had crossed her mind to ask such foolishness?

Did he think she asked it out of vanity?

It seemed to her that her uncle regretted the coldness in which he had expressed his opinion, for before she left to prepare for sleep he reminded her that immediately when she had finished she was to appear in his chamber.

She nodded her head at his words and pressed her lips together, only in the corridor letting a few regretful, embarrassed tears run down her face.

How could she take it so personally, expect empty compliments from him when she knew perfectly well that he loathed it?

As she stepped into her chamber she asked one of the servants to summon Alys, wanting her to help her take off her gown and to prepare her hot bath.

She had no intention of going to her husband after hours of travelling on a dragon all sticky from sweat and exertion.

Alys walked into her room with a smile and bowed, approaching her, seeing that she herself had already begun to untie her bodice.

"Was the Prince pleased with his wife's appearance, my Lady?" She asked softly, and she swallowed quietly and sighed, lowering her gaze.

"Yes. Though he expressed his opinion that he prefers it when my hair is loose." She said resignedly, as if she had failed in some way by not meeting his expectations.

"Oh, that's understandable. He surely associates it with your intimacy and closeness, as any man would. The entwined curls and braids are for those around you, meanwhile the softness of your hair, the smell of them, the sight of them spread on the bed is something meant only for him." She replied lightly, as if she were speaking of something completely obvious and natural. She blinked, feeling that somehow her words comforted her.

"You know a lot about men…don't you?" She mumbled uncertainly, meeting her gaze in her reflection in the mirror, from which a shiver ran along her spine.

"Yes, my Lady."

She swallowed hard, feeling her heart pounding hard at the thought.

"Have you seduced many yet?" She asked at last; the woman involuntarily giggled under her breath, finally releasing her from her gown, which fell lightly to the stone floor, leaving her in her white night gown.

Thankfully, her bleeding had almost stopped.

"Yes." She said with amusement, taking her garment in her hands and placing it gently back in one of the chests, being careful not to crumple it as she meanwhile stepped into the bath and sat in it with a sigh of relief, sinking into the hot water.

"I would like to … make my husband happy tonight. I know he needs relief from what's about to happen tomorrow. However, I can't do it, at least for now, in the way I usually do." She mumbled embarrassedly, trailing her fingers along the edge of the tub, not daring to look at her in fear that the woman would mock her.

"The easiest thing to do in that case would be for you to use your mouth." She replied with amusement, and she raised her eyes at her, shocked.

Although her husband had sunk his face between her thighs on several occasions just as he had the first night after her return to King's Landing, he had never expected her to reciprocate.

Before she could suggest anything he thrusted his manhood deep between her moist folds anyway.

The truth, however, was that even if she wanted to do it, she didn't know how.

"I'm…inexperienced in these matters." She confessed with shame, looking at her uncertainly, a smile on her face that she might have considered warm.

"I see." She murmured, approaching her slowly, startling her completely as she knelt beside her tub, gently grasping her wrist in her hand. "I can show you how you should do it, if that's what you wish, my Lady."

She swallowed hard, feeling butterflies in her stomach and excitement, she licked her lower lip feeling it dry up with emotion.

"…How?"

Alys smiled, leaning towards her hand – she shuddered when her lips gently touched her finger, wondering with a fast beating heart what she was doing.

"Imagine that this is his manhood. Men don't say it out loud because pride won't let them, but they adore it when a woman showers them with gentle, tender caresses." She cooed as she closed her eyelids, running her full, moist lips up and down her pointing finger, leaving a wet trail of her saliva on it.

She looked at this sight as if enchanted, feeling an involuntary throbbing inside her imagining that she had knelt before her uncle and touched him like this.

She drew in air loudly, feeling a pleasant shiver run down her spine as the woman slipped the tip of her finger gently into her mouth, teasing it with her wet, fleshy tongue; she sighed helplessly feeling her nipples become hard, her walls clenching around nothing.

"− and then − when he begins breathing faster − when you feel he's completely ready −" She gasped softly between the brushes of her lips and suddenly slipped her whole finger into her mouth, starting to suck it unhurriedly with a quiet click of her saliva.

She didn't even notice when she began to breathe through her mouth, when her thighs clenched involuntarily under the water, seeking any kind of release of the tension that was building up inside her.

There was something so lewd and inappropriate about what she was seeing and feeling that she felt like a moan was about to come out of her throat.

She shuddered as Alys suddenly opened her eyes − a misty darkness in the green of her irises that she had often seen in her husband's gaze, her lips released her finger with a quiet click.

"− you pretty little thing − it's usually him taking care of you, isn't it? − he can't deny himself − I can't blame him −" She whispered, and she felt heat in her lower abdomen, her walls clenching greedily around nothing.

