#hotd fan fiction
Text
Between Fire and Stone
Daemon Targaryen/Strong!female
summary: anxious about her approaching union to Aemond, the only daughter of Rhaenyra Targaryen seeks comfort | word count: 2.8k~ | warnings: incest, reader is described with strong features, fingering, p in v sex, arranged marriage, Daemon being a cheeky cunt
A/N: idek what I was on to write this cos I'm not usually a Daemon girlie but here we are besties. Tysm @em-writes-stuff-sometimes for beta-ing 😘 appreciate you
The cold mist nipped at the skin around her ankles, a shiver running up her spine as she struggled through the jagged rock towards the Dragonmont. Her fingers brushed against the stark stone for balance, the other holding the lit torch to light her way before her in the darkness.
It was one of her favourite things, taking a stroll through Dragonstone in the hour of the wolf. Peaceful. Quiet. Something she could have all for herself. Away from the prying of her maidservants and the overbearing boisterous nature of her brothers. Though Jace, now a man grown, still held onto those immaturities.
Yet another thing that set her apart from her siblings.
For she, only a mere year younger than Jace, was considered a woman, ripe for marriage and bearing children, whereas the same hastiness was not pressured upon him. She knew her mother had never intended to bestow such responsibilities on her, but she understood, it was inevitable. As that time loomed ever closer, she found herself roaming her home more often, as if to savour the feeling of once being a child.
Where her brothers could seek adventure with their dragons once they were big enough to saddle, her egg had not hatched in her cradle. She would not inherit the birthright of the blood of Old Valyria, yet another judgement cast upon her that only inflated her sense of belonging at her mother's side. With her moonlit hair and pale lilac eyes, each of her children could not have looked more different.
Before the incident, there existed only one other soul who could truly fathom the depths of her solitude. No dragon. Ceaseless taunts. The notion of isolation, even amongst one’s family. Any semblance of camaraderie had been extinguished the day Lucerys took his eye. That defining moment when Aemond—her uncle—seized his birthright had marked the fracture in their familial bonds. In the aftermath, her mother, alongside her new husband Daemon, orchestrated a grand scheme to mend the shattered relations, a plan that involved her betrothal to him at an opportune moment.
Try as she might, she couldn't conjure the image of herself as his wife. The thought of residing in King's Landing under his roof refused to coalesce into a coherent vision. It remained an elusive spectre, haunting her thoughts with its intangible uncertainty.
Whispers of tradition and duty echoed in the hallowed halls of her childhood, spun by the gentle tongues of Septas who spoke of the sacred rites of marriage. Tales of Lords and Ladies, of the solemn exchange of vows, and the anticipated consummation on the wedding night. Some stories painted a picture of pleasure and intimacy, of unions founded on mutual desire and affection. Others whispered of duty, of sacrifices made for the sake of one's spouse, regardless of personal inclination.
Caught in the web of uncertainty, she pondered which version of Aemond awaited her, a tender partner or a distant lord, bound by duty and tradition. The unknown loomed before her like a shadow, casting doubt upon her heart and stirring a quiet fear within her soul. She knew not what to expect, but the uncertainty itself was enough to unsettle her, to sow the seeds of apprehension in her mind. And as the weight of anticipation hung heavy in the air, she couldn't help but wonder, which path would her marriage tread, and would she have the strength to endure whatever lay ahead?
Amidst the towering peaks of Dragonmont, she sought solace in the embrace of ancient flames and the soothing hum of Vermithor's slumber. Here, amidst the rugged terrain and the ever-watchful gaze of the dragons, she found a fleeting sense of peace.
But it was not the Bronze Fury that sang to her.
“Hen ñuhā elēnī:
Perzyssy vestretis,
Se gēlȳn irūdaks…
Ānogrose.”
She felt the rush of heat at the nape of her neck. Daemon stood straight, back facing her, his voice near-matching the hum of Vermithor’s deep exhales.
“It is late, Princess.” Unlike her, Daemon remained as he dressed during the day, shown when he turned to face her, with the self-satisfied smirk on his lips. “What troubles you?” he asked.
She tried to raise her chin, but her eyes betrayed the turmoil that stirred within.
“My fate,” she said, her careful steps drawing ever nearer. "I am to be wed to Aemond, but I fear what awaits me in that union.”
Daemon hummed, as if curiously amused.
She had known no father figure since Laenor. And though she knew sooner than her brothers the truth that lay beneath the careful picture her mother had forged, since she had been wed to Daemon, he had taken practice with his own daughters and become almost a father to her alike.
She felt his eyes sink over her once before returning to her eyes.
"Marriage is a weighty matter," he said. "But is it the marriage itself that troubles you, or something more?”
She did not miss the lilt to his voice. The one, that like his eyes had done many times before, made something squeeze in her gut. A fire burning bright. A feeling that brought her shame.
He was her mother's husband.
“I cannot say exactly,” she confessed. “Perhaps it is leaving Dragonstone. Mother and my brothers. And being alone in the capital with no face I recognise with trust.”
Daemon nodded almost indistinctly, his fingers reaching out to brush a lock of hair back over her shoulder, admiring her hair loose of its usual braids. His touch sent a shiver down her spine, a sensation both familiar and disconcerting. She fought to push aside the conflicting emotions that threatened to overwhelm her, the warmth of his touch conflicting with the knowledge of their complicated relationship.
"Leaving behind the familiar can indeed be a daunting prospect," Daemon acknowledged, his voice a velvet caress, “But fret not. Within you resides the same fire that fuels your mother's resolve. Embrace it. You are as much Targaryen as any of them.”
She felt a blush creeping up her cheeks at the intensity of his gaze, at the way he seemed to see straight through her defences. She knew she should be wary of his advances, of the way he danced on the edge of propriety with his words and his touch. But there was something undeniably alluring about the way he held her gaze, about the way he made her feel desired and understood.
"Thank you, Daemon," she murmured, her voice barely above a whisper. "Your support means more to me than you know.”
Daemon's smile was a slow, seductive curve of his lips, his eyes alight with a fire that mirrored the flames of the Dragonmont.
"Ah, but my dear Princess," he replied, his voice low and husky, "you have yet to discover the true depths of my support.”
She felt her throat close up, the feeling mirroring somewhat what happened between her thighs.
What could he possibly mean?
“Do you fear it?” he asked. “The act of consummation?”
Her cheeks flushed crimson at Daemon's bold question, his words sending a jolt of both arousal and apprehension coursing through her veins.
“It… is perfectly normal, I would think,” she answered, words failing her.
"Princess," he murmured, his voice a soothing caress against her skin. "There is no shame in feeling uncertain. It is only natural to have doubts, especially when faced with such intimate matters.”
She felt he was circling her, as dragons did their targets. And felt her heart thumping in her chest.
“With Aegon, I dare say, I would join you in your uncertainty. But Aemond, on the other hand… is a different matter entirely.”
“How so?” she asked, breathing out when he disappeared out of her line of sight, his presence at her back, fingers draping past the material of her dress.
“I am afraid he may be less… forthcoming with expressing his desires,” he purred. “He may be cold, or at least that is how it may be interpreted.” Her eyes met his with bated breath as he appeared on her opposite side, closer. “He may not be so adept with the pleasures of a female body.”
She swallowed, a chill settling on her front, her body reacting thus. He remained silent, as if daring her to say what he knew was already on the tip of her tongue. So, she took the plunge. “And…you are?”
Daemon smirked smugly, and she knew she already had her answer., “What do you think?”
Her heart raced. Her mind struggled to contemplate whether she should be honest or not, for she had heard stories and rumours. She knew she was treading dangerous waters, playing with fire in the form of her mother's husband, but there was a part of her that couldn't resist the allure of his confidence, his charm, his undeniable magnetism.
"I... I suppose I never considered such matters," she said, her voice barely above a whisper, her cheeks burning with embarrassment at the admission.
Daemon's eyes danced with amusement as he stepped closer. "Perhaps it is time you did," he murmured, fingers trailing lightly down the curve of her spine.
Her skin vibrated with anticipation as she fought to maintain her composure in the face of his overwhelming presence. She knew she should pull away, should put an end to this dangerous game they were playing, but the lure of Daemon's charm was too strong to resist.
“Mayhaps I could demonstrate and put your worries to rest,” he suggested, crossing the imaginary but daring line seemingly without fear. “Rest assured, my experience in such matters is... extensive."
Her heart pounded in her chest as she struggled to maintain her resolve, her body betraying her with every flutter of her lashes, every quickened breath. “But… you and Mother—”
Her lips clamped shut with the bruising of his grip in the softness of her waist, urging her back to the rocky, hard wall. Only now, when faced with the Rogue Prince, did she realise just how small she truly felt.
“Your mother is preoccupied with her own affairs," he replied, his voice dripping with a dangerous allure. "She won't concern herself with our little... indiscretion.”
The realisation sank in that she was alone with Daemon in the secluded confines of the Dragonmont, far removed from the prying eyes of the world. And yet, she still felt her lips go dry when he hung the torch and trailed his touch upon her skin where he was taking her skirts with it.
She could not hide her nerves, or the beating rush of arousal, “Bu—but… with Aemond, I must—”
The air felt warm as her skirt was rucked around her hips. She squeaked when his calloused fingers swept through her folds, ashamed to find she was affected by what he was doing to her as her slick coated them easily.
Daemon chuckled, a pleased hum in his chest that she was wet and ready, while his other hand busied with the laces of his breeches, “Sweet girl. When my dear nephew has his cock buried inside you on your wedding night, he will not know the difference.”
His words, combined with the tight circles he applied to the forbidden bud tucked between her legs, had white hot pleasure burning in her veins. Her lips were parted, but no sound came out. All she could do was look upon his pleased face with a hedonistic expression, feeling very much like they were doing something deliciously wrong but could find no reasonable excuse to cease.
“Do not look so surprised. I have seen the way you watch me. Are you not ashamed for looking upon your own mother’s husband with lust?”
The more he touched her, the more arousal he coaxed forth, the sound lewd and forbidden in the raw silence of the Draognmont. She could not answer his question without subjecting herself to further embarrassment. Even so, attempting to concentrate enough to form words as his two forefingers slid within her tight, hot walls, was near impossible. She gasped quietly, the feeling so foreign and yet not unpleasant. And like Daemon in any other scenario, while his motions were forceful, somewhat brutal, they were calculated, without effort. Like it came innately. Her hands found purchase on his shoulders, his digits buried deep inside curved towards him, stoking a fire at the hearth of her.
“Answer me.”
She nodded frantically. “Yes—I am ashamed—”
It was all she managed before the feeling began to crest, building and building as if she were climbing some great height and was about to tumble off. But she only exhaled shakily as Daemon withdrew his fingers from her fluttering, sensitive walls, using the moisture to lubricate himself with a careful caress of his manhood.
He chuckled at the wounded expression on her face. “No need for shame, Princess.”
She caught the glint of his ring as he wrung the fabric of her skirts in his fist. Her eyes widened as the head of his cock disappeared easily between her swollen folds, with no real full feeling until he pushed forward, both with hesitation and a sort of evil excitement.
Her back pressed against the jagged stone, her lips only parted to suck in air where it had left her lungs. It was a feeling she could describe very little, the sting of being stretched around him painful and yet once sheathed fully inside her, hips pushing against her own. Daemon wrapped his fingers around her fleshy thigh to tug her leg over his hip, a flash of white hot pleasure creeping up her spine. He only grunted, her slick ridges gripping him greedily without any effort on her part.
For a few moments, he stayed like that as if waiting for any complaint, but when he found none, began a steady rhythm, fingers creating crescent-moon shaped welts in her skin. He did not share in her reaction. He simply raised one corner of his lips in a pleased manner, watching her face, treating it very much as a lesson in pleasure more than anything else.
She could scarcely think with the violent push of his hips, the notch of his belt stabbing into her each time.
“My nephew does not deserve this perfect. little cunt.” He grunted from the effort. “Tell me, Princess—when he is fucking you with his narrow little prick, will you be thinking of this instead?”
Her eyes slipped shut, her head tipped back and fingers coming to her own mouth to muffle the lewd sound that threatened to come out. Her perceived embarrassment at her own enjoyment of this only seemed to motivate Daemon further, and he widened her hips with a soft nudge of his knee against her leg and groaned at the way she tightened around him.
“You liked that, didn't you?” He breathed against her face, looking briefly down between them to watch how he rooted himself inside her over and over, as if unable to believe this was really happening. “I bet he won't make you this wet. I doubt the little cunt will even know how to make you come.”
Her skirt fell from his hand as it drew down between them, and she resisted the urge to squeal when he began to apply pressure in tight, sure circles around her bud.
“You shall have to teach him those pleasures.”
Her fingers gripped his forearms tight as she climaxed, her tight, hot walls spasming around him uncontrollably. It was so utterly different to the way she had pleasured herself before. This time, the forbidden combination of Daemon stretching her open around him and the pleasure he coaxed from her with his fingers meant that this peak seemed to drain her entire body of energy. Her body feeling boneless in his hold, that if he let go, she would surely lose her balance.
A flash of fear cracked like lightning across her subconscious. Surely he did not intend to spill inside her?
He did not overstimulate her for much longer as he neared his own end. Rather, he savoured the feeling of her warmth sucking him in for just a few moments more before pulling out, stroking himself vigorously to completion, warm ropes of his spend coating her lower stomach.
In the quiet dead of night with only her laboured breathing to echo within it, she felt her eyes could not keep up with her mind as she glanced back up at him. His rapidly cooling seed began to dribble towards her thighs, swiftly covered by her skirts once more as Daemon lowered her clothing back into place. The reality of the dangerous and yet delicious sin she had committed with him began to rise into clarity.
Upon his fingers shone the damning proof of his sordid claim on her, pearly in the glow of torchlight. “What a waste. I’d have liked to see it dripping from you.
But that pleasure… I shall save for my nephew, sweet girl."
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Filled With Grace
Summery : High Septon Aemond request a private audience with a hight born lady the night before her wedding.
Characters : High Septon! Aemond Targaryen x f!reader
Warnings : Dub Con, power imbalance, coercion, heavy religious themes & behaviors, no use of y/n, she/her pronouns, unprotected p in v sex, corruption, loss of virginity, dacryhilia (if you squint), alcohol consumption, cannon divergent
Word count : 8 k
A/N : No one asked for this but it happened, also sorry in advance, sorry for what? sorry for everything. While English is my first language I'm also profoundly dyslexic, I've done my best to minimise spelling and grammar issues but I'm there still are plenty.
When Aemond Targaryen lost his eye he thought the worst of it was the scar but it turned out in the days and weeks after the incident, the cost kept mounting. Finding his father couldn’t look at him had been hard to take and they no longer spent the evenings together reading the histories, studying the great campaigns of ancient kings and speaking high Valeryian.
The last time his father truly looked at him was the night he sat the boy Aemond down and told him he was going into the service of the Seven. With his injury he could no longer be trusted to defend his brother’s weaker side in battle or in Kingship, and so it had been decided by the small council that he would be handed over to the Septons and be trained in the Faith. He was sent across the city and into the tall towers of Baelor's Great Sept.
When he wasn’t in training, or studying he would sit by the window and stare back across to the Red Keep, where his family continued to live their lives without him.
In the early days there was heartbreak, longing and grief, as Aemond spent more time at the Sept the pain turned to anger, his heart hardened and his soul blackened. Still as studious as ever he studied hard, learnt the words and the rituals and felt nothing.
At the age of 20 he moved back across the city, back into the Red Keep as the self-styled High Septon of the Red Keep. Despite his outward devotion to the Faith he opted to keep the name his family had given him, he believed his injury and his family’s reaction had stolen enough from him but they would not take his name.
In the 7 years that followed his return Aemond had manoeuvred himself from returning outcast to centre of all courtly life. His mother, who ruled in his sickly fathers place, relied on him constantly, looking to him for guidance in both spiritual and worldly matters and while he didn’t sit on the Small Council nothing happened in the room that he wasn’t already aware of.
He was the beating heart and soul of the Red Keep, the spiritual leader who blessed and condemned as he saw fit. He quickly learned his religious titles protected him from suspicion, so when a body turned up in the Red Keep with a broken neck or floating in the bay he was above reproach, regardless of any known animosities or feuds. He learnt being irreproachable had many benefits and he began to explore the possibilities now open to him.
Aemond was 23 years old the first time he'd had a high born maiden come to him before her wedding night, the first time had been less about the pleasures of the flesh and more about pushing the boundaries of the Lady who’d come to him as a willing sacrifice. The first time taught him that silence could be bought with loyalty and the promise of absolution, and if those two things weren’t enough, he always had fear.
Aemond occupied the highest tower of the Red Keep, three floors of round rooms stacked one on top the other. The lowest level was his Sept where the faithful came for his blessings, confession, where his mother lit candles and prayed and where she would ask him to translate the signs and symbols she saw everywhere and claimed were messages from the Gods.
The second floor were his audience rooms, official rooms where he might entertain visiting Septon’s or Lords who felt themselves in particular need of spiritual guidance.
The highest level was Aemond’s personal chambers, kept in semi-darkness at all times, the stone walls were dressed in rich tapestries and the large bed hung with blood red curtains. This was his innermost sanctum, the space that bore witness to Aemond’s true self and was the place he brought the high born Lady’s before their wedding day.
Tonight the room was set for such an event. The fire was burning in the hearth but all other lights had been extinguished. Goblets of deep red wine were sitting on the table, as well as a plate of sweets and cakes, in case she had a sweet tooth. Aemond knew the Lady who'd be visiting tonight, she'd been fostered at the Red Keep since her 12th name day and had grown up under the watchful eye of queen Alicent. Tomorrow she would marry Lord Tullly and the day after she would leave the Red Keep forever to take up her new role as lady of Riverrun, but tonight she belonged to him.
