#aemond x wife reader
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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The sweetest fruit
[ Aemond • Targaryen x Valyrian! • female ]
[ warnings: oral sex, smut, angst, sexual tension ]
[description: (Anon Request) Aemond is to meet his future wife from Essos, in whose veins runs the blood of Old Valyria. They've been engaged since they were kids, but he's in no hurry to get married and he's not happy about her arrival. His future wife, however, turns out to be someone completely different than he expected. Smut, angst and a lot of sexual tension.]
* English is not my first language. Please, do not repost. Enjoy! *
Next chapters: Masterlist
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Aemond knew this day would come someday. He had known since he was a child. He knew his wife would be a woman from across the Narrow Sea, the blood heiress of Old Valyria of House Vhassar, residing in the Volantis with her family. The thought of her was as distant to him as the continent she was on.
When his mother told him that his fiancée would eventually come to Westeros to marry him, he thought he was going to faint. For some reason he thought that he had more time, at least a couple of years.
He had Alys, who he visited whenever he wanted, satisfying all his needs. He made sure she didn't get pregnant, not wanting to have bastards. The freedom she gave him suited him. He felt like a dragon about to be locked in a dragon pit.
Nevertheless, Volantis was King's Landing's greatest bank and sponsor of some war expeditions. He knew their alliance was of state importance, and he couldn't refuse.
He took his mother's words in silence, clenching his jaw and looking away. He tried not to show how much he disliked this idea and made the decision, that he would fulfill his duties properly.
On the day her family arrived at the royal harbor, a great feast was held in the main hall. He waited until the very end, not wanting to look at her or talk to her. He knew what he looked like. He didn't want to see the bride's look of horror or disappointment that she would have to spread her legs for him in the nearest future.
Finally, however, his mother came for him, saying that everyone was expecting him. He nodded, tense from head to toe, and strode forward down the corridor, his queen mother a few paces behind him. They entered the hall through the side entrance, on the side of the main table.
At first no one noticed them, there was a buzz of conversations, laughter and music to which couples were already dancing. His mother walked over to him and pointed to a girl who had just been talking to Helaena. He felt his throat tighten into a thin knot.
It terrified him how beautiful she was. He thought it would make her even more disappointed with him. His body froze, unable to move, his face completely petrified.
He watched her slender hand go to one of the bowls for a fruit that he had never seen before. A small, dull orange-red ball, the size of an apple, but softer and hairy. She bit into the fruit easily, pursed and licked her lips as she listened intently to his sister. Suddenly her eyes flicked to him.
They stared at each other for a moment, and he felt his heart pounding like a hammer. He felt shivers run through his body as she smiled at him in a way he had never seen a woman smile at a men before.
The corner of her mouth twitched rakishly upwards, her lips tightened and moistened slightly, opening again, now sticky and luminous. He felt his manhood pulse in his pants in shock at the sight and looked away, embarrassed.
Lady Vhassar was clearly not intimidated. On the contrary, she waited for her father who had already noticed the prince. They approached him and the queen together, both bowing low. Aemond dared to look at her again. Her gaze was lowered meekly, there was no trace of her expression from a few seconds before.
She was wearing a thin, translucent dress made of a very delicate material in a shade of lilac. Her light skin went perfectly with this shade, her black hair was partly pulled back in a bun, her bright eyes seemed to glow. His gaze involuntarily moved to the line of her breasts, he could easily see the outline of her nipples.
He looked up and met her gaze, he knew she had caught him in the act. Her lips parted, her gaze expressing satisfaction with his condition. He had no idea what was going on with him or what kind of woman she was, but she certainly wasn't acting like the ladies of Westeros. Her father spoke.
"My queen, my prince. I am glad that our bloodlines remain in a strong bond, which we intend to maintain through marriage. Me, my daughter and the whole family are honored." He said softly, bowing again. He owned the largest bank in Volantis, constantly conversing with outsiders. He had a talent for diplomacy and spoke with ease. The queen nodded.
"We are grateful too, Lord Vhassar, for the tremendous support you give us. Your deeds will never be forgotten." She said warmly.
Finally the king entered the hall and everyone sat down at the tables to start the feast. His fiancée was sitting across the table, with her family. They stole a glance at each other, her gaze showing neither embarrassment nor fear. He was curious what she was thinking.
He had heard that the women of Essos were more liberated and less restrictive about how they shared their beds with men. He thought that he was pretty sure she wasn't a virgin. He felt he had no right to judge her, since he himself had slept with another woman.
Aegon bent over him, snapping him out of his thoughts.
"I envy you, brother. Will you fuck them two in turn, or will you introduce them and fuck them two at once? Either way, it sounds wonderful." He said, taking a piece of roast into his mouth. Aemond said nothing, taking a sip of wine, his face expressionless.
***
Lady Vhassar glanced furtively at her fiancé once in a while with a faint smile on her lips. She thought she was lucky. He was handsome but withdrawn, terrified and terrifying at the same time. It was a challenge for her, and she loved it.
She wasn't surprised to find out he had a mistress. She had heard a lot about marriages in Westeross, but certainly not that they were successful and passionate.
The other woman didn't bother her, of course as long as he kept her at a distance. She had already spotted several handsome guardsmen who she knew would provide her with wonderful entertainment if her husband turned out to despise her. For now, she has set herself the task of having fun only with her future husband.
She wondered what he had learned from this woman and whether he was a good lover. She felt wetness between her thighs at the thought. She thought she'd go fuck him in the hallway if he wanted to. She saw how he looked at her. How greedily he stared at her breasts and mouth.
She swallowed the last bite of her roast, dipping her hands in the rosewater that was standing nearby. Her brother, Vhogar, commented quietly on what he saw with displeasure.
"They pretend to be saints and bred but I heard Prince Aegon is one big pig. It's a good thing you're not marrying him, but his brother." He said, taking a sip of wine from his goblet, grimacing. "Gods, they have some diluted shit here, not wine. Don't we have our bottles somewhere?"
His sister laughed lightly at his words and placed her hand on his shoulder. They leaned towards each other.
"Hold on a little longer. You'll be home soon." She said gently. He frowned.
"Without you." He said dryly. She sighed softly at his words. They were inseparable from childhood. They were each other's confidantes, telling each other about their adventures, lovers and broken hearts.
"I know." She said softly.
After the feast, it was time for dancing. Her future husband didn't even flinch, but she thought that if he could barely talk, he couldn't dance for sure.
She didn't care, dancing with every lord who wanted it in turn. She saw their greedy glances, escaping to her mouth, breasts and hips. She knew that if they could, they would take her to their chamber for the night.
She stared at the dissatisfied, frustrated expressions of their wives in between. She thought she felt sorry for them and was not going to take their husbands away from them. She suspected that wouldn't stop them from continuing to seek relief in the arms of servants or kitchen wenches.
After another tiring dance, feeling beads of sweat running down her bare arms, she glanced toward the table. She saw her future husband sitting alone, pensive, toying with his goblet. She wondered what was going on inside his head.
She smiled to herself and moved towards the table, walking lightly up the steps, standing in front of him, taking him completely by surprise.
He swallowed loudly and tried to get up, but she shook her head, as she crossed over to sit down next to him. She sat down so that her back rested against the armrest and she was sitting half-side to him. She crossed her legs, her body glistening with sweat, her strands slightly sticking to her face.
She grabbed his goblet and took a sip of wine from it, without taking her eyes off him. He was staring at her intensely, his one hand clenched on the table. She put his cup back in its place, licking her lips.
"Forgive me, my prince. I was thirsty." She whispered and saw him inhale faster, his nostrils flaring.
He didn't say a word, his gaze expressed surprise, horror and curiosity all at once. She smiled warmly at him, got up, and walked back to the dancing couples, leaving him alone.
She knew he watched her dance. She knew he didn't know how he felt about her, wanting to be indifferent, while being jealous and frustrated at the same time.
She laughed inwardly at the thought that perhaps it would be better if that woman were his wife and she his lover. She thought it was a brilliant idea to steal a men form his mistress.
When the feast was over she went to her rooms without giving him a single glance. She asked her servant to follow him and remember where his chamber is. She wanted to be able to recreate this path later.
She changed into her thin, beautifully embroidered nightgown. It was so hot in Volantis that she slept naked. Often she even walked around the chamber like this, knowing that there were only her servants outside the door, letting her know when someone was approaching.
She felt then like a goddess among her nymphs, free and beautiful. Here everything seemed gray and gloomy, devoid of emotion. She wondered if this was what her future husband was like.
After a few hours she went on a journey through the darkness of the palace corridors. She knew his quarters were nearby. She waited patiently for the guards to pass through the corridor and walked barefooted, holding only a peach in her hand. It was her gift for him.
She quickly opened the door to his quarters and closed it behind her. She heard him jump up in his seat by the fireplace, staring at her in disbelief, his mouth parted.
"What are you doing here?" He asked softly and low, the first words he ever said to her.
She smiled at him, walking lightly towards him, unfazed by the fact that her nightgown covered practically nothing. She knew she shouldn't be there, and that if anyone heard them they'd both be in trouble. She stopped in front of him and held out her arm with peach in her hand.
"I have a gift for you. I brought them with me from my homeland." She said gently. She saw him purse his lips, all tense. He didn't know where to look, sucked in a breath.
"You should go back to your quarters." He said coldly. Silence fell between them.
She raised an eyebrow at him, slightly amused. She thought she'd play with him. She had no desire to win his heart by begging him to look at her kindly, giving him a sweet look full of hope and pain. She figured they'd have fun together or apart, but she certainly wasn't going to cry over him.
She lifted the peach to her mouth and bit into it. Its soft flesh yielding easily, the juice running down her lips she licked off with her tongue. She loved this taste.
She watched with satisfaction as he glanced at her out of the corner of his eye, his gaze fixed on her lips.
"You're embarrassing me." He said finally. She wanted to burst out laughing at that remark.
"Your lover doesn't embarrass you?" She asked lightly, taking another bite, her face calm and gentle.
He looked at her shocked. He was horrified that she knew about his little secret. He pursed his lips and swallowed hard, apparently completely wiped off the board.
"What do you want?" He finally asked quietly. She looked at him deliberately, wondering why he was so tense. She twisted a bitten peach in her hand.
"I want you to taste my present." She said, looking at him from under her long lashes. He looked at her shocked.
"If I try it, will you leave?" He asked softly, giving in.
She smiled warmly at him and nodded. He reached out to grab the fruit, but she wouldn't let him. He frowned, frustrated.
"I said I want you to taste it, not bite it." She said, biting into the fruit herself again, licking the sweet juice from her lips. When he realized what she meant he shivered, his lips parted slightly.
She approached him slowly, unhurriedly. His whole body was tense like a string, and she knew something violent was going on inside his head. She thought that he was going to hit her right away or fuck her.
She bit into the fruit again, this time deliberately sucking on the flesh for a moment, spreading its juices over her tongue and lips. She slid her hand under his hair, grabbing him gently by the nape of the neck, pulling his face to hers. He leaned back a bit, terrified, his lips slightly parted. He didn't protest.
She stood on her toes, pressing her soft lips to his. She felt him inhale hard and shiver all over. She brushed his lips, waiting patiently for what followed a few seconds later.
Helplessly, he opened his mouth and she slipped her tongue in, letting him taste the sweet fruit. The tip of his tongue licked hers, and they both moaned into each other's mouths, surprised at the intensity of the sensation.
Their tongues licked for a moment, both of them not even noticing when their hands closed around their bodies. Their caresses were drawn out, their tongues rough, sticky and wet, exchanging saliva and the delicious taste of peach each time.
She felt her nipples harden in surprise, wetness trickling down her thighs. She took his hand, clenched tightly around the material of her nightgown in hers, leading her down.
"There are plenty of similar sweet, sticky, juicy fruits in Essos, my prince." She whispered into his mouth, continuing to caress him, their tongues dancing together in a slow, lazy dance. She felt a shiver run through him at her words, and at what she was doing with his hand.
She lifted her nightgown and slipped his hand between her thighs, letting him feel how wet she was. He drew in a sharp breath as he felt it, his lip quivering helplessly. His fingers ran timidly over her sticky, hot entrance, making her moan sweetly into his mouth.
"All the fruits in Essos have this much juice?" He asked low, his voice quivering, his tongue sliding deep into her throat. She moaned loudly, surprised by his words, a shiver ran through her body. She thought with delight that her future husband could give her what she wanted.
"Yes." She whispered helplessly, her hand pressing his fingers to her womanhood, craving more intense caresses, her hips beginning to rub against him, seeking fulfillment. They both began to breathe louder, their kisses one sticky, wet mess.
"If you want, you can try another fruit I brought with me, my prince" She whispered sweetly into his mouth, and he groaned loudly. She knew it was over, that they were about to fuck on his bed.
He lifted her suddenly by her hips. She wrapped her thighs quickly around him, making him moan in her mouth again. He threw himself on his bed with her, laying on top of her.
They didn't stop kissing, licking the tips of their tongues and sucking each other's lips, his hands quickly lifting her nightgown, spreading her thighs shamelessly in front of him.
He pulled away from her, her face hot and smudged, no trace of shame or fear. She saw that he was looking at her with a dark, unpredictable look, that made her feel throbbing inside.
"Let's have a taste." He purred low, suddenly going through a change, as if he wasn't the same person. She thought that she hadn't been aroused so much in a long time.
He cupped her thighs low with his big hands, massaging them leisurely. He leaned in, the tip of his tongue running over her entrance all the way to her pearl, causing her to lean back with a loud moan. Her hand tightened automatically in his hair. She felt him smile, his tongue teasing her clit, swirling around her, then moving down again, licking her juices.
"Delicious." He whispered. She squeezed her eyes shut and opened her mouth, gasping sweetly with delight. She felt that if he kept going like this, she would soon come.
Her thighs began to move towards his face, demanding more intense caresses. She moaned loudly as she felt him slide his tongue inside, moving it rhythmically with a wet click. She leaned on one hand, lifting slightly, making his tongue touch her where she felt the greatest pleasure. She moaned softly, looking at him tenderly, her nipples hard with desire.
"Oh gods, yes, lick me!" She sobbed, throwing her head back, her hand tightening on his sheets as she moaned loudly. A wonderful, strong, hot orgasm ran through her body. She came on his face and he, unmoved, licked everything that flowed out of her, making her tremble all over.
"Gods…" She whispered helplessly, laying on her back, panting heavily. She watched, as her future husband ran his tongue over her throbbing, hot womanhood and then up her thigh. She pursed her lips, exasperated.
"Can I taste you too, my prince?" She asked quietly, and he gave her a shocked look, his mouth parted slightly. After a moment he smirked in a way that sent shivers down her spine. He stood in front of her, undoing his pants.
"Come here." He instructed gently. She obediently got up and settled herself on her lap, kneeling at his hips, looking at him expectantly.
"Have you tasted many men?" He asked teasingly, amused, letting her pull his pants down.
She thought that when he was like that, ironic, direct, dark, she could fuck him all night. She thought that she had great lover material. She wondered what his woman would think if she saw them now.
She looked down at his manhood and licked her lips in satisfaction, seeing how big he was. She thought she would make sure he gave her a lot of pleasure in the future.
"I've never tasted a dragon before." She purred, his attention making him smile from the corner of his mouth.
His lips parted in delight as she leaned over him. She licked his entire length with her tongue, glancing at him without a trace of embarrassment. His cock throbbed impatiently, swollen and hard. His hand gently tangled in her hair.
"This is not how I imagined you." He whispered and moaned low as her hand gripped the base of his member, her tongue teasing his tip, licking his own juices. She smiled at his words, popped him into her mouth, wetting him with her saliva, and pulled him out with a loud, wet click.
"Aren't you ashamed of me anymore?" She asked sweetly, shoving his length deep into her throat. She heard him chuckle lightly at her words, his hips moving against her mouth. She sucked him unhurriedly, caressing him with her tongue, taking care of every second of his pleasure.
"No. I changed my mind." He purred low, panting loudly, his hand forcing her to speed up. His member slammed against the wall of her throat, her lips pressed tight against him, driving him crazy. His buttocks pumped his manhood hard between her lips with a wet, sticky sound.
"You have to swallow it all. You know that, right?" He hissed, his hands clasping her hair, he was answered by her purr of satisfaction. He parted his lips, panting heavily, as he felt his fullfilment approaching.
"Oh Gods, swallow it, swallow it like a good girl" He panted, cuming hard deep in her throat, his length throbbing in her mouth. She moaned loudly at his words, swallowing all of his semen patiently, waiting for the last drop to spill out of him.
"Just like that." He whispered, looking down at her, stroking her hair. "Such a good girl."
To his astonishment, he noticed that not a drop had escaped her mouth. She released him from between her mouth with a loud, wet plop, licking her lips.
"Delicious." She whispered.
They stared at each other with hazy eyes, as Aemond pulled up his trousers, tying them back. She wanted to get up and just leave for her chamber, but he closed his hand on her shoulder and stopped her.
"What are you doing?" He asked surprised.
"I keep my promise." She said softly, taking her arm away, avoiding him with a light, unhurried step.
"Stay." He said suddenly. She stopped, looking at him in surprise.
"Are you sure?" She asked, trying to hide a smile of hot satisfaction, her eyes shining. He pressed his lips together, sliding under his sheets.
"Come here and go to sleep. I have to get up at dawn tomorrow."
_____
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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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You got me losing control
You looked at him again, anxious, watching him approach cautiously until he shortened the distance between your bodies. “I want you tonight... if you want me...”
pairing: aemond targaryen x wife!reader
warnings: smut, p in v sex, english is not my first language. 3,240 words
aemond targaryen masterlist
Your marriage to Prince Aemond of House Targaryen was a blessing to your family. No matter how noble a birth or reputation was before Westeros, the union with a representative of royalty is the summit of relevance, respect and sophistication that a house can achieve — and that's exactly how you and your family came to be seen and treated in Kingslanding.
After the announcement of the engagement, certain rumors about the behavior and appearance of your betrothed stirred some concerns about your future and safety. Prince Aemond was a robust, polite, healthy young man and a prodigy in the art of swords; he was also a lover of books, history, philosophy and very reserved, especially after the incident. On the other hand, he was also described as easily irritable, intimidating, serious, silent, ruthless and deformed.
None of you were presented properly before the engagement, which made the following weeks strange, tense and reluctant, even if the effort to alleviate such a situation was mutual — shy and slow as well. You had not yet decided if he didn’t approve of your choice as his future lady wife or if that (contained, cordial and impatient) was just his way. Courtesy was not a problem until it became excessive as a barrier and you begged the Mother for unhappiness to cross your path. You were a lady more than suitable for a wedding, you considered yourself beautiful, polite and affable within your own limits, any Lord would be more than graced to have you by his side, according to your lady mother, and so you expected your new husband to find it.
Everything seemed to go well in the following weeks after the wedding. Even reserved and mysterious, Aemond was kind, attentive and worried about spending some moments of the day with you beyond duty, the construction of intimacy and trust was still slow, but quite satisfactory — in addition, your dresses and jewelry were more beautiful and extravagant than those of the other ladies. However, there was something that terrified you and your husband from the tip of your toes to the last hair: bedtime.
It was infinitely the strangest and most tense situation that your relationship with the prince experienced. You learned that even in moments where his were nervous and not knowing how to act he would still try to maintain the imposing and ruthless posture, but with easy-to-read nuances that revealed that he hadn’t idea what was happening. The consummation of the marriage was the worst physical pain ever felt in your life, although fast, it was extremely uncomfortable and unpleasant. The second night he bed you was even shorter, as a knock outside the shared room in the service of the queen hindered the hardness of his sword. Already the third time his own virility failed and served to create worrying thoughts about your lord husband's lack of interest in you. What if your appearance didn't please he? Or your inexperience? He was also inexperienced, it couldn't be that.
Everything got worse when your moon blood came and the realization of not being able to generate a fruit with his seed left you highly distressed. What if everything got worse after that? Rumors would certainly circulate about the prince's unfit wife and your fertility would be put in check. Such moods were enough to keep you disturbed, sad and ashamed by the previous and present days of your moon blood, until things suddenly changed when the week passed and the way your husband looked so tempting during the sparing session with Sir Criston Cole made an avid heat bloom all over your body. It wasn't even that warm in Kingslanding but he has never been more handsome and virile before, with his silver hair flying through the courtyard and his clothes leaving his delicious defined body even more manly.
What was going on with you?
You knew that the only thing in your mind was that you couldn't wait to have him alone later.
And that's what you did when you left dinner earlier and have a bold and daring bed linen along with loose hair for your husband. The cream-colored dress was made of the finest silk of lys and fell slightly through your body with long sleeves that didn’t close in your arms and left them exposed when moving. You were with your back to the bed and facing the door, anxiously waiting for the arrival of your prince.
You felt a restlessness composed of warmth and desire to go through your body and focus on your femininity in the eagerness for his touch, from the hands exploring your body, your breasts, for the intimate and carnal connection to be consummated. The reason for that was strange to you, since the other times you were together were nothing short of uncomfortable, but who were you to define the plans of fate?
Therefore, when the door opened and Aemond came across his beautiful wife in exquisite and suggestive clothes, his good eye widened more than usual. He closed the door and remained still, impeccable posture and half-open mouth. Your gaze faltered and faced the floor in the following moments, keeping the room silent for long seconds until the courage inflated your lungs and a request for low approach escaped from your lips.
"Can you come here, husband?" You looked at him again, anxious, watching him approach cautiously until he shortened the distance between your bodies. “I want you tonight... if you want me...”
An intense look and a stronger pull of air were the prince's physical response, remaining almost static in front of him. Would it be reluctance or surprise? You didn't want to be pessimistic.
In fact, for a moment Aemond forgot how to pronounce any kind of words and form sentences, totally surprised by your newly discovered boldness. It was a fact that the least developed pillar of your union was the moment of bed, but he thought that time and reading on the subject would enrich the occasion. But not that way, not with his little lady wife looking so tempting in her soft clothes.
The prince was oblivious to what he considered depravity. His only experience with a lady wasn’t planned and appreciated by him and the option to protect himself for his future lady wife was chosen. Unfortunately, the negative side of keeping inequity out of his life was to arrive at the moment of bed without knowing how to give pleasure to his lady correctly. He hated to see the discomfort stamped on your beautiful face every time he pushed his member on your walls, especially in the first copulation. But here he was and there you were willingly giving yourself.
Your steps were smooth and decided in his direction — although there was fear of being renegade — stopping when your hands landed on the chest covered by the black layers of his tunic. "If you don't want to, I'll understand," no, you wouldn't, you would freak out, but it was your duty as a lady and wife to comply with your husband.
Meanwhile, breathing seemed more difficult every second when he noticed the intensity in the way you watched him, a warm and lustful intensity that no other lady ever directed him. He was being cooked inside his own clothes in an almost maddening fire.
"I want this, lady wife," his voice was a few octaves more serious than usual, his good eye so attentive to your gaze that it seemed to pierce your soul.
Only that confirmation made nectar leak from your flower in anticipation. You didn't want to waste any more time, leaning against him, one hand remained on his chest while the other went up the uninjured side of his face, not wanting him to feel cornered.
“May I kiss you, husband?” You asked in a lascivious voice.
“Yes,” he whispered, wrapping an arm around your waist and holding the left side of your face.
The meeting between your lips was calm (inicially), firm and intimate. There was no previous shyness whenever a kiss happened, no, it was incisive, dominant and became increasingly ravishing and warm. There was urgency in the physical search for each other, making the kiss last longer than any other ever exchanged. It was everything you ever wanted it to be, as natural and ardent as a real dream. But it wasn't enough to satisfy your desire for him.
Moving away from your husband's silky and pink lips, you were quick to announce your next wish: "take off my dress, please, I want to do it the right way today."
The usual blue iris was nothing but a memory dominated by the darkness of his pupil. Aemond's large hands landed on your shoulders to slide both straps of the dress to the sides, removing the fabric accumulated at your waist to the floor, exposing your body in full vision to him.
You were burning, longing so eagerly to be touched that you didn’t want to wait for the prince's excessive chivalry and anticipated unbuttoning his tunic without noticing the approach of his hands on your breasts, making you sigh pleasantly in the massage received. It took a lot of effort to keep undressing your husband and not succumbing to his touch on your soft flesh, almost tearing off the piece and throwing it on the floor.
It was not appropriate for a lady to be desperate for such an activity, so even though you wanted to give the same fate to the pants that hid the modesty of your husband, you restrained yourself by analyzing and strumming his delicious abdomen and chest, touching his sculpted shoulders and long arms. His appearence was ridiculously ethereal and perfect.
“Take me Aemond, I need you,” you begged before capturing his lips again, moaning softly when he growled at your mouth and squeezed your ass with one hand and held the part of your head with another, feeling a growing hardness pressing against his stomach.
“I need to prepare you first, my lady,” he whispered hoarsely, now holding on both sides of your hips and looking away shamelessly to your femininity.
Maybe if it weren't for your rush you would have enjoyed a different pleasure that night, with your husband's lips pressed on their petals, but you still didn't know that. However, what he referred to earlier was already understandable to a lady like you.
"No need, I'm ready," you took his hand and guided him to feel your sticky folds, rubbing your juices gently on his thin fingers. After that you didn't spare time to get on the bed and wait for him, who was very quick to discard his shoes and pants to reach you with ferocity. Gods, what was your misdemeaning behavior doing to him?
The prince breathed heavily as he reached your body only to be rotated on the bed so that you would assume him as a mount. “I would like to try otherwise,” you said it with even heavier eyes, putting your hands on his chest to settle above his groin, his virile and thick masculinity rubbing against your mound, making both moan and hands fly at your waist when you rubbed your folds on him.
You have never seemed more tempting than now, with your beautiful body to total contemplation and disposition and so needed by the union of a man and a woman. It was said by Grand Maester Orwyle that ladies usually behave differently after moon blood and can become demanding about their husbands. Aemond properly interpreted the connotation used by the older man, but did not imagine that it would be such a drastic and needy requirement.
And then, deciding to end your suffering, you sat on the bulbous and reddish tip of your prince's sword, ignoring the initial pain and closing your eyes as you felt him stretch your walls so well in an overwhelming and indescribable feeling. "Oh, Aemond!" A breathless moan escaped when it reached his groin after long seconds. The extraordinary pain recurrent at other times was nothing more than an old ghost when you slid easily on its axis, moving up and down in an experimental and tasty constancy.
Aemond tried to keep his usual stoic feature but it was absolutely difficult when your velvety walls made him feel so good. With his mouth ajar and a heavy look, Aemond squeezed his waist in his clamor for him, taking a deep breath with the sloppy and needy rhythm that you established next.
You didn't know if you were doing it the right way, but you really appreciated the feeling of his thick and soft sword brushing against delicious places in your soft flower. It was good enough to make you moan continuously and scratch the milky skin on his chest.
Hoarse and strangled sounds were released by him during the shock of your hips, closing the good eye to focus on not ending early. He was still stunned by the walk of things since his arrival at the shared cameras — positively stunned. He never imagined that fornication could be so delicious for both of you.
Your eyes opened when your body signaled fatigue from the exercise in question, causing you to reduce your jumps and lean against his abs, almost lying on Aemond when purring so that he would take a position above you. You are not sure if it was the fluidity of the movement or the pressure on your thighs that persuaded your senses to the speed with which he took control and stayed on top, face closer to yours than before, almost making your lips brush. Before he could think about moving away, your arms wrapped around his neck and maintained the proximity between your faces. You wanted to kiss him, or rather, you wanted him to kiss you passionately.
“Kiss me, my dragon.”
The restraint that imprisoned Aemond's wild nature broke with the nickname he received and made him capture your lips in a dominant and fierce kiss, the kiss you've wanted so much since you woke up that day. His hips began to move against yours in a much more fluid way than the other times, fucking you with deliciously intense impulses, without roughness or softness.
He started another wet and sloppy kiss, sucking your lips before sinking his face into your neck and growling against his skin, then planting kisses. “Are you enjoying it, my lady?”
“Y-yes, my prince, yes, go faster!” You moaned and supported your legs on his waist, letting out an almost small scream when the speed of your impulses increased, numbing your senses. The nervousness of bringing pleasure to his wife was dissipated when all he could feel was the constant friction and the way you squeezed him so well.
Flying in wet and pleasurable clouds, you gently held the back of his neck and sneaked to smell his soft and well-groomed silver hair, purring with the addictive and extremely refreshing musk. His heart warmed timidly with your intimate gesture, caving your beautiful face with one hand and touching his foreheads to make love to you in such a unique and vehement way that it made your toes curl and a feeling bloom inside, developing with each push of his hips.
"Beautiful," he uttered contemplating his face kneaded with pleasure, "you're fucking beautiful, my lady wife."
“Really?” You knew it was, but you wanted him to affirm it from his own belief.
“Yes, a lot,” He was fucking lucky to have you. He should say that.
The tingling inside increased with his confession, building something you hadn't felt yet. Was it your dreamed apex germinating? The feeling that your friends elected as the best of all Westeros? He captured your mouth again in a firm but sloppy kiss at the same time, swallowing your lascivious moans and whining intensifies with each roll of hips.
His pleasure also became difficult to ignore, although he was proud that the act was being more profitable and lasting than the other times. Profitable? No, I was delusional.
The connection between you became steamy every second, causing your future supplication: "continue husband, please don't stop."
There was a certain affected region that made your fingers squirm and gasps of pleasure fill your chambers (and maybe even out of them). The recurrence with which Aemond brushed against that point amplified your pleasure and anticipated the hot euphoria that took over your body, making your sight clear and legs cage him when your high came devastatingly good and strong, causing tremor in your limbs and an absolute squeeze in your cunt around his masculinity.
It was the best thing that has ever hit your body in fact, and that caused the release of his seed on your core in erratic movements and an erotic grunt. The nature of the sensation seemed primitive, it was primitive, as a need that needed to be satiated more often. Your bodies were sweaty when he fell to your side with his eyes closed from recent pleasure, bubbling in deep flames like the Old Valyria.
A more than satisfied smile adorned your face with how indescribably good you felt. Not only physically, but your husband's performance softened part of your fear, only one part, the other unfortunately ascended in equity and sowed doubts in your heart. What if the sweetness in his words was only in the heat of the moment? What if he doesn't think you're pretty?
After a moment of comfortable silence you decided to risk it in a low, almost weak voice "... did you really mean those things? About my beauty?" Gods, you didn't want to look pathetic.
And he didn't want to be an absent husband. "Yes," he confessed in a hoarse and soporific voice, almost ashamed of his attitude. "I'm sorry I don't say that as often as you deserve to hear. You're breathtaking, ma'am." His good eye filtered all the reactions from your face carefully. “I'm very lucky to have you by my side.
And nothing was more radiant than your smile when he heard such loving and beautiful statements, daring to snuggle against his chest even though he had a thin layer of sweat. "Your words are nothing more than kind, my prince, I am very grateful to hear them," you began, "you are also a very handsome man," you smoothed the bruised side of his face with the palm of your hand, not getting close to the scar to scare him. "Almost ethereal if I may say," your face was close to his, looking tenderly before leaning against his lips in a chaste and soft kiss.
Compliments directed at appearance were never true to Aemond. Not that he received them too much after the incident, but all the rare times were false, regrettable and uncomfortable. His abilities made him a man safe enough not to care mostly about his deformity, however, in his interior of steel and fire there was a fraction that longed for genuine kindness.
"You are very kind, my lady," he said softly, his voice almost breaking, "did you like what happened?" The thought was almost all verbalized at once, taking not only you but also him by surprise.
“A lot. I liked it a lot, Aemond," you purred against him, feeling your interior warm and vibrate again. "If it's not inappropriate, I wish we could do it again."
That would be a long night...
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Bound to Apologise
Summary: Aemond upsets his wife and forms a punishment fit for a Prince, feat. subby!Aemond | Word Count: 5.6k | Warnings below the cut~
Links to my Taglists: General Taglist | Aemond Targaryen Taglist
Warnings: subby!Aemond x wife!reader, p in v, oral (m receiving), use of a belt as bondage, orgasm denial, breeding kink I guess, Aemond blueballs Targaryen
When one thinks of Aemond Targaryen, a few descriptors come to mind.
