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weirwoodswitch · 23 hours

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Simple Pleasures

Summary : When you need a bit of loving because your man is out of town... (you go running to your hot new neighbor).

Pairings: Modern!Aemond x Cottage Core-coded Female!Reader Ratings: Mature, 18+ only, please! Word Count: 4.7 k Warnings: SMUT, some fluff, p in v sex, infidelity, mentions about being drugged

🤍Author's note: This was born out of my feminine urge to runaway and be a cottage core girly. Also inspired by some musings @randomdragonfires and I had that wouldn't leave my mind!!! Of course I had to put fit Aemond in it, somehow. As usual, I already have a playlist for this so here ya go if you're interested--it's all heavily inspired by hazy summer days and hookin' up with the hot neighbor we all want. Thank you to the magnificent @arcielee for beta reading this! 🥰 Hope you enjoy. Love, Brit 🕊

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You knew it would be wrong, the first time you ever saw him on that balmy Saturday morning at the start of summer when the sky was bright blue and the birds sweetly sang their songs.

Though, somehow you felt he came at just the right time.

Your days of May, so far, had been long and horribly lonely with your husband away for a month on a business trip to Pentos. For the past week it had been nothing but endless daily chores around the house and the many ways you found entertainment by your lonesome. Thankfully, Saturday morning brought more than ideal weather with only a few clouds in the sky–the perfect time to take a stroll through the quiet streets of your small village of Sweetwillow.

Sweetwillow was a quiet, picturesque old town. There was only one cobblestone Main Street lined with locally-owned shops essential to the small population who lived on the surrounding shady streets of dispersed cottages.

Thanks to the nearby Green Fork river and the sweeping fertile Riverlands, Sweetwillow beckoned many retired elder couples wanting to start homesteads or working farms, many of which you had befriended. There were also the young families with children who were drawn to Sweetwillow’s affordable single-family cottages that looked straight out of a fairytale storybook. They chose the town as it was a stone’s throw away from the bustle of Harrenhal, the capital city, and many of the husbands worked for the corporations downtown.

That included your husband, Jason Lannister, who had made you both move to town two years ago when he took the role of Chief Operations Manager at Stronghold Media Conglomerates. Though you did not have any complaints about moving to a place as whimsical as Sweetwillow, as you had always felt the pull toward laying roots down far away from the stuffy metropolitans of Westeros.

Jason made enough money for you not to have to work despite having a degree in Education. So each day for the past two years, you played housewife in your own rustic way, pursuing passions such as gardening and cooking with what you reaped.

Sometimes you felt like the old homesteaders that lived around you with the way you endlessly worked your fingers to the bone in your garden, or how you always had fresh baked goods on the kitchen counter.

You maintained a mellow lifestyle without a child to hold you down like the other women your age whom you often met up with at the weekly farmers market. No way did you envy their noisy Saturdays with babbling or crying kids to care for on their own.

Jason was a busy man, always was, even when he was your boss back at the Casterly Rock firm and you were his sweet little assistant. The love was once hot, but now it seemed with you as his wife, he could care less about what you grew in the garden, or how you spent your days when he went into Harrenhal for business.

So long as you had dinner on the table at the end of the day, held an intelligent conversation during the meal, and occasionally slept with him, you were exactly what he wanted. Though it was awfully lonely, you found…at least you had your plants, the townsfolk, and the stray cats who visited you in the garden to talk to.

On the walk that day, you noticed life stirring three doors down and across the street at the red brick cottage where the sweet old man Jim used to live. Out of curiosity, you were sure to walk by to get a glimpse since you knew unless Jim came back as a ghost, it was most likely a new neighbor who was blaring Steely Dan while they worked on their black classic car.

Hopefully, it was not another 75 year old man or a father of five kids.

You felt your thoughts had been heard by the Gods and answered when the person rolled out from under the car revealing a young man who had an otherworldly beauty. From your position in front of his gate, you could see he had silver hair pulled back in a bun, showing off the sharp features of his gorgeous face. He wore nothing but a tight white shirt, sweaty against his body, and a pair of cuffed blue jeans dirtied with grease. The man had fucking long legs that did not seem to end, you noticed, as he stood up to grab something from a tool box. He looked like no one you had seen before, not even in the artsy hipster neighborhoods in downtown Harrenhal. Who in the world was he, and why was he in Sweetwillow?

You had no clue how long you stood watching him, but despite your gawking, the man gave you a neighborly smile and a wave, to which you returned. The slight sting of embarrassment burning your cheeks made you quickly turn and walk off with your tail between your legs.

But you couldn’t get that stunning stranger out of your head all night. His fantastical presence lingered in your mind.

The charming sight of such a man outside an adorable little home. Thoughts of him fixing his cool ass car that you suddenly wanted him to take you through the winding roads of the hills on like a 50s movie star. You wondered if he was single, living here alone, as it was a rare thing in this community.

Again, you knew these thoughts were ornery, but as you sat in your massive king-sized bed alone, most likely how your life would always be, you allowed yourself to indulge in a few fantasies about another man.

That night you even dream of him. A burning, passionate dream of the angelic man who now lived down the street. In the surreal dreamscape, he was your husband and you lived on a huge farm in Sweetwillow full of adorable animals and healthy crops. Through dreamy scenes of marital bliss and steamy intimacy, you and he also had a gaggle of 10 children because the man liked to keep you “bred”.

So, Sunday morning you awoke hot, bothered, and surprisingly okay with having kids, so long as they belonged to the mystery man. As you harvested the new growth from your garden, you scoffed at yourself for these thoughts, especially when you wondered if there was somehow any truth to his lust to breed in your dream.

Even though you knew you shouldn’t, you removed your diamond wedding ring, dressed yourself a little white sundress that showed off your legs–it was hot as the Seven Hells, anyway–as well as your big straw sun hat, and showed up at the end of the mystery neighbor’s front yard with a basket of your latest harvest in the garden—a few carrots, one head of kale, and a bundle of fresh dill. You even added a can of some fresh strawberry jam you just made because you wanted to make an impression on him, and surely handmade goods would.

As you reach the brown picket gate to the man’s front garden, you don’t see him and freeze for a second, feeling like the village idiot, a fool, second-guessing whether you should actually open this Pandora’s Box. However, before you could turn around, the mystery man appeared from the back garden with two hefty bags of mulch slung over his shoulder, his silver hair was in a bun again, loose with flyaways around his perfectly chiseled face.

As he walked closer to you, you swear you could feel a wetness pool down below at the mere sight of him doing manual labor in a hunter-green Henley shirt darkened in various places from sweat. Even moreso, the top three buttons were undone showing his glistening chest, and the sleeves rolled up revealing his brawny forearms. Suddenly, this was reminding you greatly of your dream the night before, feeling that this was too good to be true.

“Hey there, can I help you?” his tenor voice interrupted your thoughts telling you it, indeed, was real.

No turning back now. He had a soft smile on his face and brightness in his icy blue eyes as he dropped the two heavy bags on the empty flower beds at the front of his garden.

You told him your name, pointing out your own thatch-roofed, Tudor-style cottage down the road, and that you were “just bringing a warm welcome to the neighborhood, fresh from the garden.”

He opened the gate to stand a foot in front of you holding out his hand that he dusted off on his black pants. His large, electric embrace around your much smaller hand nearly made you forget that you were exchanging names, yet you learn that his name was Aemond and that he just moved to town alone. The word hit a giddy chord in your chest, a warmth buzzing around your heart.

Aemond was taller than you, a looming presence that you noticed was just so much larger than yours. Being in his proximity was powerful, and it felt exhilarating to be holding a conversation with him.

“Mm, you grew this all yourself, then?” He picked up a carrot, eyeing it curiously, then to you nodding at him. “Quite impressive. I’m working in the garden today myself, obviously. If you do know your stuff, I could really use some help for a minute. If you’ve the time, of course.”

Seriously, was this really happening? Was this an opportunity to flaunt your knowledge and passion in front of this dream man? You eagerly accepted, would have been a true fool not to. But 30 minutes drew on underneath the late morning sun, and suddenly you had spent a good two hours helping Aemond choose where the plants go. You found yourself not wanting to leave, to help him in any way you could just to be in his vicinity.

Between discussing and teaching him about the best places to plant the marigold bushes and white hydrangeas along the fenceline, you shared bits about your life with Aemond, and he with you.

You learn Aemond, who was incredibly intelligent and well-spoken, indeed moved to Sweetwillow on his own. Single, unlike you.

He moved to town to get away from a toxic situation in his own family’s business for a while and Sweetwillow was an unsuspecting village his sister had told him could do the trick. But other than that, he did not speak of his family further. You took it that he had come here to get away from something.

When you asked what he planned to do while living in Sweetwillow, he told you he enjoyed fixing classic cars and selling them; he also wanted to explore the nearby running trails.

You had shared a few details of your own life, too, including your passions for maintaining your garden, growing plants from seed to fruit, and reading your romance novels that you sometimes attempted to write–Aemond even said he would love to read them.

However, you left out the fact that you were married to another man, and lived with him as well. You knew nothing between you would amount to anything, but if it ever did, at least Jason was far away in Pentos without a clue. For right now, it didn’t seem essential for Aemond to know, so you stayed your hand about it.

Aemond doing yard work made you swoon. He was the muscle, moving the trays of plants and bags of mulch, seeming eager to comply with your recommendations; and you, the brains, with your knowledge of Sweetwillow’s climate and just about any native flower.

You couldn’t ignore that there was an attraction between the two of you as well, manifesting in subtle ways that made your heart skip a beat, and aches of pleasure pool in your knickers.

You caught him staring at you when you were headfirst in the flower bed, not once, but twice–it didn’t help you wore a fucking dress while doing yardwork. As he listened to you explain why it wasn’t a good idea to plant mulberry bushes so close to the Dornish ivy, you noticed his mesmerizing blue eyes trail down to your lips, multiple times. And later on, when he came out with a cold glass of water for you, your hands brushed with an undeniable burning sensation upon contact. It had you both staring in each other’s eyes far too long than what was appropriate for two platonic neighbors.

You swallowed thickly and checked your phone to see it was 12:05 p.m, telling yourself you should probably finish up here and go home. Best not to let it linger any longer.

However, before you say anything, you narrowed your eyes at the recognizable smell of rain coming, the scent of that was special to the sweet earthy air of Sweetwillow. You pause, looking to the sky for an indication of rain falling from the quickly graying clouds that formed.

“What is it?” As right on queue, a burst of thunder sounded and with that a small sprinkle of rain.

“Ah, there it is. You will always know a storm will soon begin here when it smells like juniper and pine,” you said to Aemond who had closed his eyes and breathed in deeply. He was the very look of contentment as the raindrops speckled his forest green shirt with dark dots.

You hated to ruin his moment of tranquility, knowing all too well the good that the exhilarating airs of the Riverlands during rainfall can do for the mind. You placed a damp hand on his forearm, sweaty and hot to the touch.

“I think we should get everything put away, then I shall head home before it really starts to pour.”

But you both only got so far as to put the wheelbarrow into the rickety old shed before a torrential downpour began, leaving you both soaked all the way through your clothes within seconds.

You yelp at the feeling of wetness all over you, your nice sundress now stuck to your body no doubt showing your undergarments since it was white. You had long discarded your sunhat, which left your hair soaked and stringy, surely looking like a drowned rat. Aemond, on the other hand, looked even sexier while wet, as he hastily grabbed your hand in his, leading you up the path to his front porch.

“No way you’re walking home in this, you can wait it out inside, hm?”

You had no choice but to follow Aemond inside this two-story cottage still filled with moving boxes, but overall looked well put together for a man his age. It still smelled like an old person’s home, slightly dank with a hint of cigars, but a sense of Aemond permeated the space. It smelled like fresh ginger and clove.

As you stood staring out the window at the dark sky, wrapped in the towel Aemond had given you, he reappeared from the kitchen with a mug of tea for you. You noticed how awfully caring he had been in such a short amount of time you knew each other, silently thankful he hadn’t turned out to be a serial killer…yet.

Though, you doubted he was a murderer who was plotting to drug you to death and bury you in the garden you had so kindly helped him out with.

Although he was generally quiet, Aemond’s seemingly gentle disposition that you had come to know in the near four hours of being around him did not check out with the killers you often watched on Dateline.

“I checked the radar, and it says there’s another two hours of this,” he said, looking out the window then to you. “You’re welcome to make yourself at home, use the shower if you’d like. I know it’s not ideal being wet.”

Aemond was wet as well, still in his work clothes, though he had let his hair out of the bun. His drenched platinum locks reached his shoulders coiled in subtle wavy ringlets, and it made a fire burn in your groin despite the cold you felt from your soaked outfit. You tugged the towel tighter around yourself.

“You’ve been too kind to me, Aemond. But I think I can wait it out. Besides, I wouldn’t have a thing to change into.”

“Well you have been a big help today, so patient and sweet with my gardening questions,” his husky words sent a shiver down your spine. “Oh no, you’re shivering, love. Are you sure you don’t want to shower?”

He had you at the pet name “love”. What would it hurt you? A warm shower, getting out of your uncomfortable clothes, a seemingly nice yet devastatingly attractive neighbor willing to fix it all.

Jason wouldn’t ever have to know.

In an instant, he was starting the shower inside the pale pink bathroom for you, another sweet sight of intimidating Aemond in contrast to the daintiness of his cottage. You sat leaned against the bathroom counter watching him test the water to get it just right. Taking in the way his broad shoulders sloped down to such a slender waist, and the way his veiny hands looked giant over the old crystalline shower knobs.

“Hm, that should do it,” he said, rising to you. “Be quick, though. I’d like to take one as well, and I found that I don’t have unlimited hot water.”

You stared back at Aemond, all of him, and decided to throw all caution to the wind.

“I wouldn’t mind it if you joined, you know?” you mused, softening your eyes on him, making sure to look seductive. You noticed a flicker in his own pair, irises darkening at the sound of your words, yet he remained poker-faced. Well, save for the subtle way his teeth took in his bottom lip. Fuck, he was sexy.

A silence remained as the small room began to heat up, steaming from the hot water of the running shower. You stared at one another with an intensely intimate gaze making your heart hammer inside your chest until Aemond finally closed the gap between you both. Your lips melted into his that tasted like peaches, kissing each other with a shocking friction that had you instantly addicted.

You were the first to slip your tongue into his mouth, the action earning a grunt from Aemond. His hands cupped your ass, squeezing it and toying around with the hem of your sodden dress.

He then broke the kiss to pull the garment over your head slowly and you put your arms up to help speed the process. You heard a groan followed by a quiet “Gods” from Aemond, who had a dimpled smirk on his rosy lips making a sense of self-satisfaction burn in you.

You watched his eyes rake down at your exposed body, wearing nothing but a pair of baby blue high-waisted underwear, and you silently cursed yourself for wearing such granny knickers around him.

“Can’t say I wasn’t plagued with the thoughts of what was under these dresses of yours from the moment your pretty little ass showed up in front of my house yesterday,” he mused, brushing a hand over your breast, thumb rolling over your nipple that immediately pebbled. He gave it a pinch. “And all this time today, you weren’t wearing a bra? Proper minx, you are.”

You hungrily kissed him before it was your turn to undress Aemond, pulling the henley shirt up and over his head to reveal his beautifully sculpted body, the muscles in his arms and the chiseled planes of his chest visibly swollen from the day’s work. You trailed wet kisses along his collarbones as he undid his pants letting himself free, entirely free. His cock practically springing out the moment he pulled the waistband of his pants down.