The knock on her chamber door was quiet but unmistakable, it helped that the lady had been waiting for it. Sitting at her dressing table, her back ramrod straight while trying to make sense of her flickering reflection in the warped surface of the mirror. Tomorrow was her wedding day, but tonight she had an audience with High Septon Aemond.
When she had first come to the Red Keep she had been under the protection of Queen Alicent, who she had followed around like a lost lamb until she was 15 and had been passed into the service of her daughter, Helaena, who she had served as a handmaiden while she waited for her father to broker a good enough marriage deal.
The deal had now been struck, the payments made and contracts for lands, livestock and men signed and sealed. All that was left was the wedding and due to her close status to the royal family, no expense was spared, her wedding gown had been trimmed with silver and gold threads and beaded with thousands of tiny river pearls. She had wept the first time she’d seen it from the sheer beauty of the garment and after that moment she had willed every day to pass faster so she could wear it.
The High Septon of the Red Keep called all high born brides to his tower the night before their weddings, and while the reason was never overtly discussed, the older ladies of the Red Keep would share knowing looks and speak in innuendo around the younger ladies, lording their superior knowledge and understanding over the young and naive.
But she had found by listening carefully both to the older women of the court and the giggling gossip of the serving women she’d come to the conclusion that she would be expected to give a private confession to the High Septon. Confession was usually a fairly private matter, with all people of all status expected to unburden themselves to their Septons but without further clarity she was left wondering what made these pre-wedding confessions something so hushed up and rarely talked of.
“Enter” she called softly, turning from her reflection toward the door.
A small serving girl stepped into the room, dressed in the same drab dress as all the other serving women and her hair covered with a square of the same fabric, she looked as indistinct as any other of the small folk serving in the Red Keep.
“High Septon Aemond ‘as asked to see you, milady,” the serving girl said softly, her eyes cast downward as she spoke, “I'm t’take you to ‘im,”.
The lady nodded and stood from the stool at her dressing table, she had known the summons were coming and so she’d not undressed from that night's celebration dinner. She was still wearing a deep blue silk gown, edged with silver threads and her hair was still twisted in its elaborate crown braid that had taken over an hour to arrange.
While the dress and the hair were elaborate, they were still modest enough for the act of contrition she assumed she was going too.
The serving girl stepped back and turned, moving silently down the corridor and the lady followed, wishing her own steps were as silent as they moved through the dark building, even in her silk slippers she could hear her footsteps and the swish of the fabric of her dress.
Despite living in the red keep for almost 10 years she could count on one hand the amount of times she'd been in the same room as Aemond Targaryen, he didn't waste his time on high born ladies under normal circumstances. The only women he ever seemed to speak with were his mother and his sister, she couldn’t be sure she’s ever even met his gaze, let alone have spoken with him.
At the foot of the high tower the serving girl opened a heavy door and led them up a tightly twisting set of stairs. They passed two doors on the twisting staircase before they reached the top and the final door. The serving girl knocked twice before melting back into the darkness of the stairwell.
A voice from within bid her enter and with trembling hands she pushed open the door and stepped over the threshold.
The room was so dark it took a few seconds for her eyes to adjust, still barely able to make out the shapes in the darkness but a rustle of fabric and a small movement drew her eye and from the blackness he appeared.
He didn’t wear Septon’s robes, instead he dressed every inch the royal son he was, in tight black trousers and a black high collared tunic, he was covered from neck to toe in tight black fabric that looked as close to his body as his own skin. His silver hair was tied back from his face and he wore a patch over his ruined eye. His good eye fixed on her, the indigo of it lost in the darkness so that it appeared to be a blackhole instead.
“My Lady,” he greeted, bowing deeply before straightening up and fixing his gaze on her face.
“Your Royal Highness,” she replied, dipping her knees in a curtsey, averting her eyes from his face, “I am your servant,” she added.
He moved toward her, his steps slow and deliberate, immediately the image of a stalking predator came to mind and her heartbeat quickened.
“Will you sit?” he asked, indicating the two chairs set close to the fire, a low table between them holding two filled wine goblets and a plate of small fruit tarts, the exact same that would be served at her wedding banquet tomorrow.
“If it pleases,” she replied, moving toward the chairs and stepping into the circle of flickering light cast by the fire.
“It does,” Aemond replied, taking the seat nearest to where he was standing and furthest from the light. He relaxed deeply into the seat, crossing one ankle over the other knee, one of his long arms stretching away from his body and toward the table, the tips of his fingers caressing the thin stem of the wine glass.
She followed his lead and sat, keeping her back straight and tall, crossing her feet at the ankles under the full skirts of her dress and letting her legs fall together against the arm of the chair in the way she'd been taught since she was old enough to sit in the company of others.
“Eat and drink, if you like,” Aemond said softly, despite the softness in his tone the invitation felt dangerous.
But she had been raised in the Queen’s household and had impeccable manners, she offered him a small smile and thanked him before lifting the goblet to her lips and taking a small sip. The wine was rich and strong, the scent of it alone causing her head to spin.
Aemond never took his eye from her, taking in the details of this high lady who he planned to bring so low. He noted the gloss on her lips from the wine, the rapid rise and fall of her chest as she fought to master her heartbeat and the wide eyed look of fear on her pretty face which went straight between his thighs and caused his cock to strain against his trousers.
“Do you know why you’re here my Lady?” Aemond asked after she’d shakily returned the wine glass to the table.
“For confession?” she replied, her eyes flicking toward his face for a second before looking away again after meeting his burning gaze.
“To confess,” Aemond agreed, “and to meet with god,” he added softly, running his long fingers up the stem of the wine glass and cupping the curve of the bowl before bringing it to his mouth and taking a drink.
Aemond took a slow drink, running the tip of his tongue over his bottom lip before taking a shallow breath and placing the goblet back down on the table. The silence in the room was heavy, it deafened and roared at the same time and she was acutely aware of the sounds of her breathing and pounding heart.
“My Lady, the hour is late,” Aemond spoke, “why are you still dressed for banqueting?”
She glanced down at herself, the silver beads and stitching of the deep blue dress caught in the flickering fire light and she could feel every place the fabric touched her body.
“I didn’t want to be in a state of undress when you called for me, my Prince,” she replied.
Aemond chuckled softly, “So you knew you’d be summoned to me tonight?” he mused, “and how did you know?”.
In that moment she could have bitten her own tongue off to avoid saying anything further, how could she tell the truth without causing trouble for herself and the other ladies in waiting, gossip was considered below them, despite the fact that it made up a good majority of their days.
“It’s known,” she started before her voice stalled, she squirmed in her seat under the heat of his gaze, “that’s to say, some of the other ladies who’ve been married have mentioned they had a private audience with you,”.
Aemond nodded, while he outwardly gave no sign, he was privately elated, the more that people whispered and told stories of him the more they would fear him and the more power he would have over them. He would have to try and learn the details of the gossip and whispers, and if necessary change the narrative.
“I trust that what passes between us tonight will stay between us?” he asked, taking another drink, enjoying the rich and heady taste.
“Of course my Prince,” she agreed readily and he nodded.
A silence fell between them again, if she strained her ears she could just hear the sounds of the city, as distant as a dream from the covered windows. She dragged her attention back to the man in the room and she looked at him from under her lashes, not wanting to get caught staring. The flickering firelight cast his features in strong relief, his jaw and cheekbones looked like twin blades edging his face.
“In the eyes of the Gods,” Aemond started, his indigo eye fixed on the fire, “we’re born naked, we live naked and we die naked. They see and hear all of our sins, even the sins we never speak of, or act on, they know them and they judge us for them. We are never beyond the sight of the Gods,”.
“Of course, High Septon Aemond,” she replied, choosing to use his religious title as she felt the subtle change in him as he went from prince entertaining a guest to High Septon preparing for holy work.
“And while they sit in judgement of us, I have the power to forgive sins, to wipe clean the slate of any man or woman who is willing to ask for forgiveness,”.
Aemond turned his eye to her, catching her watching him, his gaze burning.
“My Lady,” Aemond turned his face from the fire toward her, “are you willing to ask for forgiveness tonight? To confess your sins and be cleansed?” he asked, his voice barely above a whisper.
“I will,”.
He took a deep breath and nodded, a small smile twitching at the corner of his lips.
“Then stand, my Lady, and you will confess as the God’s see you,” he paused for a tense second, “naked,”.
A chill ran up her spine despite the heat of the fire. Although she had expected to be called to him she had not known what he would want when she was there, she’d had no idea he’d expect her to undress, and if he expected that what else might he expect?
“My Prince, this gown is difficult to remove,” she spoke quickly, her heart thumping in her chest, “I’m sure the God’s will understand if I remain clothed,”.
“Stand,” Aemond commanded, and as if touched by a white hot poker she jumped from the seat and stood like marble, her eyes fixed on the prince.
“Gowns can be removed, repaired if necessary,” he said as he stood and stalked toward her, pulling a small blade from a concealed pocket at his hip, “your confession will not be complete unless you are as you were born,”.
He moved toward her and with a single strong shove he pushed the heavy chair she’d been sitting in out of the way and brought himself behind her. His breath was warm on the back of her neck, his left hand caressed her left arm.
“Please, my Prince,” she whispered as she sensed the movement of the right hand which held the blade.
He took a steadying breath before sliding the blade beneath the silk ribbon that held the back of the dress closed, with only a little pressure the blade slipped through each twist of silver silk and the dress began to open, exposing the bright white shift underneath. She had made a small sound of protest but had gone silent. While the blade never touched the thin fabric of her shift she could feel the coolness of the metal and imagine the sharpness of the blade.
The prince dropped the blade and used both his hands to pull the gown wider and push it off her shoulders, the weight of the skirt and the beading of the bodice dragged it down, slipping down her arms and off her hands. It landed in a pool of deep, glittering blue around her calves.
“Better,” Aemond breathed, stepping back a little and admiring her trembling body.
“If it pleases you,” she had to fight to keep her voice calm, tears pricked at her eyes and burned in the back of her throat.
Perhaps this would be as far as he took it, perhaps this was bear enough for him. Perhaps she could confess in her underclothes and be gone, but she only believed this for a second as she felt him take two strong handfuls of the neck of her shift and rip them viciously apart.
The soft fabric gave easily and ripped clearly down the middle, exposing her back and buttocks to him, again he gave the garment a soft shove over her shoulders and watched as it fell around her legs, landing on top of her gown like a blanket of snow.
“Oh it pleases me a great deal,” he said, stepping around her, caressing her arm as he came to stand in front of her, letting his eye travel up and down her body.
He took hold of her hand and lifted it before giving her a gentle tug, unable to disobey, she stepped forward out of the mess of fabric and further into the golden light of the fire. The only thing she wore now were the soft silk slippers.
Aemond studied her, the curve of her hips and buttocks, the softness of her stomach, the swell of her breasts that were topped with nipples several shades darker than her skin. As he watched gooseflesh crawled across her body, tightening her nipples into tight little points that he longed to reach out and pinch. SHe kept her face turned down and Aemond was transfixed by the curve of her cheek and the spiky shadows of her eyelashes.
She felt as if his gaze was burning and freezing her at the same time, every part of her body was exposed to him and he looked at her without shame. No man had ever seen her in such a state. She had been taught her nakedness was for her husband and for him alone but now she was being looked on by her High Septon, her prince, and his eyes were devouring her body, claiming something that shouldn’t belong to him.
“You are the Maiden incarnate,” he whispered as he dropped her hand and brought his fingertips to her chin. Lifting her head so he could look at her face. Though she still fought them she couldn’t help the tears that gathered in the corners of her eyes or the tremble in her bottom lip.
“You might look like Her,” he started, his eye flicking to a small image of the Maiden he kept by the fire before returning his gaze to her, “but you are only human and therefore a sinner,” Aemond added with a sigh, as if disappointed to remember the woman before him was human and not divine, “so kneel,”.
“My Prince?” she questioned, the humiliation was already beyond what she thought she could survive but apparently he had more in his heart.
“Confession is given on your knees,” he explained calmly, “and so you must kneel,” he moved his hand from her chin to her shoulder, where he applied gentle pressure.
She allowed her knees to bend and buckle beneath her, dropping onto the thick carpet. Aemond felt his cock throb as her breasts bounced with the impact, he fought the intense and dark urge to force his cock into her mouth, instead he took a deep breath and placed his hand on the top of her head.
“Under the watchful eye of the seven, I hear your confession,”.
Aemond spoke the words he learned as a boy during his time in the High Sept. Confession had already fascinated him as a child and he’d hardly dared believe that people would willingly tell him the darkest secrets of their hearts.
“Under the watchful eye of the Seven, I give my confession,” she choked out, words she’d learnt as a small child and said hundreds of times in her life before now, but never like this.
“I, I confess to having cruel thoughts about others,” her voice cracked as she repeated another line she’s said a hundred times before to Septon after Septon. Aemond, with his eye closed and his hand still resting on the top of her head nodded.
“Go on,”.
“And I’ve told lies,”
“And, and, and,” she stumbled over her words, “I confess to having impure thoughts about men at court,”.
Aemond felt a throb between his thighs, this is what he’d been hoping for.
“What thoughts my lady?”.
“Thoughts of what it would be like to couple with them,”.
Aemond nodded benevolently and opened his eye, his gaze soft and loving as he watched the woman on her knees.
“That’s to be expected, as a bride in waiting,”.
“This is my confession,” she whispered.
The tears in her eyes blurred her vision but she nodded, her resolve strengthened now she’d done what he’d asked. Aemond nodded again and closed his eye, turning his face upward and addressing the air above their heads.
“The watchful eye of the Seven have heard your confession and I, High Septon Aemond Targaryen of the Red Keep, forgive your sins,”.
She gave out a shuddering breath as a tear slowly tracked down her cheek. She had survived, she had done as she was told and she was forgiven her sins.
His hand moved from the top of her head and he offered it to her, she took it and allowed him to support her back to her feet. She couldn't look at his face but instead her eyes focused on the floor at his feet. Again he moved his fingertips to her chin and lifted her face.
“You did very well my Lady,” he said softly as he stroked his finger down the curve of her cheek. Despite the warmth from the fire his fingers were like ice on her skin, “and now, you will take God inside you,”.
Her brows furrowed in confusion as a chill ran down her spine. Surely he couldn’t be talking about bedding her? Looking at her naked body was one thing but to give her maidenhead to him the night before her wedding was unthinkable but before she could voice any resistance he gently took her hand and led her toward the bed.
She moved as he directed her, unwilling but unable to resist him. The bed loomed, dark and foreboding in the centre of the room, she’d been able to ignore it up until now. As they moved closer she noticed the hangings and the coverings were a deep blood red, edged with black.
Aemond brought them to the foot of the bed, placing her so the back of her knees knocked against the bedframe and the plush bed sheets brushed against the bare backs of her thighs.
Aemond stroked her cheek again before brushing the pad of his thumb over her bottom lip.
“You've got nothing to be scared of my Lady, don't you want to know the Gods in the most intimate way possible?”.
“Please my Lord,” she whispered, “l mean, I- I mean, my Prince,Your Highness, please,” she stumbled over her words, them coming out in a confused rush.
“Don't worry about titles now, Maiden,” he whispered, leaning his face close to her, letting his lips brush against her cheek, “tonight you can call me God,”.
She turned her head to look in his face, catching sight of one beautiful indigo eye before his lips crashed into hers in a bruising kiss. One of Aemond’s hands slipped up her back and held her at the base of her skull as the other wrapped around her naked waist, his cold hand resting on the small of her back. He pulled her tighter to his body, feeling the hard press of her soft skin through the leather and linen of his clothes.
Aemond licked his tongue along the line of her lips, desperate to taste her mouth, would the richness of the wine still linger on her tongue or would he be able to taste her fear? He broke away from her kiss and gazed down at her, noticing the tears in her pretty eyes and the wobble of her soft bottom lip.
“Give yourself to me,” he whispered, “submit to me, and be filled with grace,”.
She whimpered softly, a single tear slipping down her cheek. She felt nothing but fear, a clawing, ripping terror that started in her guts and filled every inch of her, she felt as if she opened her mouth to speak pitch black tar would come bubbling out of her throat.
There was immediate fear, what Aemond could do to her if she didn't give him what he wanted and there was the future fear, of the following night and her new husband finding her no longer the maiden he'd been promised.
Despite the fear, Aemond's words awakened something else inside her, a pinprick of excitement in the doom, a flickering flame of need in the darkness of terror. Aemond’s grip on the back of her head tightened, her eyes focused on his face again, she found him beautiful and terrible.
“Submit,” he said again softly before touching a kiss to her still closed mouth, “submit,” he breathed again, the sound barely audible above the thumping of the blood in her ears.
The quiet word sounded like a prayer, even though he held all the power in the few seconds after the soft plea had fallen from his lips she felt completely in control, she could deny him and walk away without further incident but she didn’t want to. She wanted to submit, she needed to give herself to him, her body and soul demanded it of her.
“I submit, my Prince,” she replied, her voice little more than a hoarse whisper.
Aemond brought his mouth back to hers and kissed her again, there was less aggression now and when he tightened his hold on her body there was a thrill of pleasure, like a seam of gold in the bedrock of her terror.
He ran his tongue along her lips again and this time she parted her mouth and felt his tongue slip against hers instantly. Without thought she felt herself grip at the arm he had wrapped around her body, her fingers gripping vivaciously at the sleeve of his coat, feeling the strong and lean arm under the fabric.