They both flinched as the door to her chamber suddenly opened, Alys stood up quickly and bowed, closing her eyes.

"My Prince."

"− get out −" She heard her husband's warning growl; she turned over her shoulder, looking at him with wide eyes, all red, breathing loudly through her mouth, looking shocked as the woman immediately left her quarters.

"− what is the meaning of this? − hm? −" He asked furiously standing over the tub as soon as the door closed behind her, fury in his eyes.

She couldn't find any meaningful answer in her head, her mind was completely blank.

Her uncle pressed his lips together in impatience, apparently trying not to explode.

"− can't I leave you alone even for a fucking moment? −" He hissed, and she shook her head, looking at him pleadingly.

"− I − I asked her for help −"

"− help with what, that she had to kneel beside you and hold your hand? − you are fucking bare −"

"− I − I can't tell you, it's embarrassing −"

"− gods, I swear I'm about to rip you to shreds −"

"− we were discussing embarrassing feminine matters − she showed me something…important − for you too −" She muttered, his jaw clenched in displeasure.

He didn't believe her.

"− I want to know what this brazen whore was doing to my wife −" He growled with an impatience so strong that she knew that if she didn't give him the answer he expected, her uncle was really about to explode and would surely knock her out along with her tub on the floor.

"− very well − I − I will try to show it to you − just − just don't get upset and sit on the bed −" She mumbled pleadingly, looking at him with her big eyes.

She saw that at her words his anger began to slowly fade, giving place to a slight intrigue in his gaze.

He hummed low and took a few steps back, as she requested, sitting down on her bed, looking at her watchfully.

She swallowed hard, rising from the tub with a loud splash of water, walking slowly out of the bath. He blinked, surprised when she sat on the floor in front of him, but with her back to him, reaching for the pins woven into her hair.

"− you have to help me, because I won't be able to do it myself until morning −" She muttered in displeasure, all heated up from the hot water her body had just been submerged in, her nightgown all soaked, clinging to her naked skin.

She heard her husband sigh heavily, leaning over her with a loud creak of the bed, sliding the pins out of her hairstyle, making the curls of her hair start to fall over her shoulders.

"− it was her idea too, wasn't it? −" He sneered disapprovingly and she let the air out of her lungs, tired.

"− I really liked the way I looked −" She burbled resentfully; she heard his heavy sigh again, however this time he answered nothing more.

When her hair was finally completely loose she turned to face him, already visibly calmer, his hand involuntarily went to her cheek, his thumb running over her soft skin.

His pupil narrowed as her fingers unfastened the buckles of his tunic and reached into the ties of his breeches, she felt his bulge beneath her palms throbbing hard.

"− what are you doing? −" He muttered uncertainly, coolly, as if terrified of what he had just imagined.

"− I want to kiss you there with my lips − are you repelled by the thought? −" She asked softly, releasing his swollen, half-hard erection, feeling him shudder as she grasped it gently in her hand, guiding it to her face.

"− what? – no − b-but − I − oh −" He gasped as she ran her lips over the pink head of his cock with a rapidly pounding heart; she felt satisfaction when his length twitched aggressively in her embrace.

She knew he wanted to say more as his mouth remained open, but he simply stared at her, breathing loudly, his thumb gently stroking her cheek as she mimicked Alys's cues by running her lips from the root of his manhood to the very tip of it.

She heard him sigh in pleasure, closing his eyes for a moment, his hips involuntarily began to buck, pressing his already fully hard erection closer to her face, searching for any source of friction.

"− this − this is what she showed you? − hm? −" He gasped, as if he was simultaneously thrilled and enraged by this vision.

Not wanting him to think about it too much she used her tongue, running it up to the very top of the head of his cock, feeling the veins under his skin clearly, a low, hoarse groan stuck in his throat, his hand tightening in her hair.

"− fuck − g-gods −" He muttered in a trembling voice, his breathing increasingly shaky and accelerated – she knew he was aroused, and his sounds made her feel that unbearable, intense tickling and pulsing between her thighs again.

She was wet.

In some subconscious instinct, his hand tentatively guided the pink, swollen head of his cock against her lips, and she parted them, letting him slide between them with a loud sigh of pleasure.

"− squeeze − squeeze with your hand what doesn't fit inside − and suck − oh, yes, little one, just like that −" He exhaled delighted tilting his head back as she let him deep into her palate, his tip bumping again and again with the sure thrusts of his hips against the back wall of her throat causing her to gag, tears of exertion pooling in her eyes.

"− if this is too much − hit me twice on the thigh −" He gasped, looking down at her, and she merely nodded, clamping her hand over the base of his hard length, sucking it slowly with a loud click of her saliva.