Stoic, stiff, perhaps brazen on occasion and when the opportunity should present itself, he has quite the silver tongue. He is a man who is sure of himself in identity, fiercely proud of his Targaryen ancestry, his skills with the sword and his deep and well-founded knowledge of history and philosophy, a fact he rivals smugly against his older brother at any occasion he is able.
It is not as if Aegon cares much for rivalries of the mind. No, Aegon’s knowledge that is worthy of bragging in his mind is that of the flesh, and he makes sure to flaunt such knowledge in Aemond’s face at any chance.
That is until Aemond took a wife.
It had been almost half a year since Aemond was wed to his sweet wife in the Sept. An arranged affair, of course, and the two had scarcely seen one another beforehand, so even now he remembered the way he held his hands behind his back, wound tight with nerves, wondering what kind of person she was. It felt wrong to be tied so intimately and indefinitely to another person without really truly knowing them.
She had smiled sweetly on that day, kissed him softly once their vows were exchanged, a faint blush at her cheeks while standing before her now husband. The wife of Aemond Targaryen. It felt so final, and she could not help the fluttering in her stomach.
Aemond on the other hand had barely cracked a smile, simply kissed her, as he was duty-bound to do, and said his vows. She was pretty, yes. But he almost felt bad. What did this woman, illuminated so softly by the warm rays of light, have to gain by marriage to someone she surely found repulsive? Aemond hadn’t missed the various hushed conversations his mother had with Otto, the door cracked slightly ajar.
He had a reputation amongst the ladies. Some desired him purely for his title and placing their family name on a high podium, their future children into the bargain. Some were repulsed by his fiery temper, those long, hard looks he gave everyone. And perhaps most notably, they were frightened of the One-Eyed Prince, on this moniker alone. ‘Aemond One-Eye would never find a wife’.
Despite the incident being several years ago, it still raised its ugly head every now and then, in the form of self-consciousness, hushed female whispers and side-glances throughout the Keep. Most Lords and Ladies appreciated his skills from afar, never treading that delicate path in between that would bring them closer to him, which is precisely why it was difficult to even court a woman. Nevermind marriage.
And yet, when his new wife had looked upon him at their wedding feast, she’d given him a sweet smile, looked deeply into his good eye and showed no signs of repulsion. It confused him for a moment. Was she making a mockery of him? By pretending not to be afraid or repelled by him on purpose? Hiding what she truly felt inside. Holding the bile in her throat at the thought of consummation? He blamed her flush on her face on the two cups of wine she had consumed.
He was immensely relieved to have been proven wrong.
Once the chamber doors were closed, she was clearly nervous, as any young maiden would be on her wedding night. With every aching second she removed the pins from her hair, Aemond stood before the fireplace, his heart hammering in his chest with nerves. He didn’t want to have to bare his soul to her. He didn’t know her. And the thought of forcing such a delicate little thing to gaze upon his affliction, watching her face contort into one of disgust, was eating away at his insides, his insecurities feeding on the buzz of the wine.
She looked so pure and gentle in her off-white, thin chemise, leaving extremely little to the imagination. And with her hair down, waved from the braids, she looked positively mythical.
Aemond swallowed and began to unclasp his doublet. She must have seen his true feelings beneath his poorly-hidden expression, because she’d stopped before him, a small hand laid delicately on his arm. A silent confirmation, that she was just as nervous as he was.
“I do not wish to frighten you, my lady”
Her heart could have broken, but instead it merely shuddered with his words.
“Do you believe you frighten me?” she asked.
Aemond’s silence had confirmed it.
“You are my husband. And I, your wife. You may show me as much of yourself as you deem comfortable and I will not judge”
Though brief, her comforting words gave him the confidence to consummate their marriage. At first it was clumsy, the way their lips had pressed against one another, and the clamouring at her body, laid entirely bare for him to feast upon. As with any wedding night, there was some discomfort, both for her and him, but for different reasons.
But he was gentle, which surprised her and elated her in equal measure. And the sting of the loss of the maidenhead gave way to blooming pleasure, alongside something else. Perhaps a closeness that neither of them expected to have after just a few hours of knowing one another. But she hadn’t shied away from him, as he expected her to. On occasion during the act, she held his face so softly he trembled, struggling to fathom that this woman wanted him.
They had left it only an hour before he was inside her again, where he now found sanctuary in her acceptance of him.
In the moons that had passed since then, she had been his haven. His escape. She was so good to him, accepting of his desire to take his time in showing himself to her.
Three moons after their wedding night, he finally pulls off his eyepatch, after a particularly long evening of lovemaking. She was laid next to him, the bed sheets tucked around her chest. Her lips parted when she saw what he’d been hiding underneath his eyepatch all this time, and she felt an undeniable closeness to him that was not there before.
His scar felt raised beneath the gentleness of her fingers, but it was a look of sheer wonder, watching the way the sapphire that replaced his eye adopted the amber glow of the candles.
Aemond felt his heart thunder and his cock get hard, when all she asked was for him to fuck her again.
And he did with a new-found enthusiasm, a warm feeling blossomed in his chest, holding her form beneath him and fucking her relentlessly into the mattress, so hard that the bedframe struggled. He moaned loudly, giving her his seed and praying that it took, so that he could see his precious wife grow round with his child.
It took him an entire moon to figure out that he not only respected her, but had come to love her.
His wife, shy and timid perhaps at first, had become rather a force to be reckoned with. Their intimacy with one another had awakened something not only in her, but in him as well. At first, he delighted in having power and dominance over her, being quite a lot taller and broad, which he was wholly proud to have on display in the comfort of their chambers. He loved every little one of her whines and moans, drawing peak after devastating peak from her until she quivered in his touch.
It had become a nightly routine. Sometimes several times in one night.
Who would have thought that Aemond Targaryen, every now and then, enjoyed having such power taken away sometimes.
It had started innocently enough. After so many moons being married and proving their love to one another every night, his sweet wife had sought for some variety and instead had clambered on top of him and sank on his cock, guiding the pace herself. Her hands steadied on his chest for leverage, her backside smacking against his thighs with every rough thrust of herself onto him.
Alongside the dizzying feeling of watching his cock disappear into her cunt over and over, reaching new places in this new position, he found being held down exhilarating. Dare he say, even pleasurable. It made something wind tight as a bowstring in his gut.
It seemed like she noticed this, as a lazy smirk graced her face.
Ever since then they had experimented with that sensation. The feeling of one partner having full control, being held down, even tied sometimes. It was something reserved solely for them, behind their chamber doors. In the morning, when they break their fast with his family, he is once again the stone-faced, stoic Aemond Targaryen.
Although it does not stop her from shooting knowing grins in his direction on the odd occasion, which makes his cheeks go a very fair pink, the tips of his ears burn and his breeches get inexplicably tighter.
He enjoys this new side to his wife. It was buried deep, but now that he sees it, it never fails to surprise him.
Which brings him to this moment. The moment when he knows he has said or done something to irk her.
Her sister had arrived at the Red Keep alongside her father to visit her for a few days. Unlike his dear wife, her sister was still young and unmarried, and unbearably innocent. As soon as Aegon had laid his eyes on her little sister, his eyes gleamed with mischief, as if he’d seen a shiny new version of his favourite toy, but one that was actually available.
He wasn’t even deterred by the firm look she’d given him.
She and her sister walked arm in arm to the main hall, where they would dine all together that evening. Her sister spoke excitedly, happy to be brought to the Red Keep for the first time and to be reunited with her beloved eldest sibling.
Aemond and Aegon were chatting idly at the table when they’d arrived, her sister went to one side of the table to be sat next to their father. The two brothers, who usually were not so well-acquainted and chatting in such a friendly manner, were so engrossed in their conversation and their cups, that they barely acknowledged her presence.
All the better that Aemond’s back was to her as well.
“She is a lovely looking girl, but it is a shame she is so terribly dim-witted” Aegon chuckled, “A family trait, I presume?”
Aemond, dizzy from the effects of his wine, chuckled.
“Perhaps”
She’d bitten her cheek in frustration. Was he so deep in his cups that he actually found Aegon funny? Not only that, but had humoured him in insulting not only her sister’s intelligence, but his own wife’s as well.
She pulled her chair out beside him loudly, and Aemond went red and jumped in surprise, dread prickled all over his skin. She gave him a mischievous, knowing smile as she sat, “Husband” is all she greeted him with.
Aegon, who found the entire situation hilarious, had left him with that and as Aemond took his seat next to his wife, straight-backed and instantly sober, he bit his lips several times throughout the evening. She didn’t spare him a single word nor glance, unless he spoke to her directly, in which she forced a pleasant enough smile to her face and gave him one word answers. Playing the pliant little wife, while at the same time letting him know that he would not get off so easily.
She thought, once, that she may have taken her retribution a bit too far. But it was fun if nothing else, to watch how frustrated Aemond got.
She did not lay with him that night, nor the night after. Nor the night after that.
When her sister and father departed King’s Landing, he thought this might be the reprieve. But he was wrong.
It had been a full week since he had touched his wife intimately, not because he didn’t want to, he’d tried a fair few times. But every time, she had dismissed him with that playful smirk, the same one she had when she’d clambered atop his lap for the first time. And though her outfits and mannerisms remained the same as always, after being denied the pleasure of his flesh to hers for so long, every sway of her hips, every glint of her eyes and every movement of her hands had his breeches pathetically tight.
She knew what she was doing as well, the little tease.
He was aching. And it became too much. Not only did she deprive him of her sweet, tight cunny. She barely spoke to him. And the silence and barely-contained need to be inside her, was all too much to bear.
She was in their chambers, sat before the fire, a large tome open in her lap and when she’d heard the chamber doors shut, her eyes had met that of an extremely pent up husband.
But instead of greeting him, she bit back a smile and turned back to her book.
That little-
“Wife” he greeted through gritted teeth.
“Husband”
She didn’t fool him with the sweetness of her voice.
“What are you doing?” he asked, half-desperate and half-irritated as he crossed the room to sit opposite her.
“Reading, my love. So that I may grow to have acceptable intelligence”
His nostrils flare in annoyance, and yet he can’t deny the way she acts has a profound effect on him, after a week of not being able to have her, he’s desperate for anything. Even just the brushing of her hand, he is convinced, would make him spill in his breeches.
“You know as well as I that is not what I meant”
She slowly closes the book, righting to stand in front of him, her eyes trickling over his form. She knows him well now. Knows how underneath this cold exterior he offers up to her, is a desperate man underneath, yearning for a taste of her affections. His body sparks up at her hungry eyes over him.
“Then I do not know what you mean, husband” she replies, barely able to stop the spread of her smile, “You shall have to elaborate”
His hands form tight fists. She’s right there, ripe for the taking, his sweet wife. How easy would it be to sling her over his shoulder and take her right there on the bed, still dressed in her finery, with her skirts rucked up over her hips.
“I mean-” he starts, “-you and I have not laid together for the better part of a week”
She cocks her head, “Oh? Is that so?” she answers sweetly, “Forgive me, I hadn’t noticed”
He’s stunned into a sort of shocked silence, mouth slightly open, but without the headspace to form a reply. His wife pretended to busy herself with other things, placing the book back and dusting the covers, something she knew would get him riled up.
“What is this game, wife”
When she turns to him with that faux-innocence smile on her face, unable to hide how amused she is at how outwardly her husband is showing his frustration, Aemond can feel his limbs go numb.
“I do not believe you are in any position to accuse me of anything, husband” she counters, crossing the room in deliberately small steps, “In fact, I do believe I am owed an apology of sorts”
Her brow twitches slightly. She knows. She knows she has him exactly where she wants him.
As much as he tries to ignore the way her attitude makes his breeches get tighter, all of his blood goes straight below his waistline.
“But I can see, in your true Targaryen male nature, that you will not apologise…with words that is” she says, a wider smile gracing her face. An almost mischievous one.
Aemond swallows thickly.
He clears his throat, blinking a few times at what she just said, “Perhaps…you might enlighten me on how I can make amends”
Got you.
“Give me your belt” she instructs.
It’s borderline pathetic, the speed in which he tries to unbuckle it from his doublet and his fingers fumble with the silver, the embarrassment evident in the way it clinks clumsily. He pulls it through the loops and extends the leather towards his wife. She lets his hand hang there for a moment, as if to extend his internal torment, before she takes it, her fingers slipping over the roughened edges.
“Take off your clothes, leave your breeches on” her voice is clipped and deadly serious, “then get on the bed”
She watched from the foot of the bed as he did, twisting the belt in her hands as she regarded him. Saw the way his breath had hitched as she instructed him to do something and the way his pupils swallowed the violet of his eye. He was desperate. And the longer she went without saying or doing anything, the more the excitement and anticipation was starting to build in his core.
“My dear husband” she says, still fully clothed but clambering onto the bed beside him, “You have wronged me in a manner most unbefitting”
Her voice was low, the same way it would be when they were alone together, coupling.
Gently she pulls both his wrists together, tying them first before raising them to the bed frame, sliding the leather through the buckle and pulling his skin flush to it. She pulls on it a few times, to make sure it is secure. Smiling down at him when she confirms he is not able to move.
His chest moves hurriedly, a warm, fluttering expectancy erupts in his gut.
“And all you have been able to think about is our coupling, or rather lack of” she smirks, pulling a large pin from her hair so it falls around her shoulders. Looking up at his dear wife from this angle, in this position, will never cease to be thrilling.
Her small fingers slide under his eyepatch, depositing it on the bedside, so that she may see all of him.
He would never ever reveal beyond their chambers how he enjoys to see her, eyes half-shut looking down at him, exerting her own version of dominance over him. And he was eternally grateful that she never told a soul either. It would embarrass him beyond measure. He could only stand to be embarrassed in front of her.
Even though she was very much in charge, she did so in her own feminine way. Used her body differently, her words even.
He doesn’t think he will ever tire of it.
“Would you like to fuck me, husband” she asks low, nudging his knees apart so that she can kneel between them. It doesn’t fail to set his blood alight, the way she says such vulgar things…and make it sound so right.
As her fingers begin to undo his breeches, his hips move and so do his hands against the bed frame. It sets that grin on her face again.
“Yes, I do…I have missed you”
Her fingers start to peel his breeches from his hips, exposing the pale skin underneath, and he almost sighs in relief to feel her soft hands on his bare skin.
She cocks her head, looking at him, “What makes you think I will let you fuck me?”
A sort of dread…disappointment pools in his stomach, but alongside that, arousal. He cannot tell if she is serious or merely teasing him, and it is the in-between of not knowing that makes his head feel as if there is cotton stuffed into it instead of thoughts.
“Fucking is a reward” she starts, “and you have not been good”
Once his breeches are off, or at least down to his toned thighs, enough where she can see his manhood, aching and swollen against his taut abdomen, hardened from his years of training with the sword. The tip is flushed, the same colour as his lips, with a milky arousal leaking from it. She is sure that with one touch, he could simply come undone, and it makes her smirk wickedly.
“I will forgive you…on one condition”
Gods, how badly he wants her to just touch him already. With his cock now exposed to them both, her hands so close, it’s borderline unbearable to be teased like this.
“Anything, please…”
A flush blossoms on her cheeks. She always did like it when he begged.
“You must not peak, until I say”
Aemond almost goes bright red. This is territory that has not been tread before. And yet, he can’t deny the excitement it sends through him, the way the air is instantly knocked out of his lungs, and how his hands tug slightly against the belt.
He outright moans as her small hand encircles his cock, giving a few languid pumps, squeezing when she gets to the tip, brushing her thumb over the sensitive slit. Now that she has given her order, her demand, all he can seem to think about is his peak, and how hard he is concentrating to not do it too soon.
“You seem more sensitive than usual, husband” she coos, her other hand placed on his thigh, only barely squeezing, “have you missed me that much?”
“Yes…” he responds through slightly gritted teeth, unable to take the breathiness out of his tone.
“Hm” she hums, dipping her head to his waistline, making him suck in a quiet breath, “Let us see if you can be good then”
She flatters her tongue against the underside of his length, dragging up achingly slow to the slit, her hand still applying pressure as she makes her way up. When she gets to the slit, her eyes meet her husband's.
There's that damn smile again.
Aemond shudders a breath, looking into her eyes while she has his cock on her tongue is only spurring him on, so he shuts his eyes, tipping his head back against the pillows. His hands tug at the belt. Wanting morning more than to just run his fingers through her hair.
"Look at me" she orders.
When he does, his jaw slackens, cheeks warm as her hot mouth envelops him entirely. Pushing down to take more of him, her hand strokes whatever else she cannot fit. Aemond watches her take him with every slow bob of her head, pushing his cock against her hot throat, warm, wet and inviting.
If he is good, he may get something else.
From this angle, her breasts are dangerously close to spilling from her dress, and he watches them move as she continues to suck him, her tongue curled up to press against the prominent vein on the underside. After a week of not having him, she relishes the taste of him. How he smells faintly of sweat and leather, and how badly she wants more of it.
She plunges her mouth down further, til her lips are against the base and Aemond moans out loudly. His tip lodges the back of her throat, and while well endowed, she has learned to take him as deep as she can, until she softly gags, tightening her throat around him.
She is testing him. Seeing how far she can push him as she pleasures him with a renewed vigour, humming around him, sending little jolts of pleasure up his spine.
It was his biggest weakness, taking him into her mouth. And to be so clearly pleased to do it as well. Merely watching the way his length disappears between her plush lips is nothing short of heavenly.
He bets her cunny is wet from this alone.
It very nearly makes him peak, those sparks are there most certainly. Especially the way her throat contracts around him.
But he holds back the reins. For now.
She pulls off him with a soft, wet pop, making a show of licking her lips to taste his precum.
"You are blushing, my love" she says, and he knows even without looking she is smirking again.
"Please…" he murmurs, "...do not tease me any longer"
She cocks her head again, pretending to not know what he means.
"Is my mouth inadequate?"
He shakes his head quickly, feeling his hair begin to stick to his nape with the effort of holding back his peak.
"No-no…I just need you"
"Need what" she grins, moving to straddle him.
Aemond's eye widens here. Her dress is fanned out, and underneath he feels her bare form pressed against his aching cock.
The vixen had not had small clothes on this entire time.
And after using her mouth to pleasure him, she was soaked.
It was most like her. She always did everything with purpose. Always one step ahead.
She smiles when she sees it click in his mind and she moves her hips, dragging her slick over his length, making his eye flutter.
"Say it"
He swallows, tugging against the belt. He half thinks of requesting to touch her. But he knows she would not allow it.
"I need to be inside you"
She raises her eyebrows.
"Please" he finishes.
She pulls the front of her dress up, to give him a good view of her wet cunny, spreading her slick over him and he almost moans at just that. It's a sight to behold. The feeling…even more indescribable.
"My poor, silly husband" she coos, taking his length in her hand, using her palm to coat the entirety with her arousal, "...you came here to say something. Now is the time"
She raises her hips, his tip not even touching her, but the anticipation of it is too much. Aemond, almost subconsciously, bucks his hips up. Only to be met with her pushing him back down.
"Stay still" she says firmly, "or you will not fuck me at all"
His chest moves quickly, clenching his fists, his whole body feeling unbearably hot.
She waits, with that glint in her eye. She really would do it. She would clamber off him and not fuck him, just for the satisfaction that she knew he wanted her, and that it had been denied.
"I…apologise…" he mutters quietly.
She doesn't move.
"For?"
He grunts, frustrated. Too busy thinking of him sliding through her folds, nestled in her cunny.
"For saying such things about you…"
She tuts, with an amused grin, "We shall test your loyalty, husband. Remember…you need my permission"
Whatever Aemond was going to say is stuck in his throat as she sinks on him, enveloping him entirely in her slick heat. She does it slowly, so that he might feel every inch of her, every ridge inside. And when her backside sits on his thighs, moving her hips side to side, his tip nudges her sweet spot, the curve of his long, delicious length finding it effortlessly.
He has to briefly close his eye, not look at her, so that he doesn't get too overwhelmed. After a week of not having her, she feels so perfectly tight, so much so it feels as if her cunt is milking him already. He cannot get too tied up in the feeling, lest he lose her forgiveness.
The sound he lets out when she begins to move is almost pained, one that feels like it takes all his strength from his muscles.
He looks up at her, her hair cascading over her shoulders with every shallow thrust inside, with that tell-tale pink to her cheeks from the effort of it. He can feel her arousal weeping out of her, coating his length and smacking against the base, that alongside his barely-contained moans.
Her hands trail up his bare torso and he can feel gooseflesh erupt in the path she leaves. Her soft palms trace the expanse of his chest, and she doesn’t miss the way his stomach muscles tense up as she hastens her pace while she touches him. It’s only when her fingers apply a feather-like touch against his nipples that she finally gets a breathy moan from him.
It only adds more fuel to her fire.
Every touch, as small as they are, with how pent up Aemond had been, is hurtling him towards that edge. He can feel every inch of her perfect insides, squeezing him as she nears even herself. His stomach does flips, a familiar flutter getting stronger inside.
“Please…wife…” she barely manages to say.
She smiles, her chest moving quickly with the effort of their lovemaking. Her thighs ache in the most wonderful way, her cunt stretching around his girth, the tip kissing her end, filling her so deliciously.
“Please what”
“I want to touch you…please” he begs, his fists still tight and pressed against the bed frame.
He takes a much needed breath when she slows down, merely circling her hips against his pelvis instead.
“Are you close, my love?” she asks sweetly, leaning up to grasp the belt in one hand.
Aemond nods, not trusting his own voice, lest it betray the inner turmoil inside. But she sees it. She doesn’t miss a thing.
She cocks her head, half of her wants to reprimand him for not using his words to reply to her. But the other half feels how his cock throbs inside her, aching for completion, to paint her walls with his spend.
“Very well” she smirks, undoing his bondage, “but you may only touch me here”
She guides his now free hands to her clothed hips, keeping hers on top to make it clear how serious she is. Even now, merely touching her, through clothes it doesn't matter, it’s like some kind of torture.
He grabs her hips tightly and backs himself up against the pillow in a half-sitting position, causing his length to press up inside her, he doesn’t miss the small gasp she emits. She’s close as well, he can tell.
He fucks up into her with renewed passion, and her head tilts back, her lips parted only slightly to allow her quiet but wanton moans to slip out. Her sounds are like a reward. But he knows he is still denied the greatest one of all. One that seems more and more difficult to hold back the tighter she clenches around him, her fingers digging into the flesh of his wrists. There was something exciting about her being fully clothes while he fucked her. It almost felt forbidden. But exciting all the same.
He can feel her slowly losing her resolve as he pounds harshly into her, as if he is letting out all his frustrations.
“-Fuck…Aemond…” she breathes, “-Don’t stop-”
His breath comes in hurried pants, wanting her to feel good but at the same time holding himself back. He can feel the pressure inside, fit to burst at any moment.
“My perfect wife…”
“-Aemond, I’m close-”
She pulls up the front of her dress, her small slender fingers diving between her legs to apply pressure to her pearl, and she inadvertently tightens around him at the combined pleasure.
He is not sure if he can last much longer. Forgiveness be damned, he wants to see his spend leak from her.
“My love, I-”
She looks down at him, a lazy, fucked-out smile on her face, her hair sticking slightly to her forehead.
“-Yes, husband…fuck your heir into me…”
His eye widens at the vulgarity, but his throat tightens at the challenge and he slams so deep inside her with a shocking collection of desperate thrusts. She continues to circle her slick over her bud until the buzz floods into her limbs with a choked cry, her body trembling in the bruising hold he has of her hips.
He fucks her all the way through it, now that he has been given the permission he so desired, he craves it like hunger. It feels like it takes everything out of him, the wind surely knocked from his lungs, as he finally stills inside her, feeling the warm, familiar flood of his spend deep against her womb, completely emptying himself until he aches.
Aemond never lets up on his grip, holding her tightly to ensure she has all of it, and he gives a few additional shallow thrusts that make her cry out, hoping his seed will take and she will grow round with child for him. The thought alone makes him want to keep her in their chambers all day if he has to.
Their eyes meet, the only sound is both of their breathing. Her own eyes flicker from his seeing one, to the sapphire, and a soft, contented smile, not the same mischievous one as earlier, makes its way to her face. It encourages him to do the same.
“I could stay in your perfect cunt forever…” he breathes, his chest moving steadily.
She hums a laugh. It is certainly something he would say.
“Am I forgiven?” he asks, eyebrows moved only slightly, like he is expecting a witty response.
His wife pretends to think, her fingers touched to her lips. And with his softening cock still nestled inside her, she leans forward to lay a tender kiss on her husband, her delicate, soft lips pressed so gently to his, in a manner that contradicts the sensuality of what they had just done.
When she breaks, her forehead pressed against his and her hand cupping his face, she wrinkles her nose playfully.
“I shall think about it”
When one thinks of Aemond Targaryen, a few descriptors come to mind.
Stoic, stiff, perhaps brazen on occasion. With not a soft bone in his body.
Who would have thought, that sometimes, he enjoyed letting that persona slip, just for a moment.
But only ever with her.
dividers by @firefly-graphics
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okay i have an idea if you'd be willing - i think you wrote something similar but aemond and his wife are like super hungry and craving something after spending the night on top of each other but its very late now and they sneak into the kitchen and find a chocolate cake. and she's like overjoyed, very focused on eating the cake so she doesn’t even realize how aemond is getting harder again. Bc he's there, watching her, sitting on the table, eating the chocolate cake and he just *loves* the sight so much lmao
Oh hello! I didn't forget about this request, it's been on my mind for months now and I finally wrote a drabble to sate us no pun intended!
Enjoy some dessert with Aemond
Where Aemond is once again surprised by the hold his wife has on him.
Aemond x wife!reader | smut |18+ only
"I'm famished." You breathed heavily, still straddling Aemond as he looked up at you, his face flushed from exertion.
"I would've thought you sated by now my ember." There was suppressed laughter in his breathless voice.
You rocked your hips experimentally, smirking at the groan it elicited from your husband. "Not like that." You slid your hands behind his head, combing your fingers through the silken hair splayed out on the pillow. "I'm craving chocolate." With you chest now flush with his, you nibbled suggestively at Aemond's jaw, continuing your rolling movements.
"I'm almost offended." Aemond tangled his fingers in your hair, dragging your lips up to meet his in a sloppy kiss as he arched into you. "However I know my place." He kissed you softer this time. "Second to none save for chocolate."
You hummed in contented bliss before sliding off Aemond entirely in one fluid movement. Before he could properly react you snatched your dressing robe from the armchair, swinging it about your shoulders, and hastened out into the abandoned corridor. You could hear your husband cursing quietly from the bed chamber as you continued padding down the hallway along the familiar path to the kitchens.
Aemond followed as you descended the castle steps, making sure to avoid any nighttime guard patrols or other late-night adventurers. He joined you within the empty kitchen just as you finished pulling out the tray of leftover chocolate cakes from the pantry. You shot him a grin over your shoulder as he pressed himself behind you, his hands possessively grasping at your hips clad only in the thin velvet of your robe.
Aemond dragged his lips along the curve of your neck as you took a bite of the cake. "You truly have a wicked hold on me." He let out a small gasp as you pushed back against his groin. "That I would allow such reckless gallivanting about the keep."
You took another bite of the rich chocolate, a coating of icing glazing your lips. "I know. I'm the terrible influence in this marriage." You turned your head so he could capture your sweet lips in a searing kiss.
Aemond's tongue swiped the icing from your lips before delving into your mouth to taste you further. He groaned in disapproval as you pulled away to continue eating your dessert.
"Can you fetch me some milk, my love?" You asked him, gesturing to the ice box in the corner of the room.
Aemond's hands flexed on your hips as he rested his chin atop your head. "Hmm. Perhaps if you ask nicely."
"Please?" You smiled, enjoying the feeling of him so warm and so close.
Aemond sighed a little. "Very well. Only for you will a Targaryen play the milk maid."
"Oh there's an image!" You giggled around a mouthful of cake as he reluctantly removed his hands from your body. "Perhaps we should roleplay such in the bedchamber?"
You heard your husband growl something under his breath but paid him no real mind as you shuffled off your robe, allowing it to pool at your feet upon the cold tile floor before positioning yourself in a kneeling position atop the table's smooth wooden surface.
"You do realize if someone were to intrude upon such a scene I would kill them immediately." Aemond could not contain his arousal as his eye swept over your form kneeling on the table with your fingers in the chocolate cake, your eyes wide as you looked at his attempt at severity.
"I highly doubt anyone would bother us here, my dragon." You sucked your icing-covered finger into your mouth, making sure to not break eye contact. "Especially if we make it clear this room is occupied by those wishing not to be disturbed." You cupped your breast with a hand, leaving a trail of chocolate on your skin.
Aemond's eye followed the movement, his arousal already straining against the trousers he'd hastily thrown on. He moved to you as a cat stalks its prey, ducking to taste where your hand had left the sweet stain upon your chest.
Soon the platter of half-eaten cake was forgotten as Aemond climbed over you, his knees knocking yours apart with ease as you surrendered to his demanding touches.
"At last." He breathed before sucking marks onto the skin of your throat. "Now it's my turn for dessert."
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Push and Pull
Aemond Targaryen x Reader
Summary: A couple of months ago you were arranged to marry Aemond Targaryen. The Princess of the East they called you, somehow you fell in love at first sight with Aemond. But now, your insecurities come forward regarding the woman from his past.
Aemond was beyond confused.
Just that morning, you told him how you never wished to be his wife.
And now, there you stood, crying your heart out as you kept going on about Alys.
Aemond would be a liar if he said he didn't love Alys, he sure did. His relationship with her however had to end when his mother announced his marriage to the Princess of the East.
Aemond broke off his interest with Alys the moment he was told he would marry someone.
He didn't wish to bring suffering to a woman. While he did love Alys, he knew his duty as a prince.
Then you arrived.
And what a lovely Princess you were. Much like him, you were reserved and he often found you with your nose in a book.
Your beauty took his breath away.
You were much like him, yet so different.
Aemond learned that you were the fourth child in your family, meaning no one really took care of you.
All your siblings were boys.
But nothing broke Aemond's heart more than seeing you cry so much.
"I know you wouldn't even look my way if it wasn't for our marriage. I know I will be never her." you whispered the last part.
It made Aemond move.
He was now standing in front of you, he grabbed your hand as your other hand grabbed his wrist, afraid he would hurt you.
"I do not want you to be her. I want you to be you. Princess of the East. My Wife. As you are. I do not want you to suffer."
But it was clear, you didn't believe him.
And he was not blaming you for it.
Everyone often reminded you just how beautiful Alys is, how much Aemond loves her.
"I will not lie to you, I do have feelings for her, but I also have feelings for you. You are my wife, the woman I will live with for the rest of my life. I wish to have a great relationship with you. So we could try and be happy."
Aemond let go of your hand but you didn't let go of his. Holding his wrist, he felt you pulling him closer.
Your other hand came up to his shoulder and started to push him away.
Pulling him and pushing him at the same time.
It was confusing.
He was confused.
You could see it in his eyes.
"I want nothing more than for us to be happy. But I refuse to live in the shadows of another woman. Refuse to be a second choice because I know you would go running back to her the moment you would be allowed to. Your duty keeps you here, your mother keeps you here. If I cannot be the only one you love, I don't wish false promises of happiness from you." Aemond looked straight into your eyes, his free hand moved to remove his eyepatch.
He honestly thought you might get scared or disgusted but no, you didn't even blink as you looked into his eye and the sapphire which replaced his lost eye.
"I want to have you as you are. You are my wife. You are my only love. I do not wish to have anyone else. She is the past, you are the present and future." he tried to take a step but your hand on his chest pushed him, while your other on his wrist pulled him.
It was clear to him, you were conflicted.
You wanted to be held by him but you were also scared of empty promises.
He understood, bringing your hand to his lips he kissed the back of it.
"I swear on my dragon's and my own life. I am not lying when I say these words to you, Y/N." suddenly your hand on his shoulder stopped pushing. Instead, you grabbed his shirt and pulled him close with both of your hands, arms moving around him, Aemond hugged you back.
You really hoped you didn't make a mistake by trusting him.
You really hoped he was not lying.
You weren't sure what you would do if you found out that he did.
But somehow, as his breath tickled your neck and he pulled you close, smelling your hair, you had a feeling he really wasn't lying.
He will have you as you are, his perfect wife. And you will have him as he is, a great husband who promised you the sky and the stars as he pulled you in for a kiss.