As her fingers gripped him Aemond groaned into her mouth, feeling his cock throbbing against the lacing of his breeches, the press of her soft body was no longer enough, he needed to take her.
He broke away from her mouth, his gaze focusing on her heaving breasts and the saliva coating her lips. His own heart was pounding and he felt like the room was spinning around him and she was the only steady point.
“Lie down,” he instructed.
She obeyed without hesitation, needing to do nothing but let herself drop down onto the mattress and lay her head back on the plush coverlet. Aemond’s gaze moved up and down her body, from the silk slippers still covering her feet, up her shapely legs to their apex where her sex was hidden by a thatch of curly hair. Further up her stomach to her breasts and their aching hard nipples, her throat and the curve of her jaw all the way to the top of her head where the crown of hair was coming loose.
Aemond moved directly between her legs, he bent and wrapped his hands behind her knees, yanking her forward so her bottom rested just at the edge of the bed. He kept her knees lifted and pushed her thighs high and further apart. Splitting open the lips of her cunt, exposing the glistening folds of her womanhood.
She was totally transfixed by him, and from her position below him light cast his features in even sharper relief. It was easy to believe that he was a God, surely no mere mortal could look like him.
As he stared between her legs he made a groaning sound from deep in his chest.
“Hold your legs, Maiden,” he said softly.
She replaced his hands with her own, keeping her sex exposed to him. There was an ache between her legs now that seemed to start somewhere deep within her lower belly and her body was acting and reacting in ways she'd never experienced before. Aemond's hands went to the laces at the front of his breeches, working quickly to loosen them and allow him to free his cock.
With a soft moan he pulled the hard muscle free, squeezing it at the root and watching as a bead of pearly white fluid appeared at the tip.
He stepped forward, pressing the length of his shaft between the soaked lips of her cunt, smearing himself in her arousal. She gasped at the contact, having never felt anything between her legs apart from her own fingers before this moment.
His cock was hot, smooth and hard as he moved it between her lips and she felt her whole body awaken at the feeling of the blunt head of his cock touching the hardened pearl between her legs.
Aemond watched with fascination as she reacted to his ministrations on her body. Her eyes widened and her mouth fell into a pretty O shape, Aemond felt his cock pulse with desire and he longed to see how many more reactions he could draw out of her untouched body.
The two of them were now soaked in her arousal, the hair between her legs glistening with wetness in the flickering fire light.Aemond took a steadying breath as he angled his cock at her tight entrance.
“Be filled with grace,” his voice was like a prayer as he finally pressed forward and pushed inside her.
She gasped at the sudden feeling of stretching and pressure, it was nothing like she'd felt before and in a flash the arousal seemed to disappear and the fear was back, gripping her like a vice and making it hard to breathe.
“Don't fight,” Aemond hissed, “submit,”.
She took a steadying breath, her eyes fixed on his face as he stared between their body’s, at the place the two of them were becoming one. After the initial pain and resistance she found her body wanting to welcome him, she found her cunt pulling at him hungrily and willingly changing to accept him inside her.
Once Aemond was resting deeply inside her he gave a shuddering breath. He couldn't hear anything but the pounding of blood in his ears and he could see nothing but the place where their bodies were joined.
“We are one, Maiden,” he said softly, looking up at her face and finding her watching him, a single tear escaping her eyes as he pushed another inch forward, finding her body yielding and vice-like in its grip.
“Don't weep,” he said, reaching forward and wiping the tear away from her eyes, “you are one with the Gods now,”.
Aemond gathered the tear on his thumb and brought the drop of liquid to his mouth, sucking it off the tip of his thumb. He brought his wet thumb down between their bodies and brushed it against the swollen pearl that peeked out from between her soaked lips. He could feel the tight channel of her cunt squeezing around him at the contact and a small moan slipped between her soft lips.
Slowly he began to move his hips in a slow, grinding motion. He wanted to stay as deeply rooted within her body as he could but he desperately wanted to bring her pleasure. To share with her the religious experience he was chasing. He ground his hips forward and used his thumb to swipe and stroke at her pearl.
Her whole body was on fire, every part of her mind, her body and her soul was suddenly awakened with pleasure. She moaned and immediately felt a deep shame at the sound. Aemond could sense the sudden shift in her and he looked at her face.
“Don't hide your sounds, my Maiden, they are prayers and I want to hear them,”.
After that, any sense of shame melted away, how could there be shame between them now? He had heard her confession and now he shared her body. There was no longer space for shame. The pleasure began to build and a deep groan moved through her body and filled the room as she gave into the pleasure.
Aemond changed from grinding to short, sharp thrusts, pistoning his hips and moving his cock in and out, the movements made easy by the arousal that slicked between their legs, spreading over her thighs. Her eyes widened and the grip behind her knees tightened as the pleasure inside her reached a fever pitch. She moaned loudly, thrashing her head against the bed, her eyes closing tightly.
“Submit to it, Maiden,” Aemond moaned as he felt her body tightening around him, “submit and feel God,”.
With his words she gave her body and mind over to the sensations, the knot that tightened within her belly and the tingling in her fingers and toes, every inch of her skin felt tight and hot and then suddenly, like a dam breaking, there was nothing but bliss.
The muscles of her stomach and thighs clenching, the tightening being echoed by the gripping tightness of her cunt around Aemond’s cock. Her blood felt like it was on fire as it raced around her body, burning her alive. Time seemed to stop and her body no longer felt physical, she had passed beyond physical and was now made of stars.
Aemond followed her into bliss with a deep groan and a final deep and shuddering thrust, pressing himself as deep inside her as possible before spilling his seed.
Panting and trembling, Aemond leaned forward, bringing his body over hers for the first time and placed a soft kiss on her lips. Still dazed she looked at him, through the haze of pleasure he could have been mistaken for an angel, she expected him to kiss her again but instead he straightened up and withdrew from her body. Tucking his wet, soft cock back into his breeches before roughly tightening the laces.
Aemond went to the door of his chambers and opened them, letting the serving girl who brought her here inside.
“Take her back to her room, repair her dress and stay with her all night,” he spoke quickly and firmly, the only outward sign of his recent activities was the slightly pink flush to his cheeks and the sweat gathered at his hairline.
“In the morning, make sure you stay with her,” he added, glancing back at the woman still naked on his bed, her chest still heaving and her eyes still unfocused.
“I must go to my Sept,” he finished before moving out of the room and down the winding staircase.
The serving girl brought a large, soft blanket to the bed and encouraged the lady to sit up, her hair was a mess, half fallen out of its elaborate style. She wrapped the blanket around the lady and drew it closed over her chest.
“‘ere milady,' she said softly, “so you don’ get cold,”.
The serving girl gathered up the ruined dress and the slip before returning to the bed and helping her to her feet. The lady was unsteady on her feet and was shocked back to reality by the pain between her legs.
She brought one hand to her mouth in horror, holding the blanket tightly around her body.
“What have I done?” She whispered, glancing back at the bed.
“Come on my lady,” the serving girl said softly, “let's get you back to your rooms,”.
She followed the serving girl out of the room and down the winding staircase. The stone was icy cold on her silk slippered feet and the chill moved up her legs, quickly turning her whole body to ice. At the bottom of the final turn she stopped outside the door to Aemonds Sept, through the door the sound of his prayers were just audible. She placed her hand on the door, going to push it open but the serving girl placed her hand over the lady's.
“We must go,” she urged.
The serving girl led her back to her rooms, managing to avoid any other living being in the red keep. Back in the safety of her rooms she helped the lady into her bed, her naked body slipping between the soft sheets.
“Sleep, milady,” the serving girl said, “I'll be ‘ere in the morning to help you get ready,”. She closed her eyes and without another thought she slipped into a dreamless sleep.
Aemond knelt at his altar all night, the sun was creeping over the city when he finally opened his eye and unclasped his hands. A great deal of his religious devotion was for show, he felt almost nothing for the faith and used it only to manipulate those around him to his will. But after a night with a highborn maiden he often felt the need to unburden his soul.
He would not attend the wedding of his Maiden and Lord Tully, the ceremony would take place at Baelor's sept and the feast in the great hall. He wouldn't be expected to attend and he assumed his mother would pay him a visit after the festivities to fill him in on his brother's behaviour. He stood slowly from his altar to the Maiden, the candle he'd lit when he'd entered the night before was gutting and spitting as it gave its final flickers before going out, the wick drowning in a pool of its own wax.
Somewhere below the walls of the Red Keep a bell began to toll, waking the city and signalling the start of a new day. Aemond left his Sept, closing the door tightly behind him, he took the winding stairs back to his private rooms. The wine glasses and the plate of sweets were still on the table and the coverlet on the bed was rucked up from his Maidens thrashing and keening.
He could have knelt at the foot of the bed and placed his face where her arousal had soaked the fabric, he could smell the intimate musk of her body and let him become lost in memories.
He made to move toward the bed but there was a barely audible knock on the door, Aemond turned toward the door instead and called the visitor in.
His serving girl stepped into the room and closed the door silently behind herself. She was the only person in the Red Keep Aemond trusted without question.
“Milady slept fitfully, asked for you when she woke and has now been taken by ‘er mother and sisters to be washed and dressed,” she reported, her eyes focused on her feet.
“Thank you,” he replied, a cold distance in his voice.
“If you ‘ave no further need of me, Lord, I’ll be gone,'.
Aemond nodded and the girl left without another word or sound. Aemond took to his seat beside the fire, he drew a glass of red wine from the decanter on the table and drank deeply, scowling at the flames as they danced in the grate.
Some hours later the bell in the Great Sept rang out, a loud booming sound that travelled through the hot air across the city and out into the bay beyond. Underneath the tolling bell the bride stood as if made of stone, the only indication she was flesh and blood were the tears streaming down her cheeks.
The bride groom kept glancing at her nervously, was she weeping with joy? Unlikely he reasoned, was it sadness to be leaving the home she's known most of her life? Or was it fear of the night to come? He'd heard from his older, married brothers that virgin's could be fearful and unwilling on their wedding nights; he hoped he'd give a good showing of himself for her first experience of the marriage bed. After all, he'd never had any complaints before.
After the sun had set on the heaving city and the wedding feasting and drinking were done the newly weds were finally alone in their bridal chamber. The room was awash with light from torches and a blazing fire, the bed was made up in Tully colours and food and drink set out on a small table by the open window. She waited at the end of the bed for him, sitting with her hands clasped in her lap, her eyes turned down and the skin of her face tight and sore from the tears she’d been unable to stem.
Her new husband drank deeply from a wine goblet by the window, he was dressed in only his long white linen shirt and black leather riding boots, he drained his goblet and moved toward the bed. He’d decided he needed some extra liquid courage before taking his new wife to bed, he didn’t think he could cope with all the tears without something to help him forget the experience.
“Lie back, wife,” he said, his voice thick with drink, “we’ll soon have this done with,”.
Across the Red Keep Aemond sat alone in his chambers, he’d removed the patch from his ruined eye and the sapphire caught the flickering light from the fire, he stared at the flames as they twisted and licked around one another. Separate tongues of flame merging into a single burning light before breaking apart again and reaching desperately for cool air being drawn down the chimney.
The door to his room opened without warning, he turned his eye toward the darkened doorway and watched his mother enter. Her cheeks were flushed red with the wine she’d taken at the feast and her usually impeccable hair was looking dishevelled from dancing.
“Nice wedding?” Aemond asked as she sat heavily in the chair beside him and sighed deeply.
“Lovely,” Alicent mused with a smile, “the bride wouldn’t stop crying but she always was a miserable little thing,”.
Alicent looked over at her son, her smile was indulgent as she studied his profile.
“You should have been there,” she said softly.
Aemond gave a small shake of his head.
“It wouldn’t be appropriate,”.
“What would be inappropriate about you attending the wedding of members of the court?” Alicent argued.
Aemond, not in the mood to argue with his mother remained silent and returned his attention to the flames, tomorrow he would hold a service of devotion for his family and the small council and afterward he might entertain the master of coin to see what he could learn about the plans to deal with the civil unrest that was coming from Dorne.
“Anyway, I thought you’d like to know that Lord Beesbury has announced his plans to wed the Moreland girl before her next name day,”.
“The Moreland girl?” Aemond asked, turning his attention back to his mother.
“Another one of your sister's handmaids, the one with the golden hair and the crooked smile, she’s sweet enough but I feel for her marrying an old dog like Beesbury,” Alicent replied before lapsing into silence. The memory of her own marriage announcement brought sharply to the forefront of her mind.
Aemond’s fingers twitched against his knee, he knew the girl by sight and seemed to remember that despite the crookedness of her smile she showed it off willingly and often. He could help but wonder if she’d smile for him as he took her apart piece by piece.
“Before her next name day, you said?”.
“Hmm? Yes, about 3 months from now,” Alicent said, her mind now firmly fixed on the past.
Aemond nodded his head and drummed his fingers faster on his knee, not long to wait.
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Hey! could you please write something about Aemond hearing his name in a conversation, he stays at the door sure he will hear something bad but instead he hears the lady talk about her sex dreams about him
Thank you so much💙
Warnings: Smut.
Word count: ~1400
Aemond strides down the corridor of the Red Keep, in the direction of the training yard. It is mid-morning and his schedule runs like clockwork - he has a sparring session with Ser Criston Cole in 15 minutes and fully intends to arrive early, he always does.
Raucous laughter echoes down the hallway. He catches the source of it through a crack in the solar door, which has been left ajar. Helaena’s ladies in waiting are all reclining on the couches inside, though there is no sign of the Princess which they are in service of.
He scowls. He doesn’t understand why they aren’t shut away when not in Helaena’s presence. They are always laughing, it gives him a migraine. What could possibly be so funny?
The giggles subside when one of them speaks in hushed tones.
“I had a dream last night…about Prince Aemond.”
His ears prick up at this, his curiosity piqued, and he hovers to the left of the doorframe, so he can listen in undetected. He is certain that what is to follow will be some gruesome retelling of the One-Eyed Prince being the source of night terrors, it would not be the first time he has overheard unkind words about himself.
“Oh? Do share.” One of them pipes up.
“I-I can’t.” She stammers. “It is improper.”
Aemond’s eye widens at this. He leans forward, peering through the gap to see which of them it is. She is pretty. Beautiful, actually. He has never bothered to take the time to properly look at any of them before, usually doing his best to avoid them at all costs, but there is no denying that she is fairer than any woman he has ever looked upon. He hopes more than anything that the rest of this wretched gaggle can convince her to divulge further details.
More giggles erupt, before a voice chimes in.
“Oh, go on, your secret’s safe with us!”
“Well…we were coupling…and it felt good…I have heard that lying with a man is painful and uncomfortable, but I was enjoying it, and after…he pleasured me with his mouth…”
This is a chorus of gasps, followed by more laughing.
Aemond feels his heart hammering inside of his chest. It seems so loud he is certain the ladies in the solar will notice and catch him in the act of eavesdropping. His skin flushes hot from his neck all the way to the tips of his ears. He is in utter disbelief at what he has just heard.
“Were you not repulsed by it? He is disfigured after all.”
“No.” She rebuffs. “Actually, I find Prince Aemond rather dashing…”
Aemond pushes off of the wall and hurries away. He has heard enough. He does not know how to handle the words he was just privy to. They were not meant for his ears and yet he cannot undo hearing them. What is he supposed to do with the way they have set his pulse racing? He never asked for this, had never even noticed her before today, and yet he cannot help replaying the words in his mind.
We were coupling.
It felt good.
He pleasured me with his mouth.
I find Prince Aemond rather dashing.
For the first time in his life he is late to the training yard. Ser Criston greets him with a reproachful look, before Aemond suffers through what is undoubtedly the worst sparring session he has participated in since he first took up a wooden sword as a child.
We were coupling.
His sword is knocked from his hand.
It felt good.
His shield splinters under a blow from a morningstar.
He pleasured me with his mouth.
He is knocked to the ground.
I find Prince Aemond rather dashing.
The point of Criston’s sword is at his throat.
“Is everything alright, My Prince?” Criston asks with genuine concern, offering out a hand and helping Aemond back to his feet.
Aemond’s eye is wide, his breathing laboured, and not from the exertion of training.
“I-I think I am unwell, Cole. Please excuse me.”
He stalks back inside, seeking solace in the library. Pulling a copy of Unnatural History from the shelf, his favourite book to lose himself in, he settles into an armchair and begins to read.
“The bloodmages of Valyria used wyvern stock to create dragons…we were coupling…The bloodmages of Valyria…it felt good…”
“Seven hells!” He slams the book shut upon realising he cannot get past the first line, sighing and pinching the bridge of his nose.
He pleasured me with his mouth.
He has never heard of a man doing such a thing to a woman. Despite the vulgarity of it, he is intrigued. He places his copy of Unnatural History on the nearby table and stands, making his way towards the end of the library that contains the more salacious reading material.
He takes a quick look around to make sure the prying eyes of the maesters aren’t watching him, before scanning the shelves and selecting the tome he feels will be most relevant for what he is attempting to research.
It only takes a few seconds of flicking through the pages before he finds what he’s looking for. Graphic descriptions of how women can be prepared for intercourse, and even brought to peak, via the use of lips and tongue.
His eye widens and his breathing quickens as he imagines licking her in her most intimate area. It’s only when he realises that his cock is now straining painfully against the laces of his breeches that he hurriedly places the book back on the shelf and retires to his chambers.
He lays on his bed that afternoon, spilling into his own hand, with her name falling from his lips like an urgent prayer.