Before you could do a thing, or say any of the filthy thoughts crossing your mind, he pulled you both into the shower, closing the glass shower door behind you.

Aemond let you under the faucet first, yet the space within the shower was so small your breasts could rub up against his chest at any subtle movement. There was suddenly an erotic sense of intimacy in the steamy air. One that you never felt with Jason.

As you scrubbed the grime of your labors away, you closed your eyes and relaxed, letting the hot water roll down your body.

When you opened your eyes next and saw Aemond’s wet figure with his back to you, the muscles in his shoulders flexing and contorting as he scrubbed away. You even noticed a smudge of dirt at the apex of his neck and shoulder, something surprising in you made you grab the loofah lathered with eucalyptus shower gel and literally wash it off for him. What the fuck was this man doing to you?

Aemond turned to you with a confused, yet smirkingly snide look, to which you responded with a sudden sense of shyness:

“Sorry, you had a spot of dirt, but it’s gone now.”

Though, the action seemed much appreciated because Aemond bared a smile so genuine toward you that his dimple popped out. He made the butterflies erupt in flutters around your stomach at the mere sight of that.

Amid a passing glance down to switch places so he could wash the shower gel suds away, you caught sight of Aemond’s cock, still erect. It made you want to do something about it, so you did when he finished washing, hair now clean and wetly slicked back, showing off his strikingly handsome facial features

Aemond’s member was rather girthy, even larger than your husband’s, but felt perfectly thick when you took it into your lithe hand stroking it up and down. He didn’t stop you, only smoothed your own wet hair out of your face to bring you into a hungry kiss. Tongues once again finding that voracity, the two of you not coming for air until you had to.

“You’re so big,” you mused into the kiss, the praise mixed with you stroking his cock obviously doing something to Aemond, causing him to throw his head back. You tighten your grip around his shaft and focus your pumping solely on the ruddy pink crown of his cock.

“A-ah, fuck...Hells, that feels amazing…Want to feel you though. Can I do that, baby?"

Your hum in response was enough, and soon Aemond’s rough fingers ghosted over your silky folds up and down until he focused on your clit that Aemond somehow expertly found right away. He used the sticky wetness from your folds to circle around the sensitive bud.

“So fucking wet, angel. Do you want me inside of you? Hm?”

You were only able to nod like a mad woman in response, and noticed his pupils blow black again.

Aemond gently, yet forcefully backed you up against the pink tile wall that felt cool against your skin, a hand pulling at the hairs on the back of your neck as he kissed you even harder. He used his other to caress the skin of your collarbone. Then, using his knee, he spread your legs open, giving him full access to your soaked cunt.

His arms curled under your ass giving you a push up to wrap your legs around his torso as you sunk down onto his cock.

“Fuck,” you muttered at the intense fullness his cock inside of your cunt. Aemond basically held you up against the wall, a head above him as he slowly began thrusting into you at a steady yet ravenous pace.

His eyes widened when he caught sight of your tits bouncing in front of him, then buried his face into the pillowy soft mounds like he was a young boy having access to a woman’s breasts for the very first time. Aemond stayed like this for a bit, thrusting into you like he wanted to be consumed by your body while you ran a hand through his soft hair.

You nearly lost control of yourself when he quickened his pace, pounding into your g-spot while also taking your right nipple in his mouth, sucking and swirling his tongue on the sensitive flesh while he pinched the left.

“Oh! Fuck, I’m gonna be close, baby, keep going,” you pant out, feeling the between the quivering of your walls around Aemond’s length.

A fiery hot wave of pleasure ripping through you as he fucked into your g-spot, hitting it over and over again, relentlessly. The orgasmic feeling was blinding, like a white, hot supernova had exploded in your midsection, and now buzzed throughout your body–as if a stardust literally glittered within your veins now.

You had become toast within a matter of minutes, or rather the jelly that goes on toast because that’s what he turned your entire body into.

Aemond had reached that point as well it seemed, and through gritted teeth asked:

“Gonna come, ah- fuck, where can I?”

"My tits." At your husband's insistence, you were not on birth control and as enticing the fantasy of having silver haired children, it was not anything that you wanted to explain to Jason.

In an instant, Aemond unsheathed from you, allowing you to get on your knees beneath him as he pumped his cock in his hand a couple times.

The shower water batted down your back and onto your hair, yet you looked up at him with wide doe eyes and pushed your tits together with your arms to create a canvas for him. In no time, his hot seed spilled out onto your pert tits as you sat on your knees like a needy kitten taking it. He let out a few shuddered breaths leaning his forehead against the shower wall with a dazed look in his eyes, until he came to reality to see you.

“Gods, look at you, filthy thing,” he purred out, thumb tracing your bottom lip. “So fucking hot, I could stare at you like this forever. But let’s get you cleaned up.”

The rain seemed to let up by the time you got out of the shower, a blue-ish gray light of day poured through the windows of Aemond’s room. Though, your dreamlike state that Aemond had you in was rudely interrupted when you checked your phone.

You had three missed calls and one text from Jason that read: “Hey ladybug, haven’t heard from you. Mind giving me a call?”

Although his old nickname for you softened the message, the unknown subject matter of the call unnerved you, as if your husband somehow knew where you were and that you literally just cheated on him. You needed to leave, now.

Aemond walked into his room dressed in only a towel to see you hurriedly dressing in your cold clothes. You had to ignore his furrowed brows in a look of confusion and decline his offer for a pair of his boxers and a t-shirt.

“I-I’m sorry, I forgot I have to get back home now. I have a friend coming over for dinner this evening,” you stammered out looking at your feet then meeting his perplexed eyes. “I-uh, I will see you around, Aemond.”

You scurry out his front screen door, scampering back down the street to your home in a frenzied hurry before Aemond could give you any other response.

That late, blue afternoon, you sat at your kitchen dialing Jason’s number prepared to lie through your teeth.

A sense of relief washed over you when all he had wanted was his usual conversation about company layoffs, and the latest billionaire to join the Forbes top 100.

But when Jason asked, “How was your day? Get up to anything interesting?” your mind flits to Aemond’s garden. And him. Then suddenly to steamy visions of silver hair in the pale pink bathroom, wet skin hungrily slapping against each other, and all of the insatiable moments of your affair with Aemond earlier.

You had to gulp down your glass of water before answering.

“Oh not much, just some garden work as usual. How is Pentos?” ✧⋄⋆⋅⋆⋄✧⋄⋆⋅⋆⋄✧ 🤍A/N 2: Thanks for reading! I've had in the works for awhile and I'm actually so happy with how it turned out. I want to live here now. 😍Sweetwillow is a village in the Riverlands according to the AWOIAF, but I kinda made it my own dream place. Sadly in cannon, it was victim to Aemond's war crimes during the Dance, and not dreamy shower sex with his neighbor. 😤

#house of the dragon #hotd #modern!aemond targaryen #modern!aemond x reader #queued

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weirwoodswitch · 2 days

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High Score

Aemond Targaryen x Reader (Modern AU)

Summary: You've started to develop a thing for your best friend's hands...

Rating: Explicit/18+

Warnings: NSFW/Minors DNI, gamer!aemond (gaemond???), friends to lovers, fluff and smut, pussy AND titty slapping, titty sucking, dry humping, praise, degradation, teasing, fingering, oral (f receiving), orgasm denial, unprotected sex but reader has an IUD so it's still pretty much protected, hand kink, size kink, begging, profanity, creampie, ummmm I think that's it!

Word Count: 4.6k

A/N: HAPPY BIRTHDAY TO MY LIL SHORDDY @osferthsbussy!!! ILYSM & I feel so very lucky to have met you via this godforsaken website 🥰🫶🏻

I hope this ruins your day (positive)

Shout out to Aegon Knows Best by @valeskafics for putting the idea of gamer!Aemond (and gray sweatpants) into my brain. If you haven't read it yet, you SHOULD

Dividers by @hotdapologist

Let's go whores!!

You and Aemond had been friends since the first day of college classes when he'd awkwardly asked if he could sit by you in your Communications 101 lecture. He'd been on the scrawny side then–tall and gangly, with no control over his long limbs–and wore some oversized band t-shirt that he was practically drowning in.

Although he'd been a bit awkward and reserved at first, you quickly learned that he was ridiculously intelligent with a dry sense of humor and a sarcastic wit that never failed to make you laugh, even on your worst days. By the end of that semester, he was one of your best friends, and you wouldn't have had it any other way.

Now, four years later, you were both recently graduated, out of relationships, and had far too much time on your hands.

Aemond had been single for almost a year now–his toxic on again off again relationship with an older grad student had finally gone down in flames (which you totally weren't secretly elated about), and he 'didn't do' dating apps–while you were a few months out of your most recent situationship with the jackass you had been seeing for the better part of the last year.

Both of your most recent relationships had been tumultuous at best, and neither one of you was exactly eager to jump back into the dating scene. Instead, you opted to spend your time with each other.

Since graduating a month ago, you'd watched all of Death Note (Aemond's choice) and three full seasons of Love Island (your pick), watched Aemond play through countless different video games, and built upon your already-established friendship. He was the kind of person you could just sit in the same room with and both be on your phones and still have a good time just being in each other's presence. You were together nearly every day; more often than not, you'd spend the night at one another's apartments.

The time you'd spent with him was fun, you wouldn't deny that, but it also came with a shocking and catastrophic realization on your end: nerdy, awkward Aemond Targaryen was fucking hot now.

You weren't sure exactly when it had happened. All you knew was that suddenly his shirts stretched tightly across newly formed chest muscles, and his silvery hair was neatly trimmed and tidy. Most devastating of all, though?

His hands. His stupid, big hands.

They were massive, with long slender fingers–he really should have stuck with the piano lessons he told you his mom put him in as a kid, honestly. The outline of his veins that were visible across the backs of them, however, was what drove you the craziest. You weren’t sure what it was about them–they were literally just veins–and yet they had you feeling two steps away from utterly feral every time you focused on them for too long.

In spite of his newfound attractiveness, Aemond was still very much a nerd–he could wax poetic about history for hours on end and spent more time watching anime and playing video games than he did outside.

Unfortunately for you, that meant hanging out with him was usually one on one time with no other person as a buffer to keep you from going off the deep end and trying to do something stupid like suck him off while he played Call of Duty. Still, you weren’t exactly going to say no to hanging out with one of your best friends, no matter how inappropriate your thoughts were–which brought you to today.

You and Aemond originally planned to go out and see a movie–something in public for once–but when it started raining, you opted to just stay at his place and chill as you most often did. Aemond sat dressed in a pair of grey sweats and a worn-out King’s Landing University t-shirt, half-hunched over on the couch, elbows on his knees and his tongue poking out from between his lips in concentration as he focused on the screen.

You pretended to watch whatever stupid mission he was playing on the TV screen but in reality? You were staring at his fucking hands. Again.

His fingers were curled around the controller, gripping it lightly, thumbs dancing over the buttons as he maneuvered through a particularly tricky part of the map with ease. You couldn't help but imagine those fingers pressed inside you, one of his thumbs circling your clit the way he did with the controller sticks when he adjusted his camera view–

You breathe in deeply in an attempt to steady yourself, pressing your thighs together tightly, a flood of arousal coursing through you at your shameful thoughts.

Aemond glanced your way briefly, shooting you a curious look.

“You okay?” he quipped lightly, cocking a pale eyebrow at you.

“All good!” you replied, your voice coming out far more high-pitched than you intended, making you wince at how false it sounded. “I'm fine,” you insist, forcing what you hope is an innocent expression in his direction.

"Are you sure?” Aemond pressed, tilting his head curiously. “You seem…tense,” He is half ignoring his game now, and his distraction causes him to be shot down.

“Oh, fuck me!” he swears loudly, tossing the controller to the side on the couch and dragging a hand over his face as he slouches back against the cushions. He picks it back up again with a groan and clicks through the menu, queuing up another game, all the while stealing glances at you.

You found your eyes drawn to his hands again– it was becoming a major issue how turned on you were by them, really. You're jerked from your reverie by the sound of Aemond clearing his throat.

"Something wrong with my hands?” he flicks his gaze between your face and his fingers, the barest hint of realization beginning to creep onto his countenance. On top of everything else, it appeared you evidently were not subtle. Internally, you cursed yourself.

“No, sorry, I just, um… I'm just impressed by how quick you are with your reaction time?” Your excuse comes out more like a question, and you can't tell if he buys it based on how unreadable his expression is. He has always had a frighteningly good poker face.

“Want me to teach you?” he offers after a beat, the corner of his mouth tipping up into a faint, teasing smile. “Not to brag or anything, but I did teach my little cousin, Luke, everything he knows.”

You know perfectly well how to play, and he knew that too, but under the guise of innocence that you were clinging to, you nod.

“C’mere then,” he grins impishly, extending a hand to beckon you over to his side, his bicep stretching the arm of his t-shirt ever so slightly. He really needed to invest in some new clothes.

Fucking hell.

You scoot toward him, doing your utmost to keep your expression light and playful, snagging the controller from him. His fingers brush against yours ever so slightly, sending an involuntary wave of heat to your core, and you bite down on the inside of your cheek to ground yourself.

All your efforts go entirely out the window when he reaches an arm around you and covers your hands with his on the warm plastic, brushing his thumbs against yours. He's so much larger than you, his frame all but swallowing yours in his embrace, such as it was. The heat of his body radiates through his shirt against your back, the muscles of his chest pressed firmly against you, so close that you can feel his heartbeat.

He smells like cucumber soap and fresh laundry detergent, and his hands look even larger in comparison to yours, his fingers threading over your own, making you feel dizzy. You want to feel them between your legs.

“Alright, ready?” he murmurs, his breath tickling your ear. You swallow heavily, eyes fixated on the controls, and force yourself to take a deep breath.

“Yeah,” you manage to squeak out. He chuckles, the vibration of his laugh thrumming against your back, and he guides your thumb to press 'play'.

He talks you through the controls, helping you to move around the map, aiming your gun for you, and taking out a few enemies. It's a wonder you manage that at all, even with him guiding you–his body engulfs yours, leaning into you a bit more insistently. There's no way he doesn't know what he's doing right now, and the thought sends a thrill down your spine as he makes your character peek around a corner to check for opponents.

“There you go, good girl,” he hums as you shoot down another player, winning the game. His arms tighten around you ever so slightly, his thumbs stroking the backs of your hands absentmindedly. You have to physically bite down on your lip to keep from moaning outright.

“Well done, I'm impressed,” he comments, removing his arms from you, much to your displeasure. He pats your knee lightly in encouragement, grinning down at you as your gaze is drawn–once again–to his annoyingly large hand.

“It was only because I had you guiding me,” you're going for a nonchalant response, but your voice comes out breathy, almost lusty.

“You should play with me more often,” his smile when he says it is innocent enough, but you can see a suggestive glint in his good eye. Your cheeks grow hot at the suggestion, which comes off a lot lewder, given that his palm is still pressed against the bare skin on your lower thigh.

“You keep looking at my hands,” he comments idly when you don't reply, flexing his fingers against you.

“Do I?” you squeak, your question soured by the fact that you had to drag your gaze from his hand to look him in the eye.

“Yeah,” he hums. “I'm starting to think you like them,” his voice drips with barely concealed amusement, leaning in closer toward you, eye searching your face for a reaction to his accusation.

“That’s ridiculous,” you answer far too quickly, eyes wide. “They’re just hands. Why would I like your hands? Shut up,” even to yourself, you sound incredibly childish, and you wince slightly at your word choice.