She reminded herself about her tongue and what Alys was doing with it, so she made use of it, and every time her husband thrust his erection into her its tip teased and licked him; his two hands tightened in her hair with his low groan, quickening his pace.

"− oh − oh, fuck, little one − mghm − gods −" He panted, invading her throat with deep, fast pushes, making use of her mouth as he saw fit, a high-pitched moan erupted from her lungs as she felt him aggressively pulsing between her lips, breathing hard through her nose, trying not to suffocate.

"− I know − please, please, let me − oh, fuck, yes, swallow it, swallow, swallow, swallow −" He commanded in a shuddering gasp full of pleasure and relief. She squirmed as his hot, sticky seed spilled down her palate straight into her throat; she swallowed some of it with difficulty and coughed, trying not to choke, a pearly trickle of his spend ran off the corner of her mouth down her chin.

Good gods.

They were both panting loudly and quivering, his face pressed against her hair, on which he still clamped his fingers, not letting her escape.

"− just a moment more − please, just a moment more − so warm −" He mumbled, and she swallowed hard, breathing loudly through her nose with his half soft length deep in her throat. It seemed to her for a moment that he might have fallen asleep in that position, but eventually he took pity on her and slid out of her mouth, allowing her to take a deep breath.

She involuntarily put her arms around his knee, exhausted, hugging her face to his thigh, breathing hard, not believing she had really done it.

Her womanhood pulsed all over, her thighs were all sticky from her moisture.

She sighed in relief when she felt his large hand begin to stroke her hair with a tender, calm gesture, his breathing still erratic and accelerated.

"− come − come here − your husband need to take care of you −"

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sapphire-writes · 1 year

Text

Wildest Dreams ~ Aemond x Wife!reader

request: an arranged marriage between yn and Aemond, where he has married her to win the favor of her house, but the war is on and he meets Alys and yn hears the rumors and when she hears Aemond talking about Alys with Alicent she understands that she is not a simple lover, she talks about it with Aemond and he has a certain affection for her so he tells her to have adventures if she wants to and she is heartbroken, but she does not take the offer, but Aemond thinks that eventually he will and continues with Alys until at a ball he sees yn talking to a lord of a noble house and is jealous that she eventually took up the offer. Happy or sad ending, you decide, I just want to read how you develop it. Thanks for your work! ~anon word count: 1.8k warning: angst omg, some spicy themes nothing explicit, jealous & possessive Aemond note: I really liked writing this, especially exploring the relationship between the reader and her sworn protector 🫣 you can read more of my work here 💚

My lady, my Alys.

That name haunts you. It slithers through the halls of the Red Keep. It lives in the pitying eyes of those who look upon you, the forgotten spouse of Aemond Targaryen. His wife. His princess. What a horrid sham it was now.

You knew Aemond to be a man of duty, you knew this when you married him. Though you hoped his affection for you would grow with time, you had never expected him to stray outside the marriage. He simply did not seem the type of man to do such a thing.

Until the war. Until Alys Rivers.

You knew the people of court were aware of the affair your husband was having with the so-called witch queen of Harrenhal.

It only became more apparent when he returned to court on Vhagar’s back, with his paramour securely against his back. Though you haven't seen your husband in months, as soon as you spotted her with him, you excused yourself from the celebrations around his return.

You ran to your chambers and hurriedly pushed by your sworn protector Ser Cassian who stood outside your door.

“My lady?” he asked, with a concerned look on his face as you made your way inside.

He noted the tears on your face. For a moment he hesitated with his hand on the door handle, preparing to close it as he heard your sobs from within. Instead, he released the handle, stepping inside your chambers.

“It pains me to see such a lovely lady crying,” Ser Cassian says as you face away from him.

“Yes well then I would advise you to avert your eyes,” you snap, bitterly.

Ser Cassian does not heed your advice, he simply stands in the doorway. You feel guilt begin to curl its way into your stomach, under your skin. You turn your head to him.

“You must forgive me, Ser,” you begin, keeping your gaze low, “that was unkind.”

Ser Cassian moves to close the door, and you hear his heavy footsteps make their way over to you.

You turn completely to face the knight, who now offers you a piece of cloth. Shame rolls through you at his act of kindness, as you offer him a small smile dabbing at the wetness that pools beneath your eyes.

“There is no need for apologies, my lady,” he tells you.

“Then you are too kind a man,” you tell him, eyes glassy with tears.

“I only wish for your protection and happiness, my lady,” he tells you, as you hand him back his handkerchief.

You confront Aemond later on, in the privacy of his chambers.

“Now you bring her to court to humiliate me further,” you accuse, blood running hot with anger.

Aemond rubs the scarred skin above his eyepatch.

“I’ve no wish to humiliate you, dear wife,” he assures you.

“Then why?” you demand, “why parade her at court, in front of all these people?”