She is there at the dining table when he goes to supper that evening. It is not unusual for Helaena to invite her ladies in waiting to dine with them, and usually Aemond sits at the far end of the table, avoiding eye contact and all attempts at conversation. However, this evening feels different. Prior to tonight he had never heard her say she found him “dashing”, he had never pleasured himself to the thought of burying his face between her thighs.
Guilt blooms heavily in his chest as he takes his seat. His food remains untouched. Every time he looks up he catches her eyes upon him. Does she know? How could she?
In truth, he cannot keep his eyes off of her either and it is probably that that drives her to stare as she does.
On an ordinary evening, Aemond sips delicately at his wine throughout the meal, leaving the cup almost full by the time he leaves the table. However, tonight he finds himself draining his first and gulping greedily at the second. The calming effect it has on his nerves is most agreeable to him.
He pleasured me with his mouth.
His grip on the edge of the wooden table turns his knuckles white, as he struggles to compose himself. His sigh of relief is almost audible as the meal draws to a close and everyone begins to retire for the evening.
He catches sight of her outside of her own bedchamber door as he is returning to his. Fuelled by the confidence that two cups of wine on an empty stomach has granted him, he lengthens his strides, catching up to her before she is able to make it inside and close the door.
She turns, startled, as he grabs her arm, pulling her towards him.
“My Prince?” She asks, a hint of fear and confusion pinching her delicate features as her brow furrows slightly.
Acting on his new found boldness, Aemond leans down to whisper in her ear, his voice husky. “I heard what you said earlier.”
He regards her face carefully as he pulls back, but there is no apparent recollection, so he decides to be more daring. Leaning in once more he says “Just so you know, if I were going to pleasure you with my mouth, I’d do it before I stuck my cock in your cunt, not after.”
He lets her go and walks away with a smirk. When he chances a glance back over his shoulder and sees that she is still frozen in place, her mouth agape, he knows that she knows exactly what he is talking about and his words have had the desired effect.
“Sweet dreams, my lady.” He calls behind him.
#aemond targaryen#aemond stannies#prince aemond targaryen#aemond#aemond one eye#pro aemond targaryen#aemond targaryen smut#aemond targaryen x reader#house of the dragon#hotd#aemond targaryen fan fiction#aemond targaryen fanfiction#aemond targaryen fan fic#aemond targaryen fanfic#hotd fan fiction#hotd fanfiction#hotd fanfic#hotd fan fic
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↬ desperation
Daemon Targaryen x Reader
Warnings: MDNI, 18+ !! Smut, afab!reader, p in v sex, oral (f!receiving), not proofread, whole lotta breeding kink because my girlie @drizztdohurtin needed a fix
Upon deciding to turn in for the night, you only managed to remove one singular piece of jewelry before your husband's hands were on your hips, and his lips were on your neck, trailing desperate kisses along the curve of it.
"Hello to you, too," you jested, only earning a hum in response. It seemed Daemon's focus lay outside of pleasantries.
Unsurprising.
Daemon made quick work of your dress, and the moment he got to your thin linen shift, he was ripping it in two, wrenching it apart at the front and earning a small gasp from you.
"Gods, what's gotten into you today?" you inquired, although your voice held no agitation or malice.
"A burning desire for my beautiful wife. What else?" Daemon replied simply, groaning softly as he cupped your breasts in both of his hands, massaging them and leaving more kisses upon your neck and shoulder. Moments later, he pressed a kiss to the shell of your ear before earnestly whispering, "I need you, ābrazȳrys. You'll let me have you, won't you, ñuha jorrāeliarzy? I'll make it good for you, you know I will, my love...."
As he whispered these promises to you, one hand trailed down to your still-clothed sex, his middle finger rubbing you through the ever-dampening fabric.
Somehow, you managed to breathe out "Yes," and that was all it took for Daemon to hoist you into his arms and carry you to the bed. He all but threw you upon the mattress, and he hastily removed your underwear, throwing it so harshly that you'd think the garment itself had wronged him in some way.
Daemon dove between your thighs then, throwing them on his shoulders in a hurried manner, as though he couldn't get his mouth to your cunt fast enough. It was immediately clear that he did not intend to take his time tasting you as he normally would, but that did not mean it was unenjoyable. No, Daemon knew precisely how to get you off as quickly as possible, and he accomplished that goal in record time, moaning against you as his hot, desperate tongue hastily lapped up the juices that spilled from you.
You had half a mind to wonder if there was some sort of time crunch you were unaware of, as you watched him rip off his own clothing through half-lidded, hazy eyes. Once he was bare, Daemon met your gaze, and he had this... almost *feral* look in his eyes, as though he would either die or kill someone if he didn't bury himself inside you this very instant.
You had seen that look before. You knew what he was desperate for – what he was desperate to do.
Before you could address it, he was caging you with his arms and his body, moving your legs to his shoulders as he situated his knees on either side of your waist, already ensuring that he would reach as deep inside of you as possible, before the act had even begun. His eyes closed for a moment, and he exhaled very slowly, as he rubbed his cock against your wet warmth, before notching the head of it against your still-quivering cunt. He glanced at you, waiting for either confirmation or denial, and as soon as he saw your small nod, he filled you to the hilt in one swift thrust.
Daemon was not a meekly-endowed man, and the sudden sizable intrusion stole the air from your lungs. He usually rocked himself into you slowly, letting you adjust to his size before continuing. Even after countless experiences with bedding him, it was still a lot. It burned – just enough to feel positively fucking glorious. The gasp you'd let out faded to a moan, and Daemon knew that was a sufficient cue for him to continue, and he began a brutal pace.
Finally, he revealed the truth you'd already surmised, cradling your face a little while asking, "Issa dōna ābrazȳrys... will you give me another? Another child. I've spent all day picturing you with a rounded belly and swollen tits, and it's driven me to madness, my love. I need it. I need to see you so beautiful and so fucking full of me again. Please, ābrazȳrys, let me.... Let me fuck another babe into you...."
As though to sweeten the offer, he stopped cradling your face to reach down and begin rubbing your clit. Your ability to respond was cut off with another moan, and Daemon added another "Please." The way he wasn't quite begging, but still making it obvious that he would only do it if you were agreeable to it.... That had you throbbing around him. The mere notion that this man, this Rogue Prince that so many fear, is seeking your approval for finishing inside of you and giving you another child, for no other reason than he's desperate to see the way you look while carrying them. It was dizzying.
"Yes," you breathed, and Daemon's eyes met yours, an unmistakable glimmer of excitement in them. "Yes, my love. Give me another baby. Let everyone who looks at my rounded belly know that I belong to you, and you to me."
Daemon practically growled upon hearing your words, and removed his hand from your clit to move both hands behind the base of your head and grab two fistfuls of your hair in a tight grip, pounding into you with a newfound vigor. It didn't take him long to finish inside of you, the sensation and the positively feral look upon his face – the slight snarl of his upper lip, the way his teeth were clenched, the sheen of sweat on his brow – it all sent you hurtling over the edge as well, milking him until he had nothing left to give, his seed so abundant that it was spilling out of you as he continued to fuck the rest deeper, harder, desperate to ensure his seed takes hold within your womb.
#daemon targaryen#house of the dragon#hotd#the rogue prince#daemon#daemon targaryen x reader#daemon targaryen x you#my writing#daemon targaryen fanfic#daemon targaryen fanfiction#daemon targaryen fic#daemon targaryen fan fiction#daemon targaryen fan fic#hotd fanfic#hotd fanfiction#hotd fan fiction#hotd fan fic#hotd fic
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My Heart Belongs to Daddy, modern!Aemond
Series Masterlist // Main Masterlist // It's bad enough we get along so well
modern!Aemond x step-daughter
Warnings: 18+ smut, daddy kink, language, infidelity
Words: 1170
A/n: I just had this idea and couldn't get it out of my head so enjoy :) Also available to read on AO3.
“Say it.” His voice is rough and demanding, and a little breathless as he fucks into her from behind at a punishing pace.
She writhes in the bed beneath him, raking her nails over the mattress, burying her face into the pillows, desperate to take the edge off. “Please,” she half whimpers, “don’t make me say it.”
“You want to cum don’t you, pretty girl?”
Her body flutters at the thought. She decided some time ago his voice is her favourite part of all this, how he teases her, how he talks her through her pleasure and makes his demands.
“It doesn’t even make sense,” she mumbles, “you’re only two years older than me.”
He lets out a low hum, one she knows well by now, an indication of amusement and irritation at her stubbornness. His thrusts slow down but they become harder and more determined. The slapping sound of skin against skin becomes clearer and he leans down, brushing his lips against her ear as he harshly whispers. “I mean it, I’ll keep using you all night, and no matter how much you beg, how hard you cry, you’re not gonna fucking cum. Now-”
Her cunt is clamping over nothing and she’s on her back, gazing up into blue eyes blown with lust. He leans over her again, resting his forehead against hers. His voice is smooth and scathing. “I’ll ask one more time.”
She sighs, instinctively wrapping her legs around him to pull him closer. “I need you, daddy.”
She feels his cock prodding at her entrance, hard and eager, but as much as he loves the feeling of fucking her, he also loves to tease her. “Tell me what you need.”
Her back arches as he drags the tip through her folds and over her clit. The pleasure is mind numbing but she needs more. “I need your cock, daddy, to fill me up and make me feel good.”
Aemond presses a peck to her cheek. He loves her like this, body squirming, pussy dripping and eyes glazed, so desperate and needy, just for him. “Say please,” he whispers softly.
She lets out a little whine, but she could never be bad for him. “Please, daddy.”
He pushes in again, slowly, letting her feel the stretch and every inch of his cock dragging against her sensitive walls. “Does it feel good, baby?” He coos.
“Fuck… yes,” she gasps, sliding her arms along his shoulders and around his neck. She breathes in the smell of him, expensive aftershave, cigarette smoke and sweat. “It feels so fucking good.”
She feels him smiling into her neck. “Was that so hard, baby?”
They hold each other tight as he picks up the pace of his thrusts, she with her arms around his neck and him gripping at the flesh of her waist like she might disappear if he lets go.
And when those little whimpers of “ please , please, ” start to fall from her lips and her cunt flutters around him, he knows she’s close.
“Come on, baby,” he grunts, “soak daddy’s cock.”
She falls apart under him and he fucks her through it. “Such a good girl for me, such a needy little slut.”
That night he has her cumming over and over again, pinning her to the bed, bouncing her on top of him, taking her from behind like animals in heat, until her eyes are teary and they’re both too tired to think.
When they’re both spent he pulls her into his chest so he can feel her breaths and her heartbeat against his skin.
For now they get to exist in this bubble, in this fantasy of one another where they’re untouchable, the only two people in existence. But Alys will be back from her business trip in a few days, and they’ll have to return to their ‘normal lives’. Stolen glances across the dinner table, a hand on her waist as he passes her in the kitchen, nights when Alys is working upstairs and his fingers will slip along her thigh and tease her through her pyjama shorts.
Sometimes, if he’s not busy with work, Aemond offers to drive her to uni. It saves her having to get the train, and it gives them half an hour to tease each other, to test each other’s limits. She likes to palm his cock through his jeans and, despite her effortlessly sweet demeanour, whisper the filthiest confessions in his ear as he drives. He wants to pin her against a wall and fuck some sense into her, but by the time they reach a secluded car park on the campus, he has to settle with grabbing her hair and fucking her pretty mouth.
She had a lecture this morning and Alys offered to pick her up later in the evening (saying something about catching up after she had been away) so she figured she might as well use her time wisely and study with one of her friends.
“Does it not bother you?”
She looks up from the article that was already boring her to death.
Suddenly there’s a phone being waved in her face. Her friend has been looking at a LinkedIn post, an action shot of her mum from one of her conferences. Alys looks as glamorous as ever, black hair falling over an emerald satin suit, red painted lips pouted as she speaks to a faceless acquaintance.
But she imagines the friend is referring to the man standing over her shoulder. Aemond has a habit of wearing all black, and business is no exception, but even amongst professionals he wears his usual array of silver hoops and sapphire studs in his ears, while his silver hair is pulled neatly into a long braid. Her eyes linger on the jaw she’s made him tense, the lips she’s kissed, the eyes she so often catches raking over her body.
“Doesn’t it bother you that your mum’s dating a guy the same age as us?"
She feels her cheeks flush and looks back down at her laptop, pretending to look busy. “That’s not strictly true, he’s only two years older than me.”
Alys never told her anything about her father, and she never bothered to ask. Why would she? The Rivers girls had everything they needed. That was until, Alys came home with Aemond Targaryen on her arm.
The moment she saw him she knew she was fucked. She tried to hide it, that gnawing, restless feeling she felt whenever he looked at her, smiled at her, muttered in her ear.
It’s wrong, she knows it, but then why does it feel so good when he runs his hands over every inch of her skin? Why does it feel so right when his cock is nestled deep inside of her, pushing her closer and closer to the high she craves?
She loves this little game of theirs, taking what they can from each other with the brief moments they have.
It’s never enough, they’re both insatiable, and every time she gets to feel him she needs him more.
#aemond targaryen#aemond x original female character#aemond smut#aemond fanfiction#aemond x y/n#aemond x reader#aemond targaryen fanfic#hotd fanfic#hotd fan fiction#hotd fanfiction#modern!aemond#my fics#stepdad!aemond#my heart belongs to daddy
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Hello! We are back with another fandom challenge. This month we're getting musical; April's creation event will be fuelled by song lyrics.
April 1st: "Happiness is a butterfly // Try to catch it like every night // It escapes from my hands into moonlight" - Happiness is a Butterfly - Lana Del Rey
April 8th: "I hate your tattoos // You have weak wrists // But I'll keep you" - Mascara - Deftones
April 15th - “I am done with my graceless heart // Tonight I’m gonna cut it out and then restart” - Florence & The Machine - Shake it Out
April 22nd - “Eternal happiness clapped in irons // Eternal happiness, mighty strikes” - Full of Hell - Trumpeting Ecstasy
April 29th - tbc
What is this?
To inspire people's creativity we host a month long prompt event once a month. Each week a line from a song will be posted and creatives can use it for inspiration for fics, gifs, artwork - anything you'd like to make!
Please make sure you tag @hotd-bigbang and use the tag "hotd lyric prompts 24" to ensure we can find your creations and reblog them.
You don't have to participate every week - choose as many as you'd like, and there's no hard deadline - i.e. if by April 8th, you've not created anything for April 1st's prompt, you can still create for that prompt if you'd like to. However, we will be making a round-up post on May 5th for all creations, so if you miss this date then your work will not make it onto the list.
All are welcome to participate. Please don't hesitate to send an ask if you have questions.
Happy creating!
#hotd#hotd fan fiction#hotd fandom#house of the dragon#house of the dragon fan fiction#house of the dragon fandom#hotd fan art#house of the dragon fan art#hotd lyric prompts 24
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cats and dogs | aem. targaryen
Description: He meets his future girlfriend while searching for his old one. Aemond adopts a puppy and sees a girl with her cats.
Type: social media au
Warning: Teen
"I want a small dog," he answered firmly - already beginning to look around the small animal shelter.
"I have a small apartment - it's not really built for those big canines." he explained, playing with the strings of his hoodie. His mother told him that it would help with his anxiety - but the thought of owning a dog made him anxious. It was like having a baby - according to his brother. "Are there any breeds that you're interested in?"
His lips pressed into a thin line; was he supposed to know about the breeds? The only dog breed that he was aware of was 'German Shepherd' because his uncle's dog: Caraxes, bit him as a kid. "Not really," he shook his head - while being led towards the darker parts of the room. There were a few dogs growling at him, some had missing body parts - but he was unfazed.
"There's a dog here - no one wants to adopt her, but she's a sweetheart." the woman cooed, leaning down to wave at Vhagar.
The chihuahua was growling at her, but it's face seemed to soften once he came into view. "She's a senior dog...loves treats," the woman chuckled nervously, chucking a treat inside the cage. "Would you like to touch her?" she inquired and he nodded automatically.
Vhagar felt like home.
The woman gently lifted the dog out of the cage, settling him down on the floor. Vhagar immediately ran towards her future-owner, nibbling on his shoe-laces. "She already likes you," the woman mumbles in surprise. He leans down to Vhagar's level - gently petting the dog's back.
When the employee was about to put her back inside the cage - she sprinted in the other direction. Navigating through the maze with ease. "I'm so sorry, she's not like this! I swear." the woman ran after the dog, but its speed was amazing.
"I want another kitty!" you giggled while pressing soft kisses behind the tabby cat's ear. "Oh my god, you keep doing this." Baela rolled her eyes, holding your black cat with her other hand. This was supposed to be a visit for getting Kaiser's papers, but now it was turning into another adoption. "Jacques is a cute name," you thought to yourself.
You turned towards the man - about to ask him if you could bring the kitten home, but a dog suddenly bumps your ankle. "- and who is this?" Baela squatted down to touch Vhagar, but she growled at the woman. "Little miss murder on her mind," she laughed at her joke.
"- i'm sorry about her, miss." a worker apologizes, gathering the dog around her arms. "It's alright, she's cute." you smiled - seeing another man fade into view - presumably chasing after the dog.
"Well, if it isn't Aems." Baela rolled her eyes playfully, surprised to see her cousin on the other side of town. "Spike," the man replied using her childhood nickname. The worker hands the dog to the man - the dog quickly calms down. "Are you going to introduce me or is this one of those, guess who's?" he raised an eyebrow.
For a woman who said the most controversial things, Baela had a lot of suitors. He wanted to know if you were one of them.
"I'm (Your Name)," you greet - unable to offer your hand because of the cat cuddled on your arms. "Aemond, I'm Baela's cousin." he introduced - trying to offer his hand, but remembering that he was holding a pet of his own.