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A Targaryen prince is a heavy burden pt4
atpiahb masterlist, part1, part2, part3, part4, part5
main masterlist
pairing: Aemond Targaryen x wife!reader, Aegon II Targaryen x reader
words: 5.212
summary: right after part 3
warning: 18+, smut, explicit language, love triangle, cheating
a/n: English is not my native language. / I apologize for taking so long for the new chapter. I don't have much time to write right now. / I am not very experienced in writing smut.
With nowhere and no one to go in the castle, y/n found herself back in front of the same room.
Her husband's brother's room.
For several minutes she reached for the doorknob and pulled it back. Several times she thought of making a fist and knocking on the door, but she stopped.
She could have gone back to her room. She could have curled up next to her husband and fallen asleep without saying a word, as she had for weeks.
But she didn't want to go back. She didn't want to see Aemond's face or even feel his presence.
She would prefer to curl up on the doorstep and sleep right there.
She started to walk back and forth in front of the door, as she had done a few other times.
What could she lose?
She could lose so much.
Ever since she had married, she had always come to Prince Aegon's room. They would chat and laugh, and then she would go to her chambers.
But this time, she knew something was different. She could feel it in every cell of her body.
y/n took a deep breath and calmed herself. She was about to clench her hand into a fist again and knock on the door when it opened.
Aegon looked at her with surprised eyes. "Lady y/n?"
"Hello," she said. "Were you going out? I won't disturb you," she said and immediately stepped backward.
Aegon answered immediately. He didn't want her to leave. "No, I wasn't. I noticed someone standing outside my door for about fifteen minutes, and I thought that person came to kill me," he said, trying to break the tense atmosphere.
y/n smiled. "I don't think someone who comes to kill you would linger that long."
Aegon smiled too, and they stood awkwardly at the door.
Aegon glanced over her shoulder at the window in the hallway.
The night was dark, and the stars were shining. The moon was leaving the beauty of the stars behind. But y/n outshone them all. The only sight he wanted to watch was the woman standing with him.
y/n looked around the room as much as Aegon's body would allow her to see.
His bed was as unmade as ever, but his room looked tidy.
"Is something wrong?" he asked finally.
"No. I guess. I just wondered how you were," y/n said, speaking without thinking. Why would someone knock on someone's door in the middle of the night to find out how they are?
"I'm fine."
He brought his eyes to the girl who stubbornly avoided his gaze. "Are you all right?"
"I guess I am."
"That's not a good enough answer, y/n."
She sighed. "Aemond is hiding something. And he is not telling me what it is. He makes me so uneasy all the time."
"I see," he said shortly. He hated talking about Aemond with her. y/n's naivety aside, her brother's constant uncertainty drove him crazy.
Whenever the subject of Aemond came up when they were together, he tried to shut it down as quickly as possible. He knew y/n had no one to talk to and wanted to talk about Aemond, but he had always chosen to be selfish about it.
"Do you want to come in? Let's not stand here." Please come in, he thought.
y/n nodded and followed Aegon into the room.
She closed the door and locked it. Aegon was making his bed when the lock clicked. He looked at her with curious eyes.
"It would not be right for one of your maids to see me here. I cannot bear another rumor."
Aegon nodded and went back to smoothing the covers of his bed.
y/n took off her robe and threw it on the armchair.
She walked to the window, picking up a random book from the table she passed.
Aegon felt his heart almost stop as he saw the leather-bound notebook in her hand. He threw the pillow haphazardly on the bed and ran towards her.
y/n didn't let him have the book and tightened her fingers around it.
"What is the book about, Aegon? What kind of books does our prince read?"
Aegon smiled nervously. "That's the point. What you are holding in your hands is not a book."
"Oh, I see. You give me more reason not to give it to you."
It would not have been pleasant for her to read the notebook in which he had written down every thought about her and how he desired her.
Aegon had even tried to write poetry a few times, but as he expected, it had failed.
y/n was like that. She made him want to write poetry for her.
He wanted to put everything about her into lines of poems.
"y/n, please," he said.
y/n grinned. She wasn't going to look in the notebook anyway. But she liked teasing Aegon.
"Do you draw, too?"
'Do you draw too?' Aemond was drawing? he thought.
Aegon shook his head and reached for the notebook, wrapping his fingers around hers.
"Your diary then? Your brothel diary?"
Aegon squeezed her fingers tighter. "No, and no. Will you give it to me now?"
y/n gave in and let Aegon take the notebook.
She could have teased him for hours, but the feel of his hands on hers sent butterflies in her stomach that she hadn't felt in months.
She let herself sink into one of the armchairs. "What is the brothel like? As you know, I have no one to ask, but I've always wondered."
Aegon's lips formed a straight line. "It's not that fancy. Think of it as a place full of people pretending to be in love with you because you're a prince and you have money," he said and sat down next to her, putting the notebook away from her. He put his feet up on the table in front of the armchair.
y/n found Aegon's sadness funny. She'd never seen anyone upset about going to a brothel.
"Oh, my poor prince. Does it upset you when they pretend to be in love with you?"
'My prince.' Aegon's heart raced. He felt like a fool. How could a word she had used so casually have made such an impression on him?
"Don't joke, y/n. It even affects my performance," he said and laughed under his breath.
She laughed too. "You poor thing. I'm sure one of them must have fallen in love with your silver locks. Or your smile, your sense of humor, and violet eyes that scream that you come from far away."
y/n gasped as she realized what she had said, and Aegon swallowed hard, blushing slightly at how quickly she had listed his likable qualities.
"Maybe I should go back to my chambers."
Aegon raised his eyes to her lips. "Why would you go?"
y/n pulled her head back nervously. "Why? I have to stay away from my husband's brother. They're right."
Aegon looked away. For her, he would always be her husband's brother.
He was not Prince Aegon to her, not Crown Prince Aegon, not even her friend Aegon.
He was always her husband's brother.
"The same goes for your husband, doesn't it?"
y/n put her hand on Aegon's shoulder. "I suppose so."
She took his chin in her other hand and turned his face to hers. They both looked at each other's lips.
"y/n, if we do anything now, I will regret it for the rest of my life. And so will you." He wouldn't regret it, but her regret would ruin him.
"No, I won't regret it."
Aegon released his chin from her grasp and gently removed his hand from her shoulder.
"Tell me something," she said.
"I like spending time with you."
y/n kept looking at his lips. "I like spending time with you, too."
Aegon spoke, not caring how inappropriate his words might be. "I think your parents married you off to the wrong brother. My father was hungry for your family's support, and I'm sure he would have agreed to marry you off to his heir. And your parents would have been happier with their arrangement."
y/n averted her eyes. "If I had married you, would things have been the way they are now? Perhaps you are drawn to me because I am forbidden. If we were married, would you stop going to brothels? Would you carry me around as your wife and not even look at me in our chambers?"
Aegon's eyes widened in astonishment. "You're not aware of anything."
y/n became angry. "I know nothing. And no one is willing to tell me anything. If the only problem is that I'm not aware of things, why don't you enlighten me?" she asked in an angry, mocking tone.
"If I could, I would have told you by now."
"Aegon! I hate you and your brother. You're both so stupid!"
Aegon laughed. "It may be the only thing we have in common."
y/n didn't laugh, and she kept her angry stare.
Aegon made a foolish suggestion to deflect and relieve the tension. "How about I take you to the brothel one day?"
"I don't know which Westeros you live in, but in the Westeros, I live in, a lady going to a brothel is frowned upon."
Aegon smiled. He threw his head back and leaned back against the seat. "I thought 'fuck people' was our way of life."
y/n squinted at him. "To dishonor Aemond? Yes. To go to a brothel? No. I can't even leave the castle."
Aegon straightened up in his seat and lowered his legs from the table. His face lit up at the idea coming into his mind. "How about I get you out of the castle?"
y/n looked at him curiously. "Where would we go?"
"We'll go to the city! Trust me, I can give you the happiest day of your life!"
The girl looked around, unsure. "But what if someone sees us?"
"We'll disguise ourselves! We'll hide under cloaks. I'm sure nothing will happen."
"I don't think a cloak will be enough to hide you. I'm sure the small folk and your buddies from Flea Bottom will recognize you anyway."
Aegon laughed. "Dear y/n, I don't hide behind clothes when I'm going into the city, so no one can think I'm the one hiding."
y/n covered her face with her hands. "I wish I had been born a Targaryen prince. No matter how immoral you behave, no one seems to mind."
Aegon stood up. "Believe me, everyone minds. I've just learned to close my ears to them."
He held out his hand to her. "Are you coming?"
"Right now? Today?"
"It couldn't be a better day, y/n. You're away from your clingy husband, and if he hasn't come looking for you by now, he won't come looking for you now."
"Fine," she said, unsure. "But if anyone sees us, I'll tell them you kidnapped me and forced me out of the castle."
Aegon laughed. "Fair enough."
y/n took Aegon's hand and stood up. Aegon pulled her gently towards him.
She put her other hand on his chest. "Aegon..."
"y/n."
She kept her head down and hid her gaze, but Aegon held her chin with his index and thumb and lifted her head.
y/n looked up at him with a warm look in her eyes.
Aegon began stroking her chin with his thumb.
"You... You are everything."
She took a deep breath. "Aegon..." she said prayerfully. y/n wanted to say his name over and over. She wanted his name to be the only word that left her lips. May the gods forgive her that she could readily put him in their place.
They stood so close together. The only barrier between them was their clasped hands. Aegon held her hand so tightly that he would never let go again.
y/n lowered her eyes to his lips.
Aegon brought his hand from her chin to the side of her head and brought her face closer to his.
"If I kiss you, will you regret it?"
y/n felt her ears grow hot, her face aflame. "Would you regret it?"
"Never," Aegon said instantly.
y/n felt her eyelashes heavy with desire. But the excitement Aegon felt was beyond his desires.
The fact that he was so close to y/n and knowing she desired him was above everything else.
"What are you waiting for?" asked y/n, wanting to feel his lips on hers.
"Your consent."
y/n thought. She had always known this day would come.
Everyone knew. Aegon knew. Aemond knew. That's why he had always been so impulsive with Aegon. That's why he hated her spending time with him.
"Please... Please do something," she said. She was desperate for the slightest interaction.
Aegon looked at her face one last time before he leaned down to her lips.
Her soft lips felt so good against his own. They were smoother and fuller than his.
y/n parted her lips and let Aegon take control. Aegon started kissing her like a starving man.
He dipped his hand into her hair. y/n felt her knees weaken as his fingers began to stroke her head.
y/n squeezed her hand on Aegon's torso and took the fabric of his shirt in her fist.
Slowly Aegon broke their kiss and placed one last kiss on her lips before pulling his head back.
Their hands were still locked together. Aegon had wrapped his other hand around her arm.
They smiled at each other.
"I think we'll have to put off going into the city for another time."
Aegon chuckled. "If that is what you wish, my lady."
There was a brief moment of awkwardness between them, and they stood in silence, looking at each other.
y/n rose on her tiptoes and kissed Aegon again. This time both of her hands clasped behind his neck.
Aegon slowly reached behind her nightgown and began to unbutton it.
When he had undone the last button, the one in the center of her back, he pulled his head back again.
"Are you sure?"
y/n nodded and pressed her lips to his again.
Aegon took her by the arms and pulled her to the front of the bed without breaking their kiss.
He started pulling down her nightgown and withdrew.
y/n shivered when he pulled the nightgown down enough to expose her collarbones.
He pulled down even more to expose the tops of her breasts and finally lowered the nightgown to her stomach.
He began to watch her body intently.
y/n felt herself blushing under Aegon's heavy gaze.
"You are so beautiful."
y/n smiled shyly.
He then helped her to remove her nightgown. y/n grabbed his outstretched arm and got rid of it.
She wasted no time in unbuttoning his shirt and taking it off.
His torso wasn't as muscular as Aemond's. He didn't train as much as he did. And because of the alcohol he drank, his stomach was flat, and he even had a little belly.
His shoulders were as broad as Aemond's. His arms were shadowed, with just enough muscle to make him look strong.
She ran her hands down his arms.
Aegon watched y/n's reactions without blinking, watched her watch his body, watched her run her hands over his body.
When she reached for the button on his pants, Aegon pushed her back slightly, making her lie on the bed.
He climbed on top of her and propped himself up on his elbows.
When they put their lips together again, he balanced himself on one arm and moved his other hand around her body.
Aegon didn't want to leave a single place untouched, unkissed. He ran his hand over y/n's breasts and then placed his hand on the curve of her waist.
He lowered his lips to her neck and began to leave wet kisses.
y/n was on the verge of losing her mind. She could feel the intensity of emotion and desire in his kisses.
He moved his hand from her waist to her breast and squeezed it, causing y/n to moan.
Then he moved his lips from her neck to her collarbones. Aegon wanted to leave a trace of himself on her neck and shoulders, everywhere he could reach.
He sucked her skin until it was red. But he also left her little kisses that screamed "I love you."
Without lingering any longer, he came to her breasts.
y/n's breathing was getting faster and faster. She let out little whimpers that drove Aegon crazy.
When Aegon's lips met her right nipple, she arched her back. Aegon smiled at her reaction.
He started rolling her nipple with one hand. And he brought his lips further down her body.
y/n felt every part of her burn where Aegon's hand had touched her. She wanted more. She craved more.
Aegon slowly moved down as he left open-mouthed kisses on her stomach.
As he settled between her thighs, y/n did something she would never have done so straightforwardly if she hadn't felt that much pleasure: she spread her legs further apart for the man between her thighs.
He ran his fingers over her slit several times. Aegon parted her folds with his fingers and dropped a kiss on her clit.
"Aegon." she moaned his name.
Aegon felt himself getting harder in his pants as if that were possible.
He wrapped his lips around her clit and began to suck slowly.
"Aegon," she moaned again, her voice breathless.
y/n realized that if he kept doing this, she would reach her climax soon. She grabbed his head and lifted it. She wanted to cum with him.
y/n felt herself blushing even more now that their eyes met. Aegon looked at the pink and soon-to-be purple marks left behind as he looked up at her, and he couldn't hide his smile.
"Aegon, please don't linger."
"I'm not lingering, y/n. I'm trying to make you feel good."
y/n smiled. "I know. But all I want is to feel you inside me."
If Aegon hadn't stopped himself, he would have almost moaned.
He got up from the bed and untied his pants. He quickly took it off. Then he didn't hesitate to pull down his underwear.
y/n gasped at the sight. He was thick and long. The head of his cock was red and seemed to be throbbing.
She sat on the bed and moved closer to Aegon.
She ran her fingers up and down his cock.
She squeezed her thighs, wanting to wrap her lips around his cock and run her tongue over the vein at the base.
y/n ran her thumb over the tip of his cock, and Aegon grabbed one of the bedposts and closed his eyes tightly.
"If you keep this up, I'm going to cum."
She giggled. "Would that be so bad?"
Aegon opened his eyes and looked at the girl sitting on his bed. "If I have other plans for it, yes."
y/n sat up on her knees and placed her hands on his shoulders. "What plans?"
"I can cum inside you, for example."
She pretended to think. "Or in my mouth."
Aegon took another deep breath. "Another time, I promise."
She grinned. "Another time... So you want to keep it going?"
Aegon pressed a kiss to her lips. "As long as you want to."
y/n pressed their lips together and pulled him to her.
They found themselves in the same position on the bed again.
Aegon moved his index finger to her entrance. He stroked it a few times and carefully began to push his finger in.
y/n closed her eyes at the slight pressure of his finger at her entrance and waited for him to put his finger completely.
She had never felt anything like Aegon's finger, even though she had fingered and imagined herself in this situation whenever she could.
It was something else between them, not obligation, not duty. It was pure pleasure.
Aegon moved his finger a few more times, then withdrew it and quickly sucked on it.
"I can't believe you didn't let me."
"Another time, I promise."
Aegon chuckled. "Remember your promise."
She nodded and watched Aegon's movements. He pumped his cock several times and spread his precum over his cock.
y/n bit her lip at the sight of him.
Aegon raised his head and looked at her. "You're ready. Are you sure you want to do it?"
She nodded. "Yes, I do. I want you, Aegon."
Aegon stroked the inside of her thigh with his left hand.
She moaned as the tip of his cock entered her. Aegon waited a moment for her to adjust, but y/n was impatient.
She didn't want it to be slow or gentle. There was no point in being slow if the desire that burned them both was coming true.
y/n lifted her head from the pillow. "Aegon, please..."
Just saying his name was enough to make him do anything she wanted.
He carefully pushed the rest of his cock.
Then he started to move back and forth. And he leaned over y/n's face.
They were both moaning into each other's mouths, their breaths mingled together.
Aegon wrapped one of her legs around his waist for a better angle and squeezed it.
y/n could no longer keep her eyes open and closed them tightly.
She wanted to look into Aegon's eyes. But she couldn't find the strength to keep them open.
Aegon watched her face intently to not to miss any of her gestures.
He watched as she frowned with pleasure and kept her mouth slightly open.
Sometimes she ran her hands along his arms. Sometimes she held the sheet tightly and wrapped her legs tighter around him.
Then Aegon felt embarrassed by the pressure in his stomach.He couldn't remember ever reaching his climax so fast. Even in his first time, it took longer.
"y/n. I'm close."
y/n opened her eyes slightly and looked up at him. "I'm close too," she said, barely speaking.
Aegon quickened his moves and brought his hand from her leg to between their bodies, and began to draw circles on her clit. "Come with me."
The three-word command was enough to make y/n cum instantly.
Aegon came right after her. He slowly pulled out of her, thinking she might be sensitive.
He threw himself onto the bed next to her. Their breasts rose and fell rapidly.
y/n turned towards Aegon and placed a hand on his chest.
Her hand was right over his heart, and she could feel how fast his heart was beating.
At that point, even Aegon didn't know whether his heart was beating so fast because he had just come or because he was so excited to have y/n with him.
He put his free arm around her and turned her towards him. Then he hugged her tightly.
Now she was lying on his chest. He stroked her back with his hands as he wrapped his arms around her.
"My y/n."
y/n closed her eyes. She let herself relax to the sound of his heartbeat.
"What do we do now?" she asked in a sleepy voice.
"We're going to sleep and not worry about tomorrow."
y/n nodded and fell asleep in his arms.
Aegon couldn't fall asleep for a long time. He buried his nose in her hair and took deep breaths, trying to savor the moment. Once he was sure she was asleep, he murmured I love you many times.
Tomorrow's problem was going to be solved tomorrow.
He surrendered himself to sleep like the woman he loved lying in his arms.
xxx
A quick knock on the door woke them both with a start.
"Come back later," Aegon said, thinking it was a maid.
As y/n settled back into his arms, another knock was on the door.
"Aegon, open the fucking door!"
Aegon jumped at the familiar voice. They both looked at each other in horror.
"Wait a minute!"
Aegon quickly changed into yesterday's clothes and found y/n's nightgown on the floor. He threw it at her. She slipped it on and sat on the bed, looking at him with fearful eyes.
"What are we going to do?"
Aemond knocked on the door again as Aegon paced quickly around the room. "Come on!"
Aegon leaned towards y/n and whispered. "I'll send him away, okay? Just keep quiet."
She nodded, but her worries were not gone. Aegon placed a kiss on her lips and got up from the bed.
He turned around to see if she was visible through the door. y/n hid behind the curtains around the bed.
Aegon opened the door just enough to see his brother's face.
"What is it?"
Aemond snorted. "y/n left last night and never came back."
Aegon felt his heart race with fear. "What does this have to do with me?"
Aemond looked over Aegon's head into the room, but Aegon closed the door even further. "You are close, after all. I thought she might have come to you."
Aegon put his hand on the doorjamb, blocking him further from entering the room, but he knew he couldn't stop Aemond if he wanted to. "She's not here."
Aemond laughed, but he was angry. "I'd better check myself."
Aegon squeezed the doorjamb tighter. "Are you a fool, Aemond? Why would I lie?"
Aemond shoved Aegon in the chest. He took a few steps back, and Aemond rushed into the room.
After a brief look around, he made his way to the bed. Then one of y/n's maids burst into the room. "My prince?" she said to Aemond.
Aemond turned toward her. "What is it?"
"Prince Maelor has become restless. He is with the queen. Her grace wants you with them."
Aemond took a deep breath and looked at the bed one last time.
"How many times has my mother told you not to bring your whores to the castle, Aegon?"
Aegon's lips formed a thin line. "How many times have I listened to her?"
Aemond looked at him sternly and left the room.
The servant waited for the prince to leave the room and then went to Aegon. "A few people saw Lady y/n coming here. I came to warn her."
Aegon nodded. "Thank you."
y/n got out of bed. "Ava."
The maid bowed to her. "My lady. You can tell him you slept with me last night in the servants' quarters."
y/n smiled and nodded. "Thank you."
The maid smiled too. "I will wait for you in your chambers, my lady." she bowed and left.
y/n turned towards Aegon. "I'd better go and get dressed."
Aegon nodded and took her arm as she walked past him. "We can pretend it didn't happen if you like, y/n."
y/n took a deep breath. "I don't know, Aegon. I'll think about it," she said and left the room.
xxx
The queen's maids were looking for her. They had told her that the queen wanted to see her.
She got dressed in her chambers and went to the queen's chambers.
She sighed inside, but she was happy to see her son.
On the way to the queen's chambers, her mind drifted to Aegon, but she pushed him out of her mind.
When she came to the queen's chambers, the guard at her door bowed at her. "The queen is waiting for you, my lady," he said. And he opened the door for her to pass through.
When y/n walked through the door, Aemond caught her eye directly. He was sitting in the armchair ahead fireplace, watching the fire.
y/n realized that he was thinking about something.
Whenever Aemond was thoughtful, he would play with his fingers and nibble the inside of his cheek.
Without saying a word to anyone, she took her son from her mother-in-law, who was coming towards her. "Good morrow, y/n. How are you?"
y/n smiled as she rocked her son back and forth in her arms. "Good morrow, your grace. I'm doing fine. How are you?"
The queen smiled warmly at her and went to Aemond.
"Hello, Maelor," y/n whispered to her son.
Aemond gripped the arm of the chair and crossed his legs.
As always, hearing his wife's voice gave him butterflies.
The queen sat opposite him.
Aemond watched his wife and son in fascination.
He had already forgotten about their fight and that y/n had not returned to him at night. He wanted it to be night again, to fall asleep feeling y/n's warmth.
"What do you think of what happened at the small council? I don't know what to answer anymore," the queen said to her son.
Aemond's gaze was on his wife.
y/n was leaning over Maelor, smiling and whispering sweet things. Their son finally seemed to be asleep and at peace.
"I say let them have what they want. We've always condoned everything they've done for our alliance. It's just a marriage that has nothing to do with us. Is it?" The queen asked.
Aemond turned to his mother. "Of course," he said.
The queen was not satisfied with his answer. "Are you listening, Aemond?"
Aemond sighed and began to fiddle with the arm of the chair. "Isn't it going to be discussed in council tomorrow anyway? Let's not talk about affairs of state all the time."
His mother clasped her hands together. "Yes, it is going to be discussed tomorrow. But I want to be prepared. And I want to know what your opinion is."
Aemond laughed lightly. "It's all about Lord Lannister's arrogance.I don't care who he marries. Let him have his wedding at the Red Keep. You've already done everything he's ever wanted. What is different now?"
The queen sighed. "I'm not a fan of Lord Lannister either. But it's important to keep him on our side. He is Jason Lannister, lord of Casterly Rock."
Aemond nodded briefly and stood up. "y/n?"
y/n hugged her son tightly and looked up at her husband. "Yes, Aemond?"
Aemond walked over and took her arm gently. "Do you want to go back to our room?"
y/n nodded, tired and feeling uneasy.
"We're going to our chambers, mother. Let me know if there's anything else."
The queen smiled and nodded.
y/n bowed to the queen, but the queen stopped her as if she had remembered something. "Helaena said she would have tea with you today. Tea will be ready in her room in a few hours."
That they were going to have tea together was out of y/n's mind. "Yes, your grace. I will go to her chambers."
Together they left the room and walked silently down the long corridor. The queen's chambers were almost at the other end of the castle.
Aemond stayed behind y/n because of the thoughts in his head. y/n walked quickly without waiting for him.
When Aemond realized he was behind her, he quickly caught up with her. "y/n, I'm sorry for everything I've done."
"Let's talk about this later, okay?" said y/n calmly.
y/n was happy he was finally talking about this, but she felt tired.
And she didn't want to have this conversation with him right now in that crowd when the servants and the ladies who lived in the castle could hear them.
Aemond nodded and gently took y/n's arm as she led their sons to their chambers.
next chapter
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As You Are
Oneshot (full fic available on Ao3)
Relationship: Aemond Targaryen / AFAB Reader
Word Count: 11,244
Summary: Lady Reader is sent to marry Prince Aemond to forge an alliance between their houses 💕 11k words of pining after one another, and a romantic wedding night that's hard to forget xx
Warnings: Smut, 18+ themes
You stood outside the towering doors of the throne room. Your chest was tight with anticipation, eyes blank as you stared at the stone floor and waited for what felt like an eternity, struggling to calm yourself before you heard the roar of the crowd on the other side and it all became real again.
Everyone on this side was quiet - unnervingly so - your own father and mother not quite certain what words of advice or comfort they should have offered you before your whole world changed forever.
"It's time." He said quietly.
If you could have ignored it, you would.
Footsteps and the clink of armour echoed down the hallway as the White Cloaked Kingsguard came into view, accompanying your new husband and his mother Queen Alicent to meet you in the Vestibule so that you may enter the hall as one.
It was a political match, not one born of fondness and familiarity - truth be told. You had never met the young Prince Aemond or any of his family before you had come to the Sept to be wed, and the only words you had exchanged were your wedding vows before you had been whisked away from one another again and brought back to the Red Keep.
He stalked towards you with purpose. His quiet confidence both impressive and so intimidating that even without his Valyrian features or missing eye he would still stand out from a crowd of lesser men. You felt an uneasy flutter in the pit of your stomach when he stopped beside you and tucked his broad arms behind his back with a slight grin.
"My Prince," You curtsey to greet him again, trying to keep your voice calm and even. "Husband."
He observed you a moment, his expression giving nothing away just as it had done in the Sept, but there was an intensity to him now that drew the breath from your lungs and made your eyes widen as he reached down to take your hand and bring it carefully to his lips.
His voice was barely above a whisper, meant for you and you alone, but you felt a heat flush through your body all the same.
"My Wife."
There was nothing indecent about it, as far as everyone else was concerned this was just a man greeting his lady wife for the first time. Yet the way he watched you with his violet eye made you feel as if he could see right through to the bone - so raw and exposed before him that Aemond knew the deepest parts of you that you didn't know yourself. Every inch of your soul laid bare so you could never go unseen again.
"I trust that the journey back to the Red Keep was without issue?" Queen Alicent addressed your parents, her voice snapping your attention back to the task ahead.
Your mother replied with an "Of course, Your Grace.", but you noticed that Aemond had still not averted his gaze.
Once the last of the pleasantries were said and done you took a deep breath and readied yourself, only slightly reassured by the way Aemond linked his arm around yours when you turned to face the door. You forced yourself to smile as you entered the throne room to great applause, but found that your nerves soon turned to awe once you saw the scope of the festivities.
Hundreds of guests gathered around endless wooden tables and benches. Great houses across the kingdom from Winterfell to Oldtown here to celebrate the union, all sat beneath sparkling black silk woven with silver and starlight that draped from the columns and ceiling - dancing in the heat that rose from the lit braziers that lined the great stone walls. The three headed dragon of the Targaryen's also hung on a black banner on the back wall behind the Iron Throne, surrounded by smaller flags and standards carrying your own house sigil as compliment.
It was a reminder to all those present the strength of this ancient family that you have now married into.
"Remember where you are," His voice was low, warning. "Do not give anything away in front of those eager to take advantage."
You did not even notice that you had been squeezing Aemond's arm until you felt his fingers slip over your hand, carefully easing your grip on him once you arrived before King Viserys to kneel at the conqueror's seat. There he was a sickly figure sat amidst the twisted iron and steel, the King's fading presence almost swallowed by the throne as the years had taken their toll, appearing even frailer still when you compared him to your groom - but you kept your face still and paid your respects as expected.
"Such a comely bride," Viserys smiled and waved his frightfully thin hand to beckon you both to rise. "A good match, better than I had hoped for you. Well done, boy!"
He gave no speech as you had expected, his energy perhaps already spent climbing the steps to the throne before the guests had gathered. However, you noticed the way that Aemond tensed at the compliment as if it were an insult.
Better than he had hoped. Those words lingered in your thoughts for quite some time after you took your seat at the table laid out across the dais, where you sat quietly on your husband's blind side, hardly paying attention when The Lord Hand Otto Hightower delivered a toast to your health and wishes for a prosperous marriage. Better than he had hoped. As if his expectations had been so low.
You cast a glance towards Aemond and search for any fault that might stand out to you but find none on the surface. By all accounts - apart from the patch that obscured his eye - he was handsome in an unusual yet striking way, his strong features somehow appeared softer against the glow of candlelight, and his silver hair flowed loose like silk past his the broad shoulders of his black and red velvet doublet. He wore the colours of his house well, far better than his ailing father - who had quietly been led out of the chamber whilst the rest of the guests were distracted by the festivities.
For a long time you found it hard to look away from your new husband, until he caught you at least.
He put down his goblet and turned his head so that he could see you properly. "My Lady, did you want something?"
"Oh, I-" You stopped, desperate for an excuse to be less awkward, and grasped the first thing that came to your head. "I just wondered if you would like to dance, my Prince?"
Aemond's brow furrowed, his arm rested against the hard wood of the table as he rubbed his thumb against his forefinger and let out a contemplative hum. "I do not really..." He replied, your eyes catching the way that his throat bobbed as he paused before continuing. "I am not one for dancing, my Lady."
You pressed your lips together and leaned back into your seat, more disappointed than you had expected to be. You hadn't even had a particular desire to take to the dance floor, only using it as an excuse, but the utter disinterest in joining you had left you slightly unsettled.
"I see," You let out a breath, determined not to show it. He had warned you to give nothing away in public and you were not foolish enough to forget so quickly. "So what do you like then? To occupy your time with, I mean."
He was quiet a moment longer, the silence between you interrupted only by a snicker from the nearby Prince Aegon to remind you that you were not truly alone.
"I read." He finally said and averted his gaze from you, taking another long pause before elaborating, as if he did not know quite how to talk about himself without being pushed. "I spend a great amount of time in our library."
You forced a smile to cover the fact that on the inside you were wincing, wondering why trying to get to know your new husband was akin to pulling teeth, and cast a glance towards his older brother - sat next to Aemond on the side of his good eye - who had been knocking back wine as if it was water.
You noticed the mercurial smugness etched onto his face as he looked between the pair of you, slurping as he downed the rest of his goblet and placed it back down on the table with a satisfying clunk.
He smirked and gave you a pointed look as if to say watch this.
"Surely your lovely wife does not want to hear about dusty old books." He said a little too loudly and let out a shrill laugh.
For a second you did not understand the purpose of such a flippant remark, but then you saw the way that Aemond's jaw clenched at the sound of Aegon's incessant giggling, and the considered cold stare that fell across his face at the mention of you. Perhaps it was just the stress of the day, or the natural friction between siblings that every family shared, but it did not take you long to realise that there was a deeper tension between the two.
"I do not mind," You tried to conciliate, turning to Aemond and continued. "Do you have a fav-"
"I mean," Aegon cut you off, "You could be enjoying the finer things in life! Wine, women... more wine and women?" He leaned back in his seat as if to ponder the thought. "You really ought to try to have more fun, dear brother!"
Aemond flexed his hand, tapping his fingers against the table as he inhaled deeply and took a moment to decide whether biting the obvious bait would be worth it.
"Should I?" An amused hum played across his lips. "Although, I confess that I find my current endeavours to be a much better use of my time than indulging in your endless hedonism and depravity."
"You-" Aegon began to reply, but it was you that interrupted the flow of conversation this time - the sound of your laughter cutting through the tension to draw their attention back to you.
Aemond's eye met yours the moment you went to cover your mouth, trying to scrape back some modicum of politeness in front of royalty, but instead of the disapproval you had expected you found a warmth that had not been there prior. You had enjoyed his remark. The realisation clear upon his face as the corner of his mouth curled into a slight smile, a small victory shining in his violet eye as he watched and waited for more.