Aemond stands still, his mouth a tight line. He refuses to answer you, causing you to scoff.

“I understand you love her?” you ask your husband, unable to meet his eyes.

There is a moment of silence between you, the weight of your question hanging in the air.

“I do,” he says firmly, confidently.

You did not know your heart could break more than it already has.

“I wish for you to be happy,” Aemond says, coming closer to you, “I am still your husband, I shall give you children to love and cherish.”

You make an offended noise at his words, cheeks heating up. How romantic a notion, being your husband’s broodmare.

“You may do as you like,” Aemond assures you, “as long as you bear only my trueborn children, take pleasure in whatever you wish.”

You look at him, not believing the words he speaks.

“You do not mean that,” you tell him.

The man you married may not have loved you right away, but there was a possessive nature about him beneath the surface of his cold exterior.

“I do,” he tells you.

“I have no wish for anything else. For anyone else,” you tell him.

“You shall, in time,” he assures you, “you have been lonely too long.”

“You think a lover would fix that?” you snap at him.

Aemond does not answer, he simply leaves the room to go to her.

You spend a long time in the gardens, finding solace in the flowers, bathed in moonlight. The air grows cold around you but you would rather be out here than in the castle. You swear you can hear their pants and moans from your chambers. Your husband is taking another woman. Over, and over again.

“You should be inside, my lady,” Ser Cassian tells you, watching as your teeth chatter in the cool night air.

He removes the cloak from his back, placing the gold cloak across your shoulders. Your shoulders drop at the weight of it.

“Allow me to escort you inside,” Cassian murmurs, hands lingering on your shoulders.

You meet his gaze, nodding.

You summon Ser Cassian to your chambers the following night, hearing his knuckles rap against the wood of your door just as you exit the bath. Your lady’s maid holds a dressing gown for you to step into, covering your wet, naked form.

“My lady,” he says, clearly flustered by your state, the dressing gown barely covering your slick body.

“Leave us,” you tell your lady who nervously scampers towards the door, shutting it behind her.

Your hair is damp, sending rivers of bathwater down your neck, traveling through the valley of your breasts.

“I can return when you are decent,” he manages to choke out.

“There is no need,” you assure him, “I am quite comfortable in your presence.”

Ser Cassian does not know where to look, he does not wish to offend you but is finding it increasingly difficult to focus.

“You once told me you wished for my happiness and protection,” you told him, “the latter is true. How are you supposed to assure the other?”

Cassian blinks slowly, eyes focused on your lips as you speak those words, the shimmering of water that rests on your upper lip. You look as though you are a river nymph who has come to seduce him to a watery grave.

You begin to walk towards him, hands fiddling with the straps that tie your dressing gown securely around your waist.

“I shall do whatever my lady commands,” Cassian says, eyes cast toward the floor.

“I do not wish to command,” you say softly, “I wish to offer.”

Cassian meets your eyes then. He is very handsome, with dark brown eyes that match his curly locks.

“You need not offer anything, my lady,” he assures you.

“I want to,” you tell him.

“If you do not wish this, that is fine,” you tell him, “I only ask you to leave and forget this conversation and we shall go about as we once were. Though I shall admit, I will feel rather foolish.”

Cassian watches the blush bloom across your cheeks.

“Otherwise, you need only take my hand.”

You stretch your arm out toward him and for a moment he does not move. For a moment, your breath catches in your throat and you are sure he shall turn on his heel and leave your chambers. Then you shall be left alone once more.

But he does not.

Instead, he places his rough hand in yours and allows you to guide him toward your bed, replacing your dressing robe with his lips, his tongue, and his hands.

You have been happier as of late. Aemond has taken notice. You walk with a skip in your step, a flush on your cheeks.

The maester has been said to visit your chambers weekly with a special brew.

Aemond knows you have taken a lover. The knowledge curls in his stomach like a hissing snake, though he attempts to deny it. How hypocritical is he, to deny his wife happiness when he has found his own in another woman’s bed?

It isn’t until Maelor's name day celebration does he realize how furious your endeavors make him; the fire it ignites beneath your skin.

The feast is a grand affair with singing and dancing, and several lords and ladies visiting from across the seven kingdoms.

Aemond and you arrive together, but you quickly let go of his arm and make your way into the crowd.

Alys is not present, as Alicent will not allow it. A paramour at court is scandalous in itself, she will not subject you to feast with her.

Aemond keeps his eye on you, as you begin to dance. He watches the dreamlike look on your face, the way your cheeks redden and you cast your smile toward the floor as someone joins you.

He is a goldcloak, and Aemond recognizes him. The knight smiles down at you, entrapping you in a dance. Your smile widens as he whispers something to you, and your cheeks darken. Aemond feels a fire in his belly as he watches you dance with the knight, a strange sense of possessiveness flooding through him.