“Yeah,” Aemond agrees, his warm palm sliding slowly up your thigh, fingers squeezing lightly. “That’s what I’m trying to figure out–why would you like my hands?” He moves closer to you, eyes flicking between your lips and your eyes, waiting to see if you would pull away. You stay rooted to the spot, your heart pounding in your chest.

“You tell me,” you challenge, though your resolve not to give in is decreasing by the second. “You’re the one who suggested it so…”

“Hm,” his hand stops just below the hem of your shorts, and he leans closer, his nose nearly brushing yours. It would be so easy to lean in and kiss him right now, and the only thing holding you back is the fear that kissing one of your closest friends might ruin what you already had.

“I think,” he purrs, “that you’ve been imagining me using these hands on you,” he wets his lips with the tip of his tongue. “I think you’ve been wondering what it would feel like to have them on your thighs,” he squeezes yours for emphasis, “on your hips,” he moves his opposite hand to grip yours, turning you further to face him, “and on your wet little pussy.”

You whimper softly at the last suggestion, arousal pooling at your center, glancing down at his lips briefly and leaning forward unconsciously, your nose bumping his.

“Yeah, you have been imagining that,” he chuckles and closes what distance remains between the two of you, pulling you into a searing kiss.

You respond immediately, a surprised little squeak escaping you against his lips and a hand flying to his shoulder, the other pressed to his chest, curled tightly into the soft material of his shirt.

Aemond wastes no time pulling you over onto his lap, settling you against his already-apparent bulge in the gray sweatpants he wears, snickering into your mouth at the quiet moan it elicits from you. He takes your lower lip in his teeth, biting softly before slipping his tongue into your mouth, deepening the kiss, the hand on your thigh sliding back behind you to grab your ass.

He’s an annoyingly good kisser, half-devouring you, his lips moving against yours, tongue tracing down the roof of your mouth teasingly. His other hand sneaks its way under your shirt, squeezing at your breast, his hips jerking up against yours. You can barely keep up with his pace, your head spinning with delirious pleasure at how utterly sinful his touch feels against you, and you slip a hand into his soft, silver hair, caressing his scalp as you return his attentions with equal fervor.

Your free hand slips up his shirt, fingers trailing over the flexing muscles of his abdomen, up to his chest, enjoying the way he shudders with delight under your touch. He breaks the kiss momentarily, yanking your little white t-shirt up over your head and throwing it carelessly onto the floor, his lips claiming yours again the second it’s out of the way. Your bra isn’t far behind, sailing across the room after some minimal struggling with the clasp, both of his hands moving to take hold of your tits.

Aemond leans back, eye raking over your chest hungrily, dragging a thumb over your nipple, gaze glowing in admiration.

“Fuck,” he breathes, ducking his head to engulf your nipple in his warm, waiting mouth, fingers trailing down your sides to grip your hips, grinding you down on his hardened cock. Your mouth drops open in an “o” shape, a wanton cry tumbling from your parted lips, his flickering tongue against your hardened bud making your pussy clench desperately.

He releases your nipple from his mouth, turning his attention to the other, one hand darting to pinch at the abandoned spit-soaked peak, humming against you in approval. The reverberation of the soft noise makes you gasp, arching against him as he sucks at the pretty little bud of your breast.

“Aemond,” you sigh, gripping tighter at his hair, holding him to your chest, enraptured by the sensation. He circles your nipple with the tip of his tongue while he suckles at it, clearly enjoying the reactions you’re giving him, palming your other breast roughly.

He pulls his mouth away with a lewd “pop” and reaches back to grab the collar of his shirt, yanking it off with one hand, baring his torso to your enthusiastic gaze.

“Perfect fucking tits,” he growls, smacking at one lightly before he surges back up to capture your lips in another starved kiss, shifting the pair of you so you’re lying on your back before him, allowing him to slot himself between your soft thighs, rolling his hips insistently against your clothed center.

He slips a hand down the front of your shorts, cupping your sex in his broad hand, fingers pressed to your dripping core through the fabric of your arousal-soaked panties.

“Did my hands get you this wet, baby?” he croons, a teasing edge creeping into his voice. You only moan in response, drawing a pleased chuckle from him as he trails his tongue down your neck, pausing at the juncture between it and your shoulder to bite at the tender skin lightly, sucking at the spot to leave a bruise behind.

“Aw, come on,” you can feel his smirk against your neck. “Use your words.”

“Fucking–yes…fuck, they did–” you cry out, bucking your hips against his palm, seeking any friction he would give you.

“That’s what I thought,” he preens, sitting back to tuck his fingers into the waist of your shorts, dragging them down your legs. “Let’s put them to good use then, hm?” he coos.

“Please,” you respond weakly. He grins at you wolfishly, pulling off your panties swiftly, and reaches up, placing two fingers against your lips.

“Be a good girl and get them ready for me then, will you?” he prompts, his smile taking on a condescending edge. You don’t hesitate to open your mouth, allowing his fingers inside and sucking, your tongue swirling around them eagerly.

“Fuck, you’re desperate, aren’t you?” he taunts, eye locked on where your lips part around his long fingers. “If I’d known, I would've given you this a long time ago,” he pulls his spit-slicked fingers from your rounded mouth. “I guess we’ll just have to make up for lost time.”

Aemond leans down again, littering your neck and chest with hot kisses, dragging his fingers through your dripping folds, teasing at your entrance but refusing to put them inside you fully. Slowly, he trails them upward to your aching clit, just barely brushing over it before making his way back down. He repeats the action several more times, spreading a mix of your spit and slick up and down until you’re whimpering below him, tears pricking in your eyes from how achingly turned on he’s making you.

“Aw, baby,” he presses a soft kiss to your lips, “don’t cry, I’ll give you what you need. Here–” You moan as he finally pushes a finger into your throbbing cunt, sinking in, down to his knuckle and curling the digit to brush the little rough spot inside you. He sets a torturously slow pace, adding a second finger after a few moments, the delicious stretch making you keen.

“Fuck, you’re tight,” he groans, leaning down to kiss you. “This little pussy is gonna feel so good wrapped around my cock.” You whine, bucking your hips against his fingers, desperately seeking more. He sits back on his haunches, eye trained to where his digits are buried inside you, releasing an appreciative hiss through his gritted teeth.

“I can see the appeal of my fingers now,” he admits lowly, glancing up at your face for a moment. “C’mere, look,” he beckons you with his free hand, and you sit up halfway on your elbows, following his gaze down to where he’s fucking you with his fingers. “They do look damn good like this,” he grunts.

He’s right–they look fucking glorious, thrusting in and out of your weeping cunt, glistening with your slick, squelching loudly with each plunge inside you. You whimper, not daring to take your eyes from the sight, each deep curl of his fingers fanning the flames growing deep in your belly, your entire body burning from his touch alone.

“Seven Hells,” you mewl, legs trembling, your muscles tensing, your brows knitted in pleasure.

“Mm,” Aemond smirks. “Lie back, love, I’ve got you,” you do as he says, and he lowers himself down, his face pressed between your thighs, his mouth settling on your cunt, a satisfied moan rumbling in his chest as he starts moving his tongue against your clit.

You’d had decent–even good–sex before, but nothing in the world could have prepared you for this. He moves the flat of his tongue back and forth across your bud, massaging the little bundle steadily, smoothly, until you’re all but grinding against his face, the only sounds you’re capable of being tiny broken cries of rapture as he drags you closer and closer to orgasm.

“Fuck, fuck, fuck, Aemond–” you squeal, blissed out of your mind as he crooks his fingers right, lapping at your clit like a man starved, groaning against your pussy deliriously. He withdraws his fingers, swapping places with his tongue, rubbing your clit intently as he plunges the warm, wet muscle into your entrance, fucking you with it, his eye locked on your face, watching your pleasured expressions with unbridled glee.

“Gonna cum for me?” he asks, his voice dripping with honey. You nod wildly, your peak fast approaching, growing closer, closer, closer, and just like that, he’s gone.

You sit up on your elbows, a frustrated, strangled cry ripping from your throat, half-angry at his denial of the delicious peak that was just about to overtake you.

“Oh, don’t look at me like that,” he grins at you roguishly, standing to rid himself of his sweats, which were stained with both your arousal and his pre-cum. “I want you to cum on my cock.” All you can do is let out a whimper at that, your eyes wide with shock and eagerness.

He tugs off his sweatpants and boxers in one go, revealing himself to you in all his glory. His cock is pale, like the rest of him, with a dusting of silvery hair to match what adorns his chest around the base of it. It’s long, thick, and fully hard, the tip reddened and weeping beads of precum, and you don’t think you’ve ever wanted to suck someone off so badly, but he seems to have other plans.

“Let me get a condom,” he rasps. He moves to hurry to his bedroom in search of one, but you stop him before he can take more than a step.

“I’m clean,” you blurt out, “and I have an IUD–we don’t need one.” He moans loudly at your admission, grasping his length at the base and pumping it a few times as he lowers himself above you.

“You’re sure?” he growls, his eye dark with insatiable, all-consuming lust. You’ve never said “yes” so quickly in your life.

“You want me to fuck you real bad, huh? Want me to stretch you out on this big dick?” he hums, raking his gaze over your completely bare body, swiping his thumb over the head of his cock, collecting the pre-cum that has gathered there. You whine in response, and he purses his lips, displeased by your answer.

“What did I say earlier?” he growls, delivering a sharp slap to your throbbing pussy. “Use your words. Tell me how much you need me.”

“Aemond, please,” you all but sob, “please fuck me, I need it–I need your cock inside me, plea–” you’re cut off abruptly by him sheathing himself in you fully, a protracted, rough moan erupting from his chest as he sinks in, down to the hilt. You cry out, overwhelmed by how impossibly full you feel, your head falling back against the couch cushions heavily, gasping out at the delicious intrusion.

“Fuck, you’re…so big,” you huff weakly, breaths coming out in short little pants. He’s so massive, so deep inside you that you feel like you’re being taken apart, your cunt fluttering helplessly around his length. No shitty one-night stand or situationship came anywhere near how mind-numbingly exquisite he felt, and he hadn’t even started moving yet.

You were fucking done for.

He takes his time as he begins thrusting into you, varying his angle until he finds the spot inside you that makes you gasp every time the swollen head of him brushes against it. When he finds it, though? You swear you can see a switch flip behind his eye.

Hands planted on either side of your head, he begins to fuck you in earnest, capturing your moans in a needy, messy kiss, his hips slapping against yours audibly. You can feel yourself flutter around him, a fresh flood of arousal gushing from you as his length drags over your sweet spot again and again. You don’t bother trying to hold in your cries of pleasure, letting them fall from you freely, breaking off sharply every time his cock slams inside you, knocking the wind from your lungs.

“This sweet…little…pussy,” Aemond snarls against your lips, spurred on by the way you’re wailing for him. “Clenching around me…so tight…” he’s scarcely coherent, just spitting out whatever filthy words come to mind, his lips parted, eye heavily lidded in ecstasy. “Wanted this…for so long–fuck–” He slips a hand between your bodies, caressing your bud in tight little circles, groaning deep in his throat when you tighten around him involuntarily.

You feel as though you’re slowly losing your mind, your brain wiped blank except for the overwhelming waves of pleasure coursing through your veins with each roll of his hips, each swipe of his thumb over your sensitive little pearl.

“Look at you,” he breathes, staring down at you greedily. “Making such a mess on my cock…so desperate for me…I’d almost say it was pathetic if you weren’t making me feel…so…good.”

He draws out nearly all the way, leaving just his tip nestled inside you before he fucks back in, harsh and fast, punctuating each word with a deep thrust, sharp wails escaping you with every thrust he gives you.

“Taking me so well,” he growls, pressing his face against your neck, continuing to mumble a string of praises against your skin. You dig your nails into his shoulder blades, your legs wrapped around his waist as his thrusts pick up in pace again, the wet smacking noises of your fucking rising in volume.

You're achingly close to your climax, and if Aemond's increasingly erratic thrusts were anything to go by, so was he.

“Please, oh—I’m gonna–fuck,” you ramble brokenly, clinging onto him for dear life, your sweat-slick chest pressed to his.

“Yeah? Gonna cum for me?” he grunts, his length twitching deep inside you. “Do it then, let that little pussy make a mess on my cock,” he coaxes, fingers insistently caressing your bud, biting down on your shoulder with a guttural groan.

The tightness in your gut snaps at last, and you arch up, eyes scrunching closed in bliss, your mouth hanging open stupidly as you're drowned in euphoria. Burning pleasure overtakes all of your senses, one last loud, debauched cry ripping from you as you shake, at last coming apart around him, pussy tight around his wonderfully thick length.

“Oh shit–so fucking–” Aemond drives into you sloppily, panting against your neck as his hips stutter, spilling his hot cum inside you, slamming in one last time and holding himself there, buried deep in your pulsing cunt. You whine at the feeling of him filling you, your hips jerking slightly, the sensation almost too much to bear.

“Fuck,” he breathes raggedly against your shoulder, lips tickling at your skin. After a beat, he leans up, kissing you again before he pulls out.

“Don't move,” he murmurs, “let me clean you up,” he reaches to the side table, grabs a wad of tissues, and wipes his spend from between your thighs, biting back a moan at the sight of it leaking out of you.

He discards the tissues and returns to you, pulling his sweats back on and handing you your panties. You take them, a bolt of worry coursing through you–was this a one-time thing? Was your friendship ruined now?

Apparently, your distress is visible on your face because Aemond reaches over and grabs your knee gently, rubbing his thumb in slow circles.

“Hey,” Aemond says softly, moving closer to you. “Stop overthinking,” he grins, pressing his forehead to yours. “We don't have to talk about it now, but I…I may have had a bit of a thing for you for a while,” he brushes his nose against yours lightly.

Relief floods through you at his confession, though you do feel slightly embarrassed by how easily he's able to read you.

“Oh,” you manage to say.

“‘Oh,’ is right,” he chuckles faintly, pressing his lips to yours. “You're good. We're good, okay?”

You nod in confirmation, your cheeks burning, your heart thundering wildly.

He grins, leaning back and tugging you to his chest, his arm a comforting weight wrapped around you. Extending his free hand before you both, he flexes his fingers, examining them thoughtfully.

“So,” he comments idly. “My hands, huh?”

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#house of the dragon #hotd #modern!aemond targaryen #modern!aemond x reader #queued

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weirwoodswitch · 2 days

Text

Bridled

Dragonstone Hollow Part 5 of 10

Aemond Targaryen x Reader (Modern AU)

Summary: Aegon decides to throw a party, only for it to be crashed by some unexpected--and not completely welcome--guests.

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Series Masterlist

Word Count: 3.8k

Rating: Mature (let's call it 18+ to be safe)

Warnings: Angst, fluff, some mildly suggestive/spicy content, swearing, alcohol consumption, ableist comments

A/N: Part five! I'm actually losing my mind over this being halfway done omfg? Thank you all so very much for reading, commenting, etc--it means so much to me and ilysm

also a special thank you for my bby @sapphire-writes for talking with me and giving me some STUNNING ideas for dialogue 🤭❤️

This fic has also included (and will be including more) elements from another anonymous request I got for "so much sexual tension that my eyes burn while reading and I start scratching my skin off"--I hope I'm fulfilling your wildest dreams bby

as usual, dividers are by @/firefly-graphics

Comments and reblogs are, as always, massively appreciated :))

“C’mon Hel, it's just a tiny get-together! Mom and Nyra will never know, and if they find out, I'll take all the blame.”