"Do you agree, My Lady?"
"I do," You replied, blinking slowly as you tried and failed to fight the urge to smile back at him. "Aside from reading, are there any other pursuits that you enjoy?"
This time he did not hesitate to reply, the guarded wall he kept up appeared to shrink a little now that he was more sure of you.
"I am also quite skilled with a sword. I often train in the yard with Ser Criston."
"Yet you do not dance?"
You tilted your head to the side, eyes fixed to his as you felt yourself drawn in closer and more curious than before. At first you had asked because you thought you ought to, now you asked because you wanted it.
Aemond shifted in his seat and let out a slow breath, the tightness in his posture relaxing when he gave you his reply:
"Fighting and dancing are quite different."
"I disagree," You smile and shake your head. "'tis all in the footwork is it not? Battle has a rhythm of its own. What good is a swordsman that lacks grounding or the ability to move? To weave through a crowd and pick out a partner to face off against?"
"You paint quite the picture." That slight smile had not left his face.
"Why not try it and find out?" You challenged him a little, raising a brow as you took a sip of wine.
Aemond did not refuse immediately like he had the last time. His gaze shifted low as he considered, then looked back to you again, then to the crowd that stood in the centre of the hall socialising where the dancing would have taken place.
"... You're very insistent."
It wasn't a no.
"If you don't want to embarrass yourself at your own wedding, I am happy to take your place," Aegon reminded you of his presence yet again, this time clasping his brother's broad shoulder and giving it a playful squeeze as he leaned in to whisper the rest, "... Perhaps in your other duties as well."
Although it was hushed you still heard the scandalous remark, scoffing in disgust a few seconds after you allowed it to sink in what he meant by 'other duties' - and it seemed that your husband also found it exceedingly distasteful.
"You have had enough to drink." Aemond did not shrug Aegon off, but gave him a warning glare that silently screamed a command to remove his hand. Aegon, ever the fool, did not heed it and continued.
"I am still awake and capable, so have not!" Aegon countered, lifting his goblet above his head in a mock toast. "What do you say, Lady Reader?"
But before you could answer, Aemond spoke.
"You have your own wife to occupy yourself with," He grasped Aegon's fingers and peeled them off his doublet, his voice dropping lower and more threatening. "Surely you do not need mine."
Mine.
You could feel the way your heart leapt at that, how strange you felt for enjoying it, how embarrassed you were that you wanted to hear him say it again and again.
The way he spoke the word was so different to how it had sounded in the Sept as you said your vows - that your were his and he was yours - not gentle or disinterested as it had once been but guarded, almost domineering, as if this was the only way he could make his brother realise that one more insult against you would not be tolerated.
"I may put my hands on our sister whenever I like," Aegon huffed, and you truly felt sorry for Princess Helaena. "To brush up against Lady Reader is such a rare opportunity."
Before you could even think to say something, the screech of Aemond's chair scraping against the stone floor rang out across the hall, drawing everyone's attention to the dais as he slammed his goblet down and slowly stood to face his brother. Sound after sound diminished - first the music, then the raucous laughter from the benches, then the hushed whispers as all the Lords and Ladies gathered on the floor - until an expectant silence blanketed the entire throne room.
Even Aegon was quiet as he cautiously tilted his head up to meet Aemond's eye, perhaps realising that he really had taken things too far.
Your husband did not move for a moment, flexing his jaw and inhaling before he looked away and remembered where he was. His earlier warning to you to be careful what you showed in public temporarily forgotten as concerned onlookers and gossiping courtiers eagerly awaited to see the conflict boil over.
For a moment you thought it might, but Aemond would not give them the satisfaction.
"Come," He said loud enough for everyone to hear, holding his hand out to you with an impassive face. "Let us join our guests on the floor."
He would give them something else entirely.
Your eyes darted between him and Aegon, then back to the rest of the people gathered in the hall, as you slowly brought your hand up to his.
There was still so much tension in his posture as he wove his fingers between yours but he still managed to move with an unexpected fluidity and grace, guiding you away from the table with his other hand ghosting the small of your back.
"You do not have to -" You began to whisper.
Aemond brought his mouth close to your ear, "Yes, I do."
You felt yourself almost stumble as your foot found the step, the tickle of his breath against your neck distracting your focus, a warm flush pooling in the pit of your stomach at the way he brought his hand to your waist to steady you.
"I'm sorry." You laughed nervously.
He said nothing, did not move his hand as you walked to the centre of the room together, did not heed the whispers or the way that people gawked at he close he was to you - this was the only spectacle he would allow. It was a performance to hide the fissures in his house before others could widen those cracks.
You stood side by side and watched as Aemond waved a hand toward the bards and minstrels that had stopped playing, giving them the go ahead to start again as the rest of the floor cleared of guests to accommodate their Prince. Your Prince.
The rhythm began quietly, each stroke of the drum skin building the anticipation as the two of you stepped away in opposite directions, turning to face each other and take it all in as the sound of long string notes eased you into the introduction. You bowed your head and lifted your arm, tilting your neck ever so slightly as you watched him match your movement and take a diagonal step towards you like a knight circling his equal on the field.
He had taken your words to heart then, 'battle has a rhythm of its own', and he was determined to test it for himself.
You let out a deep breath as he dipped out of view to appear on your other side, snatching your hand back as his fingers grazed yours, a teasing grin etched upon your face as you looked him straight in the eye.
You heard the titter of the crowd, amused on-lookers curious to see what he would do next, but Aemond just stepped back - waiting, watching, his gaze fixed on you - arm outstretched, not in invitation but as if he held a sword.
As if it were a challenge.
You took a step forward and raised your own, twisting your wrist as if you were twirling a thin blade above your head before you met him and crossed - lunging for him only to be sidestepped, his silver hair grazing you as he weaved past to the sound of scattered applause.
"I did not ask at the table," He finally spoke as you turned to face him and tapped your foot, "I apologise."
"For what?" You replied and followed his lead, circling each other with your arms held in a matching guarding stance.
"For not inquiring after your interests when we discussed mine. I take it you like this?"
You smiled. "Yes."
You both paced around each other so that you were back-to-back, but you would have given anything to continue looking at his face whilst you spoke. There was something so intoxicating about the way he looked at you, with a gentle intensity that made him feel as if he was the only person in the whole room that could see you.
"I also like to read," You continued, looking over your shoulder to find him doing the same. "... And I enjoy riding."
An amused hum escaped his lips, "Have you ever ridden a dragon?"
You were aware that he already knew what your answer would be. You were not a Targaryen, and you had never seen one of their dragons in the flesh, but you humoured him regardless.
"I have not."
He turned behind you and leaned in to whisper, his one hand coming to rest against your hip whilst the other stroked along your arm until your fingers met again. He was touching you more than he ought to in public, exploring, pushing to see what he could get away with.
"It is not quite the same as a horse."
You let out a breathy laugh, "Is it not terrifying?" you asked and wrapped your hand around his as he raised it above your head.
"Extremely." Your affections danced as he twirled you, "Enough to make one's heart race. There is nothing as thrilling in this world - to be able to soar through the skies, to touch the clouds and chase storms... Men spend their entire lives wishing for what Vhagar and I can do in an afternoon."
He was much more talkative now that it was only you in earshot, and you realised that perhaps that initial reservedness had only been because of Aegon - that he had known that everything he said would be derided or because he did not want to be embarrassed by his older brother's behaviour.
This was a man of so many unspoken words, so complex and new behind the veneer, someone that you would study endlessly and never tire of.
"Would you take me?" You asked, trying to imagine the way his arms would wrap around you on that dragon, as the wind whipped through your hair and the cities seemed to shrink into insignificance below.
"If you want me to." He stopped and smiled. "If she will let you."
You both travelled in time to the music, spinning away from him as you moved to parry and riposte his next attacking movement, and laughed when you heard gasps and claps from the crowd.
Aemond became relentless then, darting towards you to strike again as you both orbited the floor - defending as you fled from him with a wicked grin and the tap of your shoes against the stone. You could feel your blood coursing through your veins, steady breaths quickening as you focused every ounce of physicality on matching him, the push and pull of your dance quickened with the beat until you finally met the moment of conclusion.
Aemond made a disarming gesture, knocking your arm back in a sweeping motion as he closed the distance between you, clutching your waist as he hoisted you into the air, his strong thigh resting beneath your leg, to place you back down half a heartbeat later as the final swell of the song came to its end.
"I thought you said that you did not dance." You breathed, your chest heaving as you tilted your head up.
A rapturous applause filled the room as you both stood there panting, but the cheering and whistles were not enough to pull your attention away from each other as you held his longing gaze. The striking violet of his eye trailed down your face for a moment, watching the way your lips turned up as if he was considering something he should not, as his hand caressed the outline of your dress one last time before he dropped his grip on you and moved away.
"I don't."
There was a smug smile on his face as he stepped off the dance floor, leaving you behind as the rest of the guests returned to their spaces when the next song began, heading in the direction of Otto Hightower who had been watching from the sidelines. You decided not to follow, to give him some space or room to breathe - seven hells you knew that you needed it - and made your way back into the circle of Ladies gathered on the dance floor that were ready to perform a much simpler carole.
Out of the corner of your eye you could still see Prince Aegon sat atop the dais, the mock concern he had worn earlier long gone from his drawn face, watching you with a self-satisfied smile as he winked and mouthed the words 'you're welcome' just as you began to move again.
It all suddenly clicked - why Aegon had been so persistent in spite of the clear animosity he was met with. He had goaded Aemond into dancing with you, knew that poking him would garner that response, and had wanted you to see it.
You felt slight gratitude and disgust all at once, thankful for the favour but displeased with the method, and wondered if he had not meant the things that he said at the table. Had he simply said those words to get what he wanted or was there a kernel of truth to them?
Based on Aemond's reaction though, you doubted his intentions were all that noble.
The next song came to an end soon enough and in the pause between pieces you looked around the room for your husband, only to find that you had lost him in the crowd - spirited away with no trace or hint to where he may have gone.
That soft longing surprised you, the way you felt as if he had taken a part of you with him when he was gone, the way you no longer felt quite whole, how quickly you had become so drawn to him. Your Mother had warned you that love could take time or might never come at all, that perhaps even warming to one another might be difficult in an arranged match - but with Aemond it already felt like there was something there.
In those brief touches and stolen glances you found a foundation, the potential for a good life together, for more affection than what most people had.
You needed a break from the festivities, some air to clear your head so that you could manage your expectations, stepping off the dance floor to find a balcony or window to refresh your whirring mind. You only made it halfway toward the steps to the gallery before you heard someone call your name, the last person you wanted to speak to at that moment, Aegon swayed toward you as if in a stupor accompanied by the youngest brother Daeron who you had not had the pleasure of meeting yet.
"Going so soon?" His tongue tripped over the words, slurring his speech. "Have I missed my chance to ask you to dance?"
He was drunk, that much was clear, but so were many of the guests, and Aemond was not there this time to act as a buffer.
"Apologies, My Prince. I fear that I have worn myself out." You gave him a watery smile. "Perhaps there is another that would gladly take my place."
Daeron nodded his head at you and went to take his brother by the arm. "Come, let us leave our new sister alone and find our fun elsewhere." He offered a reprieve, albeit brief. You watched as Aegon wiggled his arm away and shook his head.
"No no - if the Lady is tired we should see her to bed!" He giggled.
"Aegon." Daeron warned.
Your heart dropped when the eldest prince took another step toward you, arms wide with enthusiasm, the thought of him touching you or encouraging others to do so enough to make your stomach churn.
"But it is tradition! Show some respect."
Sure enough it was, although you wanted no part in it.
You had seen it happen at your cousin's wedding to one of the Mallister boys, the way she sobbed and begged the men to leave her dress untouched as they hoisted her into the air to carry her to their wedding bed, the way she had been so quiet and withdrawn the morning after. You had warned your parents that you would not tolerate such treatment, although deep down you knew it wasn't something that she had wanted either.
Women in Westeros seldom had the power to choose their own fate but your Father promised you that much at least - if you did your duty and married Prince Aemond without complaint, they would make sure that you were not mistreated or humiliated in front of the court - but when you looked around for him amidst the crowd, you did not see that familiar face looking out for you with concern.
"Mother and Aemond will not like it." Daeron kept his voice measured, but he cast a cautious glance at you - as if to tell you to flee the first chance you got. "Let us go find him and leave the Lady in peace."
"Where is our brother? 'Tis unlike him to hide from his duty," Aegon stumbled forward, the wine in his cup sloshing onto the floor. "Come Daeron! Pick her up and help her with her clothes, she will not be needing them much longer."
"Aegon!" Daeron hissed.
"It's just a bit of fun!"
You forced a smile and used every ounce of your composure to stop yourself from shaking, not in fear - but anger. "I'm sure my Lord Father will not find it as amusing," You said, but your words were laced with bile and an implicit threat. "And I imagine that the Queen will not be best pleased either."
You hated this. You hated the fact that you had to hide behind other people's positions, to try to balance the scales enough that he would leave you be, hated that you couldn't reel your hand back and slap him across the face without the fear that it would be the last time you had a hand.
Don't let him touch me. You silently begged The Mother, The Maiden, and any of The Seven that might have cared to keep you safe - although they had never answered your prayers before. Let this be another one of his sick jokes that goes no further.
"You speak too much sense." Aegon rolled his eyes at you, "It's boring."
"My Prince I would really rather not -"
"I have done you a favour tonight by making sure that you had your way with my brother," He laughed, and brought his hand down onto your shoulder, squeezing hard as if to reassure you although it did anything but. "All I want is some entertainment of my OW-"
Aegon let out a pitiful whine as a firm hand suddenly appeared from behind you to clamp around his wrist and twist his grip away, his face scrunched in discomfort when his attention left you in favour of whoever dared interrupt.
"What are you doing?!"
You felt Aemond against your back, his domineering presence offering an unmistakable sense of relief when he placed his spare hand at your waist so that he could pull you away from his brother to put some space between you. He took a step forward, his gaze formidably cold and jaw tight with a quiet fury, digging his fingers into Aegon's wrist without a care for the pain it caused him.
"That is enough. You have had your fun."
"Don't be such a twat," Aegon snatched his arm back and staggered a bit off balance, either from shock or too much wine, and laughed as if to shrug the whole thing off. "If we carry her off to your bed now she can't run away scared when she sees... Look, I'm doing all this for your benefit so just -"
"Quiet." His voice was calm - in the same deceptive way that the air feels before a storm begins to lash - stood so still as the atmosphere around him shifted into something heavy, thick, and unyielding. "You can continue to mock and belittle me all you like brother - you can even lie to yourself and dress it up as 'helping' if that helps to ease that depraved conscience of yours. I allowed you to get away with it earlier this evening for the sake of appearances, but you will not humiliate her to get at me again. Do I make myself clear?"
Aegon went quiet, his whole front beginning to crumble as the smarmy smile was wiped clean off his face, giving way to something more broken and unsure than you had ever seen a man wear before in your life.
"I'm fine." You lied, hoping to diffuse some of the tension between them before it could turn into something uglier.
"No you're not." Daeron finally spoke again. "I should've done more to stop him."
And with that Aegon finally decided he had endured enough. Huffing as he shoved his cup into the hands of a passing servant, he skulked away like a miserable fool that had failed to gain the approval of his patrons rather than the prince that he was.
"Take her to the back of the hall. I shall meet you by the door." Aemond commanded, handing you over to his younger brother as he watched the older push past and almost knock Lord Beesbury over.
"Where are you going?" You asked.
"To ensure he doesn't cause any more trouble." He sighed. "I will be back for you, I swear it."
"I shall go after him," Daeron answered. "You two should enjoy your own wedding."
He did not wait for Aemond's reply, instead moving carefully through the crowd in pursuit of his errant brother, walking slow enough that it did not draw further attention. You were grateful for that at least, that none of the guests had noticed Aegon's behaviour and encouraged him, and that you were not a source of gossip and scandal on your first day at court.
"He is a -" Aemond began to mutter until he caught the way you were watching him again.
"A what?"
He paused to consider, a million different insults to describe Aegon all springing to mind as he lifted his arm for you to take. "... A scoundrel."
"Something tells me that was not the first word that came to mind."
You raised a brow and walked with him across the room, weaving your arm around his as if it were the most natural thing in the world now, his other hand coming to rest against the back of yours.
"The first word is not decent for a Lady to hear." He smirked.
"I do not mind suffering some indecency if it means you feel able to confide in me." You teased, although you meant what you said.
He chuckled at that, albeit brief, but it felt good to hear him laugh - to momentarily ease the tension that seemed to cling to his very soul before it could dig its claws in any deeper.
"I would like that." He quietly admitted, taking you back to your seats at the table atop the dais.
The rest of those that had been sat with you earlier had already vacated their positions, finally leaving the two of you utterly alone, but you both still pulled your chairs closer so that it was easier to speak more discreetly.
"I would too." You nudged him a little.
"I have to been seen to be publicly supportive, even if I remain privately disgruntled by his behaviour. Aegon can taunt and mock all he likes behind closed doors but out in the world we must defend our own - he went too far tonight, embarrassed himself and offended you before I have even had the chance to..." His voice trailed off as if he wasn't quite sure how to continue, no matter how desperately you wanted him to.
"The chance to do what?"
"To know you," he said and it felt as if your heart skipped a beat. "To have a fondness for you, perhaps."
His words danced around the obvious conclusion, that even though your match was a planned one, there was space for something much deeper to take root and flourish between you. He wanted to love you, wanted you to love him, the truth of it was plain as day across his calm expression as you reached for his hand and wove your fingers with his.
You said nothing, not really needing to, instead running your thumb in circles against the back of his hand as you watched his face soften ever so slightly.
"I shall speak with him again in the morning once he is sober," Aemond sighed and continued. "You need not pay him any attention."
"It is difficult not to when one day he may be King." You replied with a half-hearted smile.
"When I cloaked you in the Sept, I brought you under my protection. I will not allow him to bother you as he would a common -" He stopped and let out a hum instead, as if he had caught himself getting wound up again and wanted to moderate his tone. "I am your husband now. You have my name, my honour, my life - and, if necessary, my dragon to remind anyone foolish enough to forget that I am yours and you are mine."
"My Prince..."
Your heart fluttered at the way he leaned into your space, how he was almost as close as he had been in the Sept when he sealed your vows with a kiss - it had been feather-light, curious even, so unlike the intensity you had come to know in the hours since.
"Is that too much? You and I are strangers still, I know." He asked.
You wanted to scream, to tell him that no it wasn't too much - it wasn't enough. You wanted the fire that flickered beneath the surface, yearned for it to set your heart alight as he kissed you properly this time, but you were still in public - still under the ever watchful eye of the nobility, of your families.
So you told him, "We do not have to be." and gave him the confirmation that he needed.
He watched for the way you inched forward, just a little, a hopeful smile on your face as your eyes met his and you felt that lingering uncertainty just melt away.
"The hour is late." He hummed.
"It is."
Aemond gave you another slightly nervous smile out of the corner of his mouth as he looked down at your hand, still stroking against his, and gave you a gentle squeeze. "Perhaps we should go to bed?"
"To bed or..." you paused, waiting until he looked up at you again. "To bed?"
"I would not force it upon you." He sat a little more upright as he spoke, to give you space to consider.
But you already knew your answer.
"You would not need to."
For the first time in your life you were allowed to want something so carnal, to entangle yourself so irrevocably in another person's body and soul, but even as a married woman it still felt shameful to admit. You could feel a heat rise beneath your cheeks as your heart hammered in your chest, your nerves alight with such a strange sense of anticipation - the fear and elation that came from the acknowledging the truth of it all.
"Say something..." You let out a nervous laugh and whispered, "Please?"
Aemond let out a deep breath that you had not noticed he had been holding, drumming the fingers of his other hand against the table, but never taking his eye off you.
"Shall I have them announce our departure, or shall we just quietly disappear?"
He watched you with a hesitant look in his eye, and it was all you could to stare back and lose yourself in that longing gaze, heart murmuring at the way it slowly trailed down your face to meet your lips and linger there a second too long.
"Yes..." You breathed.
Aemond let out a quiet laugh, "To what?"
You smiled and shook your head to yourself, willing your wits to return before you made yourself look even more of a fool. "To disappear together," your voice was a low whisper, "It may be our duty, but that does not mean that we cannot enjoy it on our own terms."
He was quiet after that, considered, the expression he wore seemed almost as if he was slightly fascinated at how easy and simple it actually ought to be - that this moment did not have to be one you both dreaded or endured for the sake of what was expected, that you could enjoy it as much as he might.
You allowed your hand to slip from his grasp, fingers carefully stroking along his skin when you withdrew and went to stand on shaky legs, taking the initiative this time as you beckoned him toward a point of no return.
Come. Come with me and I shall give you everything.
Aemond swallowed before he spoke again, not in a way that made him seem nervous or unsure, but how a warrior prepares for a battle he knows he can win - as if to centre himself, to allow almost a divine certainty to envelop his very being and reforge him into something anew. "Through the door at the back of the hall."
He waited for you to leave first, allowing some distance between you before he also got up from his seat and followed in a way that would not draw attention to your departure, and nodded his head toward Ser Criston Cole once you were over the threshold.
You were equal parts thrilled and terrified when you left the festivities behind, the sound of the crowd growing fainter with every nervous step.
"Where now?" You turned and asked Aemond as he caught up to you, his fingers grazing your sleeve as you both made your way down a long corridor that led out to an open courtyard.
He nodded his head in the direction of an enormous building that was hidden behind a thick interior wall. "No one shall bother us here, not even my brother."
You both continued on to Maegor's Holdfast - the famed castle within the castle where the King and his immediate Targaryen family resided - strolling slowly until members of the Kingsguard came into view at the end of the drawbridge.
"Raise the bridge after we have passed," Aemond commanded. "Lower it for none but my Mother or Sister when they retire for the night."
"My Prince, we were not expecting you!" A tall, bearded brown haired man replied. "Will you stay long? I understood that there are rooms prepared for you and your bride back in the Red Keep."
"We do not want any further interruptions, Ser Arryk." He replied, and the Knight nodded in understanding. It was clear enough that names did not need to be said for them to know your husband referred to Aegon. "Please ensure that we are not disturbed."
Aemond took your hand as you walked along the bridge, quietly warning you to not look down at the dry moat below to see the menacing spikes that jutted up from the stone, and guided you inside toward a twisting stone staircase that led to his personal apartments.
You held your breath as you stepped into the first room, expecting Aemond to be bolder in private and carry you straight off to bed, but you were surprised when he lingered at the door - his hand hovering above the wrought iron bolt as if he was waiting for your approval.
"Thank you." You felt flushed.
"Take your time." He replied and locked the door.
He watched as you took another step forward, inspecting your surroundings as you made your way around the room - noting the living space decorated in green and gold, the bath and dressing room tucked off to the side, and the large four-poster bed that sat atop a platform at the head of the room.
"As Ser Arryk said, there have been rooms prepared for us elsewhere. If you don't like it here -"
"I do." You turned back to him and smiled. "It is yours, My Prince."
"Aemond," He corrected, but there was a feverish look in his eye as he slowly came toward you. "There is no need for titles when we are alone. Call me by my name."
A charged silence hung in their air whilst he waited for your answer, wanting to hear his name on your lips, but there was an anxious flutter that rose in your chest and reminded you that this was all real again - that the touches, the dance, the desire that you felt - it had not been a dream.
"Have you changed your mind?" He asked when you took too long to reply.
"No," You laughed and then softened your voice."I still want to... I just-"
He whispered, "I'm sorry." and for the first time that evening you saw him doubt himself.
He had latched onto that moment of hesitation, as if he had expected it to come and was prepared, his whole body tensing as he halted his progress toward you. With one glance you could see it all - the questioning if what his brother had said was true, that you would panic and flee at the first opportunity, that you would realise that your longing was misplaced once you truly saw him as he was.
"Don't be," You reassured and took a step closer. "It's silly, really."
"Then what is it?" He asked so quietly, but his thoughts were betrayed across his face. She is afraid of me. "Have I... done something?"
And just like that it all clicked into place.
The passing remarks and teasing done by Aegon, the back handed compliment that King Viserys had given him - Better than he had hoped - this evening had been death by a thousand cuts for your husband. Despite his earlier confidence he had still mistaken your nerves for regret, for a type of aversion or rejection that was all too familiar to him.
"You have done nothing to displease me Aemond. Quite the contrary, in fact," You spoke candidly, watching carefully, to see if there was something in your expression that could break through the wall that he was ready to build back up again. "It has just been a long day for the both of us."
It broke your heart a little to see that he thought the worst of himself, so you sighed and moved in closer, rested your hand on his upper arm and gently stroked your thumb against the fabric.
He did not flinch from your touch, but did not relax either. So you continued, "I meant what I said back in the Hall, but I -" you paused to let out a breath. "This is new, I have never done this before... I do not know if you have."
Aemond's brow softened at that, at the worry in your eyes. it was not a fear of him, but of the unfamiliar territory that you had to navigate. He recognised it now - as he had learned the day he claimed Vhagar - that talking and dreaming was one thing, but to take that leap and face it was another entirely.
"It was a long time ago." He admitted.
"Did you love her?"
"No," He said and you believed it. There was no nostalgia or sentimentality in his face or tone, his expression shifting into something that looked almost ashamed as he looked away from your gaze. "It was not... something that I would do again if I had the choice. Let us leave it at that."
There was a story behind that look, perhaps one that you might hear one day, something that had left an indelible mark upon him that he wasn't quite sure how to erase - if it even could be. Perhaps that was why he had been so upset at Aegon's interference, why he had made sure that nobody could take that decision from you too.
"Does it bother you?" He looked up again.
You shook your head, "No."
Aemond eased a little, allowing his shoulders to drop as he slowly brought his hand up and brushed a stray strand of hair out of your face. He lingered a moment when you didn't try to pull away, humming and stroking his thumb across the curve of your cheek, with a look in his eye that told you he couldn't quite believe that you were real.
"____." Your name was a whisper on his lips as he breathed his mother tongue, "Gevie iksā..."
"What does that mean?" You asked.
He felt warm as he leaned in, tilting his head down to rest against your own, inching ever closer as he released a shaky breath and sighed, "You are beautiful." and surrendered himself to it.
Aemond had wanted this since the moment he set his sight on you, and now that he knew that you were not just humouring him - that you truly desired it too - he relinquished any persisting guilt or dishonour he felt when you finally met his kiss.
It was slow at first, your lips pressed softly against his for the briefest of moments, testing before giving yourself over completely. You pulled back a little to see him staring, his breath as uneven as yours as he took a moment to gather himself.
"Aemond..." You pleaded, throat tight with a desperate want.
You felt his fingers at the laces on the front of your gown, gently tugging at the bow and sliding the silk through the eyelets one by one in such an unhurried manner, his gaze almost searing through you as he watched for your disapproval - although it never came - even as your mouth went dry at the way that you bodice fell open to expose the fine linen shift your wore underneath.
His hands carefully grazed the bare skin of your décolletage as he helped to shrug off the top layer of your clothing. It was featherlight, exploratory, curious... Yet you burned for it, were hyper aware of the hitch in your breath and the flutter in the pit of your stomach at the sensation of being touched in a way that you never had before.
You let out a nervous laugh when his hands slid down along the outline of your waist, coming to stop right at the top of your skirts. "I'll move." You whispered, and reluctantly tore your gaze from him as you faced away and granted him access to the lace at the back.
It had taken two servants to dress you in your wedding gown that morning but Aemond seemed more than capable of undressing you all on his own, making quick work of the knot and allowing the pale overskirt and petticoats to fall unceremoniously to the floor. Just like on the dancefloor, you could feel the tickle of his breath against the nape of your neck as he leaned in and pressed a kiss against the tip of your spine, eliciting a surprised gasp from you when you suddenly felt a flutter somewhere else.
Before he had the chance to move or do it again, you whirled and took a small step back to give yourself a moment to breathe. The look of concern he gave lasted for only a moment once he saw the shocked smile on your face, and then his eye began to trail down to take in the silhouette of your body through the thin linen shift you still wore.
"Your turn." You swallowed.
Aemond did not move.
"Would you like to?" He met your gaze again. "Or shall I undress myself?"
"I... I can do it."
You moved in close again and slid your hands up the broad chest of his doublet until you reached the buckle right below the neckline, the cool metal of it fashioned into ornate silver dragons that wove around themselves in an endless ouroboros.
The first one came undone with a satisfying click, all the tension in the fabric suddenly releasing to expose the smooth skin beneath his collar, so you brushed your finger along the outline and took your time with the rest.
Although you had the rest of your lives to explore one another - to touch, to feel, to know in ways that no other could - never again would you be able to experience this first night. So you ignored that instinct for urgency that stirred deep within the depths of your soul in favour of savouring that anticipation, as if it were just as much a part of the final act itself.
Aemond slowly shrugged off his doublet once the last buckle was finally opened, stopping only when you laid your one hand flat against his chest to feel the beat of his heart through his shirt, whilst the other carefully stroked the curve of the muscles on his arms.
Up and up your fingers trailed - from his biceps to his shoulder, along the outline of his neck where it connected to his angular jaw, against his cheek... against his scar. The cut was clean, done with a sharp blade but expertly treated by the Maester no doubt, and sat stark against the paleness of his smooth skin.
Curiosity possessed you the moment your touch met the leather patch that obscured the rest from view, but that wonder was cut short when you saw the way Aemond flinched - his eye wide as if he was almost as shocked as you when you pulled your hand back and offered profuse apologies.
"I thought... I am so sorry, if you don't want to -"
"No," He quickly took your hand again. "No... I was just not expecting you to want to look. I do not wish to scare you."
"You do not scare me Aemond," You spoke quietly, "I wish to see all of you, just as you see all of me."
He smiled slightly, his face softening as his hand slid toward the sleeve of your shift. "Not quite all of you." It was a joke to ease the tension, to deflect from the awkwardness he felt, but the fact that he could find humour in it at all reassured you enough to try again.
"Then perhaps I should not hide." You let out a little laugh and reached for the hemline, pulling it up past your knees to expose the flesh of your thighs - slowly continuing up over your hips, then your breasts, until finally it was over your head and you stood almost bare before him.
Aemond moved back as he shifted the weight from one leg to the other in order to accommodate the growing stiffness in trousers, taking in the sight of you as you took another step closer to him.
"You do not have to show me if you are not ready." You told him, but Aemond shook his head and smiled.
He said nothing as he untucked his shirt and then reached for the back of its neckline, tugging it up past his shoulders and discarding it atop the growing pile of clothes on the carpet, then brushed his long silver hair out of the way, as your eyes wandered down to admire the way his muscles curved down toward his hips and more.
Then, to your surprise, his hand reached for the strap that kept the patch in place - hovering for a moment before he took one last breath and lifted it away.
It was such a devastating loss when you thought of how beautiful his surviving eye was, what he might look like had that misfortune not stolen that from him - yet what he had replaced it with was oddly captivating in a way. Candlelight danced along the surface of the sapphire that lay in the socket where his eye had once been, and you found it so hard not to stare.
"Should I put it back on?" He asked.
You had expected to feel pity when you saw it, but all you could conjure was awe - this was a man that had faced such hardship in spite of the status he had, knew what it was to endure.
So you took his hand in yours and brought it to your breast, allowing him to feel the warmth of you as his fingers gently squeezed and cupped your flesh, willing him to continue as you wove your fingers through his hair to rest at the base of his neck.
"No," you felt a tightness in your chest as you replied, "I want you as you are, Aemond."
He answered your desire without hesitation, his mouth crashing into yours to deepen his hold on you - drinking in the relieved moan that escaped your lips as your entire world narrowed to nothing more than his touch.
He was unrestrained, focused, more sure than he had been in the Sept that morning - that first kiss you shared had been for the benefit of everyone else, but this time you were both utterly alone. Aemond poured himself into it with every brush of his tongue, every caress, every ounce of affection that he had to give - it was yours. He was yours - and it sent your heart racing.
His strong arms wound around you and slid down your back until they came to rest against the curve of your ass, gently groping before he lifted you up so that he could carry you at the waist. He grunted slightly at the effort when he felt your legs eagerly wrap around him, but he did not falter as he made his way toward the bed, making sure to put you down carefully as you sank into the mattress under his kiss.