Aemond moves through the dance quickly coming to your side. His hand finds yours dragging you toward the center of the dance floor. You struggle to keep up with his demanding pace, your wrist stinging from how tightly he holds you.

The dance continues around you, people hardly noticing Aemond’s predatory circling of you.

“Is that who you desire?” he asks, voice low.

Your furrow your brow, a confused expression on your face.

“Is he whom you invited into your bed?” Aemond growls.

“I did not think it mattered to you,” you quip back, anger evident in your tone.

“You choose a whoremonger for a paramour,” Aemond says sneering, trying to bait you.

“And you a witch woman,” you snap, causing Aemond’s face to darken, “who I choose to spend my time with is of no concern to you.”

Aemond growls at this, an animalistic noise that comes from deep within his chest, that causes you to back up slightly.

“You cannot have it both ways,” you tell him, noting his genuine anger.

Aemond is breathing heavily, looking down at you, his mouth twisted in a sneer.

“You cannot have me, and her,” you continue feeling brave.

Aemond juts his chin out.

“What makes you think I shall allow you to keep him?” he says referring to Ser Cassian.

You smirk then, stepping closer to him.

“I shall just find someone else,” you tell him bitterly.

Aemond snaps forward, wrapping his hand around your throat and pulling you flush against him. The action sends a wave of warmth into your lower belly. You know you should be terrified, you should try to run screaming. But you do not. And when he brings his mouth to yours, you kiss him back.

When he leads you to your chambers, you let him.

When he roughly tears your dress from your body, you assist him.

When he makes passionate love to you, nipping and biting your smooth flesh, you allow him to.

Aemond stays with you that night.

Alys Rivers vanishes from the Red Keep before the sun rises.

note: ooof im sweating 🥵

#aemond targaryen #aemond x y/n #aemond x fem!reader #aemond x reader #aemond x you #aemond fic #aemond targaryen fanfic #aemond targaryen imagine #aemond targaryen oneshot #aemond targaryen x reader #aemond targaryen x y/n #aemond targaryen x you #aemond targaryen fic #aemond angst #possessive aemond #aemond x wife!reader #aemond x wife #aemond x wife reader

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aemonds-princeregent · 10 months

Text

Mean! Aemond x Chubby! Martell! Wife (Elilla)

Warnings: Inacurate hotd, Possessiveness, Jealousy, P in V, +18

Y/N had been in King's Landing for a few months already, since her betrothal to prince Aemond Targaryen. Y/N was ready to fight her parents and go back to Dorne as soon as she stepped foot on King's Landing, as it was a tradition in Dorne to marry for love and not for duty. But as soon as she saw him, she felt in love. He was misterious and knightly but cold and sometimes he had glow in his eye when he saw her that she didn't know if it was lust, hate or what it meant.

He was different from what she had heard back in Dorne, she had heard of the one-eye prince, a monster, terribly cruel. She didn't know him that much but she knew the stories were not true. He was absolutely beautiful and in the short time since their betrothal, he had been nothing but knightly to her, perhaps even, a bit cold, but he took her for shorts walks on the garden or acompany her to read books in the Library. He didn't talk much and Y/N didn't know if he liked her, much less if he loved her. But she tried to let her doubts go as she loved him and Aemond would be her husband rather soon.

A few days before the wedding, it was decided to hold a feast to celebrate the union of house Targaryen and house Martell, as Y/N's family would come to Kings Landing for the wedding.

Y/N recevived her family happily, she had missed them terribly. Her sister brought her a beautiful dress from Dorne, it was golden, translucent and shined with the light of the sun. Y/N put on the dress and went to the Feast.

Aemond wasn't particularly fond of these feasts but had to entertain them for the sake of his station, he reminded himself. He sat next to his brother, the King. Aegon had already diminished the wine refills, but his cup kept getting emptied and full again and again. He tried to remain stoic, but then he saw her... His fiance wearing a dress that left little to nothing to the imagination, the way it embraced her curves, the curve of her breast to her belly to her tights, her dark hair falling to her waistline. All the lord of Westeros staring at her, taking advantage of any chance they could to touch her slightly. Aemond was enraged. But Aegon interrupted his thoughts.

-Seven hells, brother. I never thought I'd say this, but I envy you. Would you mind if we share?- Aegon said with a cheeky laugh.

That only made Aemond's blood boil even more. He stood up and walked to her and her family. He greeted them fastly and took his fiance's arm.

-May i have a word, my lady- He said as he took her arm in his hand firmly and cover her with his body as they made their way out of the Great Hall.

As they went out of the Hall, Queen Helaena greeted them as she was just entering the feast.