Aegon has been needling at his sister all morning long, half-begging her to agree to his idea of a house party. He'd come home from a 'grocery run' with Arryk that morning and come home laden with a keg and no less than ten handles of various liquor, announcing to the rest of you that he and Arryk were throwing a 'rager' and that you were all invited–as if everyone else was not already living here too.

Suffice it to say, Helaena was not taking the idea with any amount of enthusiasm, and you, for one, did not blame her.

“Your idea of a ‘tiny get-together’ is anything but,” she snips, crossing her pale arms over her chest, glaring at him, lilac eyes steely–a frightening departure from her typically gentle demeanor.

“Well, I can't cancel it–I already invited a shit ton of people and posted about it on my Instagram and Snap stories–”

“You what?”

“What is it now?” a soft, low voice murmurs from over your shoulder, pulling your attention from the rapidly-escalating argument.

Aemond.

It had been a week and a half since your almost-kiss in the stables, and though neither of you had spoken of it, he'd been far more friendly with you–at least for him.

Your early morning rides continued, and you found yourself looking forward to each one eagerly despite your initial reluctance. The two of you talked more now, during breakfast and after your lessons, and you were almost used to waking up at the crack of dawn. You enjoyed his presence quite a lot, as it turned out.

“Aegon says he's throwing a party,” you mutter back, your voice low, Aemond ducking his head slightly to your level so he can hear. “Helaena vehemently disagrees.”

“So we're having a party, then,” Aemond sighs, leaning against the door frame, his lean arms crossed over his chest.

You don’t think you’ll ever understand how he manages to look so good after his early mornings and subsequent long days of training. You look sweaty and bedraggled after just a few hours of riding; meanwhile, he looks like he just sprang from the cover of Vogue.

Annoying.

“I don't know about that,” you reply, forcing yourself to look away from Aemond’s delicately pursed lips and back at his older siblings. “Hel seems pretty opposed.”

Indeed, she's snatching at Aegon's phone, which he holds out of her reach, pleading with her not to make him cancel.

“If there's one thing in this world that Aegon will fight tooth and nail for, it's a party,” Aemond snorts.

“He always wins these fights–through sheer pigheadedness alone–I don't know why Hel bothers--she's just exhausting herself and delaying the inevitable.”

You huff a quiet laugh at Aemond’s commentary, watching as Aegon dances just out of Helaena’s reach, grinning wildly, which only seems to make Helaena more pissed off. She grabs at him, missing his arm but catching the sleeve of his shirt, yanking on it in an effort to drag his phone back within her reach.

“Hel–stop, I–let go,” Aegon leaps away from her, dodging to the other side of the kitchen island, using it as a barrier between himself and his sister.

“I swear to God, Aegon,” Helaena seethes, eyes flashing dangerously, “you will throw this party over my dead body–it's not happening.”

The party does, in fact, happen.

As Aemond predicted, Helaena gave in to Aegon's petulance, throwing her hands up and stalking from the room in a huff while Aegon beamed triumphantly.

You put on the one dress you’d brought to Dragonstone–a cute little pale blue sundress that doesn’t quite fit the ‘party’ vibe, but it was better than nothing–and rope Rhaena into doing your makeup. You look good, you've got to admit, your hair clipped away from your face with two bee-shaped pins courtesy of Helaena, while the look Rhaena did for you accentuates your features beautifully.

By the time you go downstairs with Baela that evening, the party is already in full swing–the house, as big as it is, is packed with people, all decked out in unlabeled clothing that you suspect costs so much money the price tag would put you into a coma.

Jace has taken it upon himself to DJ and has clearly had more than a couple of drinks, judging by his wild fist-pumping in time to the generic Top 40 Hit blaring from the speakers.

“Oh, Jesus Christ,” Baela snorts from beside you, watching her boyfriend with a bemused expression. “I leave him alone with Aegon for one hour…”

Aegon, speak of the devil, is leaning halfway out the window in the living room, a joint between his fingers. Helaena sits opposite him, taking one hit for every three of Aegon's, and throws you a hazy smile and a wave as you sidle by.

That's one way of making up.

You finally reach the kitchen, edging through the crowd of strangers, and pour yourself a vodka lemonade–heavy on the lemonade. You down it quickly and pour yourself another before edging back into the fray, searching for a familiar face to chat with.

“Hey,” a hand brushes your arm to get your attention, and your turn, a smile breaking across your face when you see Aemond leaning against the wall and nursing a beer. His hair hangs loosely, the ends nearly kissing the tops of his shoulders, and he wears a crisp light blue long-sleeved t-shirt with a thin silver chain poking over the collar and, amusingly, a pair of Adidas joggers.

Somehow, the far-too-casual ensemble doesn't look out of place.

He looks stupidly good, in fact, with that tiny smirk curled over his pursed lips. You smile back at him, sidestepping your way to stand beside him by the wall, out of the way of the crowd, your arms brushing in passing.

“What are you doing here?” You tease, bumping his arm with your elbow. “Don't you go to bed at 10 PM? You should be asleep by now.”

He exhales a breathy almost-laugh through his nose, shaking his head slightly, “Sometimes exceptions are made,” he says, shifting slightly to let a guest squeeze by. The movement presses his arm against yours, and he doesn't pull it away.

“That, and I couldn't leave Helaena to make sure nothing gets trashed on her own,” he adds. “Although she seems to have abandoned that notion, based on the glazed look in her eye last I saw her.”

You hum in agreement, trying not to dwell on how much you like the warmth of his wiry arm pressed to you, and take another deep drink from your cup, the sweetness of the lemonade mercifully eclipsing the sharp taste of the liquor you mixed it with.

“Aem!” Aegon careens through the crowd wildly and into Aemond, crushing his younger brother into a hug, his face smashed into his chest. Aemond looks down at him dubiously and pats him on the back, stealing a bemused look at you while you watch, thoroughly entertained.

“Aemond, Aemond, Aemond…” Aegon grins, pulling back from the embrace, his clouded eyes darting over to you, glinting with mischief. “Look at you, man–my baby brother, at a party, talking to a hot girl–I'm so proud,” he rambles cheerfully, heedless of the cringing look Aemond gives him.

“Y’know, I was starting to think he'd taken a vow of celibacy and was becoming a monk or something,” Aegon turns to you fully now, resting a hand on your shoulder, expression deadly serious. “I'm so relieved he's making moves–I was starting to think he was just gonna spend the whole summer pining after y–”

“Let's get a drink,” Aemond interrupts swiftly, his voice a touch too loud. Aegon beams at him, something akin to pride gleaming in his eyes.

“I thought you’d never ask.”

You watch them go, Aegon’s aborted sentence ringing in your ears.

Aemond? Pining?

Somehow, you couldn't picture it.

With the brothers having disappeared back to the kitchen, you set out to find Baela again, finding her at last, dancing with Rhaena and Luke near Jace’s impromptu DJ booth. Baela waves you over happily, taking your hand and snatching an unopened beer from a pouting Jace, passing it to you instead.

“He’s had more than enough already,” she mutters to you, taking your empty cup and setting it aside. “I'm not trying to babysit him tonight-- that's all I'm saying.”

You snort in understanding, cracking the can open and taking a deep drink from it before Jace can wrangle it back into his hands.

To your left, Luke and Rhaena dance together–Luke is in heaven, bopping awkwardly to the music and clinging to Rhaena’s hand, watching with widened eyes as she spins, her locs fanning behind her with the movement. You share a knowing glance with Baela--apparently, the Velaryon brothers had a type.

You let yourself get lost in the music, hips moving to the beat alongside Baela’s. She had always been the more party-inclined of the two of you, even back in your early days of college, but you had fun when you were with her–it had to be a secret talent of hers, making you genuinely enjoy parties and everything that came with them when you would have been a wallflower otherwise.

A few songs trail by, each bass-thumping pop song blending into the next in a mindless, deafening cacophony, making it impossible for you to dwell too much on thoughts about the broody silver-haired boy the next room over, for which you are relieved.

The contentment you feel, however, is extremely short-lived.

“Oh, fuck,” Jace hisses loudly, eyes locked on the door, his expression much more tense than it had been only a few moments prior. Following his eye line, your gaze lands on a group of new arrivals filtering in, led by a good-looking guy with olive skin and dark hair that curled over his forehead. He walks into the room with a swagger that would have looked foolish if anyone else had done it, but on him? It just looked right.

“Qyle fuckin’ Martell!” Aegon calls, appearing from the entrance to the kitchen, grinning at the other man warmly, arms spread wide in greeting. Though his expression is friendly, a glimmer of something darker dances behind his eyes. “I cannot say I expected to see you here, my man!”

Qyle smirks, raking his eyes over Aegon, appraising him as he approaches the other boy, slinging an arm around his shoulder and saying something lowly to him that you couldn’t quite make out over the thumping bass of the song that blares through the speakers, Aegon laughing loudly in response.

“The Martells,” Luke supplies, the tension in his shoulders mirroring Jace’s. “The pride and joy of Sunspear Stables, which just so happens to be Dragonstone’s longtime rival when it comes to competitions–they’re who the exhibition tournament is against. The cousins don’t really…get on with them.”

You nod, quickly putting the pieces together, now understanding Jace’s less-than-enthusiastic reaction to their appearance.

“They’re nice, mostly,” Jace tells you, moving from behind the table to stand by Baela, his fingers twitching anxiously against her hip. “Qyle, however…calling him a prick would be too kind. He has this weird sexual tension with Aegon–I don’t get it. Don't know why they'd bother showing up at all, honestly, except to cause trouble.” You snort faintly at his assessment, finishing off your beer.

“Well, I suppose I’m going to find out for myself–I’m getting another drink,” you excuse yourself, moving toward the kitchen.

“Yeah, I’ll come too,” Jace hums, pressing a quick kiss to Baela’s cheek and half-jogging to catch up to you. “Gotta make sure Aegon doesn’t either fuck or fight the guy–both options are equally likely, to be honest.”

In the kitchen, Aegon leans against the counter, Qyle’s arm firmly curled around his shoulder. A pair of remarkably pretty girls with curly hair to match Qyle’s–his sisters, you assume–hover nearby, the shorter of the two chatting with Helaena, who sits at the kitchen table, smiling dreamily up at her, cheeks flushed.

“Hey,” Qyle grins as you squeeze past him and Aegon to pour yourself a new drink. “Qyle Martell, Sunspear Stables.”

“Mm. That has a professional ring to it–you should put that on a business card,” you joke idly, pouring a generous amount of vodka into your cup.

“I have one, actually–let me just run out to my car and grab it–” he laughs, feigning a move toward the door, earning a polite giggle from you.

“Pleased to meet you, Qyle Martell of Sunspear Stables,” you tell him your name as well, shaking his hand politely. Aegon ducks out from under Qyle's arm as you do, making for the fridge and mumbling something about getting another beer, leaving you to chat with Qyle on your own.

He's nice enough, you suppose–a bit cocky and all too aware of his good looks, but he seems harmless.

Then Aemond comes back into the room, and Qyle's face darkens, a spiteful glimmer lighting in his brown eyes.

“Well, if it isn't the one-eyed wonder,” Qyle crows, straightening up from where he leans against the counter. “I never thought I'd see the day Aemond Targaryen would come to a party–I guess the dashed Olympic dreams have really done a number on you, huh?”

Aemond bristles visibly at his taunting, and you frown, any kind notions about Qyle evaporating with each word out of his mouth. You move to the other side of the kitchen island to stand by Aemond’s side, brows furrowed in disapproval, making it abundantly clear physically whose side you're on between the two of them.

“I guess so,” Aemond replies stiffly, his body rigid, fingers twitching by his sides.

“Aemond’s been teaching me to ride, actually,” you cut in, attempting in vain to move the conversation away from Aemond's past and onto lighter topics. “He's been a huge help–I can't imagine doing it without him.”

“Has he really?” Qyle smirks, glancing at you, devoid of any warmth you'd been in his earlier. “From prodigy to riding instructor,” he tuts, evidently hellbent on tormenting Aemond, “what a tragedy. You know it would've been fun to beat you at the exhibition, but I hear you've been replaced–by a seventeen-year-old, no less…That's ironic, isn’t it–she's the same age you were when your eye–”

Aemond inhales unevenly, and you speak up immediately, acting silently on emotion.

“Hey, Qyle? Shut the fuck up,” you cut in, your voice coming out a tad too aggressively, grabbing Aegon's attention from across the room, anger prickling under your skin.

“Oh, relax,” Qyle scoffs, rolling his eyes. “I’m kidding–try having a sense of humor, would you?”

“Qyle,” the sister who had been talking to Helaena warns, pulling away from her conversation and grabbing her brother’s elbow, “That’s enough.”

“Fuck off, Coryanne,” he grumbles, his irritation growing with each round of negative feedback, eyes flickering with malice. “It’s not my fault that he's got the kind of face only a father could love. Oh wait, we all know Viserys didn't–”

That’s enough for Aegon, it appears, and he crosses the room in an instant, his jaw set in anger, “Shut your fucking mouth,” he shoves at Qyle’s chest roughly, his cheeks flushed.

Aemond stands silently beside you, nearly emotionless as he watches it all unfold before him, but you can see the concealed anger and hurt in his gaze. It makes your heart twinge.

“You have any more slick comments?” Aegon snarls, getting in Qyle’s face and knocking at him with his shoulder. “Or should we just cut to the chase, and I'll beat the shit out of you now?”

“Aegon,” Jace has joined the fray too now, grabbing his cousin and tugging him away from the other boy. “C’mon man, leave it–Qyle, piss off, will you?”

“Alright, alright,” Qyle snorts. “Christ…no hard feelings, right Aemond? We can…look past this?” he flicks his gaze back to him, snickering at his own piss-poor joke, and Aemond inhales sharply, hands clenching into fists at his sides.

“Sure thing,” is all he says in response, and he turns on his heel, stalking toward the back door, spine straight, and head held high.

You watch Aemond go, chewing on your cheek, but Qyle is evidently not done.

“Looking forward to seeing you at the tourney, Cyclops!”

Hot fury floods through you, and you round on him, bent on giving him a piece of your mind, but you're beaten to it. Aegon wriggles free from Jace’s grip in a flash of silver and lands a remarkably satisfying punch to Qyle’s cheek, sending the taller boy reeling.

Coryanne yelps in surprise, jumping back, though you note she does very little to help her brother–perhaps she also thought he had it coming. Qyle pushes himself off the floor with a snarl, moving to fight back, but is held back by two of his friends, who grab him by his elbows, dragging him away.

“You're dead, Targaryen–fucking dead,” he spits, but Aegon only laughs, rubbing the back of his knuckles.

“Ooh, I'm shaking in my boots, Martell!” he calls after him, eyes wild with rage. “Next time, keep my brother's name out of your mouth, yeah?”

You meet Jace’s gaze briefly, and he nods in Aemond's direction, silently pleading with you to go after him, and that's all the prompting you need, following behind him out onto the back porch.

“Hey,” you murmur gently, coming to a standstill beside him. He stands silently, his gaze unblinking, jaw clenched tight.

“Probably a bad question, but are you okay?” You ask after a moment of thick silence, tilting your head to look up at him. If it wasn't for how rigid he was and the tensed muscle jumping in his jaw, he would look almost serene.

“Yeah,” he answers with enough hesitation to tell you that isn't true. “I'm fine.”

You nod once, drawing your arms around yourself, rubbing the gooseflesh that arose from the faint chill of the evening air. For a moment, you consider calling his bluff and telling him you know he's lying, but you think better of it and bite your tongue, standing beside him in silence.