You moaned again when you felt his tongue run across your lower lip, pushing into your mouth to taste you as he positioned himself between your legs and rocked forward to show you just how aroused he was beneath the tightening fabric of his trousers.
"Take them off..." You pleaded, breath hot and unsteady as your husband pulled away.
Aemond watched the way your chest heaved as he shifted so that he was kneeling upright, but just as his hands reached for his belt he stopped, his eyes drifting down between your legs and lingered a second longer than you were brave enough to allow - yet before you could even think about shying away, Aemond's hands had already found you.
He ran slow circles around your clit, although not quite close enough to where he needed to be, testing and teasing for what you might like, observing the way your body responded to his delicate touch.
"How is this?" He wondered aloud, noting your subdued reaction.
"It is strange to have someone else..." You trailed off, slightly embarrassed.
Nobody had ever seen you so exposed before, let alone indulged in you so freely, and although you had a lifetime of being told that it was sinful and wrong to crave something so carnal beyond what was expected from your marital duties - there was a certain thrill to being desired so endlessly.
"Show me?" Aemond's hands slowed as he asked, waiting as you reached down to guide his fingers to the exact point that would be your undoing.
Your head rolled back with a stifled moan as your hands shot up to cover your own mouth, the sensation almost surreal as he stroked a steady rhythm against you and you ground your hips up to meet it. Finally content that you were enjoying his touch, Aemond leant forward to press his lips to yours again - slowly moving lower to nip at the flushed skin at the base of your neck, as he gathered your arousal and pressed a single finger inside.
"Seven Hells..." You hissed.
His laugh was hot against you, "Good or bad?" his finger slid out and then stroked across your clit again.
"Do it again."
So he did.
You keened as he slipped it back in, releasing a moan when he began to stroke and curl his finger in search of that spark of pleasure that threatened to set you alight, all whilst his tongue dragged down the swell of your breasts to find your nipples peaked against the chill night air.
You had been told of the things that a man might do to take his pleasure, that if he cared enough to prepare it might be pleasant enough for you too, but you had not been warned of this - so you sucked in a sharp breath when you felt the second ease in to join the first, his name falling from your lips as you adjusted to the sensation, your own fingers tangling themselves amidst strands of his silken argent hair as a heat rose in your core.
"So perfect..." He sighed as you heard the thud of Aemond's boots being kicked to the floor, "My pretty little wife."
Your arousal deepened, his fingers thrusting into you with ease, and you eagerly chased the rapture it brought - moaning, breathing, begging for more as your hips moved in time with his touch. The cold metal of his belt clinking suddenly stirred something in you, and that earlier murmur of gratification found you again when you saw him use his spare hand to unhook the buckle blindly and reach for his cock.
He groaned against your collar, stroking himself to desperately relieve the ache that consumed him, burying his face in the crook of your neck as if to hide how wretched he was.
"Aemond..." Your breathless voice won his attention before he was too far gone. "I'm ready, I want it... I need this."
All he offered in response was a broken hum as he withdrew his fingers, adjusting his weight so that he could pull his trousers down the rest of the way and position himself directly between your legs. Your heart leapt at the hard length of him pressing up against your thigh, moaning as he brought his lips to yours once more and kissed you deep and slow.
You were both utterly naked, skin against skin, your bodies intertwined so perfectly that you wondered why you had needed to wait this long to find one another - that even though you had your whole lives ahead of each other, so much time had been stolen already.
Aemond pulled back one last time with a devastatingly soft expression on his face, all the longing and affection he possessed radiating off him in waves as he looked you in the eye and reached down to line himself up.
You both held your breath for a moment and the sound of your own pulse in your ears drowned out everything else inconsequential.
"You are mine..." You whispered, almost in disbelief, reaching up to stroke your thumb across his cheek one last time before your entire world shifted.
Aemond released that shaky breath, then gave his honest reply, "... Until the end of my days." and half a heartbeat later he slowly pushed in.
His head dropped forward when he felt the way you tensed around him, your body taking a little longer to adjust than you had anticipated - the fullness of his cock so different when compared with the adept fingers that you had only just gotten used to. You let out an uncomfortable gasp at how big he is once he hit as far as he could go, and Aemond of course latched onto it.
"Am I hurting you?" He lifted his head to check on you.
"A little," You winced, but then gave him a reassuring smile. "It doesn't hurt, it's just... tight."
"I shall take you slowly then," Aemond sighed and reached for your hand, slotted his fingers between yours and lifted it to rest beside your head as his thumb stroked across the back of your knuckle in a soothing motion. "You said that you wanted us both to enjoy this, remember?"
A swell of emotion washed over you, flowing endlessly like the streams of the Blackwater Rush until you can no longer bear alone the weight of how intimate and safe he made you feel.
"Of all the men in the Seven Kingdoms that I could have married," You crooned, stroking his hair back out of his face as you met his gaze with ardent eyes. "I am so endlessly relieved that it was you."
You tilted your head up to kiss him, heated lips against his own in a yearning embrace, gasping at the way he withdrew his hips only to sheathe himself again in an achingly slow movement - the sensation shifting away from discomfort to something altogether more pleasurable.
"____." He growled your name with a restrained groan and you felt him twitch inside you, his muscles tensed as he tried to maintain that unhurried pace, even though every single nerve in his body screamed for him to be unrelenting.
Part of you craved that, to satisfy the urgency that pooled in the pit of your stomach with each thrust, making sure to spur him along with each hitched breath and moan as you raked your fingers down the length of his back and dug your nails in whenever the promise of pleasure teased your core.
"More..."
You pulled him flush against your skin as soon as you were ready for it, almost desperate to chase the high that seemed to slip away every time you inched closer, and something in your husband just snapped. Aemond propped himself up on both arms, squeezing the hand he held as he pushed his weight down onto it and bent his neck to kiss you again - rougher, more feverish, plunging into you deeper and faster than before.
And suddenly he was hitting you at exactly the right angle, your back arching off the bed with a grateful moan every time his hips collided with the back of your thighs, the sound of nothing but your ragged breaths and skin against skin filling the space between your cries of satisfaction.
"A little longer..." He grunted, as if he could sense that you were close. "Together."
The muscles in his back stiffened at the way you lifted your legs up to wrap around his hips, which allowed him to drive into you with a frantic rhythm that finally carried you to the precipice, clamping down around him with a strangled moan.
As you tumbled over the edge he fell gloriously with you, your shared gratification dulled all thought and reason as you came together, shivering at the way he buried himself to the hilt as your orgasm sparked. It felt like you were burning, skin feverish and slick with sweat as Aemond collapsed against you and buried his head in the crook of your neck - drinking in the scent of your perfume as his hips gradually came to a halt once he was well and truly spent.
Your hands trembled as you slowly wrapped your arms around the width of his back and held him there, stroking and cradling him like that for a while, both of you too exhausted or exhilarated to move or think beyond your current state of existence. He was content with that it seemed, made clear by the way he softly hummed and sank further into your touch, his breathing even and satiated for a time as he pressed soft kisses against your shoulder and unsheathed himself with a tired groan.
"Stay like this." He asked of you, his voice heavy with fatigue.
You let out a soft laugh, "I'm not going anywhere with you on top of me."
"Good."
He nuzzled in closer and wove his arms around you tight, guarding you as if he were a dragon coveting some great treasure amidst the ruins of old Valyria, enjoying one last embrace before he reluctantly peeled his body from yours and lay back against the pillows beside you, and allowed the sweet solace of sleep to consume you both.
#aemond targaryen#aemond x fem!reader#aemond targaryen x reader#aemond x reader#hotd#aemond smut#smut#hotd smut#my writing#arranged marriage#aemond fic#hotd x reader#prince aemond#prince aemond targaryen#aemond targaryen imagine#aemond targaryen smut#aemond x y/n#aemond x you#aemond x wife reader#oneshot#aemond oneshot#aemond
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A curse for a curse
Pairings: Aemond Targaryen x wife!Reader
Warnings: angst, sub!Aemond, smut, oral sex (f and m receiving), overstimulation, orgasm denial, p in v, chains kink (idk if that’s even a thing but it’s there)
Word count: 8.5K
Author’s note: PLEASE READ THIS ->There's a little canon divergenge as in Rook's Rest is not happened yet, so Aegon is King and Aemond went to Harrenhal. Based on a request I got for sub!Aemond.
Taglist: @zae5 @multyfangirl @ashovertheriver (y’all i can’t remember the others, I had my taglist in my old blog so…sorry 🫠)
Harrenhal tastes like curse and smoke when she enters the blackened and ruined walls.
She is sure, as she is sure that dragons are real, that this place has been cursed over and over since Balerion and Aegon the Conqueror proved that not even stone was safe against dragonfire.
The air is heavy in her lungs, as breathing through a thick layer of wool and her steps echo down the corridors in a strange way; it seems like a never ending sound, echoing through the walls and many lost ages.
But her stride is steady, her eyes fixed on the doors of the Hall of One Hundred Hearths where she is sure to find him, where she will end this thing for which she has no name, and yet it is draining her, wearing her out like a starved leech.
“When is Aemond coming back?” the Queen Mother asks, and then little Jaehaera asks the same question, even Helaena, in those rare moments of clarity, wonders about her brother. And each time, she doesn’t know what to say. Her lip grows stiff, her jaw clenches and she wonders obsessively from dawn till dusk. What is he doing there?
Why has he not returned now that Harrenhal has been taken?
What is he doing with that bastard woman?
“They say she’s a witch.” King Aegon says with his glassy eyes, putting down his cup as he looks around to choose a target on which to pour his anger. Wine seems to not work anymore, it is not enough to quench his thirst for revenge, and unfortunately, she happens to be the easiest mark.
“He killed everyone in that gods-forsaken place. Everyone except the witch.” He leans forward, watching her with amused anticipation just like a child who waits for his favorite toy to break. “Why did he not do it, sweet good-sister?”
He wants her to snap, and surely something does snap inside her, but she refuses to be humiliated like this.
“I do not know, your Grace. Perhaps my husband learned the Gods’ mercy and decided to spare a woman.”
His chest shakes violently as he laughs, and there’s nothing more humiliating than his laugh, not even the whispers traveling all the way from the Riverlands.
He’s taken her as his prisoner, keeps her in his chambers.
She has utterly bewitched him.
Every word is a stab to her heart and every time his word reaches her through a raven, the wound splits more open and festers.
He does not mention the bastard witch. He says nothing on the matter. He informs her of the war progressing, tells her he will come back soon.
Soon.
Soon was two moons ago and he’s still there.
It doesn’t matter anymore, she thinks as she reaches the doors of Harrenhal. Soon is now.
The look on Ser Criston Cole is almost comical as two soldiers open the doors of the Hall of the Hundred Hearths. “Princess?”
She immediately looks around, but there’s no silver in that huge black hall.
“What are you doing here?” the Hand asks, walking to her “It is not safe for you—”
“Where is the Prince?” she cuts him off, her tongue hitting her teeth like a blade cleaving the air.
Ser Criston looks puzzled for a moment, and even if she doesn’t show it, anguish twists her gut. But then he says “The Prince is not here, your Grace. He’s out, on the battle camp.”
She looks at the soldiers in the room, watching her like some kind of weird creature—a lamb in a den of wolves. That is no place for a princess, no place for a woman. And yet, it is precisely her place.
She belongs to his side. As he belongs to hers. It’s what she’s been telling herself for two moons of sleepless nights.
She should have come here with him in the first place, war be damned.
“Leave, please.” She orders the men “All of you. I need a word with the Hand.”
They may not be used to taking orders from a woman, but they immediately leave the Hall like a pack of unruly children.
The thud of the doors is like some kind of curtain falling and she is finally free of this act, free to snap.
“What is going on here, Ser Criston?”
He shifts on his feet, looking down, looking utterly incapable to answer her question. “The situation in the Riverlands is quite delicate at the moment—”
“I don’t give a shit about the war, Ser Criston.” She almost hisses “You are perfectly aware of what I’m asking.”
His mouth shuts and she resists the urge to use her hands as talons to part his lips and grab the truth from his throat.
“What is going on between Aemond and the witch.” she states, she is not asking.
The Hand sighs deeply and takes a step closer. His whole demeanor changes, becomes confidential, almost fatherly. “My Princess, you must not believe the foul whispers that have been spread.”
She feels a glimmer of relief blooming in her heart, but not strong enough to relinquish the leeches sucking at her bones. “What should I believe then?”
“It’s true. The Prince spared her life.”
“Does he keep her in his chambers?”
“What? Seven Hells, no. She has her own chamber. A little room in the wing intended for servants.”
“Did she ever visit his rooms? Alone?”
Ser Criston looks down for a moment, his lips contracting. “You must understand, my Princess. There are no servants here.”
The wound between her ribs cracks open.
There are no servants here. Did she help him dress? Did she help him bathe? Did she do all the things she used to do? All the things only she was entitled to do?
“I want to see her.”
“Princess, it is not wise.”
“I believe it is very much wise, Ser Criston, since my marriage is at stake here.”
Ser Cole sighs again. “She’s…dangerous, my Princess. She’s eerily persuasive.”
“So, you think it’s true? That she’s a witch?”
“I’m not sure about her powers, my Princess. All I know is that…one of our soldiers spat in her face when she was still a captive by order of the Rogue Prince and she just…murmured something to this man.” He swallows lowering his gaze and takes a deep breath. “The next day he ripped out his own tongue with his bare hands, bleeding to death.”
Disturbing as these words can be, she keeps a steady and cold face.
“She claims she can read the flames. That they speak to her, that she saw all of this happening—the Prince coming here. She claims she saw the fate of the war.”
A long silence stretches between them, but however right the Hand’s reasoning may be, she is not keen to let magic and superstitions take what she has come here to retrieve. “Take me to her.”
Ser Cole stalls for a moment, trying to make her give up by merely looking at her. But at last, he caves. “As you wish, my Princess.”
Her room is completely bare, save for a hearth and a bundle of dirty covers and a pillow thrown on the ground.
She enters and the air feels even heavier, more cursed. She feels it like something weighing on her shoulders, drying her throat.
There’s a woman sitting before the fire, clad in rags with long black hair falling down her back. She seems to register the door opening and closing only minutes later, as if she was too focused on her fire staring. But then she turns her head and looks at the woman before her with a strange smile.
“Alas, you have come.”
The Princess blinks quickly, watching the woman stand up and walk closely to her, chains on her feet and hands. She feels something unsettling under her skin, behind her eyes, as if she can’t stop looking straight into the green eyes of the witch, not even if she wanted to.
“You must be Alys.” She says, quickly scanning the witch before returning, inevitably, like a magnet, into her bright green eyes.
The woman, whose age is impossible to determine, keeps her smile as she looks at the Princess from head to toe. “You are exactly as I saw you in the flames.”
“That will save us some time, then. No need for introductions.”
“No. I know who you are.” The witch says, curling her cracked lips some more “I can see his mark on you.”
“His mark?”
“Yes.” She says, unnaturally widening her eyes. “He leaves a mark on everything. Things, places, people. Much like me, I’d say.” From her throat gushes a high-pitched laugh, jarring and spiteful. “We have much in common, the Kinslayer and I.”
The way she utters the last words makes the Princess grind her teeth, as if they were…what? Friends? Allies?
Lovers?
“Have you been in his chambers all this time?” she finally asks and the witch has the boldness to roll her eyes. “Is that the only reason you’re here? To know if he cheated on you?”
“Answer my question.” The Princess orders.
“Darling, If I wanted to fuck him, I would’ve done it ages ago.” She starts laughing again, grinning mischievously and then she sighs. “You left your mark on him as well. I can feel you in his head. And you are so heavy.”
She doesn't know what to make of that. There is not a single reason why she should trust her word. And it's not just the alleged powers this woman may possess. It's her whole demeanor. Haughty, even though she is a bastard. Mocking, as if she looks at the young woman before her, and sees much, much more.
“Just as you, I’d say, since he’s forsaken his family and his wife to do whatever you’re making him do it with your witchcraft.”
She bursts out laughing, so loud that the Princess flinches and takes a step back.
“I’m not making him doing anything. I can’t play with his head. He’s too stubborn. I did not curse him, sweetheart. Your beloved prince is already accursed.”
“Then what do you want? Gold? Lands?”
“I do what the flames command. I serve no God, no King, no Lord. And neither does your husband. It was his choice to see.”
“To see what?”
“What the flames choose to show. I know how this war will end. I know which color will stain the other for good. I know who will sit on the Iron Throne.”
The Princess furrows her brow, confused and puzzled, apparently pleasing the witch who smiles again and nods. “Oh yes, he will make a sight to behold wearing the Conqueror’s Crown.”
Who? Aemond? On the Iron Throne?
“So that’s how you’re keeping him here. With visions and fantasies.”
“He asked me to. At the moment I’m more valuable to him than all his generals and soldiers put together. Besides, I know how to deal with him.”
The Princess almost laughs at this. “I see. You think you can handle him, don’t you? A wild dragon for you to tame, is that what he is for you?”
“Well, I’m not denying he’s handsome enough to please my eyes.”
“And once you have tamed him, what will you do? How will you handle him when you scratch the surface, and you see the neglected son? Lonely, misunderstood, maimed. The boy no one cared for.”
It is the first time the witch does not have a quick biting answer. It makes the Princess rejoice.
“All your witchcraft won’t be enough to handle him.”
The witch falls silent. There is a distant look in her eyes as she observes the Princess and the more she stares, the more the younger woman feels dreadfully uncomfortable. She starts to feel something in the back of her mind, like a gentle abstract push.
“Ser Criston." she says suddenly, swallowing but keeping a collected mask. "The keys, please."
“Your Grace, Prince Aemond will not be ha—”
“I’ll deal with Prince Aemond.” She says, looking straight at the witch and the ghost of a superb smile hovers on her lips “I know how to handle him.”
The Knight slides the keys from his armor and hands them to the Princess. She is ready to free the witch’s wrists, but she stops, locking her eyes on Alys. “There is a carriage outside. And some guards who will do whatever Ser Criston will order them. Take it and go wherever you want, there’s even gold in the—"
“I told you, I don’t want—”
“I don’t care of what you want!” The Princess snaps, raising her voice, and the pushing dissolves. “You live to serve the flames? Fine. Do it elsewhere, far away from us.”
Alys shuts her parched mouth, and simply nods. “As you wish, Princess.”
She removes the shackles from her feet, and then from her hands, holding the chains between her fingers. Alys touches her hurting wrists, before tilting her head down in some kind of bow, or maybe a mocking gesture. The Princess cannot bring herself to care.
The witch makes her way past the younger woman but at last, she stops for a moment, leaning back her head of dark curls to say “I did touch him, just once. He put a knife to my throat.”
Vhagar likes to nestle on the burned blackened towers of Harrenhal, like some kind of dreadful reminder of the legacy of ruins and ashes Balerion the Dread has unleashed on this cursed land.
Aemond enters the castle walls with his circle of counselors and generals. They crowd on him like bees with honey and he knows why. He knows that most of the time they don’t have a clue what they’re talking about. They hang on his lips and jump like little good soldiers, jostling with one another in the hope of gaining something more when the war ends. A land, a title, one of them had even had the guts to offer a daughter to marry.
“I am not sure of what you are implying, my Lord.” He had said to the Lord with a dangerous black glint in his eye, as the fool thought it was wise to remind the Kinslayer that he and his wife had had no children yet. “Whether you are insulting me or my wife. I am sure of one thing, though. You will shut your hole before I take your tongue and feed it to my dragon.”
There were no more talks of unwed daughters between those walls.
“My Prince, if you allow me—” one of them says as they enter the Hall of the Hundred Hearths “We should give the lords who pledged for the Blacks more time to consider—”
“I gave them enough.” He says turning with a glare, looking even taller than he is, with his silver armor streaked with gold and the long green cloak. “They will pledge to my brother before dawn or I will bring dragonfire to their lands. Then we shall see where their loyalty lies while they burn to the crisp.”
They all shush and Aemond almost thanks the Gods for this brief blessed moment of peace. He ponders for a moment and then looks at a young soldier behind him.
“Summon the witch.” He orders “Bring her to me.”
He looks down to remove his riding gloves but out of the corner of his eye, he sees that the boy is still there.
“Uhm, my Prince, the witch is not here anymore.”
“What do you mean she’s not here?”
“S-she left, your Grace.”
The last word does not even leave his mouth the poor soldier feels a hand around his neck and the Prince is easily lifting him from the ground as if made of feathers. “You let her flee?!” he rages with his eye blown wide.
“I-I did—not your Grace!” the boy manages to croak while he’s choking, legs kicking like a chicken in the butcher’s hands.
“He’s right. I did.” Her voice cuts through the air and Aemond turns his head in a blink, looking positively stunned to hear his wife, to see her there.
He lets the soldier boy go and stares at her on the threshold of the huge Hall. He blinks with disbelief, as if he’s finally able to see after days and nights spent in a cloud of fog. Something shifts inside him him—something that has been wandering ceaselessly day and night, lifting the weight from his shoulders, from his black heart. Not Harrenhal’s weight, not Alys’. A weight far darker, a curse far more dangerous.
“Out.” he orders the Lords “All of you.”
They obey at once, scattering down the Hall only to stop for a moment before the Princess, to pay their respect.
The doors close but she stays on the threshold. His eye roams on her figure, once and then twice. He has never seen her wearing such a simple dress, easy to disguise her noble roots, her royal ones. And even though the mere sight stokes almost three moons of ugly and burning desire, it only makes him angry. It only makes him ashamed.
“What in the name of the Seven are you doing here?”
She walks to him and without uttering a single word or even sparing a glance to him, she begins removing the heavy armor plates from his body.
“What are you doing?” he asks with deep wrinkles on his forehead.
“My duty as wife.” She replies sternly, holding his arm “Or did you forget you had one?” she looks at him and sees rage blazing behind his eye—rage and maybe a tinge of hurt.
“Am I doing it right?” she asks removing the armor plate from his forearm “Was your witch friend better than me?”
The metal clatters on the ground as he grabs her arm, hard, pulling her close. “I asked you a question. We’re at war and you go strolling around the continent? Have you lost your mind?”
She tries to wriggle herself out of his iron grip, unsuccessfully as always. “How strange, that is a question I should ask you.”
“Enough.” He says grinding his teeth, digging his fingertips into her skin until her mouth twists with pain.
“Enough was two moons ago, Aemond. When you were supposed to come home, to your family, to me.”
“In case you didn’t notice, we’re at war, my dear wife. Things in war don’t go exactly as you planned them—”
“Oh spare me!” she cuts him off, freeing herself “Spare me the war talk, that’s all I’ve been hearing from you.”
“What did you expect exactly? Love letters?”
“I expected what I deserved. To know the truth. You have not mentioned her. Ever, not even once. Do you have the faintest idea of what I’ve been through all this time? Of all the dirt they have been spreading behind my back?”
“I don’t want to hear about it.” He says turning his back on her, as if he had not done that enough.
“No, you will.” She promises, circling him to look straight at him again. “They said you were so besotted with her to deny her leaving your chambers.”
“I don’t want to hear about it.” He says again, closing his eye for a moment.
“They said, and this was from the wretched mouth of your beloved brother, that you put a child in her womb since I was not able to give you an heir.”
“I don’t want to hear about it!” he shouts, and she knows she hit a nerve there, because he never shouts.
“Why? Does it make you ashamed? It should. I had to hear all of it. I had to endure it while you stayed here playing fortune teller with your witch whore.”
His nostrils flare as he takes a deep breath and raises his gaze to look at her, dead serious. “You know nothing about her powers. She saw many things, happened precisely as she predicted. I needed her. I needed her powers and you had no right to send her away.”
“You needed her?” she repeats, pale with utter disbelief. “You needed her for what? For her to tell you how good you’ll look wearing the Conqueror’s Crown? To feed you with fairy tales while we risk our lives staying in the capital, unprotected because Dreamfyre can’t fight and Tessarion is still in Oldtown. What if the Blacks decide to attack us now? They have a dozen of dragons, we have only Sunfyre.”
“The Blacks will not attack.”
“Did she tell you this? Did she see this in the flames?” she can’t fight back the contempt curling her lips “Are you listening to yourself? Flames and visions to win a war? You poor fool.”
“Watch your mouth, woman.” he seethes “You don’t talk to me like this.”
“Or what? Are you going to chain me up? I kept her chains, you know? I thought you’d like a token of your time with the witch.”
“Did you come here for this? To make a scene like some common girl who feels threatened by another woman?” his lips turn upwards, curling and twisting with ugly deprecation “What do you think you know about the war? What is your contribution while you lie around in a lavish castle waiting for me to come back and fuck you? I’ll tell you. None. You can’t even perform your duty to give me an heir. And you come here to lecture me?”
The wound is rotting from the inside and he’s pouring salt on it.
“I came here for my dignity. As a woman, I have nothing else. I came here for your mother, who I fear will go mad with worry just as your sister. And lastly, to tell you that I’m with child.”
Aemond stills completely, so much that she thinks the witch’s curse is hitting him right now, no matter how far she is, turning him into stone.
“But it seems utterly irrelevant to me right now. So, go. Hurry! You might still find her.”
She moves to leave the room and he does it at the same time, trying to reach her, to stop her, but she flinches as he tries to touch her, battling his hands away.
Aemond utters her name, softly, and it makes her stomach turn.
“I will leave at dawn.” She informs him with a blank face “I won’t disturb you and your precious war any further. Fret not, husband. I will stay in my lavish castle like the good soldier I am, waiting for you to come back and fuck me.”
This is place is not only cursed, but it is also so freezing cold that she wishes for one of those direwolf furs the Northerners use to wear as she sits before the hearth in what she assumed to be Aemond’s chambers. The room is large, even larger than the ones they share in the Red Keep, but it’s completely bare and almost ominous with its black walls that stink of ash and smoke.
A cursed place, fitting for a cursed woman.
She has been for quite some time. Because she chose to stay by his side, because she chose to love him.
“We could turn to a Septon. Annulments are rare but possible. You cannot remain married to a Kinslayer, it is the highest of sins.” Her father had said in the aftermath of Lucerys’ death. She had looked at him like he was some kind of lunatic.
As if she could leave him, as if she could turn her back on him and marry another man.
As if he hadn’t left his mark on her.
She thought the Gods had cursed her for good, that was why, however much they tried, she couldn’t bear his child.
“A child is the highest of the blessings from the Gods.” Her mother had said during one of her last visits to the capital “How can they bless your union with a man so accursed?”
And yet.
She is impatiently waiting for the sun to set. Even if her limbs have never been so heavy, as much as her heart, she finds no reason to stay here, not when she can’t stand even the sight of him. But of course, how can there be peace in such a cursed place?
She hears the door opening. She knows his gait. She wished to hear it for two moons as she lied alone in their bed.
She hears him approach until he is beside her, but she does not look at him. She only sees his arm holding out a small tray.
“Eat.” An order, not an invitation.
She doesn’t even bother to look at the food, keeping her cold gaze on the fire. “I’m afraid I lost my appetite, dear husband. You can thank yourself for that.”
She can feel his eye piercing, burning her skin, the air coming from his nose short and harsh.
“Eat or I’ll feed you myself.”
She doesn’t bother to even answer this time.
Aemond stares at her, waits for her to look at him, he needs for her to look at him. “Is it true?”
“What?”
“That you’re with child.”
“In my husband’s lovely words, I lie around all day so I guess I’m capable enough to notice if I miss my moonblood.”
He leaves the tray on the stone mantelpiece, noticing a pair of chains lying there, and then looks down at her. “You will stay here with me.” Another order.
Another rejection. “I will not.”
“Yes, you will. You are not going anywhere, not in your condition.”
“I see. Now I’m worth something to you, am I not?” and finally she looks up “My duty is fulfilled, my womb is finally swollen. It’s a shame your witch left, we could have asked her to look in the flames and tell us if it’s a boy or a girl.”
Aemond lowers his shoulders and grabs her chin with the same cruelty he is used to brandish his sword, tightening her cheeks to prevent her from uttering another word. “I said enough.”
He watches as she tries to escape his grip, pushing his shoulders as her eyes grow more and more scornful, and he knows he deserves it. But that ugly thing breaks, snaps like a thin rope pulled too tight.
His mouth is on hers, fingers squeezing her cheeks to force her to take his kiss, which is not really a kiss, but more of an act of war, a relentless and rather quick siege, because she was already starving. She opens his mouth and this alone makes him whine with relief as his tongue slides between her teeth. Her hands grab his doublet collar, knuckles turning white and she angles her head, only to bite his lip hard enough to draw blood.
He winces as he pulls his head back and sees her licking her lips, a dead distant look in her eyes. But her hands move, gently, through his silver strands. "My words are but blunt knives on you. I must hurt you in the only way I can."
“I did not touch her.” He says like an oath “Ever.”
“I know you didn’t.” she reassures him, but her eyes stay distant, as if even being this close now, they are also miles and miles apart. “Maybe it would’ve been better if you had.”
“Did you want me to fuck her now?”
“I wanted you to need me, not her.”
His eye is on flame, rage and shame dancing together, but it’s not aimed at her. He finds that the only person on the receiving end is none other than himself.
Something dies in his eye, his shoulders slump and his head falls forward, hiding what no one would dare even think of seeing on the stern, cruel face of Aemond One Eye.
He kneels before her and lays his head on her belly, catching her off guard. She can't see his face, and yet she has it before her eyes, clear and indisputable as something carved into stone.
The surface has never been so frail. She doesn’t even need to scratch it, she only has to lift it.
No man is so accursed as the Kinslayer.
She had thought it true enough, but what about Aemond’s curse?
“I know you feel guilty.” She says, or rather whispers, as if she’s being blasphemous by accosting such a word to such a man. “I know you feel guilty for Jaehaerys. For Helaena.”
His answer is mute, but it’s the loudest confession she could get.
He fists the fabric of her gown between his hands, knuckles turning white on the verge of breaking. She feels him nestling further inside her, like a child, and she closes her eyes for a moment, placing a hand on her wound to stop the bleeding, and leans over him, sliding her hands on his back, softly but firmly, as if helping him to stay whole, as if preventing him from breaking into pieces.
Aemond didn’t believe in curses.
He did not regret, not even for a moment, the murder of Lucerys. He did not care that the Gods had turned their backs on him. They had done it a long time before. He did not care of how people called him, of how they would baptize him in the annals of his lineage.
He had started to care, to feel guilt, after he actually killed his kin.
For he had killed Jaehaerys, he had killed Helaena.
Kinslayer. Kinslayer. Kinslayer.
In his head, he heard that word with his mother’s voice, with Aegon’s, Helaena’s.
He found some kind of peace, of solace, only in his wife. But then the war was calling and he fled to Harrenhal. It was his duty, it was his way to try to make things better, to get revenge.
He had taken Harrehanl back and he knew he should have come home. But then the witch, the very same who had forced a man to rip out his own tongue, had spoken to him, talking about visions and flames, of predictions that happened to be alarmingly accurate, of him sitting on the Iron Throne with the Conqueror’s Crown on his silver head.
And he saw an opportunity, however blurry, to set things right, as they should have been in the beginning. He saw a way to get the upper hand in this war. And furthermore, as much as he did not realize it, he had found a way to stay away from the Keep. He would rather dare with witchcraft than return home and hear Helaena's wails cutting through doors and walls, and through his heart.
But next to the guilt had come the shame, for he had turned his back on his wife, for he could imagine the filth their enemies and non would spread, like shit flowing in the sewers.
He had tried to confine her to the back of his mind, but she became heavier and heavier as the days passed, along with the scarce letters in which he never mentioned the Rivers bastard.
She, of course, had sensed it immediately.
“You can’t win this war if your mind is elsewhere.” She had said one night, on one of his visits to her room.
He always stayed on the threshold, arms laced behind and poorly disguised distrust stretching his features.
“I told you to stay out of my fucking head.”
“You need not worry, my Prince.” She retorted with a chilling smile “I can’t play with your head. It’s too heavy…and ugly. And this woman…oh, she’s eating you alive.”
The witch is gone now, and yet she is still there.
She lingers on the walls of his chambers like a ghost, she imposes a wall between him and his wife and perhaps neither of them is strong enough to climb it. So, for days they just circle one another like wounded animals.
The Princess is staying with him of course. He has forbidden her to leave his side and she has caved, on one condition though. She has given him three days to deal with the Riverlands and then they will go home, together, where they are needed, where the mighty dreadful Vhagar is needed.