"So, dinner at five?" Baela informed - catching you off guard. "I'll text you the details, please wear some makeup - Aemond." she rolled her eyes - taking the cat away from your hands and returning it to the owner. Baela, thank you.
She begins pulling you away before you get another word in.
'Sorry' he mouthed with a slight smirk. 'It's okay' you smiled in return.
your_dumpaccount: he's so handsome ackckckc
5 comments 10 likes
baelabutterfly: thoughts?
- your_dumpaccount: i will kneel for, i will die for, i will serve
- - baelabutterfly: GOODBYEEEEE 💀 too much info
rhaena_hotwings: wear protection kids
- your_dumpaccount: i expected this kind of comment from bae
You couldn't stop smiling.
Dinner with him was amazing - but the ice cream after?
"Are you a vanilla or chocolate person?" he asked while taking a lick of his chocolate-mint ice cream. "Strawberry," you responded while wiping the cotton candy ice cream away from your upper lip.
"Why were you so sad when both were unavailable then?" he inquired, and you could feel the heat rise to your cheeks. He noticed. "It feels like a chocolate day," you hum, freezing as you realize that his eye was solely focused on you - the crowds were drowning out.
"Why did you buy cotton candy?" he asked again, finding you to be an interesting woman. You hate vodka - you ask them if they have gin, but you order a margarita. "I thought that you'd hate mint - you told me that your comfort food was this, so I thought that you'd want to share." you admit shyly.
He wasn't the only one paying attention.
"That's sweet," he whispers - reaching to wipe the ice cream away from your lips. He licks his finger after.
your_dumpaccount: boyfriend, lover, future husband JK, UNLESS?
9 comments 7 likes
baelabutterfly: bitch that's my cousin
rhaena_hotwings: r u in his house? 😭 sis i can see his mom's gf in the bg
- your_dumpaccount: you should be thankful that she was there
-- baelabutterfly: here we go again with the 'sex on the countertop'
--- your_dumpaccount: that's so cringe, why would someone do that
your_tiktokuser: surprise guysz
918 comments 289k likes
smegmasmegol: NOT YOU SOFTLAUNCHING SOMEONE?
i_like_paninis: i want what they have
uasdasd99: sis is a model, influencer, cat mom and now a girlfriend??? can u pls bless us with 3% of ur beauty?
@nyctophilic0vitnir @bellstwd @pearlstiare @glame @bellaisasleep @yentroucnagol @marvelescvpe @fan-goddess
#aemond targaryen#aemond#aemond one eye#the one eyed prince#prince aemond targaryen#aemond stannies#pro aemond targaryen#aemond targaryen x reader#modern aemond#aemond targaryen fan fiction#aemond targayren fanfiction#aemond targaryen fanfic#aemond targaryen fan fic#hotd#house of the dragon#hotd fanfic#hotd fan fic#hotd fanfiction#hotd fan fiction
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The Hour of Ghosts
Summary: A short story exploring the supernatural consequences of the Dance of the Dragons.
Word Count: 2961
Warnings: Major spoilers for House of the Dragon season 2 / Fire & Blood, Major Character Deaths, Suicide, Mental Illness, Violence, Graphic Injury, Spooky Themes
A/N: Hello! This is my first time writing something hotd-related and is essentially my coming-out-of-writing retirement fic to ease myself back into writing.
Big thank you to @beaconofthehightower for pushing me to finish this and @dreamymoomin for beta reading.
Anyway, I hope you enjoy my silly little ghost story 👻
The Dance of the Dragons left deep scars on the Seven Kingdoms, political and otherwise. Although the literal stench of death was vigorously scrubbed clean, the stains remained, ingrained into the very fibre of the people and the world left behind.
The battered, burnt banner of fire, blood and loss hung over the ruins of a once noble house. Hastily patched and practically mended with rough hands attempting to salvage what remained of House Targaryen and restore order to the realm. The bitterness of it all stuck to the tongue like ashes in your mouth - it had been for nothing.
No one had won; everyone had lost.
The generations to come would debate the facts and wage their own war with words, for and against each side’s claim in volume after volume of biassed histories. Others would simply gloat with the gift of hindsight, suggesting that those involved should have foreseen that a war of kin slaying kin and dragon fighting dragon would never have had a glorious victor.
As the years passed, the memories of the war faded from the sharp, throbbing string of freshly cut wounds to aching battle scars. Moving into that part of the collective memory, where the lines between fact and legend become murky and confused. Truths became as tangible as wisps of smoke from an open hearth, sewn together with the thread of imagination by every wet nurse in Westeros.
Something haunted these lands - collective trauma manifesting and twisting into tales of ghosts, ghouls and fantasm.
From the North shore of the God's Eye, where the blackened ruins of Harrenhal sit decaying, it is said that some evenings as the sun drops below the Western horizon, a high-pitched whistle can be heard in the wind. A piercing unnatural sound that makes the blood in your veins run cold.
To the native smallfolk, this sound is a well-known harbinger, a sign to shutter your windows tightly and turn in for the night - less you wish to glimpse something eerie illuminated in the moonlight over the inky black water.
The story goes that the shrill sound of Prince Daemon's mount, Caraxes, is always followed, even on the clearest of nights, by a rumbling like thunder, so loud that it sends ripples through the lake - the roar of the once mighty war dragon, Vhagar.
Phantom snarls shake the ground, hailing the infinite clash between the Blood Wyrm and the she-ancient dragon of the one-eyed Prince, Aemond Targaryen.
The sound of wings that no longer beat and gnashing jaws that have long since crumbled to dust echo for dozens of miles. Sparks of white-hot dragon fire gone cold reflected in the water below. As spectral flashes of red and bronzy green scales appear against the colourless void of night, weaving and merging like a coil of translucent serpents, struggling and writhing for dominance.
Shades of memory replay - Caraxes’ jaw locked tight around the larger dragon's throat, as Vhagar clawed, bit, and ripped in bloody retaliation. Tearing scales from flesh, and flesh from bone with the ease of Valyrian steel.
However, most unnerving are the two pale princes themselves mounted on the ghastly long dead beasts, as silver as their hair was in life, both gaunt with death and cadaverous to the eye. Sallow skin pulled taut over their skeletal faces, cheeks stained with tracks of red from bloody tears, which ran from sunken eyes.
Two souls destined to be locked in a battle for eternity, forever to play out their mutually assured destruction. The elder fated to leap from his dying mount and drive his blade of moonlight into the younger’s skull - again and again overlooked by Black Harren’s accursed seat.
A sickening and frightening spectacle for mortal eyes to perceive, yet in the absence of fear you might say there was a chilling beauty to the scene. Always to end the same way - poetically some would say - in fire and blood.
To the south, high above the city of King’s Landing upon Aegon’s Hill, the mighty Red Keep plays host to many ghosts of its own. This is no surprise as many people would wager that enough blood had been spilt within its walls over the years to fill the Blackwater. The castle is plagued by ghouls from across the ages, some from the days of the conqueror, himself.
Folk could pass many a long winter’s night recalling the countless tragedies of that castle and those who were said to remain there. It appeared that this war of dancing dragons only added to that grisly spectral collection.
It is Maegor’s Holdfast, where servants don't dare linger alone and guards dread to be posted in fear of hearing her. The whisper of phantom sobbing that murmurs just beyond the reach of your ears or more terribly ghoulish shrieks of anguish that grasp your throat with fear and settle in your chest. It is the sound of grief-driven madness consuming a gentle, yet tortured soul.
Even as the years passed, the agony of Queen Helaena’s bereavement was palpable, the sounds of her anguished cries were enough to drive anyone to madness. They consumed you, drowning you in sorrow and dragging you down with suffocating melancholy.
Some say that Helaena’s haunting was part of what drove her Mother, the Dowager Queen Alicent Hightower to her own derangement in the years following the war.
Tormented, not only by the loss of her three sons but also by the cries and whimpers of her dead daughter, which echoed off the pale red stone. Confined within the very same walls that had been sweet Helaena’s home turned prison in the last half year of her life before she had flung herself from the window to her death, impaled on the spikes below.
Alicent Hightower had been harshly punished for her sins. The feeling of being trapped, one way or another, had been a constant companion throughout her life. Yet it seemed being locked away, like her daughter before her, was the final straw.
No needle and thread nor book could save her sanity.
She spent her time attempting to converse with people unseen, sickened by the colour green and longing to hold and comfort her dearest babe in distress whom, like the rest of her children Alicent could no longer picture the face of.
On her deathbed, it appeared that the raging fever quieted the madness and allowed for moments of clarity and reflection for the Queen in chains. As expected, Alicent spoke at length of her regrets and confessed her transgressions. It seemed for the first time in a very long time, Alicent Hightower was at peace.
“I want to see my sons again.” Alicent had said, as her life ebbed away. “And Helaena, my sweet girl.”
The Septa who sat in vigil over Queen Alicent that night, failed to mention everything that happened in the final hours of Alicent’s life in her official account. What the poor woman had witnessed as the rain lashed against the castle windows had left her shaken, clutching her seven-pointed star so tightly that each corner had left tiny cuts on her palms and fingers.
At the hour of the wolf, the Stranger had come for Alicent Hightower, but it appeared death was not alone.
The Queen’s breaths had become shallower and shallower until finally, the death rattle had set in. It was then that an eerie coldness filled the bed chamber, at odds with the raging fire in the grate. Gooseflesh prickled across the Septa’s skin as the chill engulfed her. A cold so biting that she could feel it seep through the numerous layers of her coarse linen robes.
It was strange and unnatural.
With an abrupt rush of wind, the fire was extinguished from the hearth. Snuffing out her last fragile defence against the fear that had suddenly taken hold of her. The room was consumed by darkness and the Septa’s only solace now was a handful of low-burning candles clinging to their flame within the bedside lantern.
She knew she should move; she should attempt to rekindle the logs that smouldered in the fireplace or call out to the guard on the door and yet she could not. Instead, she sat frozen in her chair and was forced to bear witness.
Between the hammering of her own heart, the rasping breaths of the dying Queen and the rain that pounded relentlessly at the window panes, it was hard for the Septa to hear them at first.
The voices started softly and indistinct, like overhearing a conversation in another room, but grew louder and more coherent with each passing moment. Till it was as if they were in the very bed-chamber itself.
Initially, she believed they were children’s voices due to their high and melodic quality. However, as the Septa strained her ears to hear, she soon realised these voices chopped and changed in tone with every few syllables, distorting into a heavier and deeper pitch and then swiftly returning to a higher register.
Stricken with fright, all she could do was listen. Discerning that the voices seemed more masculine than feminine, the Septa tried to focus on distinguishing meaning in the sea of words as the voices continuously talked over each other.
Then she heard it, the common thread. One word was repeated over and over.
“Mother.”
The realisation was scalding, in sharp contrast to the icy air that surrounded her. The Septa’s initial instincts were correct; these were the voices of children - Alicent’s children.
The blinding clarity only seemed to make the voices grow louder. Becoming more frantic and fractured, flicking rapidly between youth and maturity. It was chaotic and confusing, as if years of memories were trying to compress themselves into a single moment. Blurry, broken and half-remembered.
“Where are you, my loves? I can’t see you.” Came the weakened voice from the bed between laboured gasps.
The Septa’s eyes had now adjusted to the dark and she watched in horror as she began to notice the movement of unnatural shapes forming in the gloom.
Hearing them was one thing, but seeing them was another.
Twisting and bending, the four misshapen figures that manifested could not decide what they wished to embody. They shifted in stature and years in the same disturbing manner as their voices, morphing from adult to child and back again.
They crowded the bed, tugging at the bedclothes as they had once tugged at Alicent’s skirts in life, so many years ago. All the while their voices kept on calling for her. It was too much to bear.
This fresh wave of alarm seemed to bring the Septa to her senses and she did the only thing she knew she could. She began to pray, hands clasped together around her seven-pointed star. Shutting her eyes tightly as she recited the words, she wished to hear no more, to see no more.
Time seemed stagnant as each minute that slipped by felt like ten. The Septa focused on her prayers, drawing comfort from the words she knew so well. The familiarity shielding her from the ghoulish sights and sounds around her.
Until all of a sudden, she felt a shift in the air and the voices were gone, fading just as fast as they had come. A balmy glow now beckoned through her closed eyelids.
There was light and warmth as the fire returned to the grate. The logs were ablaze once again, heat flooding the room and banishing the chill which had consumed it.
The Septa took a shaky breath before daring to open her eyes, taking a moment to bask in the feeling of being warm and alive in the peaceful, blessed silence.
As the rain pattered softly against the glass, she realised the storm had passed, along with Alicent Hightower.
Across the water, clinging to the face of the volcano known as Dragonmont, sits the fortress of Dragonstone. A place of salt, smoke and brimstone. The ancestral seat of House Targaryen, a relic of Old Valyria forged by dragonfire and the forgotten magic of Dragonlords.
This castle was the grim and eerie backdrop where some say Aegon II claimed victory over his half-sister, the Black Queen. A hollow and costly victory, which hardly tipped the scales in the face of all that he had lost.
One final petulant jab in this bloody squabble.
Though accounts from both sides of the warring factions differ on many things, they find common ground on one exchange, which took place upon Rhaenyra’s arrival from King’s Landing to find herself betrayed and Aegon in situ.
“Dear Brother, I had hoped you were dead.” Rhaenyra called out at the sight of Aegon’s half-charred and twisted form. Delighted by the small triumph of his injuries and satisfied that even though she would almost certainly die at his hand, Aegon would spend the rest of his days bearing scars done in her name.
“After you. You are the elder.” King Aegon spat back with a pained grin, his jaw clenched hard as he fought to hide the agony that coursed throughout his broken body. He had refused milk of the poppy out of the fear of poisoning and paid tenfold for it.
“I am pleased to know that you remember that.” Rhaenyra replied.
Now friendless and at the mercy of the enemy, Rhaenyra Targaryen was forcefully separated from her son. Little did those present know that once the dust of conflict had finally settled, this child would in fact be King in his own right. But, for now, he was just a boy.
A boy forced to watch his Mother die.
The Realm’s Delight was served up to Aegon’s dragon, Sunfyre, who bathed her in red-hot dragonfire. As the flames consumed her, Rhaenyra raised her head skywards and shrieked out one last curse.
What didn't burn, was swiftly devoured. The final memorial to the Half-Year Queen being nothing more than the scorch marks left on the ancient flagstones.
The words and meaning of Rhaenyra’s dying curse are lost to time, but many suspect it was the root cause for the strange happenings that followed.
It started at the site of her killing, a peculiar sweltering heat rising from the stone for which there was no logical source. Those foolish enough to dare place their hand on the blackened marks themselves would come away harshly burned in searing pain. A mere moment's touch brought about hideous blisters that bubbled on the skin and left the surrounding flesh charred and cracked.
Then came the sightings, it was said that if you ventured to cross the courtyard in the dead of night you may catch a glimpse of the Black Queen herself.
A haunting apparition composed of swirling smoke and glowing embers. The flaming skirts of her gown twirled around her as long silver-gold hair burned bright like white hot iron. Flames licked around her once beautiful face, now reduced to nothing but ash and a pair of hollow eyes.
The smell of burning flesh and brimstone filled the air as an aura of blistering heat that radiated around her form, shimmering and distorting. No words came from her blackened mouth, only thick, choking smoke as she silently screamed, leaving trails of cinders in her wake as she stalked the castle grounds.
Rhaenyra Targaryen conveyed her displeasure through the flame, which had been her demise. Burning anything to which her spirit took offence. Newly hung tapestries were known to spontaneously combust and seven pointed stars melted in their holders.
She may not have held the Seven Kingdoms or sat the Iron Throne, but it was clear that Dragonstone was her domain and even in death she would remain its mistress.
As the decades passed, it appeared her restless soul seemed to quieten - the sudden fires becoming less frequent and sightings fewer and fewer. Till the tales of her spectre had become nothing more than a story to frighten children.
Theories to the reason for this change were in the dozens, some claiming that a young brave Septon had been to Dragonstone and bravely banished the fiery ghoul from the castle, casting her down to the Seven Hells where she belonged.
Others believe her spirit's suddenly passive nature was linked to an even greater shift, something was changing for House Targaryen itself. Where the air of Dragonstone had once been thick with Valyrian enchantment there seemed to be rot.
Their magic was dying, eroding away further and further with each generation.
People once said that the Targaryens were closer to Gods than men and yet it would seem that the sin of the dance had angered something much older and much crueller than the deity of several aspects worshipped by the faith of the Seven.
This was something ancient and primal that wished to punish them for tearing apart their house with the blessing of dragons that had made them Kings. Many argued that the sins of the Greens and the Blacks were the reason that after the war House Targaryens’ dragons declined, getting smaller and weaker as their power faded with each malformed dragon and unhatched egg.
In the end, the doom of the Targaryen dynasty was inevitable. The damage was done and the dominos would continue to fall uninterrupted. Without their dragons what truly separated them from the other great houses of the Seven Kingdoms?
How long would it be before others saw the mirage for what it was and another contender took their chance for the Iron Throne?
After all, power only resides where men believe it resides. Truth does not matter, only perception and once the illusion of power is extinguished, snuffed out with the dying breath of the last dragon, there is no returning to what once was.