-Queen Helaena- said Y/N with a smile. Helaena had been absolutely kind and lovely to her.

-Brother, Y/N. Are you already leaving the feast?- asked Helaena.

-We just wanted to walk in the Garden- Aemond said coldly as he kept walking.

Helaena went into the Great Hall and Aemond and Y/N kept walking passing the Gardens.

-Prince Aemond, but we just passed the Garden... -said Y/N.

-Be still Y/N.

With a few more steps, they made their way to Aemond's chamber.

-Leave- said Aemond to the guards. And so they did.

Aemond took Y/N to his chamber and closed the door. He pinned to her to the wall and put his hand around her neck.

-I didn't know I was to marry a whore- He said with coldness in his eye.

-I... What do you mean?... Prince Aemond?

-Can't you see the ways the others stare at you? As they try to touch you? or grace you skin or you hair?- He said looking at her, as his blue eye was growing black.- Can't you see you're exposed?- He said as he ghosted his hands close to her waist.

-I... Its just what we wear in Dorne, it's nothing. I'll change and we can go back to the Feast.

-We're not going back to the Feast.

Aemond's blue eye look almost entirely black. He was looking at her with the same expression she couldn't decipher.

-I must have you- He whispered in her ear.

His voice sending vibrations through her.

-But the wedding...

-I must have you now- He said again, as he kissed her neck and move to her breast.- ābrazȳrys (wife)- He whispered at her bossom.

All this time, she didn't know if he cared about her, loved her or wanted her, as much as she did, but she knew now, she knew the word he spoke, as she had been studying high valyrian all the time she had spend in the library. He had called her his wife.

-Kessa, valzȳrys (yes, husband)- She said between breaths.

That's was all Aemond needed to take her right then and there. Her sweet voice in high valyrian as her breaths became more raggedy only enticing him more. He kissed her hungrily, biting her lower lip.

-Elilla (honey)- He whispered as he tasted her lips, that had been coated with a honey balm. He kept kissing her as she opened her mouth and he started exploring her with his tongue.

Aemond pulled the knife out of his coat and open the dress with a swift cut. Her breast pouring out of the fabric, he threw the knife to the floor and put his right hand on her breast, as he caressed the perk nipple between his fingers, his other hand squeezing the flesh of her waistline. As the fabric of the dress kept falling to the ground, she put her thights around his waistline and he started lapping at her breast sucking and biting softly, making her whimper and moan at his ministrations.

Aemond then moved her to his bed and bare himself before her.

She had read the books in Dorne and King's Landing as to prepare herself, but he was big, too big.

-It's too big...- She said between breaths.

-It's alright, Elilla (honey), trust me- He said as he put his fingers inside her core. Her wetness oozing out of her. She moaned as she felts his long fingers caressing her, making the pleasure pile up in the pit or her belly. But just before she could cum, he removed his fingers.

-Please, valzȳrys, please...

Then, she felt him enter her, she could swear she felt him all the way into her stomach. A burning pain and a burning pleasure mixing together.

Aemond felt her wetness... tight, so tight around him, it felt magnificent. He then moved his hips to pull out and enter her again.

Y/N she felt every part of him as the pain went away and only the pleasure remained. His cock wrapped in her arousal and her blood, as she moaned his name again and again, only making him want her even more. Aemond and Y/N were lost to pleasure as he sucked at her breast and his hand squeezed the flesh of her waistline, as their hips moved in tandem to reach their peak.

#aemond x reader #aemond targaryen #house of the dragon #aemond x you #aemond x y/n #aemond smut #aemond fic #hotd #aemond x wife reader #aemond x chubby wife #aemond x wife #prince aemond #aemond imagine #aemond the kinslayer #hotd aemond #mine

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bananadrinkxxx · 7 months

Text

𝐓𝐡𝐞 𝐩𝐬𝐲𝐜𝐡𝐨𝐩𝐚𝐭𝐡 𝐚𝐧𝐝 𝐡𝐢𝐬 𝐥𝐨𝐬𝐭 𝐞𝐲𝐞

MASTERLIST

[Aemond Targaryen x female Lucerys Velaryon • fem! oc!reader]

[warnings: sex content, fights, harassment, angst, smut, domination, violence, targcest (uncle/niece)]

Only for 18+

[description: Boarding School - Modern Setting. Lucerya avoided her uncle for years but Aemond remembers and he is on his mission to make her life a living hell.]

Part 1

Part 2

Part 3

Part 4

Part 5

Part 6

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aemonds-wifey · 1 year

Text

Home Part One

Summary: Aemond brings you upsetting news, immediately being your comfort and you need to return home north

(Authors note : Smut 18+)

“Shall I tell the princess …?” Maester Mellor asked

Aemond shook his head “No…I will do it. “ he gently took the ravenscroll from the maesters hand and walked slowly down the corridor back to the chambers you shared.