The day before their departure, Aemond returns victorious from the Riverlands. He has gained the allegiance of the lords in a way Visenya Targaryen would be proud of.
He will never forget the Lords' faces draining of color, probably pissing themselves, as Vhagar roared a war chant in the sky, and tongues of fire brushed the lands as warning.
He enters the chambers quietly and sees her crouched on the floor as her hands dig into a drawer, pulling out papers that she carelessly drops to the ground. Aemond closes the door firmly, announcing his presence, and she looks at him for a single moment before sighing in defeat, closing the drawer.
“Looking for my love letters?” he teases, for the first time after days of loud silence.
“I was looking for ink, actually.” she says looking below a paper left on the table. “Besides…love letters from you? Ghastly.”
He can’t fight back the smirk curling his mouth as she walks close to him and begins removing the armor. He looks at her face and she’s stern, almost rigid in her gestures, in the way she touches him, as if she despises doing it and yet she can’t help herself.
He doesn’t have a clue.
He doesn’t know that her stiffness has nothing to do with contempt. He doesn’t have a clue of how much she aches for him. Of how much she wants for him to take her, fast and rough, as he often used to do, because she can’t stand to be treated like some porcelain doll to be cocooned thanks to his child growing inside her belly. She wants to be more than that, she demands to be his wife again.
“Have you eaten?” he asks her, gently, and she wants to break something.
She can’t stand it anymore. She can’t stand all the questions.
Did you eat? Did you rest? Did you sleep?
“Is this how is going to be from now on?” she asks looking up “You acting as if you are my maid?”
He clenches his jaw and his face turns stern just like hers.
“First you accuse me to have forsaken you and now you don’t want my attention. Make peace with your mind, wife.”
“I want you to be my husband.” She says getting close to him until she smells dragon and ashes.
She wants to bathe in it. “I want to be your wife.”
Aemond’s eye lingers down on her throat, on her constricted chest, and his lips part. “You are.” He vows, locking his eye on her.
“Prove it.” She whispers tilting her head with a challenge dancing on her parted lips, hovering against his.
He is one breath away from swallowing her whole but he stops, melding their breaths in one, and he grins. “Are you going to bite me again?”
“As if you didn’t like that.”
A moment later his teeth sink into the soft flesh of her lip, her neck. His hands are everywhere, frantic and needy. She can feel he’s restraining from holding her too tight, but she wants, no, she needs more. She wants him in her bones.
They move without logic, clinging to each other, trying to assert dominance on one another. He grabs her wrists and forces her down on the chaise beside the hearth. He is looking at her in the same old way, as if he’s blind to anything else. She aches so much for him that she’s breathing hard, the word please climbs her throat, slides on her tongue, but she will not beg for him.
In all truth, she doesn’t have to.
He kneels on the ground like a pious man at the altar, and she hikes up her skirts, spreading her legs to place them on his shoulders, heels pressing on his back to bring him close.
“You know what you want, don’t you?” He teases with a feral grin.
“Curse you and your hideous smirk.” She says sliding on the chair to bring her apex close to his overly talkative mouth.
“You love my smirk.” He says grabbing her thighs to secure them around his face. “Besides, I’m already cursed.” He leaves a red mark biting on the soft skin of her thigh, looking straight at her and how she startles, whining in half pain half pleasure.
She catches a glimpse of the sapphire glinting between her thighs before her eyes fall shut and she moans unnaturally loud as he licks a stripe along her wet folds and up to her apex.
She is trembling with anticipation, with arousal that pools from her, glistening his mouth and nose. Her hips begin bucking against him and he moans contentedly as he buries his tongue inside her, lapping and tasting like a starved beast.
Her breath grows shorter and shorter for how close she is already, so much that he stops to look at her with a spiteful grin. “Already? Gods, you must have missed me terribly.”
“Shut up.” She whispers hoarsely and pulls herself up just enough to grab his head, pulling his hair to force him to take where he left off. Her hips are rocking on their own against his face, nails scratching his scalp harder and harder as she comes undone in his mouth, while he hums with pleasure, drinking of all her. Eye fixed on her as he watches her throw her head back, spasming and trembling with a loud moan.
Her back hits the back of the chaise as she catches her breath and looks at the black ceiling in a moment of pure bliss. Two moons of anguish are but a distant memory, her mind is foggy, she doesn’t even remember the face of the witch.
He dismantles her legs from his neck and she looks down at him, cheeks red, watching as he climbs on her, unbuckling his belt.
“No.” she says, and she stops his hands. “Do you think I would make it so easy for you?”
Aemond looks at her, half puzzled half curious, and then she pushes him down, overturning their positions so now she’s sitting on his lap, feeling all of his hard length against her.
“It’s my turn to prove it.” She says raising an arm that goes on the mantelpiece behind them.
“Prove what?”
“That you’re my mine.” She promises, and Aemond hears the distinct sound of metal clinking.
She lowers her arm and he sees a pair of chains between her fingers. He is bold enough to smirk at her. “I thought you were the one who wished to be chained.”
“I’m not the one in need of a lesson.”
She grabs his wrist but he easily pulls away. “What if I don’t want to?” but there’s an intriguing glint in his eye, on the edges of his arched mouth.
“Then who will take care of you?” she asks with fake innocence, grinding on his cock, and she smiles as the air comes out of his mouth in a hiss. “Are you sure your hand will suffice?”
He looks at her with challenge, breathing slowly through his mouth, and he caves.
“Chain me.”
She smiles darkly and grabs his wrists, fastening the chains and then locking them to the sides of the chair. She stands and grabs his legs, sliding his back further down.
She notices his eyebrow rising and she looks at him. "I want you to be comfortable. I'm afraid this will not end so soon."
He swallows with anticipation and watches her as she slowly climbs back on top of him and begins to unbutton his doublet., pushing the fabric aside to reveal his diaphanous pale chest and her hand slides over it, over his ribs, stomach, and navel, halting his breath.
Her lips hover against his, swallowing his shallow breath, but suddenly her head dips down, leaving a trail of little heated kisses on his neck, on the planes of his chest.
He watches as she does that, feeling her lips like burning embers marking his skin. Her eyes lock on him and she opens her mouth engulfing one of his nipples, circling her tongue around it. He tilts his head back, lips parting to let a puff of scorching air out, and then she's grazing her teeth over the soft pink skin.
The chains metal clink as he winces.
She grins pulling herself up and slides a bit down his legs with her bottom, so she has open room to his belt. She begins unbuckling it, looking at him, watching the glare he’s giving her.
“I can’t tell whether you want to kill me or fuck me.”
“I need you to fucking do something.”
“Like what?” she asks, palming his cock through the fabric “Tell me, husband. I may grant your wish.”
He rocks his hips in one slow movement, trying to feel every inch of her hand, but it’s a faint touch that only makes him ache for more. “Move, grind on me.” His voice is imperative as always, but his tone is different—all heated and husky.
She frees him of the constricting belt and breeches and lays on him, releasing a blissful sigh when she feels the hot hard flesh colliding perfectly against her core. The chains clink again as he tries to move and she smiles, caging his snatched waist between her legs.
Aemond is panting quietly, trying to get a grip on his own body but he finds it’s a useless fight when he’s so hard it’s starting to hurt.
But then his wife seems in favour of granting him some mercy. She starts grinding on him and his lips part some more, panting loudly this time, as he feels, and hears, the beautiful obscene sounds her wet flesh is making rubbing on him.
“Lift up your skirts. Let me see.”
She stops grinding and he almost whines with annoyance, moving his chained wrists in a useless attempt to grab her waist and force her to move again.
“I don’t like that tone, husband.” She says, and her voice is husky as well, her breath labored “Ask nicely.”
Aemond is silently starting to regret this whole thing. Patience was never one of his virtues, if he even has virtues. He’s completely at her mercy and cannot do anything but comply.
“Please. Lift your fucking skirts and let me see.”
“Hmm.” She hums smiling. “Better.”
Her skirts turn into a bundle of fabric around her waist and he dips his chin, looking straight at their flesh as she resumes her torture.
“Fuck” he utters, his eye growing heavy but he keeps looking, and he doesn’t have a clue whether it’s the rubbing or the mere sight of her coating his cock that draws a moan out of his throat.
“Do you see how I much I’ve missed you?” she asks hoarsely, grinding more and more firmly.
His head hits the back of the chair as he keeps panting and rocking his hips against her, lifting his waist as if desperately trying to slide inside her.
“I touched myself every morning. I woke up all wet and aching for you. And where were you? Here, plotting with your witch.”
“Enough of that fucking witch.” he croaks, a sheen of sweat is ghosting on his forehead. “Faster.”
She does the opposite. She stops altogether. And this time, he can’t do nothing to muffle the whimper gushing out of his trembling mouth.
The Princess tilts her head, savoring each moment, and soon his piercing glare comes back even sharper. “Once I’m free of these fucking chains, I’m going to fuck you senseless till morning.”
“Unless you are still chained to this chair in the morning.”
He watches as her hands hover on his thighs, a feather touch that drives him mad, that makes his hips buck uselessly. His lips twist, swallowing a plead his pride won’t allow him to let go.
But she hears it nonetheless, in the way his fingers flex and twist, in his chest raising fastly. It may suffice, but it doesn’t.
“Stubborn, are we?” she teases, just like her hands, barely touching down his navel. “Your witch got it right. She said you are too stubborn, that’s why she couldn’t play with your head. She couldn’t handle you.” her fingertips finally dip down and she can see the silent plead in his eye.
“I can, though.” her palm brushes the tip and he whimpers, again.
“Please…” he whispers impossibly low, too low for her liking.
“Louder, my love.”
His mouth twists again but the need, the ache is so heavy that it burns out all the pride numbing his tongue.
“Please…” he begs freely “Please, touch me.”
A groan rolls out of him as she finally grabs it, squeezing softly before starting a slow rhythm up and down. He pants loudly, hips moving on their own as he tries to fuck her hand with a steadier pace. “Don’t rush it.” she scolds him, placing a firm hand on his waist to stop his frantic movements.
“I can’t take it…let me come…”
“Already? Gods, you must have missed me terribly.”
“You’re cursed, woman.”
“Takes one to know one. A curse for a curse.”
She looks at him, hair all ruffled and sweaty on his forehead, a painful pleading expression twisting his sharp features and she smiles victorious. “I have half a mind to leave you like this.” She says and for a moment, he dreads she’s being serious.
“Luckily for you, I’m just as greedy as you are.”
In a swift moment she nestles between his legs and he’s moaning loudly before he even has time to register anything, except her lips locking around his tip, sucking so harshly he thinks she’s going to utterly drain him.
She starts a steady pace, just as he likes it, taking all of him, down to the base untili it hits the back of her throat. The chains clink and clink against the chair as he twists his wrists, bucking his hips harshly to fuck her mouth as deeper as he can, enthralled by the lewd sounds she’s making.
“Gods, yes…” he moans watching carefully as he slips in and out of her “Yes…just like that, just a little more…”
She feels him tense inside her mouth, she feels him tense all over and she knows he’s dangerously close. She stops for a moment, licking her lips and looks at him. “Don’t tell me you’re going to break the rule.”
Aemond groans with frustration, not having the faintest idea of what she’s talking about. He isn’t even sure he remembers his own name. He is just blood boiling and bones so tense they’re close to snap.
“What was it again?” she asks “Ah, yes. My seed belongs in your cunt.” She leaves a trail of soft kisses on his hard flesh and he whimpers once more. “My ever-romantic husband.”
“Fuck the rule, you’re driving me mad. Let me come.”
“Ask nicely.”
“Please.” He begs “Please let me come in your mouth.”
The Princess is merciful enough to grant his wish. She engulfs him once more and he moans loudly for how sensitive he is. She picks up the pace and pride washes over her, pooling between her legs, as she sees him writhing beneath her, moaning with his mouth open, eye closed shut and the chains clink like a frantic bell while he twists his scratched red wrists.
He curses and mumbles nonsense under his breath until he stills completely letting out a long and loud grunt, spilling abundantly inside her mouth. She swallows to the last drop, gently sucking the pulsing tip.
The chains are finally still and silent. He’s breathing hard and short with his head thrown back, staring at the ceiling without seeing anything.
That is until he winces, feeling her hand on his sensitive skin. He raises his head to look at her, almost puzzled. She smiles slyly, moving her hand up and down. “Did you think it was over?”
If he did not feel so spent, he would be utterly thrilled and definitely flattered.
“Seven Hells, woman, give me a bre—” words die on his tongue wiped out by a hoarse gasp as she takes him in her mouth again. But this time, she sucks so slowly that Aemond actually whines in pain. And she looks straight at him, while her head bobs, relishing every moment, watching as he comes undone beneath her, babbling pleads, begging her to stop and a moment later to keep going. His voice is breaking, cracking as he whines and whimpers, poised between pain and pleasure.
Soon though, she hears more whines of pleasure than pain, as gets harder and harder in the hot haven of her mouth.
Suddenly she stops, and just stares, savoring the sight before her. The cruel Aemond One Eye, chained to a chair in a mess of sweat and sobs.
“Untie me…” he says, trying to make it sound like an order, but it’s a pale imitation of his usual tone. His words are slow, sluggish.
“You are not in charge here, my love.”
“Then quit the act and fuck me.”
Perhaps, if she wasn’t so equally desperate for him, if she wasn’t leaking between her thighs, she would have prolonged this torture, this excruciatingly sweet punishment. But she can’t take it anymore.
She climbs on him, and it takes her the least effort to let him slide inside her. He slips his back further down that chaise so that his hips are angled just enough to thrust into her, fast and steady.
“Oh Gods—yes!” she moans throwing her head back, frantically bouncing on him.
“D’you miss this?” he rasps, with a tinge of his usual infuriating confidence “Did you think of this when you touched yourself? Missed my cock inside you, hmm?”
She clamps a hand on his mouth to shush him and he bites her palm, thrusting even harder, making her whine loudly until her throat goes dry and her sight go white. They fall in a wild frenzy, utterly intoxicated with each other, leaving bites and marks all over, sealing one inside the other with a curse much more dangerous than any kind of witchcraft.
They come together, as she clutches his head to her chest so tight that he can barely breathe. He rests his head on the chair, slowly catching his breath, and she nestles against him, still sank on him.
He moves his hands to touch her, wincing for his aching wrists.
“Untie me now, would you?” he asks softly on the crown of her head.
“I’m not sure.” She muses against his chest. “I’ve quite enjoyed having you at my mercy.”
“Who said I didn’t?”
She moves her head to look at him, a little smile starting to light up her face and he looks down at her lips, mirroring her.
“Besides, it’s your turn.”
She raises her eyebrows fighting back a smile. “Now?”
“Haven’t you heard? No man is so accursed as me.”
#a curse for a curse#liv (in la vida loca)#aemond targaryen#ewan mitchell#aemond targaryen x you#aemond targaryen fic#aemond targaryen smut#aemond targaryen x reader#aemond targaryen fanfic#aemond x wife reader#aemond x fem!reader#aemond x reader#aemond x you#aemond targaryen x wife reader#aemond smut#hotd fic#house of the dragon#aemond one eye
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Brother, Lover, Son (Oneshot)
The Impossible Choice Series Special Chapter
[ Aemond • Targaryen x Baratheon! • female ]
[description: Aemond is sent to Storm's End by his father to be trained in the nature of battle and warfare under Borros Baratheon eye, in preparation for his future role as commander of his brother's army. He is to choose one of his daughters as his future wife, but Borros only allows him to choose between four of them when his true desire is awakened by his fifth and youngest child.]
[warnings: sex content, virginity loss, fingering, masturbation, kissing, smut, angst, sexual tension, domination, violence, kind of incest but not actually]
This oneshot is an alternate reality from The Impossible Choice Series where, according to Aemond's words in Chapter 49, he is sent to Storm's End by his father when he is still just a child. It shows what would happen and how it would affect Aemond and Lady Baratheon, what his relationship with Borros, Royce and her other sisters would be like. This chapter stands apart from the main story and is a big, long "what if". This is very long oneshot (over 15.000 words).
Part two of this oneshot: To desire, to love, to care
Other oneshot form the same AU: Daugther, Lover, Sister
Brother, Lover, Son Inside Alphabet
Moodboards before you start reading and want feel the mood:
Aemond and Lady Baratheon • Storm's End Stronghold • Baratheon Family • Lady Baratheon Gowns • Aemond • Lady Baratheon Mother
* English is not my first language. Please, do not repost. Enjoy! *
Main story and my other fics: Masterlist
______
He was unable to understand his father's decision. The night after their conversation, after the king had conveyed his will to him he had cried with rage, lying with his face pressed against his pillow, his barely healed scar from Luke's cut burning and itching more than usual.
"I've decided that you will spend a few years in Storm's End, preparing for your role as commander under the tutelage of Lord Borros Baratheon. After what has happened you need a change of environment, son. It'll do you good."
He wept quietly, remembering those words for the hundredth time. He thought with grief that what he needed was not a change of environment, but a father who would come in time, save him from his nephew's cut, support him later in front of everyone, hug him and comfort him.
Meanwhile, despite the fact that he had managed to tame the largest dragon that now walked the earth his father was getting rid of him. He thought that the lack of an eye made him now forever defiant in his eyes and he wanted to hide him somewhere far away from the world, condemning him to oblivion.
His mother begged his father to change his mind, but he said that his son was already eleven years old and would soon be a grown man, and she could visit him whenever she wanted.
Whether he wanted it or not, a week later he was standing in the courtyard wrapped in his crying mother's arms. Aegon yawned, looking around, Helaena was staring at her hands, thoughtful, and small Daeron sobbed loudly not understanding why he had to leave.
He only grunted, looking at them, not knowing what to say. He simply nodded, turned and walked away, not wanting to cry in front of everyone like a little child.
When he reached Storm's End on Vhagar a heavy rain was pouring down all around him, through which he could see very little. He struggled to land near the fortress, and travelled a long distance on foot before encountering guards who came out to meet him and led him straight into the great stone stronghold.
Frozen and with a pounding heart he stepped inside, the keep seemed huge and cold to him, his wet footsteps echoing loudly and disturbingly all around him.
He was led into a large circular hall and saw a tall, massive, bearded man before him. He was strongly built, his shoulder-length hair was as dark as his beard, his thick eyebrows furrowed in displeasure, which he recognised that he was the reason for.
"What is the meaning of this? Why haven't you given him dry clothes yet?" He almost roared at his guards, who only nodded, moving immediately back towards the corridor.
"Royce!" The man called out in a voice so tubular that it echoed loudly throughout the hall, making him swallow heavily. He tried to keep an indifferent face, but he could feel his legs trembling.
Suddenly, a boy, taller than him and reminding him a bit of Jace, ran into the hall through a side entrance. He had short, curly hair and big brown eyes.
"Lead Prince Aemond to his chamber. Let him rest, and then both of you come to the feast." He said in a firm, unobjectionable voice from which his heart trembled.
His father-king had never spoken like this and he did not know how to act.
Royce, however, did not seem at all bothered by his father's harsh tone. He approached him with a light step and bowed, looking at him curiously. He swallowed loudly.
"Follow me, My Prince." He said, and he simply moved behind him, snorting quietly with his nose.
They moved up the grand, richly carved stone staircase. Royce was walking so fast that it was hard to keep up with him. They turned into one of the main corridors, then Royce opened a wooden door and invited him inside.
He stepped into his chamber and realised to his surprise that this room was even bigger than the one he had lived in the Red Keep. There was already a fire in the fireplace, the warmth of the flames making him tremble a little less. Royce looked at him and opened the dresser, pulling out a chemise and trousers, glancing at him.
"Get changed. Unfortunately such fine weather here is normal. You'll have to get used to it. Dinner will be in an hour, father doesn't like anyone to be late. Make yourself comfortable." He said and patted him on the shoulder, stepping around him and walking out, leaving him with an embarrassed expression on his face.
No lord had ever touched him so brazenly or spoken to him so directly, but yet he felt some kind of relief after he had done so. He thought that perhaps such gestures were made between friends, brothers, and swallowed quietly.
This was not his family.
He had been sent here as if to some great stone prison.
After a few minutes or so, the servants brought trunks with his belongings, which had been brought in several carriages, and he changed into an attire he thought appropriate for supper. A plump, smiling woman then entered his chamber and informed him that she would be his servant and that he could ask her for anything he needed. He felt strange.
He knew they were kind to him because he was a prince. Because his father and Lord Baratheon had decided that he would one day marry one of his daughters. They could not offend or discourage him. He pressed his lips together at the thought and decided that he would not fall for this cheap pity.
He wondered for a moment how he was supposedly going to get to the hall where the feast would be, but a few minutes before the appointed time Royce knocked on his door asking if he was ready. They went there together.
They entered a great hall from the ceiling of which hung a huge candlestick, behind a long table stretched a fireplace from which a fire gushed, on an oak table spread a whole lot of dishes he had not seen before.
He noticed, surprised, that Lord Borros had already eaten, ignoring the fact that not everyone was yet at the table, nor that he, the prince, had yet to sit down. He swallowed quietly, sitting down in the seat Royce had indicated to him, the curious glances of his sisters made him lower his head, embarrassed.
They were looking at his eyepatch, at his scar.
He wanted to hide, to disappear.
Suddenly he heard a squeal from under the table that Royce had just ducked under and pulled out a little girl laughing so loudly he felt uncomfortable. She tried to pull away from her brother, but he held her tight and pinched her flushed cheek.
"This is where you hid, little rascal. I'm sorry, this is no longer your place, from now on Prince Aemond sits here." He explained to her, and she stopped squirming, looking at him with furrowed brows and tightened lips.
He glanced at her, thinking she was about to start crying as loudly as she laughed, but she glanced back at Royce.
"Fine. He can sit there, but you can't." She burbled, jabbing her brother in his arm with her finger, stepping under the table again and appearing on the other side, taking the empty seat next to her other sister, the only fair-haired girl, who sighed heavily as she looked at her.
"Sit down. Don't act like an animal." She said, correcting her on the seat, her younger sister looked at her resentfully but said nothing. "What do you want to eat?"
She asked her as if she were her mother, and the girl pointed her finger at the roast. Lord Borros' low, firm voice snapped him out of his reverie.
"Eat. Don't be shy. This is your home now." He said, glancing at him with his piercing brown eyes, putting some more meat on the platter beside him and handed it to him.
He swallowed, nodded and took a bit for his plate. Throughout the feast he had been frustrated by the attentiveness of Lord Borros' daughters, except perhaps the youngest, who was too savage to concentrate on anything.
He had hardly slept through the night, curling up in his bed, trying not to cry from sadness and longing. He wanted to return to King's Landing, to a place where the sun greeted him every day, not rain and clouds. Where there was his library to hide in, his garden, his mother and his heritage.
He felt lost, lonely, forsaken.
His maid brought him his breakfast in the morning, warm milk with a platter of rolls and vegetables he liked. He wondered how she knew this and whether Lord Borros had asked his mother about it before. Then Royce came into his chamber and said that in an hour he would be training with his father in the courtyard for hand-to-hand combat and he could join them if he wished.
He wasn't sure he wanted to.
He was afraid of humiliation.
However, he recognised that Lord Borros could not see him as a weak coward, so he went downstairs, having previously dressed in the clothes designed for training, entering the courtyard from the side, through the cloisters, and stopped, looking at the square in front of him in disbelief.
Indeed Lord Borros and Royce were practising, both of them with wooden swords in their hands, all sorts of targets and shields around them, on tables surrounding them weapons he had not even seen in King's Landing. What he did not understand, however, was what his youngest daughter was doing there with them.
"Stand firmer on your feet. Improve your posture." Borros shouted loudly at her as she pushed against Royce with vigour, her wooden sword even smaller than his, her dark hair tied up in a braid, determination and focus in her big, bright eyes.
Royce deflected her attack and with a single, powerful blow knocked her wooden sword out of her hand a few metres away. She immediately ran after him, picking it up off the ground.
"Are you holding that sword or not?" Asked frustrated Royce, throwing his sword over his shoulder. "You need to have a stronger grip, focus."
"I'm trying!" She called out, running back to him and stopped, spotting him standing in front of the fortress entrance.
"Prince Aemond is here!" She exclaimed joyfully, and he blushed and lowered his head, embarrassed, feeling as if he had been caught in the act, even though he had done nothing wrong.
Borros and Royce immediately turned their gazes towards him, Lord Baratheon running the hilt of his sword over the sand.
"Come here." He said in a commanding voice, without any further pleasantries. He pressed his lips together at the thought that Criston had always addressed him with respect, not forgetting his titles.
He swallowed loudly, walking towards them with his head lowered, pale, prepared for humiliation. Royce threw a wooden sword in his direction, which he caught in flight.
"Ready?" The boy asked him, and he nodded. Royce thrust at him suddenly, his blow swishing through the air, but he jumped back, spinning, trying to hit him from the side.
Royce blocked his blow and pushed him away, but he swished his sword once more, hitting him with all his strength on the shoulder. Royce hissed and recoiled, furrowing his brow, and he froze and stopped, swallowing loudly, looking at Lord Baratheon in horror. His daughter who stood beside him clapped her hands, a wide smile on her face. Borros nodded.
"Good. Royce, what did you do wrong?" His father asked, and Royce sighed heavily.
"I didn't dodge on my knees." He said resignedly, looking away, closing his eyes. His father hummed under his breath.
"Exactly. How many times do I have to tell you. Footwork is key! Again." He ordered, Royce sighed, the expression of displeasure gone from his face.
They had had several fights with each other, already more evenly matched, Lord Baratheon after each one giving them remarks or showing them what they were doing wrong. Aemond swallowed loudly as he turned to him.
"You have very good technique, but you are too tense in your shoulders. Relax them and your swing will be wider, you will be able to reach your enemy from a greater distance. Do you understand?" He asked and he nodded, unable to get the words out, his heart was beating like crazy.
His advice worked, he could feel in his hand that his sword was reaching farther, he hit Royce in the chest and he caught himself and hissed. Lord Borros came up and patted him firmly on the shoulder.
"Good. Just like that. Royce, legs." Borros said to him, and he felt his cheeks go red, his belly filled with some kind of pride he didn't want to feel.
When they had finished and Borros said they could go and rest he thought Royce would lurk somewhere in the middle of the fortress and beat him up for the warm words from his father. Aegon always took it out on him later when he won some sparring match organised by Cole saying that he had humiliated him in front of everyone.
Royce, however, seemed to have forgotten all about the training, hot and sweaty, saying he was thirsty and hungry. He told him they could go to the pantry together, and he nodded, although he'd never been in such a place before.
They went down into the underground, there were servants walking around them, but they didn't seem to pay any attention to them, as if Royce's presence was normal for everyone. Royce went into one of the rooms and took two apples for them, on the way one of the servants asked him if they preferred to eat something warm.
"No." Said Royce, throwing him the other apple, turning back. They ate as they walked down the long, stone-cold corridors. He wondered if he could ask him about it, he couldn't hold his curiosity any longer.
"Do you have a library here?" He asked feigning indifference, biting into the sweet flesh of the fruit. Only now did he feel the stress leave him, his stomach growling with hunger. Royce looked at him puzzled.
"Yes, but it's rarely used. I can show you where it is if you want."
As promised, Royce took him to a gigantic room made up of huge stone bookcases filled to the brim with dusty tomes. Indeed, the place looked as if no one had looked there for a long time.
He knew that Lord Borros could not read. However, he wondered if his children couldn't do it either. He glanced at Royce and wondered if it was appropriate for him to ask such things. So far Royce had been nice to him and was the only boy his age he could talk to about anything. He figured he'd phrase the question so as not to give himself away.
"Don't you like books?" He asked casually, eating further, strolling across the room with him. Royce shrugged his shoulders.
"I like books about the war, but they have a lot of difficult words that I don't understand. My mother explained to me that they were difficult books for adults and that I could try to go back to them when I was older." He said calmly, and he swallowed loudly, glancing at him out of the corner of his eye.
Their mother was dead, but he wouldn't dare ask what had happened to her.
He hummed under his breath at his words and nodded.
"Sometimes I take books from here to read to my sister before bed. The youngest one you saw in the square today." He said, taking one of the books from the shelf, looking through it without much concentration. He looked at him thoughtfully.
"Why is your little sister practising with you?" He asked, completely not understanding what she was doing there, having never seen any girl their age in King's Landing take an interest in such things before.
"And why not?" Royce replied with a question to question, shrugging his shoulders. He was surprised by this answer and did not know what to reply.
"She cried terribly when I didn't want to take her with me. She insisted on sword fighting and that's it. Didn't one of Aegon the Conqueror's sister-wives fight with a sword?" He asked, raising an eyebrow.
He pressed his lips together, refraining from saying that the Targaryens were not like other people and not to compare them, but he decided it was rude and left the subject.
From then on, he found his asylum in the forgotten library of Storm's End, where he spent his afternoons after training with Royce and writing off his mother's letters.
Although he still felt lonely, Royce was good company, not imposing on him, having his barriers, respecting his space. He wasn't spiteful and didn't look down on girls the way Aegon did, didn't beat him surreptitiously when his father wasn't watching, didn't play silly jokes or mischief on him.
He was a good friend.
He liked to climb up to the small half-floor of the library from which he had a view of the whole place, settling in there with a few books and something to eat, spending long hours there.
One day, however, he heard, startled, as the door to the room opened, Borros's youngest daughter ran inside like a storm, approaching one of the bookcases. She struggled to pull some book off a shelf she couldn't reach, and he watched her efforts without a word. He wondered if he should help her, and then decided he didn't need to do anything for her.
The girl finally took the chair and stood on it, this time grabbing what she wanted. He blinked as she got off the chair and sat down on it, looking through some sort of large, colourful book, he could see from a distance how many illustrations it had.
He thought curiously that he would take it as soon as she had gone, however, she sat down comfortably and browsed further, wiggling her legs that did not reach the ground.
He sighed quietly and flipped the page of his book, discouraged, and she then lifted her head high and spotted him. He squeezed his eye shut when he heard her get up suddenly and run upstairs to him, he thought he could bid farewell to silence and peace.
"What are you reading about?!" She asked, sitting down next to him at the table above which her head barely protruded.
She unfolded a large but rather thin book in front of him, with an ornate red cover on which a dragon-like shape flashed before him. He didn't answer her question, pushing the book closer to himself, beginning to look through it quickly.
"Hey, I'm reading this!" She squealed in pain, wanting to take it from him, but he pushed her hand away.
"Be quiet." He growled, flicking through page after page, feeling his heart begin to pound.
Tales of the ancient Rulers of the Seven Kingdoms.
Beautifully illustrated scenes of nuptials, dragons, battles, his ancestors on gilded, coloured illuminations. In the Red Keep he had never seen such a book before. He flipped back to the beginning, wanting to start reading, but felt her hand tighten on his arm, her breathing uneven, as if she were about to cry.
"…I read it…." She mumbled, looking at him with big eyes full of tears, her face expressing as if she had never suffered so much in her life as she did in that moment.
"I'm reading it now. When I'm done I'll give it back to you." He said dryly, looking away.
He thought she was going to run off crying to complain to Royce or her father, and pressed his lips together at the thought, but she drew in a loud breath, trying to hold back the loud sobs that were pushing at her throat.
"− and can I − uh - can I sit next to − and you'd read to me, and I − I − I'd like to −" She spoke incoherently and with difficulty, and he clenched his eye knowing that she wouldn't leave him alone. He sighed heavily, pushed her chair closer to him and moved the book to the side so she could see something.
"Do you see anything?" He asked impatiently, looking at her, and she sat up on her knees to raise herself higher, looking at the open book curiously, her face completely changed its expression back to contented and gentle, although she was still red from tears.
"Yes."
He sighed heavily and began to read.
"Once upon a time there was a mysterious land called Valyria. It was known for its great sorcery and magic, and the most enchanted creatures of all had to be the almighty dragons, great flying reptiles breathing fire that resembled lizards in appearance. They had been invincible for thousands of years, sowing fear and confusion among humans who tried to tame them with prayers and gifts." He read in a calm voice and realised after a moment that she was listening to him as if enchanted, looking along with him at the text he was reading.
She glanced at him when he stopped reading, her gaze expressing joyful anticipation.
She really thought he was going to read the whole book to her now.