“He was right,” Aemond finally says, his tone subdued, shoving his hands into his pockets. “About my dad, I mean.”

“What do you–”

“He didn't…care about me,” the admission hangs there, weighty and painful, and you stay silent, not knowing how to respond. “He only ever acknowledged Rhaenyra, but even with her, it was…conditional. She was a winner, a prodigy, and therefore was worthy of his time. Jace and Luke were extensions of her in his eyes, so they were afforded the same courtesy.”

You exhale heavily, wishing to reach out and touch him–to hold him and give him some semblance of comfort.

“You deserved better,” you say after a moment, biting the inside of your cheek and studying his expression cautiously. “I'm sorry.”

He finally turns to look at you, the space between his eyebrows creased. He stares for a moment, and you nearly break and ask him if you've done something wrong, but then he speaks again, taking your hand in his, echoing how you'd held his while it rained a week ago.

“Thank you. You're…you're the first person who's said that to me, so…” he swallows heavily, giving his head a minuscule shake, “thank you.”

Giving him a hesitant smile, you cross your thumb over his, stroking it slowly. It feels good to hold and be held, even if it was just a hand. He shifts closer, his arm pressing against your side, leaning into you ever so slightly, his lean muscles a soothing weight upon you.

“I mean it,” you reply, squeezing his fingers in a gesture of reassurance. “And for what it's worth, Qyle seems like a little bitch.”

Aemond laughs–outright laughs–at that, his eyes crinkling at the corners and dimples popping up in his cheeks–God, he has dimples.

“An accurate assessment,” he hums, grinning at you, his expression lighter now than it had been since you’d joined him out on the porch. “I beat him at a tournament when we were both twelve, and he's never gotten over it, apparently.”

It's your turn to laugh, relaxing into the warmth of his body and savoring the solidity of it against yours.

When you look up again, his eyes are already upon you, tracing over the soft lines of your features, like he was trying to commit every curve to memory. A tiny smile still dances in the corner of his mouth as his gaze roves over your face, the now-typical casual intensity of his stare making your heart leap to your throat.

He was looking at your lips again.

You don't know who moves first, but before you can process what you're doing, his lips are on yours, hands cupping the sides of your face. He tastes like the shitty tequila Aegon had goaded him into taking a shot of and the lime he chased it with, and you part your lips eagerly, palms pressed to his shoulders.

It's bruising, the intensity of it, his teeth biting softly against your lower lip, his lips slotted against yours. He's a shockingly adept and confident kisser for how awkward he typically acted, and your head feels foggy, delirious from the way he was devouring you.

He backs you up against the railing, pressing you into it, tongue darting into your mouth hungrily. You gasp softly, feeling the bulge that's rapidly forming in his track pants grinding against you, hard against your thigh. A flush of arousal overtakes you at the realization, and you whine into his mouth, parting your thighs to let him nudge a lean-muscled leg between them, a faint grunt of approval leaving him at how easily you give in to his touch.

It feels like you'd never been kissed by someone properly before tonight, never been wanted–craved–so deeply, and all you can think is that you want to keep kissing him.

One hand slides into your hair, the other cupping the side of your neck loosely, his touch blistering. You imagine that his fingerprints will be seared into your skin after this, and the thought of it makes you oddly giddy. You want to be marked by him, possessed and taken apart by him, delightful, white-hot lust curling deep in your stomach.

The bliss does not last long.

Aemond jerks backward, panting, his sighted eye wide and darkened with desire. He stares at you, lips parted, looking more wild and uncontained than you'd ever seen him, and then he turns and practically runs from you, shoving back through the back door and making a beeline for the stairs.

You stand there, baffled–and admittedly, very horny–and watch him go, swallowing heavily. Sitting back on the railing behind you, you release a shaky breath, your fingers trailing to touch your kiss-swollen lips, eyes wide with shock, both from the suddenness of the kiss and his subsequent departure.

What the fuck was that?

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#house of the dragon #hotd #modern!aemond targaryen #modern!aemond x reader #queued

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weirwoodswitch · 3 days

Text

Syrax

Drawn in pencil, colored digitally.

#fanart #syrax #queued

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weirwoodswitch · 3 days

Text

Hot-Blooded

Aemond Targaryen x Wife!Reader

Summary: To most, Aemond was a proud, noble prince. His wife knows better.

Rating: Explicit/18+

Warnings: NSFW/Minors DNI, smut, penetrative sex, oral, rough sex, degradation and praise, spanking, doggy style, hand job, breeding kink, hair pulling, cock slapping, aftercare, switch reader and aemond

Word Count: 2.4k

A/N: repost from my old blog.

dividers by @firefly-graphics

comments and reblogs are appreciated as always!

During the day, Aemond Targaryen was a prince, a warrior, and the rider of the largest dragon in the world.

He was exceedingly good in bed, dominant in a way that made your toes curl and your breath quicken.

Sometimes though, times like tonight, you delighted in making your prince beg.

It had started innocently enough, with quick pecks to his lips and gentle caresses. You let him think he was in control, that you would not be withholding.

Now you leaned over him, pressing sloppy kisses down his neck, slowly, painfully working his thick, heavy cock in your hand, pulling the most delicious noises from his pretty lips with each tug.

“Oh, husband,” you crooned, nipping at his ear, “you seem to be in distress. Tell me what you need.”

What would people say if they knew that he was at the mercy of his well-behaved little lady wife? That she alone saw a side of him that no one else could understand?

“Fuck,” Aemond gasped, bucking up into your hand, “I need…I need…”

“What is it, love?” you dragged your thumb over his ruddy tip, spreading the pearly substance over the length of him, “hm?”

“More,” he whimpers, choking on his words, “I need more.”

You hummed in pleasure, entranced by the sight of his wet cock beneath your hand, dripping thick beads of precum down his shaft.

“So pretty…so fucking pretty, and sweet,” he babbled, “always taking care of me–fuck.”

You spat on his cock, adding more lubricant to your furiously pumping fist.

“Always,” you promised, “always.”

You lean down, flicking out your tongue to taste him, smiling when he sucks in a rough breath in response. His hands gripped the sheets below his bare body so tightly that his knuckles turned white.

You parted your lips, taking him into your mouth agonizingly slow, licking, caressing the head with your tongue.

His badly-contained groans go straight to your cunt, and you can feel that you’re soaked already.

“You are a witch,” he managed, his eye screwed shut in rapture and lips swollen from biting at them. “This must be witchcraft. Your mouth feels too–”

You take him into your mouth farther, his cockhead hitting the back of your throat, and he breaks off into a long, shattered moan, throwing his silver head back against the pillow.

You stifle a gag as you take all of it, relishing the taste of the salty droplets of liquid that leak from him. You squeeze your thighs together, desperately needing relief from the ache between your legs.

You pull back from his length, admiring it as you switch back to working him with your hand, the new slick from your mouth coating him.

His cock was a sight to behold. Long and thick, reddening from your attentions, the pretty head of it rounded and soft.

“Aemond, my love, open your eye.” you murmur, reaching up with your free hand to stroke his face soothingly. He does not obey, so you try another course of action.

“I won’t let you cum if you don’t listen,” you warn, smirking when his eye opens at once, flashing dangerously.

“You would not dare,” he hisses.

You tighten your grip around him, forcing a strangled gasp from his lips. You take him back into your mouth, hollowing out your cheeks.

You loved seeing him like this: on his back, whimpering, teeth gritted tightly, trying to keep the noises at bay.

You suck him off at an torturously slow pace, and you can tell Aemond is getting impatient. He’s close to cracking–so close to forcing you into delicious submission and fucking you until you can’t remember your name.

All you had to do was push him just a little bit further.

“What would the lords and ladies of the court say if they knew you were so desperate for your wife? Would they think you weak?”

That does it.

In a flash, he has you grasped by the hair, pulling you away from his length roughly.

“I? Weak?” he snarls, rising from the bed and pulling you with him, casting you upon the floor before him. You smile deliriously at him and he grips your chin in his long, pretty fingers, forcing you to look up at him.

You loved pushing him just a bit too far, loved seeing him wild and reckless. Even more than that, you loved what came afterward.

“Perhaps I shall have to remind you of which of us is a dragon and which is a viscous little harlot,” his eye is full of fire, his chest rising and falling heavily.

Finally.

“Open your mouth,” he grasps his cock at the base, stroking himself with his opposite hand, eye trained on you with an insatiable hunger.

You obey immediately, sticking out your tongue and blinking up at him innocently.

“Good girl,” he muses, “but not good enough.”

He bypasses your mouth, slapping your cheek with his hard cock, and your eyes widen in surprise, utterly embarrassed by the action and the way your cunt clenches when you realize he left a smear of his cum upon you.

He repeats the action on your other cheek, smirking at the whine you gave in response before sliding it back into your mouth.

“Fuck,” he stared down at you, there on your knees before him, doe-eyed and obedient.

You hummed in delight around him when he grasped at your hair again. You took all of him, saliva and pre-cum sliding down your chin, and he watches you, his lips parted in sheer wonder.

“Why must you vex me so, hm?” his voice is rough as you drag your mouth up and down his hot, throbbing shaft. “You know the blood of the dragon runs hot, and yet you insist on playing with fire.”

He grips your hair tighter, stilling your movements and beginning to fuck your throat, glowing with savage delight at how well you take him, gulping obscenely around him. You revel in the dirty, wet sounds your mouth makes, the ache in your pussy worsening, begging to be touched, fucked–anything.

A predatory smile traces across his angular features. “You like this don’t you? When I treat you like a Silk Street whore?”

You make a garbled noise around him, unable to speak and he coos sympathetically, stroking your cheek, spreading his pre-cum across your face.

“You do,” he pants.

You knew from how his abdomen clenched before you that he was holding himself back. As rough as he would get with you, he was always careful.

He received no pleasure from seeing you in genuine pain, something for which you were grateful. After all, you’ve heard from other ladies how their husbands treat them–violent, singlemindedly focused on their own pleasure.

“Gods above,” he choked, pulling you off his length for the second time that night. “Get up. I need your cunt.”

You blinked at him coyly, wiping your mouth on the back of your hand, licking up all of his essence that you could.

He rolled his eye impatiently but, to your delight, had to stifle a groan. “Please,” he breathed, so quietly you could scarcely hear it.

You preened at his begging–even when he was in control, you always had the upper hand. All you had to do was bat your pretty eyelashes, and he was putty in your hands.

You pulled up your chemise over your head, your back to him. You can feel his heated gaze on you as slick drips down your inner thighs.

He grasps at your waist, pulling you to him, growling in your ear at the feeling of your ass pressing against his swollen, wet cock. He ground his hips against you, unconsciously seeking relief from the near-painful arousal.

“Get on the bed,” he commands, with a slap to your backside. You let out a yelp that turns into a lusty giggle, moving quickly to comply.

You get on your hands and knees, leaning down on your forearms so that your ass is in the air, your soaked pussy on full display. You peer over your shoulder, smiling invitingly.

His eye is locked on the apex of your thighs, the muscle in the jaw twitching at the sight of it.

“Pretty little thing,” he mumbled, spreading you open with his fingers, “did you get this wet from sucking my cock?”

“No,” you simper, delighting in the confusion that crossed his face, “I am this wet because I like watching you beg. It’s pathetic.”

All smugness vanished from his face, replaced by one of irritation.

“You will pay for that,” he promised, his voice low and dangerous.

He slipped two fingers into you, impatient enough to rush, but not to forgo your pleasure. From this angle, he found the delicious rough spot inside of you with ease. He caressed it slowly, curling his digits.

You mewled, trying to push your hips back against him, but he gripped you tightly with his free hand, not allowing you to move.

“You don’t get off on your own terms tonight,” he scolded, “whores don’t get to tease their lords unpunished.”

You clenched around his fingers at his words, your arousal creating a loud squelching noise that only served to turn you on more.

“Aemond,” you whined, “Aemond, I need to cum.”

He tuts, withdrawing his fingers from you immediately, snickering at your moan of distress at the loss. You watch him from over your shoulder, wriggling your hips backward. You chase after his fingers, but he stops you with another sharp slap to your ass.

“Hm,” he watches how your skin ripples under his palm, flicking his eye to your face, rubbing the spot he struck to soothe it. “Be good,” he reminds you.

He moves forward before you can reply, slamming into your weeping cunt, letting out a loud grunt at the feeling of your wet, tight heat around him.

He barely waits for you to adjust before he starts fucking you with abandon, hips pounding against your backside. The sound of your bodies smacking together was filthy, and you let out a series of stunted yelps, your arms giving out and your cheek pressing into the mattress.

You cry out, gripping at the sheets as Aemond had only a few minutes ago.

He learned months ago what your body needed, where all your most sensitive spots were, and he exploited that knowledge every chance he got.

Aemond gives another sharp swat to your rear, his other hand tangling in your hair to pull you up, almost upright. He places a hand on your throat, not choking you, simply showing his possession, chest hot against your back, sitting back on his haunches to leverage your weight against him.

From this position, he hits directly at the spot inside your cunt that makes you scream over and over again, driving you mad with each rut of his hips. The hand in your hair trails slowly down your body, between your breasts, then your legs. He flicks his fingers at the bud that rested at the top of your sex, and your eyes roll back in ecstasy.

You cannot stop the sounds that tumble from you, nor the fluttering of your walls around him as he drives you closer to the edge.

His cheek presses against yours from over your shoulder, and he takes the opportunity to whisper into your ear.

“My pretty wife…are you proud of those desperate little sounds you’re making? Of making your lord husband so desperate? Of being a little cocktease?” he growls.

Try as you might, you cannot form a coherent thought, focused only on your impending release and the increasing sloppiness of his thrusts inside your pulsing heat. Your eyes fall closed, and you’re vaguely aware of Aemond huffing a condescending laugh.

“Answer me,” he snarls, “or you don’t get to cum.”

You clench tightly at his words, realizing that he was repeating the same threat you’d leveled at him earlier, and you cry out.

“Yes,” you admit, earning a satisfied groan from your lover. “Yes, I am.”

“See?” he hissed, “That wasn’t so difficult, now was it?”

“Please,” you gasp, “please, Aemond, give me your seed.“ You grind back onto him. "Make me swell with your child.”

Your words seem to catch him off guard, and he chokes, leaning forward, crushing you down with hammering, desperate thrusts as he spills deep inside you, a string of curses falling from his mouth as he comes, fingers moving furiously over your clit to pull you over the edge with him.

You crumble, wailing into the mattress with abandon, reaching your peak at last. The feeling of his cum spurting deep inside you, the praises he mutters under his breath–it’s all too much. Your hips jerk haphazardly, and your pulse thunders in your ears, drowning out everything else except for agonizing, white-hot pleasure.

When you come back down, Aemond is still against your back, weight resting heavily upon you, his skin slick and warm.

He pulls out of you slowly, reluctantly, and you whimper. He runs a hand up your back, from tailbone to neck, soothing you, before he lies down by your side.

His lean arm pulls you close, pressing you into him, your head upon his broad shoulder. He draws little circles against your back idly, kissing the top of your head before craning his head to gaze down at you.

“Are you alright, my darling?” he asks, subdued, looking upon you lovingly.

You nod, still regaining your breath and dizzy with the afterglow of your orgasm.

“Hm,” satisfied, he presses a soft, slow kiss to your lips, pulling back again swiftly to let you breathe.

“I love you,” you murmur. “My strong, brave dragon,” you traced the outline of the muscles on his arm with the tips of your fingers.

You always took special care of each other on nights like this. When the words exchanged between you in the heat of the moment became cruel, you needed to remind each other just how much you were loved by one another.