#Rach Writes Sometimes#hotd fanfic#hotd fanfiction#hotd fan fiction#hotd#House of the Dragon#the dance of the dragons#fire and blood#Daemon Targaryen#Aemond Targaryen#Helaena Targaryen#Rhaenyra Targaryen#Alicent Hightower#Aegon ii Targaryen
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I am Restless and Harsh, Make Me a Gentle Creature
Small thing I wrote as, like, I guess a character study of my x Alicent OC. Either way, I was briefly possessed by my problem lady & had to get all this out in order to purge my system or smth
Aldreda Tag
General tag list below the cut. If you'd like to be tagged in my not!SOTF OC stuff ask or dm to let me know
Aldreda closed her eyes as she sank into the tub, trying to imagine that she was back home and that the activity of some mainland maid was the quiet working of one of The Farwynd’s thralls. It was hard to imagine, though. The stone tub was a far cry from the deep, wooden basin in her chambers that she would submerge herself in until she had to splash back above the surface for air, not to mention that scented oils and soaps had already been poured into the water by the time she’d tossed her shirt to the ground, giving her no chance to bark out orders to leave the water clear till she was in it and had ducked below the surface.
A sharp knock on the door brought her large, black eyes open once again, forcing the overdone bedchamber and its great blazing fireplace carved with dragons back into view. Three of the serpentine beasts trailed down to the open hearth, mouths agape to look as if they were breathing the fire into its spot. It was the most ostentatious thing she’d ever seen, and she’d been spending the better part of an afternoon with a fucking Lannister.
“Lady Farwynd! I would have a word with you!”
Keep reading on AO3
@emilykaldwen @fyeahhotdocs @ocappreciation
#fyeahhotdocs#asoiaf oc#fyeahgotocs#ocappreciation#ocapp#oc: aldreda farwynd#oc fanfiction#oc fanfic#hotd fanfic#hotd fan fiction#hotd oc#house of the dragon oc#my writing#oc fan fiction#alicent Hightower x oc
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A United Little Family CHAPTER 1
Rating: everyone
(House Of The Dragon fan fiction made by me)
characters: Rhaenyra Targaryen, Daemon Targaryen, Jacaerys Velaryon, Lucerys Velaryon, Joffrey Velaryon.
characters briefly mentioned: Laenor Velaryon, Harwin Strong
relationships: daemon x rhaenyra
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“Mother!”
Rhaenyra heard voices outside of her bedroom. She wasn’t concerned because the voices sounded excited and full of joy. Suddenly two bursting bubbles of joy entered her bedroom and climbed on her bed. She noticed that they were already in their riding clothes.
“Mother! I taught Arrax Dracarys!” Lucerys screamed. “He did it so well! I gave him a piece of meat and I said the word and he-“
Jacaerys suddenly put his hand over his brother’s mouth. He noticed little Joffrey in the crib beside his mother’s bed and stopped his own yelling before he silenced Luke’s.
“Jace take your hand off your brother’s mouth” Rhaenyra said scoldingly. But as she was looking around the room, she didn’t see her husband.
“Boys who took you to the dragon pit this morning?” She asked questionably.
The boys looked at each other hesitantly before responding.
“Daemon…did.” Jace spoke. “He came into our room when we were both awake and….asked us what we wanted to do.”
“That was very nice of him”. Rhaenyra couldn’t help but blushing. She knew that the loss of Laenor had created a huge impact on the boys. She knew that Daemon was trying to be a good father to them. But nothing will ever be the same again, and Rhaenyra knows that.
“Where is he now?” Rhaenyra asked.
“I don’t know…. but mother, I thought I heard some noises coming from Joffrey’s egg, and I even fed the dragons this morning!” Luke couldn’t hold in his excitement any longer. “I think they really like me!”
Rhaenyra gently lifted her hand and pressed it to to her younger son’s face.
“Your a Targaryen. A true born Targaryen. A dragon will never ever lie about that.”
The two exchanged a smile before hearing footsteps come into the room.
“Boys….there you..are”. A tall, handsome, silver haired man entered the room panting. “For having little legs you two sure run fast”.
“Daemon!” Luke shouted happily. “I told mother about the dragons!”
Luke jumped off of the bed and ran over to the door.
“Thank you for letting me ride with you on Caraxes!” Luke gave him a brief but touching hug.
Daemon knew that they boys loved dragons and knew that they secretly idolized him because of all of his battle achievements. He desperately wanted to throw all of his affection on the boys but he needed to take it slow. It was all so quick. The boys lost two fathers but gained another at such a fast pace. He wanted to be a family again.
“Don’t worry mother…..Luke didn’t get hurt on Caraxes or anything….he just wanted a ride that’s all.”
“Oh Jace” Rhaenyra pulled her eldest son into an embrace. “I’m not worried at all, I’m happy that you had a good morning filled with fun and joy.”
Daemon and Luke walked away from the door and onto the bed. Luke nuzzled up next to Jace, cuddling in his mothers arms. Daemon chose a spot close to Rhaenyra, but keeping his distance from the boys. He wasn’t sure if Jace and Luke wanted him so close.
“Maybe one day, when your both older, we can all go on our dragons and ride across the seven kingdoms” Rhaenyra said happily.
“Oh mother that would be my greatest dream!”. Luke gave his mother a big kiss on the cheek. Rhaenyra responded with a chuckle, her lips curling into a sweet smile.
In that happy but fleeting moment, Rhaenyra heard some wiggling in the crib beside the bed. She didn’t want to abandon this happy moment with her children, after all they barely ever happened anymore. Daemon knew what his beloved wife was thinking and immediately got up from the bed and picked up the little one.
“But we can’t forget Joffrey of course” Daemon stated. The little baby squirmed in his arms as they got back up on the bed. Rhaenyra embraced her family into one big hug.
“I’m sure we wouldn’t forget Joffrey, right my little boy?” Rhaenyra said in baby talk to her youngest son. Joffrey did a little squeal which made Luke laugh.
This was one of those happy moments that they hadn’t had in a long time.
While the boys were laughing at each other, Rhaenyra looked at Daemon. That one look expressed all the joy that her family had lost. Daemon looked at her back with the biggest smile that she had seen come out of him.
In that moment they both knew that everything was going to be okay. They knew that no matter what happened that they would always be a family, and that they would always be untied with the blood of the dragon.
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Thank you to @dae-daetargaryen @nyctophilic0vitnir and @grandlovescheme for encouraging me, inspiring me, and making me feel confident about my first fic! I give you eternal thanks!!!
#hotd au#hotd fan fiction#one shot#rhaenyra targaryen#daemyra#daemon targaryen#jacaerys velaryon#lucerys velaryon#house of the dragon#joffrey velaryon#harwin strong#laenor velaryon#fan fics#asoiaf#hotd#made by me
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Unbearable
Warnings: Angst, smut
Words: 3.5k
Summary: Your marriage to Aemond Targaryen is a political one, to strengthen the bond between both your houses, or so it seems. You’ve loved Aemond from afar for as long as you can remember, but now find yourself trapped in a marriage where the feeling, in your opinion, is not reciprocated.
The feeling of butterflies fluttered in the pit of your stomach, as your handmaidens intricately braided your hair. It was the morning of the day you’d awaited for so long; your wedding to Aemond Targaryen.
You’d grown up alongside the Targaryen children. You’d learned to tolerate Aegon, were firm friends with Helaena and had always admired Aemond from afar, despite his rigidity and aloof nature. As you’d grown, admiration had quickly blossomed into love. You saw past Aemond’s injury. You adored his pursuit of knowledge, his mastery of combat and respect for tradition. To you, Aemond could have a thousand more scars than he did already and would still be the most handsome man in all of Westeros.
With this in mind, your heart had soared when your father had broken the news to you that you and Aemond were betrothed. A strengthening of the bond between your houses, he’d said, but to you it was so much more. Aemond was seemingly less excited, but you were unsurprised by this. He’d never been one for outward displays of emotion. Much of your life you’d wondered if he even liked you. He’d never said more than a few words at a time to you, but you’d accepted that was just his way. Surely things would be different once you were his wife.
Aemond’s eye did not meet yours throughout the ceremony and he sat next to you in stony silence throughout the wedding feast. You supposed it must be nerves. The bedding would be next and he may open up to you once you’re alone as husband and wife.
You were jittery with excitement as you entered your bed chambers, eagerly turning to face Aemond once the door was closed firmly behind you.
He cut you off before you’d had a chance to speak. “I suppose we should get this over with”, he said stoically, nodding his head towards the bed, “On your belly”, he instructed.
“What?!” you gasped, heat flooding your cheeks. This wasn’t the romantic end to the evening you’d envisioned.
“We’ll be expected to produce heirs. It’s only right we fulfil our duty”, Aemond explained, avoiding eye contact.
You stared at him, wide eyed in astonishment.
When you made no move to say anything, he sighed, clearly vexed. “Please, my lady, while not ideal, let us make haste so that this can be at its end. On your belly.”
He gestured once more towards the bed and this time you complied. Crawling with trepidation on top of the blankets before laying flat on your front. You felt frightened. Where butterflies had once danced, dread now gnawed its way through your guts. While you had no experience of anything romantic - you’d never even kissed a boy before - surely this was not how it was supposed to be? Where were the gentle touches, the sweet kisses and the lingering stares you’d heard so much about?
Before you could ponder on it for too long, you felt your skirts being lifted above your waist. You anticipated the soft feel of long, dexterous fingers caressing your thighs, but were shocked when you were grabbed roughly by the hips and held in place.
“Forgive me”, Aemond said matter of factly, before roughly forcing himself into you in one thrust.
You buried your face into the soft down of the pillow, muffling your loud scream as he entered you. Tears rimmed your eyes as you fisted the blankets. The stretch and burning sensation between your legs was excruciatingly painful, exacerbated by Aemond’s harsh thrusts. While the pain dulled after a few moments, it never fully subsided and you cried silently waiting for it to be over.
Aemond finally came with a low grunt, pulling himself out of you as soon as he was able.
You remained still, not daring to move, as he composed himself. You didn’t dare to look at him, too shocked by what had just transpired to do anything but lay prone on the bed.
“Hopefully my seed will quicken and we will not have need to repeat this”, Aemond muttered. While trying to keep his tone formal and respectful, you detected a hint of strain to his voice. He was holding something back, but you were unsure of what. “If your moon’s blood does arrive then be sure to tell me, we will need to try again.”
You hadn’t heard him retreat, until the click of the door closing confirmed you were now alone. It was then that the intensity of the pain between your legs, the chill of the air on your bared skin and the feeling of utter loneliness all collided at once.
No longer bothering to stifle the sound, you let out an anguished, almost feral sounding sob. Your husband did not love you. He was so disgusted by you that he’d insisted upon not looking at you during the consummation of your marriage. There was no tenderness to the act, like your vows it was purely political; to produce an heir. Your body shuddered with the force of your crying until finally, exhaustion overwhelmed you, and you fell into a fitful sleep.
The following morning when you awoke your eyes were puffy from crying. The prospect of being trapped in a loveless marriage weighed heavily upon you. You hissed as you lowered yourself into the steamy waters of the bath your handmaidens had drawn for you. The heat of the liquid hitting the soreness between your legs made you wince, and brought fresh tears to your eyes as memories of the previous night came flooding back to you.
You’d never dreamed that you’d awaken the morning after your wedding and find yourself alone. Yet it had never occurred to you that you’d be married to a man who apparently couldn’t stand you. Your heart ached. In spite of the mistreatment you’d suffered at his hands, you were still desperately in love with Aemond.
Upon being seated at the breakfast table you were disappointed but not surprised when you noticed your new husband’s absence. You struggled to conceal your sadness when informed that Aemond had awoken early and was out riding with Vhagar. You didn’t see him for the rest of the day and, finally, after finding yourself dining alone once more at supper your sadness turned to anger.
If Aemond wanted this marriage to be a mere formality then you’d maliciously comply. Over the coming weeks you both avoided being alone in the same room together, hastily retreating when the other would enter. In situations that required both your presences in a group setting you barely looked at each other and only spoke to each other if it was absolutely necessary.
Each fresh snub was like a dagger to your chest and yet, as heartbreak bloomed, the fire of your anger was further ignited. You wondered if this would go on indefinitely. Little did you know you wouldn’t have to wait long for things to finally reach their boiling point.
You were roused from your slumber by the dull ache in your lower belly and stickiness between your thighs. Peeling back the bedclothes and finding the crimson stains upon your nightgown and the sheets confirmed what you suspected - your moon’s blood had arrived.
A mixture of relief and regret washed over you. On the one hand, it would have been nice to carry a small part of Aemond. Proof of the only time you’d ever experienced the touch of the man you loved, painful as it was. On the other, you were grateful not to be bringing a child into such a strained and loveless environment.
After you’d bathed and your bloodied sheets and night clothes had been taken away to be laundered, you settled yourself in the library to read. This was the most likely room in which to find the prince, however, after a month of trying your best to avoid him you’d learned his routine quite quickly. He was in the habit of taking Vhagar for an early morning ride each day, which meant you could peacefully have the library to yourself until at least lunch time.
After a couple of hours of comfortable reading, you were returning your selected tome back to its shelf when the creak of the door to the library opening caught your attention. You turned, expecting to address a servant alerting you that lunch was ready but froze when you saw who it really was. Aemond.
He hovered by the door, regarding you quietly. The expression on his face was unreadable. In spite of your anger, you still found him devastatingly handsome and silently cursed yourself for it.
You stood, wide eyed with shock as you struggled to regulate your breathing. You kept a vice like grip on the book you held, in an attempt to ground yourself, your knuckles were white with the effort.
Aemond’s eye fell to the book you were holding, he appeared to be about to say something, before thinking better of it and looking back to your face.
“You have your moon’s blood”, he stated simply.
It wasn’t a question. A servant had obviously informed him. He knew. Annoyance bubbled in your throat. You didn’t trust yourself to speak, so you answered with a curt nod.
Aemond inhaled deeply, looking down at his feet before returning his gaze back to you. “I am sorry to hear”, he spoke softly, appearing to choose his words carefully, “I will give you time for your...blood...to be over and then...we will try again.”
Unable to hold back your annoyance any longer, you slammed the book onto the table in front of you as he turned to leave.
Aemond looked back at you, clearly shocked by your outburst.
“Don’t trouble yourself”, you spat.
“Excuse me?” Aemond whispered, his violet eye narrowing.
“I’m saying no!” You practically shouted, “I don’t want to try again. Whatever this is, I don’t want it! I don’t want to bring a child into this!”
You were on the verge of tears by the time you finished speaking. Your chest heaved with the effort to keep your wits about you.
A look of something akin to hurt flashed across Aemond’s face as you spoke, but vanished as quickly as it appeared, so you were certain you’d imagined it. He stood statue like for a moment before responding with a quiet “mmm”. He exited the library, closing the door softly behind him.
You collapsed into a chair, burying your head in the crook of your arm against the table and sobbing, not for the first time, about the shattered state your husband had left you in.
A week passed without any further incident or any word from Aemond. You were beginning to think he had forgotten and discarded you following your altercation in the library. That was until a rolled up note was passed to you by one of your handmaidens as they readied you for the day.
Your fingers plucked open the knot in the string holding the roll together and unfurled the scrap of parchment. What you read filled your veins with ice.
Written in High Valyrian the note read: “I will petition my mother to dissolve our marriage. I hope this is pleasing to you - Aemond.”
You stood abruptly, the girl brushing through your hair jumped back in shock. You stormed from your chambers, you thin nightgown billowing behind you as your hair swung loosely around your shoulders.
“Princess, you are not dressed!” the girl called out after you.
“I don’t care!” you raged, as you carried on down the hallway, parchment clenched in your fist.
You burst into Aemond’s chambers, startling him as he was donning the last of his riding gear.
“Aemond, what the fuck is this?!” you demanded, brandishing the note.
His eye went wide, taking you in, before turning away. “You are not dressed, my lady” he muttered.
“So people keep telling me”, you snapped, “Can you not put aside your disgust for me for even a moment to explain the meaning of this?!”
“Disgust?” Aemond questioned, turning back to you, the shock on his face more than evident. “Why ever would you think you disgust me?”
“You want to dissolve our marriage”, you said meekly, the last of your fight leaving you.
“I’m doing what is best for you”, he explained softly, “I cannot bear to see you this unhappy. I will tell my mother your virtue is still in tact, so your chances of a more appropriate match will not be affected.”
“This doesn’t make any sense”, your voice wobbled, “Don’t you want to try?”
“I have tried!” Aemond snapped in frustration, pinching the bridge of his nose, as he paced, “I’ve kept away from you, I’ve given you space and yet still you are miserable. There is nothing more to be done.”
“Why would you think I want space?” Confusion settled over your features.
Aemond scoffed. “I am not my brother. I should be wed to a plain faced sow from the North. Your beauty is other worldly. You are scholarly and kind, you deserve a husband that is whole, not disfigured as I am. You should not be forced to look upon me and feel resentment at the match that has been made for you.”
“Aemond...” you breathed, your heart hammering in your chest.
He held up a hand to stop you, before he continued speaking. “I have tried my best to make this work. Avoiding you, so you would not have to look upon me or endure my presence. I had hoped you would be with child after our wedding night. I know how the people at court love to whisper. It pained me to touch you when you clearly did not want me to, but I could not bear the thought of people suggesting that you were barren or worse. I heard your sobs after I left your chambers. I hated that I had hurt you and that you were so horrified by having lain with me that you would cry so.”
“Aemond”, you interrupted, this time with more conviction, “You are the most beautiful man I have ever laid eyes on.”
He shook his head, chuckling drily as he turned away from you.
Not having to look at him made it easier to press on with the rest of your confession. “I have loved you from afar since we were children. I do not wish to be wed to anyone else. All I have wanted since we were married was to feel your touch. I’ve longed for you for what feels like an age. Instead you have broken my heart.”