He didn't know how he felt about that thought. It frustrated him that he had to exert himself for her just on her whim, on the other hand she was just a child who wanted to listen to a story.
"Read on." She said softly, pleasantly, squirming in her lap in anticipation. "I really want to learn more about dragons."
He swallowed quietly at her words, lowering his head, looking blankly at the text in front of him. Even though her sisters were trying with all their might to make contact and conversation with him, he could see them trying to avoid looking at his eyepatch, afraid they would say the wrong thing or offend him.
He was tired of it.
Both he and they pretended all the time.
But she wanted nothing more than for him to continue reading a story that interested her.
So he read on.
✦ - ✦ - ✦ A few years later ✦ - ✦ - ✦
When his mother sent him a letter that Helaena had finally given birth, he flew to King's Landing for a few days to see his nephews. He was pleased, although he did not particularly show it, that his sister had endured the hardships of labour well, being able to get out of bed practically immediately despite giving birth to two children rather than one.
He stood over the two beautiful, ornate wooden cradles in which the two white-haired infants lay and pressed his lips together, knowing that these innocent creatures had just pushed him in line for the throne.
He had inherited nothing.
All he had was Vhagar.
He knew everyone thought so. As he walked the corridors of the Red Keep he felt the stares of the lords and ladies of the court, he knew they were whispering about him. He appeared in King's Landing infrequently and always aroused a general curiosity that made him want to return to Storm's End at once.
There he didn't feel like an intruder, he thought with pain.
Despite his mother's pleas for him to stay for a few weeks, he decided that he would return to Storm's End as planned, remembering his promise to Lord Baratheon to return to the fortress before his Name Day.
The last supper he spent in the Red Keep was quiet and peaceful, the only people at the table who had the strength to talk were his grandfather and his mother. Although the feast went on as usual, he could not get rid of the feeling that everyone around him was grey and dead, without energy or joy.
He recoiled from it.
Although he had always sought silence and solitude in Storm's End, dinners were full of loud conversations and laughter, usually through the banter between Borros, his son and his youngest child, sometimes joined by Ellyn.
Cassandra usually pressed her lips together, looking at him with shame, perpetually worried that he was unhappy or embarrassed, trying to mother everyone, much to his frustration.
Ellyn was sweet and kind, but everything frightened her, she was close to tears when he and Royce had fierce duels during which she almost begged them not to hurt each other.
Maris was withdrawn and immersed in her thoughts, paying no attention to him after he had growled at her several times not to enter his chamber in his absence.
Neither of them frustrated him as much as Floris did.
As he walked down the corridor she tried to catch him under his arm, turning his journey from point to point into a romantic stroll. She constantly asked his opinion when it came to choosing a gown for the feast, to which he didn't feel like answering, uninterested. Her approach tired him.
However, on the whole, he felt surprised and sad when he caught himself thinking that he was returning to Storm's End with relief. He felt like a stranger, like an intruder in his own home, his heritage, and he felt rage mixed with disappointment.
He returned on Vhagar to Storm's End late at night, flying in the middle of a terrible storm, entering the fortress all soaked.
He rolled his eye when he saw that Floris was waiting for him, dressed only in a slightly transparent night robe, holding some cloth in her hands.
"You're soaking wet, my prince, let me help you." She said, looking at him with big eyes.
"No need. Don't follow me." He said dryly, heading to his chamber and locking himself in to make sure she would definitely not come after him.
He changed into dry clothes and collapsed on his bed, falling asleep practically immediately, he heard the loud thunder outside his window.
He woke up as always before dawn, looking tiredly at the grey, overcast sky. He murmured under his breath seeing that it wasn't raining and rose, putting on his trousers, dressing his boots lazily.
He liked to practice in the morning, in solitude, before everyone else was up. Dueling with Royce was interesting and over the years they had formed a wordless, close bond, however he liked to train alone sometimes, wanting to surprise him later with an unexpected blow.
He stepped out into the courtyard and was immediately struck by the crisp, pleasant, refreshing air. He picked up one of the long swords and turned it around a few times in his hand, wanting to check that it lay well in his hand. He shuddered and almost fell over when he felt someone suddenly jump onto his back.
"Brother!" He heard a happy girlish squeal, someone's arms were embracing his neck from behind, her legs clenched around his waist.
"− fuck! − gods −" He hissed, feeling his heart pounding like a mad, looking back over his shoulder, although he knew perfectly well who he was going to see.
He felt her warm breath on his cheek, her pleasant floral scent filled his nose, her bright eyes shining with genuine joy at the sight of him, her cheeks warm and flushed from the cold. She giggled seeing the look on his face.
"Where is your vigilance?" She asked amused and he snorted.
"Get off." He growled in frustration and pushed her away so that she had to slide back off the ground.
He looked at her frustrated, his lips tightened into a straight line in shame.
"Can you finally stop doing that?" He said coolly, looking down at her, but she only smiled wider, putting her hands at her sides, not making anything of his words.
Only now did he realise that she too was wearing her training attire, tight black trousers, a buff white chemise, and over that an embroidered corset pleasantly hugging her slender waist, her long dark hair tied in a braid.
He swallowed loudly as he looked at her, wondering helplessly why he always lost his confidence in her presence.
She was driving him off balance.
"Forgive me. I couldn't help myself when I saw you." She said meekly, walking up to him with a light step, standing in front of him, her face gentle and happy.
She was glad to see him.
She was glad he was back.
He felt embarrassed at her words and looked away, pressing his lips together. She saw how tense he was and obviously felt remorse, because she lowered her gaze.
"I thought you'd come back last evening." She said softly, looking up at him again, her eyes big, sincere, warm.
She was always direct, always spoke straight from her heart, but there was no pressure or expectation of reciprocation, of an answer. Her sincerity straddled him and he usually didn't know what to make of it, embarrassed and confused by her words.
"Something kept me in King's Landing." He replied briefly and dryly, looking at the hilt of his sword, turning it steadily in his hand, pressing its tip to the ground.
"I hope the princess' delivery was quick and easy and that her children are healthy." She said softly, with genuine interest and concern.
"Mmm." That was the only thing that came out of his mouth. He felt an awkward silence ensue between them, as it always did, but she seemed to make nothing of it.
"Will it bother you if I practise archery next to you?" She finally asked politely, calmly, looking at him expectantly, shifting from foot to foot.
"Do what you want." He said dryly, turning the sword in his hand again and turning his back to her, striking one of the targets with his blade.
She answered him nothing to this, standing in silence for a moment, and then he heard her move as she approached one of the tables, taking from it the bow she always chose, given to her by her father. She positioned herself sideways to him, aiming at the shield from a long distance and hit the target immediately. They practised like this in silence until Royce finally joined them.
She and Royce formed a very strong bond between them, which manifested itself in their constant conversations and closeness. He watched from the side as Royce embraced her, picked her up, leaned against her while standing next to her and felt embarrassed, never having been this close to Helaena himself, and even if he had been, he would not have had the courage to show it to her in this way.
She knew she couldn't afford the same type of closeness to him and didn't even try. She circled around him with an amused, joyful expression though, her eyes shining brightly at the sight of him, making him feel a tightness in his throat. He could not stop the rapid beating of his heart and the heat that spread through his body when her hand lightly touched his arm when she asked him something or wanted to comfort him.
She loved to surprise him, appearing in front of him out of nowhere, almost giving him a heart attack, and walking away laughing out loud at his expression, leaving him overwhelmed with embarrassment. She repeated that his face was always stony and indifferent and that she was only testing how much she could get out of him.
The exchanges between them were usually unpredictable and chaotic, she never said what he expected of her and it made him perpetually tense in her presence. He didn't even know when she stopped being a child, changing just like him, the height difference between them even greater than before.
It seemed to him as if she were a small wildflower that bloomed day by day, her shapes becoming more and more girlish, embarrassingly pleasing to his eye. Unlike her sisters, she didn't try to look older than she was. She allowed herself to mature slowly, without unnecessary haste, without killing her innocence, joy and lightness.
Pretty soon he began to see with horror that looking at her from the side was working on his mind, drawing reactions from his body that he was ashamed of. He never lay with any woman, being like his mother a faithful follower of the Seven, believing that as a man he should be able to control himself and his desires completely.
He tried to avoid her, but at the same time he couldn't stop the squeeze of excitement in his stomach when she came to him in the library or during their joint training sessions. He never knew what she would do, what she would say, so he pretended to be indifferent, trying not to think about how hard his heart was pounding.
Nevertheless, he did not know what drove him to follow her one evening when, returning from the library, he saw that she was running down to underground crypts in nothing but her nightgown and robe tied loosely around her waist, a candle in her hand. He thought he'd go and scare her like she had done to him, to make her feel what it was like.
That he'll teach her a lesson.
He followed her quietly, watching his every step, feeling like a predator trying to stalk its prey. He saw the faint light of her candle right in front of him, saw her silhouette standing in front of one of the crypts, her head bowed in thought.
He didn't know what possessed him to grab her by her neck with his hand, embracing her waist with his arm and pull her to him so violently that her body slammed into his, a sudden, high-pitched squeal escaped her mouth.
"Fucking unpleasant, isn't it?" He hissed into her ear, feeling her whole body tremble, her breathing accelerated and terrified. His hand tightened on her neck, the closeness of her body made his manhood pulse hard in his trousers.
"I wanted to see if you are able to make other than a happy, laughing face." He whispered mischievously into her ear and felt a shiver run through her body, her hand tightening on his arm.
She turned her head towards him, her eyes big, terrified, red, full of something he couldn't describe, her lips parted slightly. They were both breathing unevenly, they had never stood so close to each other before, a silence fell between them that terrified him.
A silence full of tension.
Say something, he thought, say I'm a nasty bastard, hit me, push me away.
He swallowed loudly when he felt her put her hand on his, her skin soft and warm.
"Today it is ten years since my mother passed away." She whispered in a trembling, soft voice, looking down, and he felt his heart stop.
He lifted his gaze to the sarcophagus with the large stone statue standing on top of it and recognised in it the face of a woman holding a book in her hands. He felt an instant of shame, of guilt, of embarrassment wash over him.
He let go of her, pulling away from her, feeling his heart pounding like mad, terrified that he had gotten completely hard from their momentary closeness.
What was he doing?
He swallowed loudly, feeling like running away, sinking into the ground, disappearing, but he was unable to move.
"I come here often to pray to her to watch over us. Over our whole family. Over you too." She said at the end, and he swallowed silently, staring at the stone floor, unable to look at her, overpowered by shame.
"I'm sorry for what I did to you. I'll never do it again." She whispered quietly and turned away, moving towards the stairs, leaving him with the burning candle.
Since then, she has never startled him again.
Lord Borros celebrated his Name Day sumptuously, inviting first his subordinate lords and vassals to a great feast in Storm's End, and then setting out with his entire retinue for several days hunting in the forest.
He and Royce entered the hall together through a side entrance on the side of their table, set perpendicular to the tables where the other minor lords and guests were seated.
"I'm sure old Lord Errol and Lord Seaworth will get into a fight again. The wine is bad for their minds and they get mad. I don't understand why Father always seats them so close together." Royce said amused, sitting down in his seat.
His face involuntarily stretched into a smirk at the memory of how Borros had to separate them when Lord Errol started slamming Lord Seaworth's head against the oak table, demanding an apology.
"Were they, by any chance, companions on one of Father's expeditions?" He asked indifferently as he sat down next to him and swallowed quietly noting how the word father had involuntarily slipped from his lips.
Not "our" father.
Not "your" father.
Just father, he reassured himself in his head.
It didn't mean anything.
"Yes, they were best friends, but you know how it is. When there's no war they get bored, so they create reasons for themselves to fight." He said with amusement, reaching for his wine-filled cup, taking a sip from it. He nodded his head.
He was unable to describe what kind of relationship he had with Royce. Royce never acted as if he was lower or higher than him, never let him feel his jealousy of his father, never took it out on him for his failures. Royce simply accepted his presence on the very first day he appeared in Storm's End, and this state of acceptance continued through the years.
He couldn't imagine spending time with Aegon in the way he did with Royce. Royce, unlike him, knew exactly how much he could drink and when he should tell himself enough. He did not read as much as he did, however, he was a man of intelligence, like his father often throwing in apt remarks. Royce was a good observer, better than him, so in a way they complemented each other on a daily basis.
He looked around the room, Lord Borros was discussing something with concern with his servant, apparently about the order in which the dishes were served or a problem with the wine, which, after all, could not be lacking in his house.
His gaze traveled further and he swallowed loudly, feeling his heart hit harder when he spotted his youngest daugther talking to Ellyn, a wide smile and joy on her face, she was laughing at something, her eyes glowing.
He noticed that she didn't wear gowns like her older sisters who followed fashion of King's Landing. The neckline of her gown did not begin until below her breasts, which were covered only by her undershirt, the sleeves of her gown buff and partly slit, tied with bows from under which the white material of her chemise shone through, her hair tied in an elaborate braid.
Her attire was so impressive to him because she usually dressed similarly to them whether she was training with them or attended her father's hunts. Lord Baratheon's other lords and vassals gave her paternal affection, often laughing that Borros had not one son, but three.
Comparisons to men, however, did not take away her confidence, for she seemed to subconsciously understand that all her femininity and girlhood was released when she laughed and smiled, her face always gentle and warm, surrounded usually by a long, complicated braid.
With frustration, he began to notice that men liked to make small talk with her, finding her an interesting and entertaining companion, unafraid of uncomfortable topics. She would occasionally meet his impatient, tense gaze and he would then turn away, tightening his lips, feeling like a fool.
He pretended not to feel relieved and satisfied when, usually after a while, she sat down next to him, turning to him with some question, her knee pressed against his.
He took a deep sip from his cup, looking away.
Lord Borros finally arose and began his speech, thanking those gathered for coming, mentioning some important battles and people, before formally inviting everyone to eat and dance. With music blaring around them, Royce handed him a plate of roast meat that had literally just appeared on the table in front of them.
He tried to pretend he didn't see young Lord Wylde approach Lord Baratheon's youngest daughter asking her to dance, to which she agreed with a soft, wide smile. He tried not to glance surreptitiously as they circled around each other in the dance, her movements nimble, gentle, innocent, her hand barely touching his.
He took another sip of wine, feeling the artery in his throat pulsate, his heart pounding hard in his chest.
He felt relieved when the dance was over and they bowed to each other. He tensed, however, clenching his hand into a fist as he noticed the young boy leaning over her, whispering something to her ear, and she smiled warmly at him, answering him something quickly.
He felt anger.
He felt frustration.
He felt tension.
He tried to reassure himself with the thought that she was innocent and naïve, and he was making sure nothing happened to her, like the good big brother he actually wasn't.
"What happened?" Royce asked, clearly seeing the tension painted on his face, and he grunted low.
"Young Lord Wylde seems to have taken a liking to your sister." He said offhandedly, feigning indifference, hoping Royce would take an interest in the matter for him. He, however, blinked, glancing at them, then shrugged his shoulders.
"My sister is wise, she can handle him if he's too insistent. Let her have her fun." He said lightly, taking a sip of wine, finishing off the leftover meat on his plate, and he averted his gaze, feeling a tightening in his stomach at his words.
When he saw out of the corner of his eye Floris standing up from her chair he also immediately stood up, knowing that she was going to torment him by talking about topics that he was completely uninterested in. Royce only laughed out loud when he told him he was going to go out into the fresh air for a while, knowing exactly who he was running from.
He went out a side entrance and heard Floris come up behind him, so he changed his plan and instead of the cloisters he headed for the library, knowing that she hadn't peeked in there and certainly wouldn't even stop to look.
He entered the dark room and climbed the stairs to the half-floor where he always sat when he was a child, sitting down on the ground against the wall, running his hand over his face.
He wondered what was actually happening to him, feeling tired and discouraged. He knew that eventually he would have to choose one of Borros' daughters to be his wife, but the Lord of Storm's End had let him know that he was to choose from four, not five.
"As I understand it, you will not consider her. She is still so young and childish, she would not do well in the Red Keep or as your wife. You know her nature, it's like locking a wild bird in a cage. For the rest, I am sure you are certainly interested in more mature women." He said and patted him on the shoulder, paternally, with some expression of masculine tenderness from which he felt a tightening in his throat, and nodded only, without looking him in the face.
He couldn't admit to him that thoughts of her invaded him at night, when he touched himself, when he fucked himself with his hand.
That he imagined she came to his chamber in the middle of the night, scared, innocent, warm, and he took her, slowly and tenderly, placing wet kisses full of desire and devotion on her soft face, listening to her sweet moans.
He squeezed his eye shut at the thought, swallowing loudly, feeling his member pulsate hard at the thought.
He jumped up terrified when he heard the quiet creak of the door and cursed in his mind thinking that it was Floris who had finally found his hiding place.
However, he saw in the faint light of the torch from the corridor that the figure who was looking up at him from below was wearing a completely different dress with large buff sleeves. He felt his heart begin to beat like mad, a cold sweat on the back of his neck.
"Brother? Everything all right?" He heard her quiet, worried voice, she spoke almost in a whisper, as if she was afraid someone would hear her. His voice caught in his throat.
He couldn't get anything out.
Go away, he thought pleadingly, but she stepped inside and closed the door behind her.
She walked slowly upstairs, lifting her gown with her hands to avoid trampling on it, and knelt down next to him on the floor with a loud rustle, her scent immediately hitting his nostrils. He turned his head, terrified, feeling that he was already completely hard, his chest rising and falling anxiously.
"Are you unwell?" She asked uncertainly, glancing at him, but he didn't dare look at her. He shook his head slowly and heard her swallow quietly.
"Do you want me to leave you alone?" She asked again after a moment, and he pressed his lips together, feeling that his whole body was fighting not to throw himself at her, his breathing quickened and anxious, his face stony. He didn't look at her.
He answered nothing.
"I missed you." She whispered at last, and he felt a squeeze in his heart, a pain as if someone had stuck a needle in his chest. "When you're gone something is missing. Royce too…"
"Stop it." He growled colder than he would have liked, frustrated and terrified.
"Why are you telling me this?" He asked impatiently, looking at her suddenly, breathing hard, his hand clenched into a fist as if he was about to hit her. He saw her frightened, warm gaze, saw that she couldn't understand him, what frustrated him and what pleased him. She swallowed loudly, surprised by his sudden outburst.
"You think I want to listen to this? I'm not your brother. Have you forgotten who I am already? Do you feel better when you forget that you should bow before me?" He exhaled in one breath, feeling the poison gathering in his heart fly out of him like a bloodthirsty wave, drowning everything around them, including her and him.
He felt a pang of remorse as he saw her face contort in pain, as if he had slapped her across the face, she blinked rapidly tightening her lips, pulling away from him slightly, raising her arms as if in a gesture of defence, her body breathless all over. She swallowed quietly, her mouth quivering as she spoke her next words.
"To me, you will always be my brother." She said in a trembling voice, and he felt anger and hopelessness at her words.
He did not want to be her brother.
Not when she wasn't a Targaryen.
Not when he wanted to fuck her.
She squealed loudly as his hand brutally clamped down on her hair and pulled her close with a sudden movement so that she literally slammed into his body, falling over, catching his arms to keep her balance, her terrified face millimetres from his. They both breathed loudly as they stared at each other for a long moment, he felt his head spin from the smell of her.
He felt a shudder pass through him as her hand touched his scarred cheek uncertainly, his member pulsed painfully hard, leaving him breathless. Shivers ran down the back of his neck as her fingers slid slowly down his skin to his lips, pulsating and swollen. He pulled her face closer, their foreheads touching.
He glanced at her lips, soft, pink, full, and then again at her eyes, warm, misty, surrounded by beautiful dark lashes like a veil. His hand inch by inch drew her closer and closer, he could feel her accelerated breath wrapping around his face. The tip of his nose ran over her soft cheek and they both trembled, a quiet, sweet sigh escaped her lips, her fingers ran down his cheek.
When his lips brushed hers they both froze, looking at each other with misty eyes, breathing loudly. He waited for her reaction, for her to pull away, to shake her head and tell him no. But she didn't move an inch, her whole body quivered, her mouth parted as if invitingly, encouragingly. He leaned towards her, his thirsty lips pressed against hers, soft, fleshy, wonderfully moist.
She whispered his name quietly, and he kissed her again, each time more surely, more deeply, drawing her closer, her hand tightening on his cheek. Their hot, swollen lips danced with each other with a sticky, wet click that sent shivers through him, his free arm hugging her waist and pulling her closer, forcing her to sit on his lap.
They both panted into each other's mouths feeling their hands travel uncertainly over their bodies, the pads of his fingertips touching her hair, her nape, her neck, her cheeks, her waist, repeating it all over again.
His manhood pulsed in his trousers so hard that once in a while a low, helpless groan of pleasure ripped from his throat straight into her mouth, her lips responding timidly to his caresses, her hand trailing through his hair and down his neck.
Aroused to the limit, with a pounding heart, he tentatively slipped the tip of his tongue into her parted lips as if to see how she would react, whether it would be too much. He felt her tremble all over and draw in a loud breath, her fingers clenching tighter on his hair.
He repeated the movement of his tongue and got the same wonderful reaction out of her. He moaned loudly when he felt tips of their tongues come into contact and lick, a strong shudder ran through his body, his hands tightening on the material of her gown.
They both flinched and pulled away immediately, looking at each other in horror when they heard someone grab the doorknob and then the door swung open with a loud creak. They both stood up, swallowing loudly, noticing Royce who was frowning through the lack of light and only saw them on the balcony a moment later.
"I've been looking everywhere for you, what are you doing here?" He asked surprised and amused, seeing their faces.
"I felt unwell. The wine made me sick." He choked out wearily, avoiding her, feeling like his heart was about to leap out of his chest, running down the stairs.
"I'm better now, let's go." He said, stepping out into the corridor, trying to stop his body shaking and the sights he saw before his eyes. He was glad his robe was long enough to cover what was going on in his trousers.
Her soft lips pressed against his, her hand in his hair, her flowery, fresh scent, her warm breath, the trembling of her body, her tongue licking his.
He swallowed loudly, stepping back into the great hall, immediately bombarded with questions from Floris as to where he had gone for so long. He didn't answer her, sidestepping her, sitting down in his seat, taking a few deep sips of wine to calm himself.
What had he done?
Fuck.
Fuck. Fuck. Fuck. Fuck.
What if she tells Royce? Or Father?
He ran his hand over his chin at that thought, feeling a tightening in his stomach, glancing nervously at the entrance.
He thought Borros would kill him if he found out.
A moment later, she and Royce also entered the room, her face pale, though she tried to smile, Royce telling her something amused.
She didn't tell him, he thought with relief.
Their gazes met and he immediately looked away, feeling her soft, wet tongue between his lips again, his member pulsed painfully in his trousers, demanding to be relieved at last.
Never before had he come so quickly fucking himself with his own hand as he had that evening. The loud, low moan of relief and delight that broke from his throat was silenced by the pillow into which he pressed his face, his body trembling in spasms. He involuntarily whispered her name as he slowly came down from his peak, his eye tightened, a quiet panting came from his mouth.
He was disgusted with himself and what he had done.
He was disgusted at how pleasant it felt.
She was so innocent.
In the morning he felt crushed by remorse, by the fact that he had frightened her, that she herself did not know what had happened between them. That she thought for certain he wanted to take advantage of her, to profit from the pleasure of her body and nothing more. He knew she would go hunting with them, she always went, helping Borros instead of his servants.
He did not know how he would look her in the face.
He decided he would try to go to Lord Borros and convince him somehow to let him stay in the fortress.
"This is time for you and your children." He said to him, Lord Borros' servant was just helping him put on a robe of thicker, warmer material designed for being outside in cold temperatures. Borros snorted at his words.
"My four daughters are staying and that I can understand, but you? Both my sons are to participate in the hunt." He said more commanding than stating. He looked at him, pretending to feel nothing at his words.
"I am not your son."
Borros pressed his lips together at his words. He waved his hand impatiently and ordered the servant to leave them alone. After a moment, the door closed behind him and a tense silence fell between them. He felt his heart pounding fast. Borros looked at him, wrinkling his wide, dark brows.
"You are not my son by blood, but I raised you. I made you a man. You and Royce are to come with me. Do you understand?" He asked low and clear, with the impatience characteristic of him when he was frustrated. He swallowed loudly and nodded his head.
You are not my son by blood, but I raised you.
I made you a man.
He did not want to admit to himself how much relief he felt at his words.
He no longer knew who he was and who he was not.
A dragon prince would never be an ordinary stag.
However, why was it that whenever Borros spoke in his presence he felt a respect and awe for him that made him unable to stand up to him? That he didn't remind him of who he was, how he should address him?
Part of him wanted to be Royce's brother, wanted to be Borros Baratheon's son.
But he also wanted something else.
Someone else.
He wondered, riding his mount beside Royce through the dense forest whether she would agree if he asked for her hand. Would she give up everything she loved for him and leave with him to the Red Keep, to the inheritance that was his by blood and law. He swallowed quietly, ashamed of the direction his thoughts were taking.
He was desperate.
When they arrived at the spot in the field where the large tents slowly floated he spotted her from afar talking quickly to his father about something and he lowered his head, terrified, dismounting from his horse, thinking only of what he had done the night before.
However, as Borros approached them in her company he began to talk about where they would be going and what they were hunting, his voice focused and pleased with the weather and the fact that it was not raining. He swallowed loudly, glancing at her out of the corner of his eye. She looked away from him as soon as she noticed he was looking at her.
She didn't tell him, he thought with relief and regret at the same time.
Perhaps if he found out the truth and required an explanation, he would have the courage to take her for himself and demand her hand.
He was not surprised when Borros ordered that all three of them and a few companions from his old days would accompany him on a deer hunt. His youngest daughter was, as usual, armed with a bow, much to her father's delight hitting a partridge from long distances. Borros patted her firmly on the back so that she bent under the powerful strokes of his broad palm.
"Very good." He said lightly, walking on, ordering them to move north. He saw her give him a quick glance and then immediately turn her head away, tightening her lips, all red, and run after her father.
The hunt was a success and they returned to camp with enough meat to feed all comers. Large bonfires were lit in front of the tents, the cooks skinning and quartering the animals before his eyes. Royce and he sat down under one of the trees, exhausted.
Royce called out to his sister when he spotted her from afar to rest with them, and he felt a twist in his stomach, looking away, feigning indifference.
His younger sister approached them uncertainly, trying to converse lightly with her brother about something, her hands clenched in her lap. After a moment, Borros called out to his son from a distance, saying that he needed to help him move some things, and he got up at once and ran towards him, leaving them alone. They both turned their heads, unable to look at each other, a protracted, awkward silence all around them.
He looked at the sun setting in the distance which he could see between the trees, feeling his heart pounding. It seemed to him that what had happened between them earlier in the night was just a figment of his imagination.
"I will not disturb you, my prince." She said softly, quietly, pained, lifting herself from the grass, and he looked at her surprised, his jaw clenched in a held breath at her words as he watched her walk away.
My prince.
When Royce returned he told him he needed to drink some wine. He drank more than usual, watching her from afar like a predator, seeing her cast him an uncertain, frightened glance once in a while. He was frustrated and full of anger that he didn't know what to do with.
He decided to go to bed early, drunk, tired and discouraged. Royce urged him to stay up, that the campfires would burn late into the night, but he had neither the strength nor the desire to feast.
He moved towards his tent and went inside, slowly undoing the buckles of his jacket, pulling it off and throwing it indifferently on the grass beside his bed. He heard someone come inside and thought it was his servant, so he loudly dismissed him, but the person who had entered did not move from his place.
"− Brother −" He heard her quiet, uncertain voice and froze, his body went through a shiver. He turned slowly to her over his shoulder, his gaze expressing shock. He couldn't believe she had come, his heart was pounding like mad. His mind was foggy, he felt uncertain and helpless, his hands involuntarily clenched into fists.
"What are you doing here?" He asked coolly, low, coldly, and she swallowed loudly, her large, warm eyes full of terror and uncertainty, she was pale.
She opened and closed her mouth several times but nothing came out of her throat, she rubbed her fingers together in a nervous gesture.
"− I − what happened yesterday −" She mumbled out, but he interrupted her in mid-sentence afraid of what she wanted to say.
"− forget about it −" He replied, turning away from her, untying the binding of his trousers, wanting to get rid of them before lying down on his bed. "− something else? −"
She turned her head away, embarrassed and hurt by his words and what he was doing, swallowing loudly, her brow furrowed as if in pain.
"− I want you to know that I won't tell anyone about this − that's all −" She whispered turning away and walked out, leaving him with a pounding heart and a feeling of overwhelming shame.
He ran his hand over his face and, in a gesture of anger, threw all his dishes off the table, which fell to the ground with a loud clang of metal.
Why did it have to be her?
He put his palms on the table, leaning his head forward, unable to calm himself, breathing loudly through his mouth.
Why couldn't it be Ellyn?
She was sweet, pretty, modest, well-read, quiet.
So why?
He came out of his tent like a living fury and stormed aggressively into her tent, heard her squeal of surprise as she jumped up on her bed, covering herself with fur, sitting up in only her nightgown.
She looked up at him with her mouth gaping open and her eyes wide as he ripped the furs from her hands, revealing her body peeking out from under the thin white material in front of him, her breath caught in her throat as he lay down on top of her, pressing her body against the bedding, his member pulsing hard between her thighs.
"− brother − what are you −" She whispered terrified, shivering all over, clasping her hands on his chemise.
"− tell me to stop −" He breathed out grabbing her trembling thighs in his hands, lifting them slightly and spreading them out in front of him, panting along with her, looking at her face full of disbelief. "− tell me to stop or I'll take what I want −"
He said in a raspy voice, his tongue invading between her swollen lips bringing out a helpless, drawn-out, surprised moan, her hands still clenched on the material of his shirt. He ran his hard, throbbing manhood hidden under the material between her thighs and she trembled all over, whimpering into his mouth.
He pulled away from her with a loud, wet click, looking at her like a madman, panting loudly along with her, parting her lower lip with his thumb, his hips rubbing against her in a slow back and forth motion.
"− say it −" He whispered more weakly, looking down at her, her face flushed and red, her lips parted in a ragged breath, a quiet moan came from her mouth each time he pressed her womanhood again.
"− please, make me stop − please −" He growled out helplessly, but her lips only parted more at his words, her thighs spread wider in front of him, her hand running over his cheek.
He squeezed his eye shut, feeling her lower lip brush his, her hips tentatively began to respond to his movements, rubbing against him, driving him wild. He felt like he was about to explode.
"− please −" He panted into her mouth, the tips of their tongues licking each other, a sweet, lingering mewl came from her lips. His trembling hands slid from her thigh to her buttocks, squeezing them uncertainly, he sighed in delight feeling how soft she was.
"− please − please −" He sighed in a trembling voice, but her hands weaved into his hair and drew him closer, her fingers trailing down his neck, slipping under his chemise, running over his back, leaving goosebumps in the areas of her touch. They both began to moan quietly and pant into each other's mouths, their kisses messy and loud, wet, sticky from their saliva.
"− marry me −" He exclaimed helplessly, lifting her chemise higher, revealing to him the bare skin of her thigh and what lay between them. Slowly he slid his hand there, trembling along with her, her body quivering at his words, a loud sigh escaping her lips.
"− say you'll marry me −" He whispered, running his nose over her cheek, sliding down to her ear and then to her neck, placing slow, wet kisses on her skin. They both moaned helplessly as his fingers ran over her womanhood, so intimately hidden, so now exposed, her expression of complete trust in him.
He sighed wearily when he felt her juices on his fingers, wet and sticky, again and again running his hand over her entrance, her skin there hot, pulsing with heat. He felt her fingers tighten on his back, writhing beneath him each time his palm ran over the point hidden between her folds, a helpless sob escaping from her throat, her lips parted wide, droplets of sweat running down her skin.
"− Aemond −" She whimpered pleadingly, as if she were crying out to him for help, as if she were asking him to save her. He trembled all over at the sound of his name spoken so directly, so unashamedly, intimately, he felt as if his member would explode with arousal.
He began to deliberately massage her where his touch was driving her mad, his fingertips spreading her moisture all over her womanhood, his lips clinging to hers again, trying to silence her increasingly loud moans.
"− hush, my little one − someone will hear us − shhh −" He silenced her by sliding his tongue deep between her lips, almost to her throat, her hips began to move faster and faster towards his hand, searching for any source of friction.