“Avy jorrāelan,” he returns the sentiment in High Valyrian. “My perfect wife. You are my heart.”

You smile against him sleepily, beginning to doze in the comfort of his arms, but manage to respond to your beloved one last time.

“As you are mine, my Aemond.”

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weirwoodswitch · 4 days

Text

my house of stone, your ivy grows (and now i’m covered in you); part 3.

aemond targaryen x fem!reader

genre. childhood friends to lovers, slow burn, drama, angst, fluff, eventual smut. it’s a y/n fic but no use of y/n. heavily inspired by taylor swift’s ‘ivy’.

When a fierce blizzard ravages the North, a certain dragon rider gets caught up in it and crashes onto Bear Island.

And right to you, the youngest daughter of House Mormont.

warnings. no warnings yet!

wc. 6.8k

Author's Note: finally!! ewan!aemond!! so like the show, 15/16 year old aemond is older!aemond but timeline of events is not going to follow canon closely. that is all, enjoy!!

01 | 02 | 03 | 04 | 05 | 06 | 07 | 08 | 09 (finale)

chapter three: time makes you bolder, even children get older

True to his word, you receive a raven from Aemond as soon as he is settled back home, a moon and a few weeks since his departure from Bear Island.

It is a short message – one can only fit so many words in the tiny raven scroll – but he writes that he already misses you and your family, that he made sure that his father sent a few of his best men to accompany your father back to the port that they had landed their ship at, and that you should be getting a proper, longer letter from him soon. It had confused you what he had meant, but a week after your father and Ser Gregory had returned, a man – who is definitely not dressed warmly enough for the weather of the North – arrives on Bear Island.

He comes bearing gifts and a long written letter from Aemond. Your father is in shock, it has been quite a long time since a courier had visited the island. The last time he can recall was when his mother, your grandmother, was still alive, and would have couriers coming to-and-fro from Highgarden, receiving letters from her friends and family back home. It is an expensive service, but the courier assured your family that the Queen had paid him handsomely for it, and that your House has no need to give anything else even though he will be waiting at the tavern inn to deliver back whatever you wanted to give the young Prince.

When Aemond said he’d spoiled you, he was not joking in the slightest. In the box that you had received from him were gifts of the finest qualities: oil paints in every shade of the rainbow, paint brushes of many shapes and sizes, and ink and varying quills for the letters you will write back to him, and a book that he writes is one of his favorites. There were gifts for your siblings as well, but you definitely got spoiled the most.

But your favorite thing that Aemond gave you is his letter. You find yourself going to the guest chamber he used to reside in, sitting on a stool beside the bed, pretending it is like the mornings when he was actually there, the conversations the two of you used to have before heading to break fast. As you read, you can hear his voice, as if he was there beside you.

Aemond writes about his first week back. Everyday, he was surprised with his favorite foods during meals. How his father actually spent some time with him in between his busy schedule. That even his older brother, Prince Aegon, was kind to him. He writes about how his sister loves the paintings you made – she even has one hanging in a golden frame in her bedchamber now. His mother wants to meet your family, and Ser Criston was impressed by what Aemond had learned from Ser Gregory. He wished you could have seen the friendly duel between the two warriors, how the cheers in the training yard during it could rival the cheers of an official tourney. In jest, Aemond says he will not reveal who the winner was. (Later, when you ask Ser Gregory, he tells you it was him, of course. You are not sure if you believe him.)

Aemond tells you other things, more mundane happenings in his day to day life, but you enjoy it all just the same. Then he ends the letter with how he is writing this under the Weirwood tree within the Red Keep, pretending it is the one on Bear Island where he would accompany you when you wanted some peace and quiet away from your siblings.

It makes me happy being here , he writes, I often visit it now.

It makes me think of you.

I hope you are thinking of me too.

You go to the Godswood of your own home later, and sit by the Weirwood tree with the book Aemond gifted you. As you read, you smile to yourself, then look up at the sunlight that peeks through the limbs and branches of the tree. Beaming wider, you say to the sky, “I am.”

It goes like that for many moons.

Ravens and couriers going back and forth from King’s Landing to Bear Island. Letters after letters, gifts after gifts. You get embarrassed how homely the things you give Aemond are – all are just things you’ve made and not anything fancy at all like what he has given you – but he assures you that he loves it all. The letters, since there is an abundance, often came with no real substance or new story to tell but neither of you got bored, just content to receive anything from your friend.

But you have to admit, you are starting to get really lonely without your friend there with you. When you catch sight of your sister and Renee, Forrest and his training buddies, Braeden and his two best friends who he grew up with since he was a babe, and Jorah and the big group of friends he hangs out with… You feel so awfully alone.

You did not want to be greedy. Aemond is already doing so much. The letters, the gifts, the courier his family had hired… You were grateful for it all, but still, you could not help but write on the scroll you attached to the raven you send to him:

I wish you were here.

You don’t hear from him for weeks after that, which is odd. It has you scared you had creeped him out. Like you are a child throwing a tantrum for having your favorite toy taken away.

But then, just when you are about to lose hope, thinking you had lost your best friend… A dragon you instantly recognize, flies around overhead of the Mormont Keep before landing on the clearing that she now has claimed as her own.

Exhilarated, you and your brothers run to the clearing, meeting the prince just as Vhagar lands. You tackle him into the tightest hug, falling over in a heap on the ground when your brothers join in.

At his arrival, your mother has the housekeepers make up the guest chamber, though now it seems to be Aemond’s official bedchamber in your home. He brings with him a bag of clothes, and it has you asking if he is staying long which he nods and says yes. Your father and mother also question how long he is going to stay, and he tells them his mother says he can stay for a moon or two — without looking them in the eye. They found it odd, but who are they to go against the prince’s or the queen’s word?

It is all fun and games, you and Aemond are having the time of your lives — until the raven from the Queen comes just a week and half after he landed.

It seems Aemond had actually ran away – or more so, flew away — from home when his father and mother did not give him an answer fast enough for when he could go visit you. The queen writes that she wishes for him to come back home, and that when he returns, they will figure out a more proper visit.

Just like that, Prince Aemond being royalty is completely forgotten, and the mama bear in your mother comes out. She scolds him like how she scolds her own children, and you and Aemond are both crying at the end of it. He goes back home the next day, but before he does, your mother reassures him that she is still fond of him and he is always welcome back, but to never do that again, not without the permission of his parents. Understanding, he has his head dipped low as he hugs her goodbye, before turning to you to do the same.

Your parents and the Queen begin to correspond after that. They make a plan that the Queen will be the one to write the letter asking your parents if Aemond can visit for a couple days along with her official seal, and when your parents answer back with a confirmation, that is when she will allow Aemond to fly Vhagar to Bear Island.

Years pass like that. Letters coming in weekly, and Aemond visiting every three or so moons.

On the third year, you get word that Aemond will be visiting for a week to celebrate yours and his 16th name day together. It has been a yearly tradition since the two of you became friends, but this year… You think it might be a little bit different.

As you read the raven scroll he had written you – knowing that he is already on his way on his mighty dragon – a nervousness, like the wings of many butterflies, flutters in your stomach. You do not know how or even why it happened, but ever since his last visit two moons ago, you had begun to develop feelings for your best friend.

It is not like much has changed. He is still just Aemond. Perhaps a little bit taller, his voice breaking more often now and slightly deeper, and his hair longer – but that’s it.

Then again… Though he is still lean, he definitely looks a bit broader, the muscles in his arms more defined. You press your hand on your lower stomach when you remember the feel of his arms around you, a strange and unfamiliar heat there as you get dizzy at the thought.

That memory was not of a hug Aemond had given you. It was from his last visit, when you finally got the permission from your parents to be able to ride Vhagar with the prince. It was something you had been begging them to let you do for years, and they finally agreed, thinking you are old enough and that you had proven yourself responsible enough to do so. You remember Aemond’s hand clasped in yours, both running while laughing through the pathway of Vhagar’s clearing. Your two chaperons, Forrest and Ser Gregory, trailing far behind the two of you, there to make sure no one gets hurt. You recall the fond look on Aemond’s face when you stroke the scales on Vhagar’s face, the she-dragon purring at your touch.

“I think she likes you more than she likes me,” he had told you with his lopsided, winning smile. Then he lifted you up to help you climb up the netting onto the dragon’s mount, strong enough to do it on his own without your brother and Ser Gregory. He followed after you with practiced ease, sitting himself just behind you.

You were excitedly waving to Forrest and Ser Gregory when you felt Aemond lean in closer to you, his chest pressing against your back and his arms securely around you. That was when the nerves started to kick in and at the time, you thought it was because you were about to fly on a dragon for the first time. See the world from above for the first time. You had been sure that was the only reason why.

Aemond instructed you to hold onto the handles in front of you, while he grabbed onto the strap of the rope. Once you do and once Aemond made sure you are ready and good to go, both fastened to the saddle, he begun to command Vhagar to take off in High Valyrian.

And then the two of you are flying, high in the sky. It was so exhilarating. You had never felt anything like it before. You looked down on Bear Island, your home, and it looked like it was a part of the miniature, wooden villages that Maester Garland liked to craft in his spare time.

It made your heart soar. You felt so at peace, letting your eyes shut as the wind blew through your hair. You felt so safe in Aemond’s arms, not worrying at all that you were thousands of feet off the ground.

You remember looking back at Aemond, grinning, only to find him already looking at you. That same fond look he had given you earlier when you were petting Vhagar. It made you take an audible swallow. In that very moment, it seems like there was a shift between you and the dragon prince.

That was when he leaned in closer — so, so close, that you thought foolishly he was about to kiss you — but he turns his head and whispered in your ear instead, “I think I…” he stopped, licked his lips and tried again, “I think this is the happiest I’ve ever been in my entire life.”

Ah… That’s it. That’s when it happened. You laugh to yourself now, thinking about sweet, naive, and younger by merely just a few moons you, thinking you are just going on an exciting dragon ride with your best friend, not knowing what will happen next. That those words that your best friend had said would replay in your mind over and over and over again; keeping you up at night, distracting everything you do, until you got butterflies in your stomach every time you thought of the small smile he gave you after he said those words.

And so here you are now, more nervous than excited for your best friend to arrive to celebrate your name days together, just because you had realized your stupid newfound feelings for him.

Before, you did not care for how you looked in front of anyone, let alone Aemond. But now, you’ve been pacing back and forth from the mirror standing beside your bed to your wooden closet, changing in and out of different dresses. Nothing looked right, nothing made you feel pretty enough. With a frustrated huff, you settled for a dark green dress — maybe in the back of your head, you wore it to pay tribute to Aemond’s mother side of the family, the Hightowers, and your own House.

Next, you decide to tackle your hair. Sitting down at the vanity, you take your hair brush in one hand and the other clenches in a determined fist. You always wore your hair down, unruly and wild. It is only when your mother or Septa Earla manages to catch you that you begrudgingly head back to your chambers to brush it and pin it back. Today, neither of them have to tell you anything, you want your hair to look nice and beautiful. But you are not at all practiced, and even the simplest braid you try to weave together looks wonky and weird. It is times like this that you wish you were more like Dorothea, all lady-like and proper and gorgeous, with a million suitors lining up to court her. Maybe then you wouldn’t even need to do all this for Aemond to return your feelings.

Sighing, you thread your fingers through your hair, letting the failure of a braid untangle and just letting your hair be loose yet neat. You look at yourself in the mirror, guessing that this would be the best you could do. You dare not ask Dorothea to help out because your sister is clever and she will certainly be asking questions about why you are trying so hard to look so… nice.

And you are not ready to have that talk with anyone yet. Or at all.

It must have been going on for at least a minute, but you are so in your head that you only hear the knocking on your door when it is accompanied by the voice that you had longed to hear — and now, the one that sets you up in a panic.

You shoot up from the chair — hitting your knee on the underside of the vanity in the process and thus knocking all the various little objects on your desk over as you curse out loud at the stabbing pain where you had hit yourself. A concerned call of your name can be heard from the other side of the closed door, and you answer back with ‘Just a second!’ as you scramble to straighten up all the things that fell over, before hurrying to the door.

When you open it, you are greeted with the handsome face of your best friend. The sight of him takes your breath away. Aemond has always been otherworldly looking – with his pale white hair and unique colored eye – but seeing him now, it really hits you how ethereal he really is. It has you staring dumbly at him, his own violet eye is set on you. He gives you a slow glance over; his pretty, pink lips quirking up in a smirk. Worriedly biting down on your own lip, you wonder how disheveled you look right now. Was all that fussing over your appearance and the million outfit changes all for nothing?

“So you did not welcome me when I arrived, and now I do not even get a ‘hello’?”

That has you snapping out of your thoughts, exhaling out a laugh as you jump forward to throw your arms around him. He catches you with ease, wrapping his arms around your waist and lifts you off the ground, spinning you around. It has the two of you laughing, you into his neck while you feel him smile against the crown of your head. It has your heartbeat racing dangerously fast, and so when your feet touch the ground, you quickly take a step back to create a bit of distance from the prince. Just in case you do something that you will probably regret, the feeling of his lips on you had you wishing you could feel it elsewhere – everywhere else.

“I did not even know you’ve arrived,” you tell him, confused. “I’m sure I would have heard Vhagar… Did you travel here in a different way?”

Aemond laughs, shaking his head. “No, I came how I’ve always did… Jorah told me they’ve been calling for you as soon as they saw Vhagar flying in, but you did not answer.”

“Oh…” You murmur, giving him a crooked and apologetic smile. “Sorry, I’ve been a little…”

Aemond’s eye brow quirks in a silent question, peeking into your room and then grinning at the mess he sees inside, at the heaps of different colored dresses thrown carelessly on the floor. “... Preoccupied?”

Playfully glaring at him, you put a hand on his chest, pushing him backwards while also closing your door behind you with the other.

“Let’s go,” you say haughtily, walking ahead of him in a huff that has him laughing behind you. “You must be famished from the travel.”

Though before you can take another stop, Aemond clasps his hand around your elbow, forcing you to stop abruptly to look back at him in question.

“You look beautiful, by the way…” Is what he tells you. You nearly die on the spot with how your heart seizes at the way he smiles at you, all soft and shy, reminding you of the boy he once was and not the confident young man he has grown to be. “I just thought you should know.”

Does he even know how disarming he is? How he has taken a hold of your foolish, girlish heart without so much as trying?

You are not sure if you can keep yourself from doing something stupid in the next week, and it terrifies you because… It will probably ruin your friendship with your Targaryen prince forever.

Thankfully, you manage to keep your head on straight throughout the next few days, even though you spent ninety percent of your days and nights with the one causing you to lose it. You were quite proud of yourself that no sudden outburst of your feelings for him has slipped through your mouth – and that is a hard feat, since you are one to always say what is on your mind.

Aemond is none the wiser. After your initial nervousness around him, you are quick to get back to how you two normally are – thanks to his help. It’s nice to know that despite your changing feelings for him, you can always be yourself around Aemond.

On the morning of his name day, you head to training with your prince and brothers, all laughing and joking around. Forrest is mostly the butt of joke, since he is groaning and whining after eating too many pancakes at Aemond’s birthday breakfast.

Like every year since the tradition started of celebrating your name days together, on Aemond’s day, breakfast is grand to celebrate the prince’s life. But the real party is always celebrated two days after – during supper – when it is your name day. You are not at all mad to share the spotlight with the prince. In fact, it makes you even happier.