A single tear tracked its way down the alabaster of Aemond’s unmarred cheek as he finally turned back to you. “Can you ever forgive me? We could start again. I promise to make you feel every bit as cherished as you deserve.”
“I would like that”, you sniffled, shedding happy tears of your own.
He approached you, wiping them away with his thumbs as his hands moved to cup your face. “May I kiss you?”
You responded by stepping up onto your tiptoes and pressing your lips against his. His mouth was warm and soft, better than anything you’d ever imagined. Aemond’s tongue probed against your bottom lip, requesting entrance as he deepened the kiss, moving his arms around your waist to pull your body flush against his.
Emboldened by your husband’s sudden display of passion, when you finally broke apart you pushed your nightgown from your shoulders, standing bare before him.
This time when his eye went wide it was lust, not shock, that ruminated from its depths.
“If it is agreeable to you, husband, I would like to properly consummate our union.”
Aemond swept you into his arms, kissing you fiercely and manoeuvring you towards the bed. “This time I will treat my wife with the reverence fitting of a princess”, he whispered, long fingers roaming the curves of your body as he drank in the sight of you.
When he turned you around and moved to press you onto the bed, you realised he meant to have you from behind again.
“No” you protested.
He froze, immediately halting his actions, doubt and worry creasing his brow.
You were quick to reassure him, climbing off the bed and stroking his sharp jawline. “I wish to look upon your face when we make love.”
A tint of pink flushed his otherwise pale skin and he glanced away from you. “My scars...”
“Have you not been listening to me, husband? Scars or no scars, there is no one in the Seven Kingdoms whose face I’d rather look upon than yours. Please...”
This seemed to convince him and he allowed you to push him back towards the bed, he sat on the edge as you straddled his lap, his large hands coming to rest on your hips.
With a delicate touch, you reached behind his head, removing both his eye covering and the tie that held his hair fastened in place. His long mane of silver hair fell around his face and shoulders, framing his sharp features. The sapphire that sat within the socket of his missing eye glittered. He was a vision of radiant beauty as your smiled upon him.
“Iksā vok”, you whispered. You are perfect.
Aemond’s previously shy demeanour suddenly transformed as he captured your lips with his possessively. You took the opportunity to push gently on his chest, laying him down as you sat astride him.
You broke the embrace to unfasten his tunic, placing gentle kisses on each part of his skin as it was revealed to you. You repeated the action with his trousers, until finally he laid naked beneath you.
“Iksā vok” you repeated. You are perfect.
He held his aching cock in his hand, looking at you through hooded eyes. “I need you”, he all but moaned, “Come here.”
You giggled, straddling his lap once more and grabbing hold of his erection. Aemond hissed through his teeth at the sensation, throbbing at the grasp of your hand as you positioned him at your entrance.
You both groaned in unison as you sank down upon him, stretching and filling you to the brim. You stilled as your body met his where you joined, your face contorted with pleasure and adoration for your husband.
Aemond’s hands moved lazily to palm at your breasts, before brushing his thumbs across each nipple. You squirmed, wiggling your hips at the heady sensation.
“Avy jorrāelan“ he confessed, no trace of hesitation in his voice. I love you.
You whimpered, finally gaining the confidence to grind your hips against his. Pressing your hands against the planes of your husband’s chest, you rocked against him harder and faster, moaning at the sensation of the feel of him.
“You are exquisite”, Aemond whispered, pulling himself up into a seated position and meeting you thrust for thrust.
You clung to his shoulders, hair cascading down your back as he placed open mouthed kisses to the column of your throat.
You squealed as Aemond flipped you suddenly, your back making impact with the mattress as he continued to rut into you. His weight on top of you and being able to gaze up at the mask of pleasure that was his face felt heavenly.
Instinctively your legs moved to wrap themselves around his waist, your ankles crossing behind him. Aemond let out a breathy gasp at the sensation of being pulled into you yet deeper still.
“Harder, Aemond...please.” you begged, arching into him.
“I love hearing my wife beg”, he rasped, complying with your request as he snapped his hips into yours at a bruising pace.
You could feel something begin to build within you, quickly reaching its peak. You had no idea what this sensation was and you wailed piteously, clinging to Aemond for reassurance.
“I am bringing you pleasure, my love”, he cooed, “It’s okay, let go. I have you.”
“Aemond!” you screamed, as the peak finally fizzed over and you felt your body shake with the intensity of which you were clenching around his cock.
He fucked you through your orgasm, nearing his own as his pace began to falter. “Beg syt ñuha nūmo” he commanded. Beg for my seed.
The filthiness of his tone made you whine. “Kostilus! Kostilus!” you cried out, “Tepagon nyke aōha nūmo!” Please! Please! Give me your seed!
You felt Aemond’s cock pulsate inside you as he filled you with rope after rope of his warm, sticky seed. He came with a low groan of your name, before collapsing on top of you.
Your hand stroked idly through the silver strands of his hair as he held you close, sweaty and panting.
“I meant it, I love you”, he finally spoke.
“I know”, you smiled, “So you won’t go back to ignoring me?”
“No”, he replied, propping himself up on his forearms to stare down at you, “I will not push you away again. It was unbearable.”
You smiled, leaning up to peck his lips. “Iksā vok.” You are perfect.
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My Heart Belongs to Daddy part ii, modern!Aemond
Series Masterlist // Main Masterlist // And if it feels good, then it can't be bad
modern!Aemond x step-daughter
Warnings: 18+, smut, daddy kink, spanking, degradation, questionable relationship dynamics, infidelity, mentions of grief/loss, no underage elements
Words: 5900
A/n: Thank you for the love on the first part! Let me know if you want to be tagged in upcoming parts or follow me @humanpurposes for updates. Also available to read on AO3.
The wedding of Daemon and Rhaenyra Targaryen is turning out to be exhausting and a little overwhelming. It’s been built up for months as the event of the year in King’s Landing, extravagant and scandalous, which describes the family rather well.
Every room in the Red Keep has been booked to accommodate the city’s elite. It’s a beautiful venue, an ancient redbrick castle overlooking the bay, once a home for royalty, now the flagship of a chain of luxury hotels, and the crowning jewel in the Targaryen empire.
She glances around the ballroom where the guests are mingling while they wait for the arrival of the newlyweds. It doesn’t take her long to spot her mother, martini in hand, making smalltalk with Corlys Velaryon, who just happens to own the largest shipping company this side of the Narrow Sea. Alys Rivers is nothing if not efficient.
They had been surprised to receive an invitation at all, but then Rhaenyra has always valued appearances above everything else. They had hardly heard from her since Harwin’s funeral, and even then it was funny half-smiles and overcompensating niceties to gloss over the obvious pain in her eyes. That’s the thing about Rhaenyra, you can never really tell what she’s thinking.
She looked other-wordly floating down the aisle in a white satin and lace gown. Her father, Viserys, CEO of Targ Corp and patriarch of the Targaryen dynasty, walked beside her. Maybe it was the lighting in the Sept or the red and black suit, but he looked pale, and his eyes were heavy and tired. Rhaenyra’s step-daughters, Baela and Rhaena, trailed behind them in matching maroon dresses, while the three Strong boys lined up beside Daemon at the altar. A picture perfect family.
She tried not to judge Rhaenyra too harshly for wearing white– damn purity culture and the misogyny that comes with it, but she couldn’t help but think how she preferred the vintage cocktail dress she wore when she married Harwin.
She’d been too young to remember that wedding, but she’d seen the photos enough times. There was one she especially loved, of the bride and groom on the front lawn of Dragonstone, smiling to each other like they had a secret (turns out they did when Jace was born eight months later), while she and Helaena stood in front of them. Their faces were round and chubby, scrunched into the confused frown toddlers make when they’re made to wear pale pink dresses and carry round baskets of rose petals.
Alys fell out with her parents in her mid teens. She always said it was her uncle Lyonel who was there for her, who saw her through to adulthood, who offered her a room when a shitty ex-boyfriend left her with no money and a positive pregnancy test when she was twenty-two. And having no siblings, she said Harwin was more like a brother to her than a cousin.
Losing one of them would have been hard enough, but losing both had been devastating. In a lot of ways it still is.
“Harwin was so dear to us all,” was all Rhaenyra had said to them on the day of the funeral. So dear it took her just over a year to marry her own uncle.
Not that she’s in much of a position to judge.
A large, gentle hand settles on her back and Aemond hands her a flute of champagne. “Beautiful, isn’t it?”
He means the ballroom. Gold paints the vaulted ceiling and trails down the walls, the pillars and the archways, as sunset bleeds in through the windows.
“Wouldn’t expect anything less,” she says, trying to hide a grin.
They’ve managed to avoid each other all day until now. He sat with his siblings at the ceremony, while she and Alys were on a bench at the back of the Sept.
She allows herself a better look at Aemond’s suit; midnight blue, with a subtle floral pattern that would be easy to miss if her eyes were only skimming over it, and a baby blue tie that matches his eyes perfectly. He’s cropped his hair for the occasion too, it’s shorter at the sides but still long enough at the top to run her fingers through, to tug on. He looks beautiful. He always looks beautiful.
His hand stays in place against her back, unassuming but just firm enough to keep her on edge as he leads her further into the hall. “The decor was inspired by Versailles, but the hall itself dates back to the original Keep. You’re into this sort of stuff, aren’t you?”
She doesn’t know why he needs to ask. At this point he knows better than anyone what she’s ‘into’.
“This used to be the throne room,” she says, nodding to the platform at the end of the hall. “Imagine, the Iron Throne used to sit there and now it’s a stage for fucking a jazz band.”
The corners of his mouth curl into a reserved smile that makes her heart hum. Aemond is rarely one for obnoxious laughter, but then every time she can make him smile it feels like a little victory. It hurts a little too.
They settle at the edge of the room and his hand slips away, but he makes up for it when he leans into her, close enough that she can smell the dark, almost boozy scent of his perfume on his neck. “How are you doing, by the way?”
It’s a question she’s avoided asking herself. She spots Jace, Luke and Joff across the room, sitting down at a table with Aegon, Daeron and another guy she doesn’t recognise. They look happier than she feels, and suddenly she feels ridiculous for wallowing in her own self pity.
She shrugs. “Alright I think.”
Aemond’s face is somewhere between a frown and amusement, the face that means I can see right through you.
She shifts on her feet, looking for something else to focus on.
Larys Strong, she notices, is standing by the bar. They had run into him at the Sept, and though they’d definitely made eye contact, he made no attempt at conversation. He keeps his head low, only looking up to glare at Alys.
“Gods that man’s pathetic,” Aemond mutters, following her line of sight. “Not still upset about Harrenhal, is he?”
“Considering mum took half his clients when she left, I’d say yes. He’s always been good at holding grudges, creepy uncle Larys.” Harwin’s brother, director of what used to be King’s Landing’s most successful PR firm, recently overtaken by Rivers PR.
“Shouldn’t that be ‘creepy second cousin Larys’?” Aemond says with a little smirk.
“My version has better ring to it, rolls off the tongue easier.”
A hand suddenly slaps her shoulder and she nearly drops her glass. Aemond quickly takes it from her as Viserys Targaryen pulls her into a stiff embrace and makes a grand exclamation about love and family that she forgets to pay attention to.
She’s a little bewildered but manages to smile. “Good to see you again, Mr Targaryen,” she says. As she pulls away she catches the eye of the woman standing over his shoulder. Alicent Hightower has donned her usual shade of dark green in a velvet dress that compliments her auburn hair and elaborate gold jewellery perfectly. She has a particularly sour look on her face this evening.
“How are you, love?” Viserys asks. “Doing well I hope?”
A thousand thoughts flood her head, but she can already see the interest dying in his eyes. So she just nods.
“How is school, you’re still at school, aren’t you?”
“She’s at the university, dear” Alicent corrects him, “final year, yes?” Her lips thin as her eyes finally spares a glance for her son. “Two years behind Aemond.”
Mother and son exchange a vacant look.
“Yes,” she says, making her best attempt at Alys’ networking voice, “I study History–”
“Excellent! Well wonderful to catch up, and good to see you too, son.”
Aemond nods in acknowledgement as his parents move away to offer a similarly shallow greeting to the next group of guests. His breath tickles over her neck as he sighs. At least Rhaenyra tries to act friendly.
“I’m sorry–” she blurts it out, not really sure why she assumes it’s her fault.
He smiles. “You have nothing to be sorry for.”
There’s an uneasy feeling of guilt settling in her stomach. She knew Aemond wasn’t on the best of terms with his parents, but she hadn’t realised it had gotten to a point where they would hardly even look at him.
Her fingertips brush over his as he hands her back the glass.
She watches his eyes as they start to skim over her lavender summer dress, the thin straps running over her shoulders, the dainty gold necklace on her neck and the gathering of silky fabric at her bust.
“You look lovely by the way,” he says.
For a moment she forgets how to breathe. Maybe she should be used to his compliments and praises by now, but it still makes her nervous. “For a lovely occasion,” she says, taking a tentative sip.
“Hmm.”
“Not a fan of weddings?”
“Not overly fond. This…” he briefly sweeps his gaze around the room, at the endless arrangements of orchids and roses, the crystal centrepieces on the tables and the perfect smiles that are just a little too forced. “It’s all very pretentious.”
“I would have thought you like that, all the pomp and ceremony.”
He huffs a laugh as he takes her glass and casually brings it to his lips. “Call it a combination of circumstances.” He keeps his eyes on her as he tips the glass back.
She does the same, admiring the sharp features of his face, his jaw, his chin, his neck and the way it bobs when he swallows.
He “tsks” at the dryness of the champagne and hands her back the glass. “Things with my family have never been straightforward.”
But even less so over the last year, she imagines. For most of her life, the Targaryens existed at a distance. She and Alys used to see more of the Strongs– Harwin, Rhaenyra and the boys– for birthdays, the occasional family dinner and that summer they joined them at Dragonstone. But that was before things really started to get messy, before the lawsuits and the infighting.
None of it is helped by the fact that Viserys and Alicent despise Alys. They think she’s an opportunist, desperate for some profitable connections, stealing away their golden boy. She knows her mother better than that. Alys is less of an opportunist, more of a pragmatist, and to her credit she doesn’t pretend to be oblivious to the benefits of dating the son of the wealthiest man in Westeros.
She likes to think Aemond’s more than that though. A little less entitled than Rhaenyra, and certainly more motivated than Aegon, but brilliant in his own ways. He has a first class degree in International Relations from the University of Oldtown, a quiet but mysterious public persona, with a Hightower work ethic and an understated confidence, usually wrapped up in a Prada suit or a vintage leather jacket.
She finishes her drink before she asks, “have you spoken to Jace and Luke yet?”
His face darkens. Another point of conflict. Aemond had a falling out with the Strong boys when they were kids, something to do with inappropriate use of a kitchen knife on Luke’s part, resulting in the scar slicing down the left side of Aemond’s face. By some miracle it managed to spare his eye.
“Might be worth saying ‘hello’ at least?” She suggests.
He glances over at their table with his lips pressed together, rubbing his thumb over his index finger.
Before she knows it her hand is on his bicep, stroking her thumb over the fabric of his suit. It’s her usual reaction when she notices he’s anxious.
His eyes meet hers. His nostrils flare as he takes a deep inhale. “Maybe later,” he mutters.
A rush of cheers and applause announces the arrival of the bride and groom. Rhaenyra has changed from the elaborate gown she wore to the Sept to a black slip dress, with rows and rows of diamonds dripping from her neck. They make their way to the high table and the guests begin to settle at the round tables around the hall. She doesn’t look back to Aemond before she heads for Jace and the others.
Jace is in his first year at KLU studying politics. It’s a small campus and she often sees him hanging around the humanities block or in the library. Understandably he’s not been himself these last few months.
“Alright?” he says brightly, pulling her into the first genuine hug she’s received all day.
“Yeah,” she sighs. “You?”
“Yeah.”
“Sure?”
Jace seemed so much younger a year ago. All three of the Strongs seem to have grown up far too quickly. “It’s just been… things have changed so quickly.” He runs his fingers through his dark curls, grown down to his shoulders, she notices. “I just miss him, you know?”
She offers him a bittersweet smile. “Yeah, of course.”
“But Daemon’s great. He makes mum happy. That’s what matters most.”
She sits between Aegon and the other guy at the table and realises she vaguely recognises him. He looks older than Jace, with dark hair, surprisingly sleek stubble and silver direwolf cufflinks on his sleeves.
The dinner is infuriatingly exquisite; seared tuna, steak that almost melts in her mouth, followed by a raspberry and rose pastry and a lemon posset topped with purple primrose petals. It’s all pretentious and so very Targaryen.
Her eyes keep wandering. There’s a haunting kind of beauty about watching Daemon and Rhaenyra. They keep their fingers intertwined and share smug, knowing glances. They fit perfectly together, despite the taboo of it all.
Alys and Aemond are at a table with the Velaryons and Aemond’s sister, Helaena and her girlfriend. Alys keeps a hand over Aemond’s as she talks to Rhaenys and Corlys about some (no doubt dull) business venture, but she’ll make it sound brilliant. Her skills of persuasion are second to none.
She had half expected Aemond to follow her, but that was a stupid expectation, wasn’t it? She’s enough to fuck behind closed doors, not enough to sit beside at a wedding dinner.
She needs to stop getting her hopes up. She needs to stop looking for more from him because she’s only setting herself up for failure. But that’s just the problem, she wants to cling to every look, every hand against her back, every whisper in her ear, and convince herself that, whatever this is, that it’s for something more than just carnal desire.
She often finds herself wondering if Alys really loves Aemond. It started off as a casual thing, from what she could gather without wanting to know the details. Alys would go on these overnight ‘work trips’, which she suspected were really dates.