"− Aemond − what are we doing −" She mumbled quietly between sticky kisses and the licking of their tongues, his fingers massaging around her pearl in a circular intense motion, running over her hot entrance once in a while. He tentatively slid the tip of his finger into her throbbing insides, and she trembled all over, drawing in air loudly.
"− what husband and wife do − what we're going to do every night −" He breathed out into her mouth and a quiet, sweet, surprised moan escaped her throat, he felt her wetness flowing from her entrance into his palm, he felt her body on edge, her thighs were quivering all under his hand, her hips pushing greedily against his fingers. He slid his finger into her with a wet click of her juices as his thumb continued to tease her pearl.
"− I − gods, it feels so warm − it tickles me so much inside −" She mewled, panting loudly, clearly feeling the tension gathering in her lower abdomen, and he thought with delight that she was about to come on his hand.
"− say you'll marry me −" He said in a raspy voice, watching as her body wriggled in front of him him in pleasure, her mouth wide open, her eyes looking at him in a way from which he felt like just throwing himself on top of her and sliding inside her.
"− I will − I will, please −" She cried out and suddenly froze, leaning back, pressing her cheek against the pillow.
An exasperated, pleading, startled moan erupted from her throat, she clenched her eyes shut as if what was just going through her body was too much. Waves of pleasure shook her body, and he watched the sight in disbelief, seeing female fulfilment for the first time in his life.
His hand involuntarily slid out from between her thighs and slid into his trousers, gripping his painfully hard manhood. He forced her to look up at him by clamping his hand over her cheeks and he pressed himself into her lips, panting along with her, massaging himself intensely and quickly. He felt his fulfilment approaching embarrassingly fast, her scent, the touch of her lips and what he saw was enough to keep him on edge.
"− my sweetest − gods − oh, fuck −" He growled out into her mouth panting hard as he felt his hot cum spill over his hand, a wonderful relief and pleasure filled his whole body and lower abdomen, he could hear her loud breathing, her hand gently stroking his hair and cheek, calming him, soothing him.
He collapsed on top of her at last, panting hard, not believing it had really happened. They lay like that, both of them breathing loudly, not saying a word, all around them the voices of drunken men arguing with each other and discussing loudly. He could feel their bodies trembling, hot with fulfilment. He pressed his face to her cheek, his lips against her ear.
"− Do you want me to leave? −" He asked in an uncertain, trembling voice, terrified of what he had done, what she would think of him now, what their father would think if he found out. He felt her small hands tightening on his chemise, her hand running through his hair.
"Stay with me."
So he stayed.
When he woke up, her warm body was snuggled against his chest, her fingers tightened on the material of his chemise as if she was afraid he would change his mind and leave her in the middle of the night.
He embraced her with his hands, his face snuggled into her hair, his nose filled with her wonderful scent.
He had never felt so fulfilled before.
So peaceful.
So safe.
He only gently disentangled himself from her sleeping embrace before dawn, not wanting anyone to see him leaving her tent and jump to hasty conclusions.
He also needed to speak to their father.
He had never before seen Lord Borros so furious as when he told him he had made his choice. His foster father prowled around the tent like an enraged animal as he sat in his chair, tense, playing with his fingers.
"She's just a child. I thought you had more sense." Borros hissed at him, and he threw him a cold, displeased look.
"She is no longer a child. Would you rather she married a stranger instead of giving her to me? To your son?" He asked, his voice trembling uncertainly at his last words. Borros looked at him furrowing his eyebrows, on his face was painted the struggle that had just been going on in his mind.
"I will not hurt her. She will be safe with me." He said calmly what he really thought. Borros snorted at his words.
"In King's Landing, between one fire-breathing dragon and another fighting for crown and power? I don't want to see my youngest child perish in the flames of Targaryen greed!" He exclaimed in a low breaking voice, and he felt a pain in his chest, swallowing loudly, taken completely by surprise by his words.
I don't want to see my youngest child perish in the flames of Targaryen greed.
"It's her or none, Father." He said coldly, clenching his hands into fists, not looking away even though he wanted to.
He heard Borros growl with rage, furiously turning to his servant to summon his youngest daughter at once.
He felt discomfort at the thought that perhaps she had changed her mind.
That she had only agreed under emotions, and now regretted it.
He was unable to look at her when he heard her enter the tent, Borros immediately turned to her, his voice raised and impatient.
"Prince Aemond asks for your hand, daughter. Did you know about this?" He asked menacingly, referring to all the confusion he had caused with his decision. He felt his heart pounding as he waited for her words, his hands clenched into fists.
"Yes. I...I have already agreed." She whispered so quietly that he barely heard. He swallowed loudly glancing at her finally, she was pale and frightened, looking at her father pleadingly, terrified of his anger.
"You have no idea what you agreed to, child." He said, half furious, half terrified, running his hand over his face, shaking his head, still pacing around the tent, unable to control himself.
"I do not want anyone else." She mumbled with difficulty, looking pleadingly at her father, on the verge of tears. He felt warm in his chest at her words and pressed his lips together.
I do not want anyone else.
Without opposition from his daughter, Borros really had no choice. When they confirmed several times that they knew what they were doing and that it was what they wanted, he gave up, heartbroken, and ordered to summon a scribe, wanting to send a letter to King's Landing.
Neither he nor she had the courage to tell anyone what had happened.
Word of his decision spread like wildfire, however, and he had to deal with a barrage of questions from Royce, shocked and unsure if he was doing the right thing.
"But why her, brother? She is so young. I mean…I was sure you'd choose Ellyn." He said, scratching his chin, just as embarrassed as he was by this conversation. Aemond didn't know what to say to him.
"I...when I looked at her... fuck. I think I knew it from the beginning." He muttered, running his hand over his face in shame, all tense, glancing at Royce, who stared at him in disbelief.
His reaction was nothing compared to the despair and bitterness that gripped his sisters.
Cassandra took it best, with dignity, though her face twisted in pain as their father informed them of his decision at the evening feast. Maris turned pale and pursed her lips, but said nothing. Ellyn let out a loud, breaking sob, got up and left, unable to look at him.
Floris asked if it was a joke.
He looked at his betrothed, pale and on the verge of tears, weighed down by what was happening around her, by what he had condemned her to.
"The king and queen have decided that the nuptials will take place in two months." Their father continued, ignoring his daughter's brazen questions. Floris interrupted him again.
"My prince, is it true? Did our father force you to make this decision?" She asked in disbelief, it was clearly beyond her mind that he could make such a decision of his own free will. He took a sip of wine from his goblet and set it down with a loud clang of metal.
"Quite the opposite. Your father tried to dissuade me from this decision, to no avail." He spoke low, coldly, his eye fixed on the one he desired, the one he chose. She looked at him, her eyes sad and terrified.
He pressed his lips greedily to hers, pinning her against the cool stone wall of the corridor as soon as they were alone, wiping tears from her face as they ran down her cheeks, absorbing her every silent sob.
"Tell me you haven't changed your mind." He gasped into her mouth, brushing them and caressing them with a loud, sticky click. She threw her arms around his neck and returned his kiss with such ferocity that he moaned low into her throat.
It was her answer.
To his relief, his betrothed wished their lives to go on as before. She didn't make him take romantic walks together on the cliff's edge, didn't expect flowers, letters, or other evidence of constant interest and love from him. Everything she wanted she could see in his gaze, which did not leave her for a moment.
Affection.
Thirst.
Desire.
He didn't have the courage to tell her how much he already wanted her all to himself, how much he wanted her to be the mother of his children.
He couldn't find the words to describe the heat and pride that overwhelmed him at the thought that she would be his wife, that he would be able to touch her shamelessly in front of everyone.
That he would be able to pick her up, embrace her, lean over her, touch her warm cheeks and hands the way Royce did.
No one but them knew that they both sneaked out of their chambers late at night and went to the library, shutting themselves up there, slowly discovering the pleasures and secrets of their bodies. He let her small hands slide his eyepatch off his head, let her place warm, tender kisses on his scar, holding her close.
They lay down on blankets and fabrics that they had scrupulously hidden under one of the shelves behind the books, finding lying on the stone floor very uncomfortable.
He did not dare to pull off her nightgown, wanting to show her respect and make her feel safe, but the mere sight of her naked body through the translucent fabric was enough to stimulate his senses completely and drive him mad.
He let himself kiss her soft, firm breasts through the thin material and she let out sweet sighs of delight, her hand stroking his hair as she pressed his face closer to her chest, signalling him not to stop.
He had no experience with women before her, so he wanted to understand exactly what gave her fulfillment, what touch and movement of his fingers made her spasm, what his words whispered in her ear made her suddenly come on his hand with a sweet sobs of pleasure.
He felt embarrassed and aroused when she whispered to him one night if she could touch him there.
Their lips connected and parted in sticky, lustful kisses as her trembling fingers untied the tie of his trousers, timidly slipping her hand underneath them. They both froze and inhaled loudly as her fingers traced againt his length, a low, helpless, guttural moan escaping his lips.
"− fuck −" He gasped into her mouth, surprised at how intense the sensation was, how pleasantly soft and gentle her hand felt.
He saw her timid gaze fixed on his face, her cheeks red with shame at what she was doing, at the feeling of his hard member under her fingers.
"− do you want me to stop? −" She asked softly between their tender, sweet kisses.
He responded by taking her hand gently in his, squeezing her fingers around his manhood, guiding her up and down, his member throbbing painfully hard in her embrace.
"− no −" He whispered in response, panting with her, his hips involuntarily moving to the rhythm of her hand, searching for any source of rubbing.
"− how will it look like − on our wedding night? −" She asked softly, her voice slightly trembling, looking at him with dreamy eyes, what she was doing apparently aroused her as much as him.
His member pulsed harder in her hand at her question, he licked his lips involuntarily, imagining what he would be able to do with her.
He didn't know how to describe it without scaring her.
"− I − ah − I'm going to touch you between your thighs − and then −" He gasped, pressing his lips together, feeling shivers all over his body, his hips moving faster and faster in her hand, which massaged him with a steady, intense motion.
"− fuck − and then I'll put this inside you −" He whispered in a shaky voice into her mouth as he pressed his forehead against hers, gripping his hand tighter over hers as she squeezed him.
He heard her draw in a sharp breath, she stared at him wide-eyed, unsure of what she thought of what she had just heard.
"− will it be painful? −" She asked softly with fear, and he kissed her again, slipping his tongue between her fleshy lips, drawing a soft moan from her. He broke away from her with a wet click, looking at her with his mouth slightly parted, feeling the heat and tension gathering in his lower abdomen.
"− no − I − I'll do anything to make you feel good −" He mumbled helplessly, their lips pressed together again in a lewd, sticky kiss, her breathing ragged and uneven.
"− can you − can you do it now? − just for a try −" She whispered softly and he froze, staring at her in disbelief, his heart pounding like crazy.
"− I − we shouldn't before our nuptials −" He muttered hesitantly, though his whole body was screaming for him to throw himself at her and just slide inside her. She swallowed loudly at his words.
"− I know − I just − I wish I knew what it felt like − so I wouldn't be afraid −" She mumbled helplessly and his heart clenched, a million of his thoughts fighting together at the same time in his head. He propped himself up precariously on one elbow, laying between her thighs, gripping the fabric of his trousers.
"− just for a moment − agreed? −" He said in a trembling voice, his whole body quivering. She nodded quickly, breathing heavily, trustingly allowing him to lift the fabric of her nightgown higher.
They both gasped loudly as he slid his trousers down enough to release his hard, throbbing manhood. He leaned over her soft, warm face, placing a gentle, tender kiss on her lips, directing the tip of his member to her wet, throbbing entrance.
"− spread your thighs wider − yes, just like that −" He praised her, brushing her lips again, terrified of what he was about to do, yet feeling like he was about to explode with lust and desire.
They both moaned in surprise as he pressed his length against her entrance and slid a little inside her, she was so tight and hot that he was out of breath. He saw her lips tighten as he pressed harder against her, her eyebrows arching in discomfort.
"− fuck − breathe deeply − relax − does it hurt a lot? −" He whispered in a trembling voice looking at her, with remnants of his free will refraining from any movements. She shook her head.
"− n-no − I mean − a little − just − you're so big −" She mumbled out, a blush of embarrassment on her cheeks, her gaze warm, her lips puffy and pink with emotion. He licked his lips involuntarily at her words, feeling pride and shame at the same time.
"− you did this to me − always make me so fucking hard −" He exhaled in a trembling voice, his hands sliding down between her thighs, gently parting folds of her entrance with his thumbs, trying to help himself and her. He felt her draw in a loud breath and clench her eyes shut.
He heard her swallow hard and begin to breathe loudly through her mouth, inhaling and exhaling, her body shivering all over under him. He felt her walls stop pressing down on him so panicky, and he pushed deeper into her, sighing loudly, her mouth parting wide at the feeling of so intense filling. Hearing no objection from her, he thrust his hips again, entering her all the way in with a loud groan.
He stared down at her, breathing hard, letting her get used to this strange, intense feeling, and then he pulled out slowly only to thrust into her again. They both gasped loudly as he began to move inside her, slowly, hesitantly, telling himself he would stop soon.
"− you're so warm −" He panted in a trembling voice, delighted at how amazing it felt to be squeezed from all sides by her hot, tight, fleshy wet walls, all sticky with her juices, feeling a woman's insides for the first time in his life.
Her mouth parted wide and she mewled loudly as slowly his hips began to accelerate, thrusting his member into her with a loud, sticky slap, a quivering, low gasp of pleasure emanating from his throat.
"− Aemond −" She mumbled helplessly, her body trembling with each of his thrusts, panting louder and louder with him, her hands clenching on his sides. He threw her legs over his back, wanting to feel her deeper, pushing her insides to the limit with his length. She sobbed loudly at the feeling, throwing her head back.
"− just a little longer −" He panted with difficulty, feeling only pleasure, only wonderful tension and her throbbing walls that brought him closer and closer to fulfillment.
He knew he should stop, but instead he fucked her harder and harder, feeling her walls clenching on him, sticky, wet sound of flesh slapping against flesh echoing through the stone room, they both moaned embarrassingly loudly, he felt he was on the verge of fullfilment.
"− don't stop − please, don't pull it out −" He heard her whimpering underneath him from which his lips parted wide in shock, her body going into spasms each time he slid into her again pressing her upper wall, clearly giving her immense pleasure with these movements.
A helpless groan ripped from his throat at her words, he slid into her with a rapid, intense motion, clamping his hands tightly on the soft, sweaty skin of her hips. He felt a shudder run through him as her hips began to respond to his thrusts, coming up to meet him.
"− I have to, my little one − shhh, it's okay −" He whispered into her mouth sliding his tongue between her lips, licking their swollen, fleshy texture, the taste of her saliva spreading across his palate like the sweetest juice.
"− I − I'm about to −" She mumbled with difficulty, her thighs responding greedily to his every thrust, he panted loudly along with her, feeling her core begin to tighten and pulsate against him, he knew what that meant.
"− go on − come on my cock, sweet girl −" He cooed encouragingly, wanting nothing more than that, to see her fulfil, himself being on the edge, his thrusts messy and sloppy.
His words were enough to make her insides clench around his length tightly, then again and again, letting out of him an almost animalistic groan, her body leaning back as if trying to escape from him, he had to cover her mouth with his hand to silence her loud, high-pitched sobs.
"− you did so well − oh fuck, little one −" He growled out, with the remnants of his strong will sliding out of her, cuming hard on her nightgown, his warm semen spilling over her white transparent material while he was still massaging himself with his hand.
She stared at him with wide eyes, breathing heavily, her whole body trembled from the fulfilment and waves of pleasure that continued to flow through her. He swallowed loudly, looking down at her with misty eye, licking his lips.
"− did it hurt? −" He asked in a shaky, low voice, and she blinked and pursed her lips in embarrassment.
"− only − only at the beginning −" She mumbled softly and he hummed under his breath, proud to see that he had given her pleasure, that she enjoyed what they had done as much as he did, and tied his trousers back up. They both glanced sheepishly at the wet spot on her nightgown.
He leaned over her and brushed her lips gently, tenderly, her mouth swollen and wet with arousal. He ran his thumb over her cheek, looking at her with a pounding heart filled only with his affection for her.
Only with love.
"On our wedding night, not a drop will be wasted."
_____
Note from the author:
Lady Baratheon and Royce call Aemond brother, but this stems from their desire to shorten the distance between them. Calling him 'a prince' already seemed too staid at one point for them, and addressing him by his first name was unthinkable. However, it is only she and Royce who do this, their sisters still addressing him as 'my prince', not wanting to call "brother" their possibly future husband - which is why Aemond is so frustrated when Lady Baratheon calls him this, as if she is willfully rejecting him as a candidate for the role.
Aemond calls Borros "father" but does not see him as a replacement for Viserys. Viserys is his blood father, who has given him a legacy of which he is proud and with which he completely identifies. Borros, however, is a father figure to him, someone whose opinion Aemond counts with, whom he respects and values for what he has done for him over the years. Aemond has an affection for Borros that he was never able to develop towards Criston.
Despite Lady Baratheon and Royce's very close relationship, they did not relegate Aemond to the background or distance themselves from him. According to Lord Borros and his friends, they formed a trio. Royce was always where Aemond was, loving to watch his mischievous reactions to various events, and Lady Baratheon was always where Royce was, so they usually ended up together.
Aemond usually pretended he didn't care about their company, but the truth was that he got impatient when they disappeared from his sight for too long, simply getting bored without them.
Part two of this oneshot: To desire, to love, to care
Other oneshot form the same AU: Daugther, Lover, Sister
_____
I can't express my love for this reality, I could keep writing this oneshot but I would make a book! This is probably my most beloved fanfic baby. Leave it some love if you enjoyed it! I'm so curious what do you think. 💐
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#aemond fic#aemond fanfiction#aemond targaryen#aemond x oc#hotd aemond#aemond x fem!reader#ewan mitchell#ewan mitchell fanfic#dark aemond#dark aemond targaryen#dark aemond x reader#dark aemond smut#dark aemond angst#aemond targeryen angst#aemond targaryen angst#aemond angst#hotd angst#aemond x original character#aemond x wife#aemond x wife reader#aemond fanfic#aemond targaryen x oc#aemond targaryen smut#ewan mitchell smut#aemond smut#hotd smut#ewan mitchell fandom#aemond fandom#house of the dragon fandom#hotd fandom
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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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Golden and Silver, my new colors | part five
“I don't want to continue being negligent, not to you, not to our child, not to us. You deserve more than I've been offered.”
∴pairing: Aemond Targaryen x Wife!reader
∴warnings and a note: slight angst, is there a light at the end of the tunnel?
golden and silver masterlist
You thought you'd get better sleep after Aemond leaves your chambers. Not only that, you also thought you'd feel better when you vocalized your torment directly to the main perpetrator. Two mistakes in a short amount of time. Your husband didn't stay in the room long after the fight, taking some of the thick, suffocating fog that formed with your harsh words. You didn't even know why so many tears gathered in your eyes and fell like a sizable rain. What was the problem? Some of the weight was finally lifted from your shoulders and thrown to the wind (or to Aemond). You wanted to say all that, there was no doubt about that, so why was your heart so heavy?
Why did it take him so long to apologize? Why do we only worry after the loss?
There was no doubt about the reasons that made you sad, but you thought that due to your new condition of confronting your problems on an equal basis with the causers, such feelings would no longer affect you. You were wrong again. Why couldn't he be a better husband sooner? Why didn't he care? Why didn't you deserve attention and dedication?
The same anguish, unhappiness and knot that made your chest cold and your head spin returned in that moment, bringing the question that it would be easier to give in to him, to them. But then again, why did everything depend on sacrifice? Haven't you tried hard enough? Haven't you tried hard enough for him?
For him, you were crying for him, because of him, why he wasn't able to try to love you.
That night you cried yourself to sleep, fitful and restless, but your pain was shared with someone on the other side of the red fortress: your husband.
Aemond didn't want to hold back the frustration that burned every part of his body from the inside out, so after leaving your chambers in heavy strides the one-eye principle made his way to the training yard to release the turmoil that filled it. He was aware of the negligent posture he adopted from the first moment, the intentional lack of interest, the inability to return affection, heavens, he knew that you, his sweet lady didn’t deserve such treatment and that only his attitude changed when your pregnancy was announced. He knew that he had been a flawed and neglectful husband, his conscience didn’t leave him unharmed in this regard. However, knowing about it didn't compare to being told by his wife that he was the problem, that she didn't want the child in the womb, that she hated him.
You hated him.
The feeling alone sank him further.
Hate was what he felt for Lucerys and Jacaerys Velaryon, for his at times father, for Aegon at times, for life, for being the second son...
He hated many things, but not you. He never hated you.
However, what had he done to receive your love or any minimally good feeling? Where’s the duty? Where’s sacrifice?
You were right in your previous statements. He was the problem, and he hated it.
Fetching one of the straw forms the children used for training, Aemond positioned it in the middle of the courtyard before picking up his sword, not caring about shredding the material with heavy blows for long minutes, nor the noise he was making — although he hated to be caught in such a situation. However, his flaming shadow did not go unnoticed by the restless corridors of the Red Keep, especially by one of his grandfather's spies, Otto Hightower, who had watched intently the earlier movement in the King's hall. A man like him couldn't afford such a scandal or a dysfunctional family, especially losing support at a time as critical as this one.
“My prince,” he announced his presence, bringing Aemond to a halt — still with his back turned.
“Grandfather,” he lowered his head subtly, dropping his sword to the ground before turning away.
“Marriage problems?”
He didn't answer, still looking down, breaking continuity.
“Women can be exceptionally sensitive sometimes, especially during pregnancy, but you as a husband must resolve this situation, and you know that. Is not so hard as seems, just soothe her, please her, captivate the passion between you.”
“I don't think she has an interest in that."
“She doesn’t have?"
"… I tried."
“And how long did she try?” Otto inquired. “How long did you try to claim a dragon before you conquered Vhagar? Has the idea of giving up ever crossed your mind? No, because you’re not a quitter, and you’re not giving up on your marriage.”
“And what am I supposed to do? Because do I think she isn’y interested in my apologies?” Aemond asked irritably.
“Of course she is. Women can be prouder than you think. She's hurt, give it time to heal, but don't be negligent.”
And how was he supposed to do that? It was what the prince wanted to ask, but he was too proud to ask. But what noble person wasn't?
“Know her tastes, be participatory, invite her to fly, you’re the smartest, for sure must find good alternatives to reverse the situation.”
Looking at the elder for the first time, Aemond nodded mutely. Watching him go with a condescending smile. Although he was obstinate to learn new things, it seemed too complicated to get into your cocoon, into your mind, to discover your desires and flaws, your expectations and secrets. Even though he was scared, angry, and guilty, the one-eye prince was a persistent man. After mulling over his next steps, he returned more calmly to your chambers, watching a few figures along the corridor and ignoring them. Aemond had long ago promised himself not to let himself be affected by anyone, or to show vulnerability, but between us, for a person on the threshold between reason and reaction it was a difficult duty, so when he stood in his white clothes of bed and lay down next to you, he moved closer than he should have to your body, one hand brushing back the hair that covered your face.
He wouldn't waste any more time, not anymore.
“You were right about what you said, about everything you said. After your pregnancy I decided to try to be a better husband, it was unfair with your efforts. You were also right about me being the problem with this all happening. I don't want to continue being negligent, not to you, not to our child, not to us. You deserve more than I've been offered,” he said, as low as a whisper, “I know you don't want me, but please, I can't take peace knowing I've failed you, my lady wife.”
In something he didn't know how to recognize, in a need for comfort he didn't know he needed to receive, Aemond hugged your body from behind and buried his face in your hair, getting so close to you that he almost shivered. Although he was stubborn, he didn't know what to do to break through the barrier of pain that protected and afflicted your heart. How could he make you forgive him? How could he prove himself worthy of your trust?
“I'm so sorry,” he said again, confiding in you before closing his eyes.
“Thank you.”
You said sleepily, confused about what to feel, confused about the tightness in your chest, confused about him. You still harbored resentment and sadness over him, unhappiness at it’s most palpable. Where was the hatred that burned just hours ago? Where was all your fury?
Your response startled him, causing him to stiffen fully behind you, body tense as if he'd done something forbidden.
“But be assured I won't make it easy for you, settle for less than I deserve, deal with your cold shoulder again, husband, or you can be sure I'll never speak to you again. Maybe this is a chance, I don't know yet, but don't make me regret it.”
He wondered at all times if he should get away from you, respect your space, respect your pain, but he didn't want to, didn't want to be away from the warmth of your skin and the human comfort he didn't know he needed for so long.
“I won't, my lady, I won't. I swear to you, I won't let you down again.”
That was the first night of sleep that your bodies were together, just as it should be. And luckily or not, you both slept better after that.
The next morning, you’re slow to wake up, feeling deathly tired and not wanting to get up. He was still hugging you like a cat even though he was awake.
It didn't take long for you to ruminate over last night's events. Confused about what you should do with your wounded pride and bruised heart. You believed you’d never forgive him, but there you were, considering a chance to honor his word. Much for his honesty in confirming his mistakes and shortcomings towards you. Perhaps it was the pregnancy symptoms, as the meisters spoke earlier, or perhaps it was just your old submissiveness wanting you to accept crumbs. No, you wouldn't take that again.
“Good morning,” he said, you didn't answer.
Your breathing was deep, sitting up in bed as you considered what should do, looking at the ethereal form of your husband with the white-robed. He was a very handsome man, but that didn't make you stay in bed, getting up to walk to the breakfast table. He followed calmly when he saw you sit down, taking the place in front of him. It wasn't his intention to smother you, but he just wanted to show that he was trying.
“I waited until you woke up so we could have breakfast,” he said.
You nodded silently at first, followed by a low thank you, before looking up at him. Although none of you fully understood what the weight in both eyes meant, it didn't go unnoticed by you.
“May I hold your hand?” He asked.
You nodded again.
“I want you to know that I meant all that yesterday. I don't intend to let you down again.”
“Why?"
You asked, unable to keep it up any longer.
“Why didn't you do this sooner?” Completed.
He lowered his gaze, running his thumb over your hand. “Because I was stupid. It was not my wish to marry now, even though I agreed to do my duty. I also didn't want to let anyone get too close to me, so I just… did what I did. I knew it was wrong, I always had, but it didn't stop me anyway. I know it's contradictory to say that it wasn't my intention to hurt you so deeply when I saw that frustrated and helpless look in each new approach, but I never wanted things to come to this, I never wanted to leave you like this.
You took a deep breath, letting out a long sigh. “That was all I wanted to hear a few weeks ago, many weeks in fact. I really tried for you, Aemond, and I can't say I don't understand your limitations on opening up, but do you know how tiring it was to deal with a cold steel I call a husband? You never gave me a break, and even I should remedy the situation, keep humiliating myself, because it's a wife's duty to keep her husband in love,” you said. “I just got tired. I lived a life of subservience and 4 months were enough to break all of that, everything involving our marriage was actually enough. That's not all bad, because of that I allowed myself to feel things beyond the call of duty, not to accept your apology right away and not to live in your shadow as a squire. I don't know if I can forgive you, because it's still a wound so raw and fresh, so exposed and painful, I know I can't forgive you now. But maybe, maybe I can give it a chance.”
His heart heated aggressively and his breathing became ragged, closing his eye before stating, "And I will wait patiently, my lady."
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#aemond x reader#prince aemond x reader#aemond targaryen x reader#aemond targaryen#aemond one eye#aemond x you#aemond targaryen x you#aemond the kinslayer#aemond x wife reader#aemond x fem!reader#golden and silver my new colors
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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.
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Domestic Drabbles
Where their small daughter mistakes certain sounds for cries of distress.
Aemond x wife!reader
word count: 675
Silken spun silver curled around your fingers as you dug them into your husband’s hair, pulling him in for another deep kiss as he moved against you. His weight pushed you further into the plush mattress, warmth enveloping your body as you sighed in pleasure.
The wooden bed frame creaked with each thrust, your whimpers of pleasure barely muffled as you bit into Aemond’s shoulder.
“Māzigon issa jorrāelagon.” His voice was liquid velvet as he coaxed you to come undone around him.
You cried your release to the vaulted ceiling, feeling Aemond’s hot seed spilling within your heat as your muscles clenched and fluttered. You pulled him deeper, his forehead coming to rest against yours as you breathed together, gently coming back to earth.
Aemond trailed his lips to the hollow of your throat, his hands caressing the curve of your breast as he tasted your flushed skin.
Amidst the post-coital bliss, wrapped together in a tangle of limbs, you heard the muffled crying of your young daughter.
Together you and Aemond sat up in bed, glancing at each other as he slid smoothly from the mattress, pulling on his clothing before striding with haste from your bedroom.
As you donned a satin robe, tying it securely about your waist, you heard Aemond’s soft voice several rooms away.
Minutes later he reentered the room, looking to you with a mixture of amusement and aggravation.
“Was it a nightmare?” You asked, tilting your head in question of his prolonged silence.
Aemond shook his head slowly, a small smirk pulling his curved lips. “She is worried for you my dear.”
“Whatever for?”
“She says she heard you screaming and is scared for your well-being.” You could see he was fighting to keep a stoic composure.
“Was I screaming?” You ran a distracted hand through your tousled hair.
Aemond hesitated, glancing away from you, his mouth twitching. “I…uh, yes.” His violet eye crinkled with mirth. “Perhaps you should go assure her you are unharmed.”
You nodded, brushing a kiss on his lips as you passed him into the darkened hallway.
“My darling, are you alright?” You cooed, finding your silver-haired daughter curled upon her bed, still sniffling with widened eyes.
She reached her arms out to you, evident relief upon her cherub face. “I thought you were hurt! Your door was closed and you wouldn’t answer me!”
You held you tight against your chest, rocking upon the small bed. “No, no. I’m alright. I had a bad dream and your father was helping me.”
“O-oh.” She hiccupped, still holding tight to your robe as you pulled back to look at her face.
“You don’t have to worry about me, my dove.” You wiped the tears off her cheeks, helping her back under the covers and tucking her in. “When I’m with kepa, I am safe from harm.”
“He helps with your nightmares.” She nodded, understanding.
You kissed her forehead tenderly. “Yes. All better?”
“All better.” Her eyelids were already beginning to close.
You waited for her breathing to deepen before exiting her room, closing the door softly behind you.
Aemond was waiting for you when you returned to your own chamber, he looked over at you with a quirked brow. “And?”
You sighed, shaking your head. “I thought she was asleep.”
“I wouldn’t be surprised if half the castle were awake by now.” He caught your wrist as you tried to hit his shoulder, pulling you in for a kiss. “Not that I’m complaining.” He nuzzled your nose laughing as you scrunched it and giggled.
“In a little over a decade she is going to realize the truth and be traumatized.”
“She is going to know how deeply in love her parents are.” Aemond captured your mouth once more, smiling against your lips as you sighed with pleasure. “Besides, we have plenty of time to work on your volume control.”
You giggled madly as Aemond rolled you beneath him, undoing the ties of your robe and spreading it open. His eye glinted in the dim firelight as he straddled you, looking upon your form. “Now, my love, where were we?”
#oh no i love him#domestic drabbles#aemond drabble#dad aemond#aemond x wife reader#aemond fanfic#aemond fluff#aemond smut#aemond stannies#aemond fic#prince aemond x reader#aemond x you#aemond x y/n#aemond x reader#aemond targaryen x reader#aemond targaryen x you#aemond imagine#aemond targaryen x y/n#aemond x fem!reader#aemond one eye#prince aemond#aemond#aemond targaryen#hotd aemond#aemond the kinslayer#house of the dragon aemond#hotd x reader
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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
#aemond fanfiction#aemond targaryen#aemond x oc#aemond x fem!reader#aemond one eye#aemond the kinslayer#dark aemond smut#dark aemond angst#dark aemond#dark aemond targaryen#modern aemond angst#aemond targeryen angst#aemond angst#hotd angst#ewan mitchell smut#aemond targaryen smut#hotd smut#aemond smut#aemond x wife#aemond x wife reader#aemond fanfic#hotd fandom#house of the dragon fandom#ewan mitchell fandom#aemond fandom#hotd fic#hotd fanfiction#aemond fic#rhaenyra targaryen#game of thrones
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