But this time, you are anxious about the upcoming celebration. Not about the party itself, but about the present you are planning on gifting Aemond. You have been going back and forth on it, and now it is already too late to really give him anything else. Besides, you can’t give him another set of knitted gloves, one that he could only use when he visits Bear Island because it’s too warm for it down south. So perhaps, you can whip up another painting of the prince on Vhagar’s back in two days…

“What’s on your mind?” Aemond asks, bumping his elbow on your side to grab your attention. “You’ve gone all quiet and… strange, again.”

“Strange…?” You question, nervously laughing. “What do you mean by that?”

He shrugs. “I don’t know… Just…” He sighs, shaking his head dolefully. “Nevermind.”

You really thought you had been acting normally, but maybe you had not been. You don’t know whether you should try to explain it to him or not. But before you can even make up your mind, you arrive at the training grounds, and Forrest is putting his arm around the prince’s shoulder, pulling him to where the new equipment and training dummies are set up.

Training begins and you still have not had the chance to talk to Aemond. You could hope you don’t look as miserable as you feel.

At least you weren’t alone in your misery.

Jorah is antsy beside you, mopey as well. Clearly not wanting to be there for various reasons. He had confided in you a few moons back that he just doesn’t enjoy sword fighting anymore, that he would rather spend his time at his apprenticeship with the tanner. He thought it was unfair that Dorothea had been given permission to opt out of training, but just because he is a boy, he had to keep it up.

Another reason for Jorah’s ire from training is that it’s the one place where he has to watch the girl of his dream clearly so smitten with someone who is not him. That someone being your older brother, Forrest.

Braeden joins you and Jorah – off to the side, away from everyone else – and laughs at the heated glare on Jorah’s face directed towards Forrest who is entertaining a group of pretty girls by the benches. You are frowning too, seeing Aemond by his side, also getting those kinds of looks from the girls.

“Chin up, little brother,” Braeden says, tapping his knuckles lightly under Jorah’s chin. Then he turns to you and does the same, “And, you too, little cub.”

“This is ridiculous,” Jorah huffs, eyes rolling off to the side, having had enough of all the flirting he had just witnessed. “Can I just go? I have more important things to do…”

It is Braeden’s turn to frown. “Look, I know you hate it but… You have to know how to fight. What if your future lady gets into trouble and you don’t know how? What if that ends up costing her life? And besides…” Braeden sighs, gesturing his head over to where the loud group of giggling girls are to prove his point, “Girls love a good warrior.”

Jorah rolls his eyes again, but can’t help but longingly look in that direction anyway – at the beautiful redheaded girl who is the reason he even started his apprenticeship at the tannery in the first place.

“You’re right,” Jorah says, patting Braeden’s chest before he starts walking towards the group with purpose.

You exchange a look with your oldest brother, muttering out, “Oh no…”

And then the two of you are after him, Braeden calling out, “Wait, that’s not what I meant–”

“Forrest!”

The noisy group immediately quieted down, all turning to see the man marching towards them with the most determined look on his face. Dorothea, who is sitting by herself just a few benches away from Forrest, Aemond, and her best friend, heaves a heavy sigh; face palming and whispers low to herself, “Oh boy… Here we go…”

Forrest grins, turning his body and giving his full attention to his youngest brother. “What is it, little br–”

“I challenge you–” Jorah points his wooden training sword towards Forrest, “– to a duel!”

There is a hushed murmuring throughout the training yard. Forrest looks a bit taken aback, but he is quick to recover, smiling wide with a cool shrug. “Sure, that sounds fun!”

Jorah scoffs at how easygoing his brother is, avoiding the questioning look from the girl who has his heart.

Ser Gregory breaks away from where he is training some of the younger kids, clapping his hand on his chest jovially at what he had heard. “Ey, finally! Something exciting!”

As your two brothers get ready for their match, you join the others that have gathered to watch, creating an impromptu circle around them.

“May I?” It is Aemond, asking if he could take the empty spot beside you.

“Of course,” you say like it is stupid for him to even ask.

He chuckles at your pout and way your brows drawn together, says under his breath as he stands beside you and looks ahead, “Bellus.”

You know it is Valyrian without even asking, but at this point in your friendship, you know better than to ask. Aemond usually only lets you privy to the translation of the words if he wants you to know, which is most of the time. But sometimes, there are words he likes to keep secret – you do not know why. You just hope it all means good things.

A loud cheering erupts as the match is set to begin. You and Aemond join in, though more subdued.

“Who do you think will win?” Aemond asks, slowly ceasing his clapping when your two brothers start clashing swords.

“I do not want to say it out loud,” you answer him. “But I think we both know.”

Aemond hums in agreement.

And just like that, as soon as the fight started, it was over in no time.

Forrest’s boisterous laughter fills the air and tells the young man glaring at the ground, “You’ll need to get better if you want to best me, my dear brother.”

He tries to give a hand to help up the defeated Jorah, but it gets swatted away.

“Well, that was…” Ser Gregory begins, eyeing Jorah as he hobbles away from the circle with Forrest catching up after him. “Interesting, yes… Anyone else? We are all here, anyway!”

The crowd murmurs, everyone looking around. That is when you feel movement beside you, and your eyes widen as you realize it was Aemond, stepping up to break out of the circle.

Ser Gregory bellows out a joyful laugh, “My prince, atta boy! And who will you be challenging?”

“I would like to challenge…” trailing off, Aemond smirks, clasping his hands behind his back, looking so regal and self-assured that you swear you could hear every girl in the crowd swooning. It has you making a face, trying so hard not to feel possessive jealousy but you could not help it.

“Lady Mormont.”

You do not know which was more unattractive; the grimace on your face or the way you gasped when Aemond turned to look back at you.

“Me?!” You gape at Aemond, looking at him like he had grown three heads.

He nods, the grin on his face saying ‘yes, you’.

“We’ve talked about this before, haven’t we? How one day we shall face-off to see which one of us is the better fighter?”

Yes, when we were children, you wanted to tell him. When I did not care if you would ever see me as something more.

Aemond’s head tilts, “Why not today?”

At this point you could not possibly refuse and back down. Everyone around you is already cheering you on. If Ser Gregory did not have appearances to keep up, you were sure he would be jumping up and down as he begs you pretty, pretty please to accept the prince’s challenge.

So that is what you do.

Looking Aemond straight in his violet eye, you say evenly and with a curtsy, “Then I accept your challenge, my Prince.”

It has him catching his breath, closely watching you as you walk past him to retrieve a wooden sword for the duel. It is not often that you call him by his title, but when you do…

Aemond’s hand flexes at his side, chuckling to himself, before he follows after you.

Getting yourself ready for the fight, you take a deep inhale, holding it in for a couple long seconds, and then exhaling out. It is an attempt to calm your nerves, but it did not really do the job. Instead what does is when you find your sister’s gaze in the crowd, her calling out that she’s rooting for you, and then Braeden’s right after, telling you to kick Aemond’s ass — ‘Respectfully,’ he adds, towards the prince.

That has you exchanging a laugh with Aemond, and he wets his lips before asking, “Are you ready?”

You take your place in front of him, both of you standing in the middle of the circle. “As I’ll ever be.”

When Ser Gregory gives the command to put your blades up and engage, neither you or Aemond make a direct move to go at each other. Instead, you both found yourselves circling the other, as if in a dance. There is a smug smirk on his face as he kept his eye on you, you did not know if you wanted to hit it off or kiss it off. Probably, both.

You know he will not be the one to make the first move, so instead of putting off the inevitable, you take the first strike. He dodges it with such grace that you cannot help but to be in awe, allowing him to counter with his own attack. Luckily, you were quick to block it, wooden swords clashing together with a loud clank . But he has the upperhand now, forcing you to retreat backwards with every parry of his sword against yours.

Getting closer and closer to the crowd, you knew you had to move away before you bump into any of them. So the next time Aemond swipes his sword, you duck under it, fleeing to move yourself back closer to the middle of the circle. He turns his heel so he can face you again, but that gives you a chance to be on the offense again. You slash, and slash, and slash, but each one is deflected. You knew you had to change your strategy, think quickly on your feet…

So you lunge forward, aiming at Aemond’s left shoulder. Just like you thought, he blocks it without much effort. But that left him open, and you kick your foot out, causing him to trip when your boot collides with his ankle.

He falls on his back, and you press the tip of your wooden sword on his chest. His eye slowly opens, staring into yours.

The crowd’s cheers are deafening, but neither you or Aemond seem to hear, so focused on each other. As if you two were the only ones on that training field.

That is when it dawns on you what you had just done, the anxiety mixing in with the shortness of your breathing from the fight.

You so desperately wanted Aemond to see you as a lady. Someone pretty and delicate. Someone he can see a future with.

But here you are, knocking him off his feet, making him fall hard on his back with a groan – on his name day, as well!

What were you thinking?!

A million apologies fall out your lips as you crash on your knees beside him, mixed in with the bunch of times you asked if he was okay.

Though also exhausted and out of breath, Aemond laughs at your worrying. He takes your hand in his and softly says your name – that has you shutting up good.

“I assure you, I am fine,” he tells you as he holds your hand tighter, pressing it against his chest. You swear you can feel the rapid beating of his heart. “More than fine.”

“I…” you say, trailing off when Aemond reaches his free hand up, and tenderly tucks away a flyaway strand of hair that fell from your ponytail. “Okay.”

“And I was wrong,�� he says.

Your head tilts in confusion.

Aemond grazes his thumb against your knuckles, smiling at you so prettily that it can rival all the stars in the night sky.

“A lady could fight.”

You cannot stop yourself from smiling too.

Though the dinner party inside was wonderful and grand, you find yourself stepping away outside towards the end of it, to have a moment to yourself. It is a beautiful night out here in the Godswood, the stars above so bright, as if welcoming you into this new era of your life.

You can not believe you are sixteen now. More a woman now than a girl, as your mother had said earlier the evening. You suppose she is right. Only a woman would suddenly have such confusing feelings over someone who she had thought of for so long as just her best friend.

You laugh at yourself out loud.

“May I get in on the joke?”

You turn around to see Aemond leaning on one of the other trees that surround the big Weirwood tree. He had been watching you, though you had no clue for how long.

“It’s nothing,” you tell him, still giggling to yourself but you try to shake yourself out of it. “I… I think I’ve had too much wine.”

He pushes himself off against the tree, striding his way to you. “You’ve only had a cup. I did not think you to be such a lightweight.”

“Shut up,” you pout, pushing him lightly when he gets close enough.

“It’s good though… Do not be a drunkard like my older brother.”

From all the stories you have heard about Prince Aegon from Aemond, you shiver at the thought. “Don’t worry. I will not.”

Aemond chuckles at how utterly disturbed you seem to be at the notion, then joins you in looking up at the stars. A comfortable silence falling between you.

“Did you like my present?” Aemond asks after a while.

“Of course I did! How could I not?” You say, perplexed that he is even asking. As if you could ever dislike anything he has given you. And this present was probably the most extravagant of them all. It is a gorgeous gown, one of a kind and made by the Queen’s and Princess Helaena’s personal dressmaker. The Queen herself assisted Aemond in picking out the colors and design – a creamy white chiffon over a floral patterned silk under to mute the already paled colors of the silk – the billowy sleeves of the dress off-the-shoulder. Scandalous in your part of Westeros, but perhaps not in the southern cities. You loved it as soon as you set your eyes on it.

“It’s beautiful. I thank you again. I wish I had some special, fancy occasion to wear it to though.”

“I’ll find one,” Aemond declares, sounding so sure of it. “But then again, there is no one to stop you from just wearing it. Who would dare question you when you bested a Targaryen Prince in a duel?”

Your eyes narrow at him. “I will not disrespect your mother – the Queen, by the way – by wearing the beautiful dress she helped make for me out at the training grounds.”

Aemond holds his hands up defensively, grinning at your feistiness. “Alright, alright, it was merely just a suggestion.”

Then you sigh, crossing your arms together. “I suppose it’s my turn to give you your gift then?”

“I…” Aemond wets his lips, “I hope you do not think that I brought up your present just to remind you of mine.”

Your head shakes at him, amused now. “I did not… But now that you mentioned it…” At your teasing, Aemond opens his mouth then shuts it, only to do it again, looking like a dumb fish. It has you laughing, “I’m joking, Aemond!”

Then you take a deep breath, grabbing the small pouch that you had tucked into the pocket of your dress. It is now or never.

You tell him to hold out his hand, and when he does, you drop the bag gently onto his palm. “Happy name day, Prince Aemond.”

He looks at you expectantly, and when you give him the go ahead, he unties the drawstrings, opening the pouch and letting the content of it drop into his hand.

He lets out a tiny exhale of air, staring in absolute wonder at the sparkling ball of blue. “Is this…” He glances up and into your eyes, his gaze warm and soft, “Sapphire?”

Humming, you nod. “It was given to me by my grandmother. Well, actually, I picked it out. During her final days, she allowed all the women in our family to pick out whichever jewelry they wanted. Her jewels were the only things she had brought here from Highgarden. So while my mother, my sister, my aunts, and cousins were picking out all the pretty earrings, rings, necklaces, and brooches… Guess what my stupid six year old self wanted…”

“This… ball of sapphire?” Aemond answers, picking it up between his fingers, laughing with you when you nod.

“You should have seen the look on all their faces… It was hilarious, looking back now. And then… My grandmother, she just… She laughed and she picked me up and held me close. The joy on her face, the bells of her laughter, it was…” You smile sadly, eyes watering. “She had been so weak and tired for so long before that moment, so seeing that… knowing I was the cause of that– that moment. One of the last happy moments in her life… This ball of sapphire, not only is it the most valuable thing I own, it is also my favorite…” You clasp your hand over his, making him close it around the sapphire ball, staring into his eye as you say, “So please, take care of it.”

Aemond sighs, covering his other hand over yours and pulls your joined hands towards him, causing you to press up against him, gasping. He bends his head down, his forehead touching yours as he murmurs to you, low and sure, “I will treasure it forever.”

If you had known that was the last time you would see Aemond for a long while, you would have… You would have just done it. Done the stupid thing you made yourself hold back throughout his visit. Told him how you felt about him. Kissed him until neither of you could breathe. Anything.

But you do not have any hindsight, and you did not know in the upcoming years, Aemond would be too busy to visit. As he grows older, his royal duties also become more important. No longer a boy, Aemond now has jobs to do, important people to network with, and his training with Ser Criston now more intense and longer.

Though you are sad about the changes, you are not at all angry. Aemond still found time to write to you every week, keeping up with your life as he kept you up with his.

Three years passed like this. Just letters and no visits. Vhagar’s pit has been empty for so long that wild flowers started to grow in it. Your nineteenth name day comes and goes, another sad and lonely year you do not spend with your best friend.

Days, weeks, and moons cycle around. But just when you think another year would go by without seeing Aemond, an invitation arrives:

The House of Mormont are cordially invited to Aegon Targaryen & Helaena Targaryen’s wedding.

so next chapter... rating is going to go up to explicit if you know what i mean... heh heh. i hope you are all enjoying it thus far, let me know what you think :')

*also, bellus=cute. none of the high valyrian translators have cute in it so i just used the latin word for it :)

#house of the dragon #hotd #aemond targaryen #aemond targaryen x reader #queued

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weirwoodswitch · 4 days

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No Pain, No Gain | Part 2 | PersonalTrainer!Aemond x fem!reader

A/N: thank you for all the love on the first chapter you little horn-dogs, particularly to all my queens I gave love to in the first chapter <3 you modern!aeomond girlies are smth else

Series Masterlist

cheers to @ewanmitchellcrumbs as per, for reading beforehead. luvu

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#house of the dragon #hotd #modern!aemond targaryen #modern!aemond x reader #queued

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weirwoodswitch · 5 days

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my house of stone, your ivy grows (and now i'm covered in you); part 1.

aemond targaryen x fem!reader

genre. childhood friends to lovers, slow burn, drama, angst, fluff, eventual smut. it's a y/n fic but no use of y/n. heavily inspired by taylor swift's 'ivy'.