Opening the door slowly and closed it behind him he held the scroll closely to his chest. He took a sharp breath before silently walking to find you admiring the books Aemond had kept on a large oak bookcase.

He did not speak, he simply exhaled slowly and you turned around smiling at him. “Aemond there you are…I’ve just been to see Aelor in the nursery…”

He didn’t move, he stood there not taking his eye of you, the expression on his face alarmed you as your smile faded

“What is it..?” You asked taking a step forward to him.

He kept the scroll to his chest, looking at you with a sorrow you had not seen before, he looked scared.

“I’m so..so very sorry my love…” he said

Your breath was hitched as you looked into his eye “What is it..?” You repeated worryingly

His hand gently palmed your back and pulled you into him against your chest, your hands clasped over his on his chest as he looked down into your eyes

“Your father…my dear sweet girl he…has passed. I am so sorry.”

Your heart sank , you felt like you had been stood on a trap door and the door had crumbled into ash beneath your feet. You buckled your shoulders and your head fell against Aemonds broad chest. His hand grazed up your back, squeezing the skin as he moved up to the back of your head . Gently stroking your long wavy hair, his chin rested on the top of your head , occasionally kissing your head as he comforted you. He held you with such reassurance that the sadness in you was raw but you were in the arms of the man you loved, he was here for you and after a few moments of silent comfort, he softly spoke “my darling wife I know my words will offer little comfort but I will do what I can to ease your pain…”

You looked up at him , adoringly humbled by his words you knew how difficult this was for him , to respond to vulnerability that you were feeling, to try and comfort you and reassure you that he was there for you. This only made you love him more.

He wiped the tears away from your cheek and kissed the top of your head softly, you closed your eyes at the feel of his lips against your skin.

“You are a balm my love” you whispered

You felt his lips grow with a smile as you spoke.

He scanned your face “Tell me what you’re thinking.”

“What else does the scroll say?”

Aemond quietly spoke “They will lay your father to rest by next week.”

You shuddered slightly , even if you left now you would never get there in time “I won’t make it…It’s a months ride from here to Winterfell.” You sighed

Aemond found your gaze and looked at you deeply “I’ll take you…we’ll go on Vhagar.”

You frowned “What…?”

“You should be there…see your father laid to rest...and I will be there for you…by your side.”

You heart fluttered again at his magnanimous gesture , you reached up and kissed him

“Thank you…my dear sweet Husband …” you said as his nose rested against yours

“To Winterfell then…” he said quietly .

The pure white backdrop of the familiar tundra you had grown up with was majestic to see again after so long. Aemond set Vhagar down just beyond the walls of Winterfell, As Aemond stood on the snow for the first time he looked in marvel at the surroundings, he had never seen or experienced this cold before.

As you and Aemond walked into the great hall of Winterfell you noticed how Aemond took in the sights differently, the castle walls, the way people spoke and dressed. He was fascinated by new surroundings and what was once your home.

The squire announced you “Prince Aemond and Princess Y/N of house Targaryen.” As the warmth of the hall struck you both and your eyes immediately

Fell to the new Lord of Winterfell standing by the hearth.

Your brother stood there, with a few household staff to greet you. He did not look too pleased when he saw Aemond was with you . Seeing Cregan you were instantly reminded of your father, how you would never see him again, you were sad but in truth you had said goodbye to him when you left to marry Aemond…it was still A sorrowful return to Winterfell.

“Sister…” he said holding his hands out.

You took them, Aemond stood next to you- looking at Cregan.

“Prince Aemond…welcome to Winterfell.” He said coldly “had I known you were coming I would have made arrangements…how did you get here so quickly?” He asked

“We came by dragon…otherwise my dear wife would have missed the funeral.” Aemond spoke.

His velvety voice silenced Cregan for a moment “You brought your dragon?”

“Mmmm” Aemond answered .

“Any other surprises sister?” Cregan Said as he looked at you

“No just us…we left Aelor in Kings Landing…”

Cregan frowned “Aelor…?”

Aemond almost glared and was not able to say anything as you spoke first “Our son…your nephew …I wrote to you telling you about him.”

Cregan shook his head with a tedious smile “Ah yes…sorry sister , well it is a long journey for a child.” He said.

Aemond inhaled sharply, you noticed he placed his hands behind his back.

Cregan looked a little frightened at Aemonds stance , he cleared his throat “I’m glad you are here…we will lay father to rest in the crypt next to mother tomorrow and then say a few words by the tree.”

You nodded “Good brother…thank you.”you knew tomorrow would be a tough day, but you were already at ease with Aemond being with you.