Her suspicions were confirmed when she came downstairs one morning to find Aemond Targaryen in the kitchen, leaning over the island and sipping an espresso. That was after his last fight with Alicent and Viserys. He had been planning to retreat to Aegon’s, but ended up spending the night with Alys instead.
She watches Aemond, running a slender finger over his fork, his eyes moving sceptically around the room, until they settle on her.
He smirks, and then he turns to strike up a conversation with his sister.
Alys certainly likes him enough to get him involved in Rivers PR, to let him live in their house and sleep in her bed.
What does he get out of it, she wonders?
“Got your eye on someone?”
The unfamiliar voice snaps her out of her trance. The boy with black hair is leaning into her.
She glances down at his cufflinks. “Stark?” She guesses.
“Cregan. My dad’s an old mate of Viserys’.”
He’s a politics student too, a classmate of Jace’s and captain of the KLU rugby team with the muscles to prove it. She recognises him a little better as they talk; he was at Baela’s Halloween party last year, though they hadn’t spoken then.
Jace shoots her a quick wink from across the table and inclines his head ever so slightly towards Cregan. She swears under her breath and rolls her eyes at him. Gods, as if she needs help from her cousin to get laid.
It’s Aegon who starts ordering rounds of shots. She tries to stick to champagne at first, until she looks across the room again. Aemond leans into Alys, as though he might kiss her, but she turns her head and his lips settle on her cheek.
After seeing that, she reaches for the tequila, met with cheering from Aegon and Daeron.
Daemon and Rhaenyra take to the floor and sway to a dreamy number played by the jazz band. Rhaenyra soon takes Helaena by the hand and Daemon grabs his girls to join them on the dancefloor.
She smiles as she watches them all, Rhaenyra and Helaena spinning around each other, Baela and Rhaena giggling at Daemon’s smooth moves that come straight from a 50s movie.
“I feel like we should go up,” Jace says.
Luke starts to groan but Joffrey is already up and dragging his brothers with him.
Aegon turns to her in his seat. The oldest of the Targaryen Hightower siblings and undisputedly the messiest, but she had found him the most approachable that Summer at Dragonstone. “What do you say, kid?”
How could she say no to that sly, self-assured grin and those puppy dog eyes? They’re a little duller than Aemond’s, closer to grey than blue. She lets him lead her to the dance floor.
As she and Aegon sway to the charming brass and bass, she wonders if Aemond is watching them. She doesn’t want to give him the satisfaction of checking. Not just yet.
Aegon leans into her ear. She ignores the sour, bitter smell of alcohol on his breath. “How is Aemond?”
It takes her off guard. She finds herself a little perplexed, eyebrows raised and lips parted as she tries to think of an answer that won’t seem suspicious.
But having to think about it at all must be incriminating.
Does Aegon know? If he did know, why would he want to bring it up?
“Good, as far as I’m aware.”
Her internal crisis seems to evade his attention. His eyes move between the space over her shoulder and the floor as he gnaws slightly on his lip. “Look, I know this isn’t your problem, but I just worry about him.”
Aegon Targaryen, worried about his brother?
“He said things were difficult lately.”
“Gods yeah, things have been tense with dad trying to sort out his will. Mum and Rhaenyra have been at each other’s throats, then there’s granddad trying to get something out of it all. It’s a fucking mess.”
Realistically she doesn’t know him that well, but between their few interactions and what she’s heard from Jace and Luke, Aegon is easy to understand. It’s strange seeing him so concerned, about anything really.
He sighs heavily. “Then Aemond went and completely fucked up a contract with Storm’s End and mum was livid.”
“That’s it? They fell out over a work issue?”
“She needed it. She’s really pushing for Aemond to take over from dad, because Gods know once Rhaenyra’s in charge she’s not letting the Hightowers get a fucking look in.”
“What about you?”
“Me? I’m the designated disaster child, no one expects anything from me. Aemond’s always been perfect. And now he isn’t.”
It would explain the dramatics of it all.
“Are they happy? Him and Alys?”
She’s not sure how she should know, or what the criteria for ‘happy’ would even be.
“They must be. I don’t see why he would stick around otherwise.”
Aegon’s lips flash into a crooked smile that disappears as quickly as it comes. “I think he wanted to get out. I said he could come live with me, hells, he could afford his own place.”
“So why doesn’t he? Get his own place, I mean.”
“He likes the distraction, something to get him away from Targ Corp, and the rest of us, I suppose. I think he needed an escape.”
The pace of the music picks up in a flourish and Aegon spins her under his arm. Aemond is looking at them.
At some point in the night, the band is swapped for a playlist of songs everyone knows the words to, and closer to midnight the hall becomes a haze of thumping bass and sparse bursts of red and green lights. She loses count of the number of cocktails she’s had, all she knows is her mind is buzzing blissfully. She feels happy and careless, but one drink away from a nasty hangover in the morning.
Aemond is still at his table, sipping a glass of what she guesses is whisky. He loves an old fashioned, if they’re out for dinner or if he makes it himself at home. He talks to Rhaenys and Corlys, and has a brief exchange with Daemon and Rhaenyra when they come over to him, but other than that he just sits and watches her.
She’s not sure how she ended up dancing with Cregan. He wraps a large, muscular arm around her waist and holds her close against him.
He brings his lips to the shell of her ear, shamelessly letting them brush against her skin. It feels nice. “Sure you’ve not got your eye on anyone?”
She smiles even though he can’t see her face. “Why is it important?”
“I’m trying to figure out what my chances are here,” he says as his mouth moves along her cheek.
She giggles as she pulls away from him. “You’re lovely,” she says.
“But?”
A hand lands firm on her shoulder. She recognises his perfume and a cool steel ring against her skin.
She turns into Aemond and puts her hands on his chest. “Are you going to dance with me?”
Aemond holds her wrists and leans into her so that she can hear him over the music. “I think you look tired.”
“I don’t feel tired. Where’s Alys?”
He cocks an eyebrow like he’s irritated she would ask. “She went to bed an hour ago.” Then his mouth curls into a smug pout. “Do you want me to take you upstairs?”
He starts to stroke his thumbs over her hands and his eyes, though hard to make out through the darkness, are fixed on hers. She can’t quite catch her breath. “Yeah, I do.”
They don’t speak as they head up. Her room is on the third floor, and they could take the lift but a few other guests have had the same idea. Quicker and quieter to take the stairs.
Occasionally her hand brushes against the sleeve of his suit but he doesn’t react. She listens to his breath, heavy and pointed, and imagines he might want to say something but keeps deciding against it.
They reach the hall on the third floor, lined with mahogany panelling, vintage gold lamp shades mounted on the walls and patterns of dragons swirling in the red carpet. It’s empty, so she weaves her arm through his.
Aemond holds her arm tight. “Had a nice time?”
It was nice to see her Strong cousins. It was nice to chat to Baela, and get to know Rhaena a little better. It was nice to dance with Cregan and to know Aegon cares about his brother.
“Yeah,” she sighs, letting her head drop against his shoulder. “You?”
Aemond starts to tell her about a conversation he had with Corlys about some new customs regulations that could screw over his company. She likes to watch him when he’s explaining something, how he moves his hand around, how he tilts his chin up and presses his lips together when he’s thinking.
When they come to her door she drags herself away from him and swipes her keycard over the lock. The door is heavy and Aemond reaches over her to prop it open as he follows her inside.
He switches on the low lights and hovers by the door to the ensuite, muttering about tariffs while she slips off her heels and places her jewellery on the vanity.
He looks deliciously casual and self-assured, leaning against the wall with his hands in his pockets, the warm lights dancing over his cheekbones and the shape of his nose. “...they just can’t compete with the Triarchy, not to mention the extra costs…”
His eyes drift to where she stands. They stare at each other for a moment. The silence is screaming at her.
“Who was the guy you were dancing with?” He asks.
“Friend of Jace’s. He studies politics.”
Aemond hums and smiles to himself. “Looked like the two of you were getting on very well.”
She could point out his poorly placed frustration and that their entire involvement revolves around someone else.
“Is that why you came over?”
He’s still smiling but there’s an intensity to his stare. He puffs his chest a little as he takes a slow breath. He taps his fingers three times against the wall. “Did you like him?”
Restraint is one of Aemond’s most defining traits, she thinks, everything about him is meticulously planned, and every decision is a considered one. Restraint is also his downfall in some cases. He rarely raises his voice or gives into his impulses, but he tries too hard to hold back and craft his perfect image. It excites her whenever she sees the cracks and inconsistencies in him. They feel sacred, another secret she gets to keep.
She takes a few slow steps towards him, until she can smell his perfume again. “I might have done.”
“Might,” he echoes. “If it weren’t for what?”
She tilts her head. His eyes are soft and his lips are parted. She holds the scarred side of his face in her hand and kisses him. She intends it to be slow and reassuring but it’s too easy to get lost in him. She presses herself into him and caresses the back of his neck and she deepens the kiss.
Until his other hand cups her head, lightly pushing her away. “I should go back to the party,” he whispers.
“Why?”
He takes a breath through his nose.
“Stay with me for a little while,” she says, nudging her forehead against his. “I need you.”
His face starts to light up, a familiar playfulness in the curl of his mouth. “Need me?”
She trails her fingertips down his shirt, tracing over his chest and the ridges of his abs, dangerously close to his belt. “Aemond, please.”
He walks forward and she stumbles with him until her back is against the opposite wall. He grips her chin between his fingers, forcing her to look up at him. “Try again, sweetheart.” His voice is low and it makes her feel weightless.
“Please, daddy,” she whispers.
He half growls a “hmm” before he pulls her into him to claim her mouth. His kiss is firm, slow and hungry. She was right about the whisky. She can taste it on his tongue and feel it tingling on her lips.
His knee slides under her dress, between her thighs, and pushes up. She gasps at the pressure and starts to rut her hips against him.
“You’re so eager,” he hisses, “what a desperate little slut I’ve made out of you.”
His hands slip under her thighs to carry her to the edge of the bed. He’s careful as he draws her dress over her head and lays it out over the armchair by the window.
He leans over her, laying her down, working lips, tongue and hands over every inch of her bare body. He starts by kissing her neck, sucking at the soft spot that always makes her melt. His hands run over her collar to her breasts, kneading and pinching her nipples between his fingers. Then he goes lower, planting a trail of kisses down the valley that leads to her waist and her stomach. Usually he likes to drag this out, treat her to divine torture until she had to beg, but tonight he is urgent, no less desperate than she is.
His hands run down her thighs, skimming one moment and squeezing the next. And then she feels his lips against her panties.
“Oh you do need me, don’t you?” He teases. “You’re already so wet for me, baby.”
She writhes against his mouth, desperate for just a little more friction. “Oh fuck, please, daddy, just–”
“Not yet.” He stands over her, slips off his suit jacket and starts to roll the sleeves of his shirt, exposing the pale skin of his forearms. “I’m going to take care of this pretty pussy, but first you’re going to tell me why the fuck you thought you could flirt with Stark, right in front of me.”
She gazes up at him. His expression is stern and intense, and she finds it thrilling.
He pulls her to her feet and takes her place sitting at the edge of the bed, running his hands over the silky fabric covering his thighs.
“Come here,” he orders, taking her hand and guiding her to drape herself over his lap. She can feel the bulge in his pants pressing into her stomach.
He’s gentle at first, stroking his palm over her ass, toying with different pressures and patterns.
The first slap is gentle.
“How many– ah!”
The second slap is harsher and she groans at the sting it leaves behind.
“You’re gonna take what I give you,” he says, stroking softly again while his other hand rests on her neck. “We’re done when I say we’re done.” Slap. “Understood?”
“Fuck!” She gasps, “yes, daddy.”
“Hmm, that’s my good little girl,” he says, running his other hand through her hair. It’s comforting, lulling her into compliance. “Now, have you got an answer for me?”
“I wasn’t trying to flirt,” she utters.
Her answer is met with a few succinct blows. She doesn’t care to count them. She breathes through it, focusing on the burn and controlling her reactions to it. She tries to keep her hips still, but she can feel her pussy throbbing and her arousal dripping between her legs.
“Don’t play dumb with me,” Aemond warns. “You’re smarter than that, baby, I know you are.”
He switches between tenderness and pain so easily. Every time she feels his hand against her flushed skin her belly tightens and she starts to shiver, never quite sure what to expect.
“Do you know what I think?” He asks, slipping finger underneath her panties, circling through the wetness and the sensitive flesh of her pussy. “I think you’re just a needy little whore, desperate for my attention. But it’s okay baby, I know you can’t help it, right?”
She can’t help the broken whimper that escapes her throat as he inches closer to where she needs him most, or the cry that comes when he withdraws his touch delivers another stinging slap.
“Shh, baby,” Aemond coos, “I know it hurts but I need you to know you’re mine,” a point he emphasises with another few strikes that have her squealing and squirming over his lap.
“I’m yours,” she mewls.
Slap. “Say it again.”
“I’m yours, daddy!” She cries, “only yours.”
He strokes his palm over her again and she grips the duvet, expecting another slap. Instead, he curls his fingers over the hem of her panties and slowly drags them down over her thighs. “I’m going to take care of you, baby,” he says, planting a kiss at the base of her neck, “just like I always do.”
Unable to form a response, she nods absentmindedly. The anticipation is driving her crazy but she trusts him completely.
He positions her with her back on the bed again, and kneels before her. He kisses along her thighs, groaning with satisfaction at her little whimpers and moans.
He leans in and kisses her pussy as sweetly and delicately as he would her cheek, letting his lips linger against her. “I’ve been thinking about you all fucking day,” he says, teasing her with gentle pecks and licks while his hands knead at her thighs. “You looked so pretty in your little dress, I couldn’t wait to take it off and have you laid out for me, just like this.”
She runs her hands through his hair as he deepens his movements, that delicious feeling rising and rising as he draws his tongue from her entrance, up to tease her clit, and back down again.
He slides a single finger in, letting out a soft groan at her slick and the sound it makes as he inches further in.
Her hips buck when he starts to flick his tongue over her clit, met by the weight of his hand against her stomach to hold her in place.
“Just relax, sweetheart, be a good girl for me, that’s it.”
Her eyes start to glaze over as her orgasm builds slowly. Agonisingly slowly. She stills her hips, fighting the urge to grind against his mouth. She’s left panting and groaning, desperate for more but she has to be good for him.
“Daddy,” she chokes, feeling a single tear stream down her temple. “Please… please…” she whimpers as she feels herself hurtling closer and closer to the edge. Just a little more and she’ll fall apart.
“There you go,” he hums, pushing deeper and working his tongue faster. “I want you to cum, baby, want you to finish all over my mouth.”
Finally she comes with a stuttering moan, back arched and pleasure rippling through her body, leaving her pleasantly numb in the afterglow.
Aemond presses a sweet kiss against her quivering cunt, trailing back up her body, coming to nuzzle into her neck.
“You alright?” He whispers. “I’m not being too harsh, am I?”
She turns her head to look at him. His eyes are so bright and his breath washes over her skin. He’s still wearing his shirt. She wants to tear it off him, feel every inch of him with no barriers or modesty.
It just slips out, mindless and simple, like a breath or a heartbeat. “I love you.”
He looks at her, wide-eyed and vague. She leans up to kiss him and he pulls away.
Then he comes to his feet, looming over the bed. He wipes his hand over his mouth and drags it over his chin.
She’s sure her heart has stopped beating. Why is he staring at her? Why hasn’t he said anything?
“I should…” His eyes dart around the room, to his suit jacket discarded on the floor. Then back to her, trembling, breathless and bare.
She props herself up onto her elbows, drawing her legs together. She’s never felt ashamed of herself in front of him before.
“Aemond?”
Suddenly he snaps out of whatever trance he’s been under.
“Night,” he mumbles, disappearing around the corner of the ensuite. The door opens. The door clicks shut.
Her hands shoot up to her hair, tugging and gripping, if only to have something to do with her hands. When it gets too painful she smooths her hands over her neck. Her pulse drums under her skin and beads of sweat trail down her back.
What the fuck was that?
Tags : @marthawrites @randomdragonfires @urmomsgirlfriend1 @aaaaaamond @boundlessfantasy
#my fics#aemond targaryen#aemond x original female character#aemond smut#aemond fanfiction#aemond x y/n#aemond x reader#aemond targaryen fanfic#hotd fanfic#hotd fan fiction#hotd fanfiction#modern!aemond#modern au#house of the dragon fanfiction#stepdad!aemond#my heart belongs to daddy
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Hello! We are back with another fandom challenge. To celebrate the arrival of Spring, this month's creation event will be inspired by images for the season. All images are royalty free and sourced from Unsplash.
March 4th:
March 11th:
March 18th:
March 25th:
What is this?
To inspire people's creativity we host a month long prompt event once a month. Each week an image prompt will be posted and creatives can use it for inspiration for fics, gifs, artwork - anything you'd like to make!
Please make sure you tag @hotd-bigbang and use the tag "hotd spring prompts 24" to ensure we can find your creations and reblog them.
You don't have to participate every week - choose as many as you'd like, and there's no hard deadline - i.e. if by March 11th, you've not created anything for March 4th's prompt, you can still create for that prompt if you'd like to. However, we will be making a round-up post on March 31st for all creations, so if you miss this date then your work will not make it onto the list.
All are welcome to participate. Please don't hesitate to send an ask if you have questions.
Happy creating!
#hotd#hotd fan fiction#hotd fandom#house of the dragon#house of the dragon fan fiction#house of the dragon fandom#hotd fan art#house of the dragon fan art#hotd spring prompts 24
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