You looked around “I see nothing had changed much…”

He nodded “You can stay in your old chambers if you like…father insisted on leaving it the way you left it.”

You smiled “Ah the old sentimental fool…we will stay there.”

He nodded, briefly looking at Aemond before nodding towards the servant standing by the door “If you will

Show my sister and Prince Aemond to their rooms…they will be tired from their journey. “

Cregans dismissal was typical, Aemond had clearly intimidated him and your brother could not do confrontation.

“I will See you both at dinner tonight …” He said “now if you’ll excuse me I have matters to attend to, Lord Bolton is coming for the funeral.” He said and with that he swiftly left the hall. Aemond looked so unimpressed yet his lips curved into a smile of taunt, you caught it and couldn’t help but chuckle lightly. A young servant approached you and bowed before you both “Princess, Prince …if you would like to follow me.”

You opened the door to your chambers you inhabited as a young girl, it was nicely sized and circular - with a view that overlooked the beautiful winter landscape of the north. The last time you stood here was the day your life changed forever the day you left for kings Landing to marry Aemond.

It was bizzare to see him wonder your room, examining trinkets and parts of your life. You closed the door and watched Aemond graze his fingers along your old dressing table, he noticed a circular wooden box with a lock - he looked at you “What secretive belongings are housed in here my dear?”

You grinned and walked over, opening one of the drawers and taking a small book out, as you opened this book a compartment was visible at the back and from there you produced a key. You handed it to Aemond, who smiled with curiosity and opened the box.

He paused at the site of dozens of raven scrolls, the broken targaryen seal in one corner of the box. His hand ruffled through gently, before looking at you “Aee these….?”

You nodded “All your letters you sent me in our youth…I kept them.”

The expression on his face was something you did not expect, he seemed to be sad at first but the look of love he projected onto you was unmistakable

He pulled you into a tight embrace , exhaling slowly as you held you close and securely. You were unsure what to say.

You waited a few moments before looking up at him “Aemond…?” You checked

He caught his breath a moment and took your hands into his, holding them against his chest.

“I wonder to the gods why I was sent such a beautiful, smart and loyal wife…all the misery that had befallen me…I do not deserv-“

You cut him off with a quick tender kiss , one of your hands slid up to cup his sharp jaw

“You deserve everything Aemond…you are a good man, a wonderful and loving husband and the most attentive father …I count my blessings everyday…I would not want anyone else by my side , in both bad and good days…”

He blinked once “You do?”

You nodded “I love you dearly Aemond…nothing will ever change that.” You said kissing his hands.

He exhaled sharply and you felt his breath breeze over your fingers. He smiled lightly at you

“The only good thing my father ever did….betroth me to you .” He said before kissing you deeply.

You moaned into his mouth as his hand clutched onto the base of your spine , in turn your hands slithered up his chest and began to frivolously unfasten his tunic.it dropped to the floor , your hands moved to his firm shoulders and you swirled him around to the bed- pushing him down on his back. His eye was wide in desire at your confidence.

You sat on him, feeling his hard cock twitch against your folds as his hands squeezed your thighs, he sat up and laced the corset strings in between his fingers - pulling on them exposing your breasts, he latched onto one of your breasts with his mouth, your head fell back in intense pleasure as his other hand pulled down your underwear and feeling his thumb circle your sensitive bundle against your core. You leaned forward bringing Aemonds head up to meet your lips, as he slipped a finger inside you you bit his lip. A frustrated moan left your lips as His hands broke away from your wet folds, he fumbled with his front and you felt his cock break free - you firmly placed your hands on his shoulders as you shuffled yourself to sink onto him- as he slowly entered you you gasped and squeezed the skin on his shoulders. You wrapped your arms around his neck .

As your hips rolled against him, one of his hands graced up your spine and held the back of your neck as he met your hip rolls with thrusts and ecstatic moans of pleasure. His other hand was wrapped around your back, holding you securely- you kissed the side of his head as you cried out his name again and again, he in turn bit down on the skin on your collarbone, which only intensified the waves of Pleasure you were experiencing.

“Aemond I’m…” your voice broke as you felt your walls clench around him, in a sweet moment your exhaled your sounds of high satisfaction against his temple, he groaned deeply , the vibrations of his voice and his release was too much and you heart hit a point of pure ecstasy. You both came together and you felt him empty himself inside you, holding on tight both of your gasps settled, breathing back in rhythm together. Aemond fell back bringing you with him, kissing your lips softly as he stayed inside you, your fingers ran through his now messy silver hair, smiling as you felt his hands smoothly caress your back.

“I love you Y/N” you heard him whisper in between kisses

You smiled at his declaration , you would never tire of hearing him profess his love to you, it was like music to your ears.

“I love you too.” You answered with a loving kiss.

Part Two