When a fierce blizzard ravages the North, a certain dragon rider gets caught up in it and crashes onto Bear Island.

And right to you, the youngest daughter of House Mormont.

warnings. no warnings yet!

wc. 3.5k+ 01 | 02 | 03 | 04 | 05 | 06 | 07 | 08 | 09 (finale)

chapter one: in from the snow

“It looks like a storm is heading this way,” Dorothea Mormont murmurs with a frown, her eyes set up above at the darkened sky, clouds of swirling greys gradually covering the sunlight. Sitting up from under a tree she had been reading by, she dusts herself off before picking up the skirt of her dress and then turns to the little girl close by her, drawing on the ground with a stick. “Come. We should head inside.”

You huff in frustration, ignoring your elder sister and continue on the mountains you already laid out on the dirt. You feel her stare for a couple more seconds before she calls your name sternly.

Stomping your feet, you cross your arms and glare at her. “But Dorothea… The day had just begun!”

You hated it. The start of the winter season in the North has been strange so far, but maybe even more so on Bear Island.

Instead of the falling of white and soft snow, it had been raining slates of hail. The temperature going from warm enough to go on out without your furs in the morn to your fingers and toes feeling frost bitten once noon hits the horizon. Your favourite season, summer, came and went so quickly that you had not enjoyed it in the fullest like you had earlier years; and autumn was merely a blink of an eye.

There is not much to do for a young lady such as yourself, only ten and two, when the cold comes around. Staying indoors is such a bore, and your mother would only allow you a few hours every other day to train with Ser Gregory and your brothers outdoors, unlike your older siblings who could stay out all day and night with duties they have outside the castle grounds.

A kind yet pitying smile spreads on your sister’s pretty face. She then walks over to you, taking a hold of your freezing hands, tenderly rubbing them in between her own to warm you up.

“I know, little cub. But look—“ you follow her gaze, at the training grounds a few yards away, where your three older brothers were practicing their swordsmanship with some of the others of the castle, but are now putting away their equipment. “It seems everyone else is done for the day as well.”

As if feeling eyes on him, the second oldest, Forrest, turns towards the two of you and waves, exuberant like always, before cupping his hands around his mouth to call out, “We’ve been called inside! A storm is coming!”

Dorothea rolls her eyes at her twin, mutters under her breath about how obvious that is. When she hears you giggle, she smiles your way. “Let’s go? I promise I’ll allow you to use my paints once we get inside.”

That has you excited, nodding happily, finally letting her guide you to your home, hand in hand.

Much to your displeasure to admit, it was a good thing that your sister had made haste inside when you had. For only an hour later, the harsh winds and flurry of snow surrounded the area, rattling Mormont Keep noisily. This blizzard more ruthless than any you have seen before.

It is night now, you are back in your bedchamber after supper and a hot bath. The tubes of paint and easel that Dorothea had promised you is abandoned in favor of staring out your window. A deep scowl mars your young face – a perfect mirror of your father’s whenever he has a tough decision to make, like when he had to travel to King’s Landing for two moons just to bend the knee to the Dragon girl-queen to be – knowing it would be days before you step foot outside again.

Glaring out the window, you could see nothing but snow. Even the Godswoods that would always greet you when you peered outside cannot be seen tonight. It makes you wary for the all the animals out there – especially the bears like in your House’s sigil – hoping they are safe and sound, hibernating comfortably.

It’s too cold. You shiver, pulling the blanket you had draped around you closer to your body – and then that’s when you see it.

The flash of red outside in the sky, like burning flames, so vivid that it is visible through the stormy haze. Then a magnificent roar, louder than anything you have heard before, leading to another burst of orange and reds bright enough for you to witness something falling from the skies.

And as if something takes over your body — you don’t know what — that has you getting up, hurriedly lacing up your boots and grabbing your heaviest furs. You are already out the door and running through the halls when your older brother by two years, Jorah, exclaims behind you when he peeks out of his own bedchamber, “Did you all hear that, too?!”

You do not respond, almost colliding with your oldest brother, Braeden, when you reach the wooden staircase leading down to the main floor of the castle. By the look on his face, it seems that he too had seen whatever it was that fell from the sky. He checks you over, notices the furs you got on, and he just knew what you were about to do. He shakes his head slowly, says your name cautiously and then a warning, “Wait—“

But it is already too late, your little legs carry you down the stairs, faster than he could catch up. You were always a spritely little menace when you wanted to be. Landing on the ground floor, you pass by your father who whips to look at you and the direction you are heading, calling out your name as well. But you don’t listen, don’t stop, not when you know that whatever it was out there that fell from the sky is all alone, out in the bitter cold.

You make it to the two large doors of the entrance, pressing yourself against it but it does not budge. The two guards on stand by on each of the two wooden pillars a few steps away from the doors are surprised at the sight of you, exchanging a look, but ultimately stays by their post because they know you, and this is not the first time you tried to escape the keep in plain sight. Besides, you are too small and weak to budge the door even slightly – especially now, with the winds outside pushing back against your hardest effort.

But then suddenly, the doors do start to move, and when you open your eyes in astonishment, thinking it is all you – you see that it was actually Forrest. With a smirk on his face, he throws a playful wink your way.

A wide smile spreads on your lips; of course it’s him! Being the total opposite of his twin, Forrest is always joining in your foolish plans, humoring you without knowing (or caring) about the consequences.

And this… This will probably have a huge consequence, you think as the double doors blow wide open, letting in the merciless storm inside your home.

The guards are flabbergasted, both taking a second to realize what just happened, watching you and Forrest make a break for it.

“Lord Forrest! Lady—”

You hear them behind you, following, but you keep running, surprisingly matching pace with your most athletic brother even if the blizzard is trying to slow you down.

“Little cub, where are we going?” Forrest asks in between labored breaths, arm in front of him to try to block the heavy wind blowing against him that is making him exert so much more energy.

You were faring much worse, the built up of fallen snow already at your kneecaps but you push through. So at his question, you try to pinpoint in your mind where on Bear Island that the fallen thing could have landed. You should know it. You know your home like it is the back of your hand… C’mon, you chastise yourself, THINK!

Then an image of a place pops in your head, and you know for sure that is where it should be.

“Beyond the castle walls! In the woods! Where Jorah fell off the tree and broke his ankle!”

Forrest knows exactly where you mean, making him frown. “That is pretty far, sister–”

“Forrest! You imbecile!”

Forrest looks behind him, laughing at the angry Braeden hot on your heels. He could turn you around — knows he should, for every second spent outside more dangerous than the last — but something about pissing Braeden off seems a lot more fun at the moment.

He runs a bit ahead of you, stopping with his back turned towards you and bends his knees. “Hop on!”

You do as he says, jumping on his back and he makes sure to secure his hold on you before he starts again. Soon enough the two of you are at the gigantic logged entrance of the castle walls, still open. They had not a chance to shut it earlier, waiting for some of the men to return from their hunt. But once they all got inside, it was far too late for the men still outdoors to close it together when they needed to seek shelter fast.

Just as you pass the carving of the woman dressed in bearskin with a child on the gates, you feel yourself getting pulled back. At your shock, your grip on Forrest loosens and before you know it the both of you land on your backs on the snowy ground. It is Braeden’s seething glare you see when your eyes open after the big tumble. But although very clearly angry, he pulls both you and Forrest up on your feet.

“What the hell are you two doing?!” Braeden seethes while looking between his two younger siblings. Neither of you look him in the eyes – Forrest looks down in shame and you are looking beyond him as if he is not even in front of you. “Are you trying to get killed or are you both just daft?!”

“We were just–”

“Don’t even answer that,” Braeden shuts Forrest down, not wanting to hear any dumb excuses for the rhetorical question he asked. “Now get your feet moving back to the keep or else I’ll kill you before the storm does—”

And your feet do get moving — but in the opposite direction of your home. Braeden swiftly grabs your shoulders from either side and makes you face him directly.

“Are your ears broken?! Are you not gonna listen to me?!” He yells in your face. Braeden does not know what has gotten into you. Forrest, he can see him doing this. But you… You are always one to do as you are told. Sure, you would occasionally throw a fit but are never outright disobedient like this. But tonight, you are the mastermind of this stupidity.

And even now, even as he is up in your face, your eyes are still darting from his and then to the darkened entrance into the woods. His grip on you tightens, terrified that you’ll run off again if given the chance. He says your name to try to get your attention, and that is when another roar shakes up the island.

It sounds so mournful, wounded, and hearing it causes your heart to pick up in a panic, your breathing getting heavier.

“We have to…” You trail off, trying to pull away from your eldest brother. He keeps you in place, gesturing at the two guards who had just caught up for help with a gesture of his head.

“No, we have to go back inside.”

“But Braeden–”

“No,” he cuts you off, this time his word sounding more final.

Or it should be. You know it should be because Braeden is not only the oldest but the wisest of your siblings and you should not argue with him. But you just can’t… You just can’t sit by and just let this go.

You look him straight in the eyes, back straightening to feel more confident in your stance of defiance. “But you saw it didn’t you?! The thing that fell from the sky!”

“And…?” His brows furrow together as his head shakes incredulously. “What about it? What if it’s dangerous?”

Another beastly cry resounds, proving his point.

“You hear that? That’s a dragon—”

“And a bloody big one at that—”

“Shut up, Forrest. I don’t want to hear a word from you.”

“But what if it’s—”

“What if it’s what?!” It was you who Braeden snaps at this time, only to turn to see your watery gaze, and he is not sure if it’s because of the harsh wind on your face or if it's something else.

“I don’t know!” You choke out with a sob, and he gets his answer. You are upset and in distress, worried for the unknown. “But something – or someone – out there needs help! Our help!” You scream over the wailing winds in your eardrums. The tears are flowing freely down your face now, and it is clear you are having a hard time breathing, on the brink of hyperventilating, “Please, Braeden, please… They’re all alone and probably scared and –”

Braeden is not one to be swayed by tears. And this will not be the first.

It is your bravery that makes him change his mind.

He takes a shuddering sigh, silently praying to the Gods that if you all make out of the woods alive, that his mother would not finish the job.

“Alright, little cub,” Braeden presents his hand to you with a small smile. “Then let us help them. Together.”

Brightening up slightly, you take his hand, head bobbing in determination.

The journey to the far eastern side of Bear Island where the willow tree that Jorah fell from and broke his ankles just three moons ago is going to be quite a perilous task. Climbing down the steep jagged hills that borders one of the rivers that runs through Bear Island and then crossing across said river has always been intensely tough, more so now with the blizzard picking up. Luckily one the guards that accompanied you and your brothers, Tylor, used to be a part of the group of woodcutters that traverse that part of the island before he took the post to guard your family. He leads your group now, navigating a path that even you could easily keep up with.

Soon enough, you make it closer and closer to where you needed to be, and another howl from the sorrowful dragon lets your group determine just how close you are.

You weren’t far off from your prediction, passing the willow tree to go a bit more north. That is where you find the most gigantic and terrifying creature you have ever seen in your life.

The dark green-bronze dragon laid on the ground and has made a clearing for itself with all the trees it had trampled flat. As soon as Braeden - who is the head of the group - steps foot in its newfound territory, its ferocious eyes snap your way, a low rumbling of a warning in its throat. “Well, shit…” Forrest blurts out in awe, exchanging a look with Braeden. “I do not think we are wanted here.”

Braeden sighs with a nod, glancing back at the dragon and seeing nothing amiss – except, you know, just the dragon – then looks down towards you. “I’m sorry, little cub. It seems this was all for naught.”

Your lips tremble, confused because you know you saw something fall. “But we saw it fall, and it wasn’t just the dragon!”

“It must have been its droppings,” Forrest jokes through his chattering teeth. “Scared shitless because of the storm.”

You glare at him, hating how he could be right. Is that really just what you saw?

“My Lords, my Lady. We should head back now before your Lady Mother has our heads,” the second guard, Howland, pipes up; sounding more scared of your mother than the beast up ahead.

Braeden agrees with him, making a motion for you all to turn around to retrace your steps back to Mormont Keep. This time you do not argue.

But you glance back one last time, watching the dragon watching you, raising its head slightly off the ground as it huffs in satisfaction at your retreat. Then that is when you see it – a tiny hand, lifting up to caress the underside of the dragon’s neck before it falls back limp. You couldn’t really make out what it was, the snow obstructing your vision of whatever it is on the ground that the dragon is curled up around, protective. But it seems small – young.

You are running again before you, yourself, could even comprehend what you are doing.

As you weave through the fallen trees, your brothers and the guards try to follow – but another angry growl from the now alert dragon freeze you all in your place.

“Turn around now,” Braeden seethes at you, eyes between you and the dragon that is now slowly getting up, looking like it’s getting ready to lunge. He moves his body just an inch, not even taking a step forward, and the dragon still gives a roar of fury.

But you were close enough now that when you squint your eyes to see better, you can see that the dragon is definitely coiled around someone. A human.

“There’s someone there!” You call back to your brothers.

“What?!”

“The dragon is protecting them…” You trail off, notice them shivering violently.

They do not look like they are in good shape.

The sight has the urgency coursing through your veins, taking a tentative and slow step forward. The dragon keeps its eyes on you, but doesn’t make a sound this time. Perhaps foolish on your part, but this has you rationalizing that it is allowing you to come closer.

“Stop being stupid!” You hear Forrest behind you and the snap of a tree branch being stepped on. That has the dragon snapping its jaw forward – though not towards you but at your companions. When they stop moving, it focuses on you again, huffing and tilting its chin down, towards the child hidden underneath it to protect them from the cold. A whimper vibrates the dragon’s throat, and that is when you knew. It wants you — and only you — to help.

Your feet keep moving now, not in a sprint but faster than a walk. You hear your brothers calling your name but you just shout back that you’ll be okay, that you can do it alone. For some inexplicable reason, you knew in your heart that the dragon would not harm you.

You are closer now, close enough to truly take in how enormous this creature is. Are all dragons this big? 10 of them can probably cover the whole entirety of Bear Island. Maybe less.

Shaking your head, you focus on the more important task at hand than mathematics. Getting to whoever it is the dragon is protecting.

You quicken up your pace and you finally reach the foot of the dragon. It moves slightly, pushing a log aside to give you an easier path to where the child lays beneath it. It bends its neck down, pushing you with its snout with another huff as if saying, hurry.

You are not cautious anymore, running full speed ahead and find a young boy who looks not much older than yourself at the center of the nest the dragon had made. His hair and skin were as pale as the snow on the ground that was not scorched with the dragon’s fire and clothes dark enough to just seem like a piece of fallen wood or a big rock. It’s no wonder none of you could see him earlier.

Dread fills you up, noticing he is not moving at all. Not even a shiver shook him. You quickly crash beside him, knees hitting the ground in a way that should hurt but you don’t feel it. With your own decreasing strength — finally feeling the chill slowing and weighing down your body – you pull him towards you, his upper body lying precariously on your lap.

“Wake up, please… Please, wake up…” you murmur to him, eyes filling with heated tears. You caress his face, your thumb rubbing across his cheek, just below the line of a scar running through his right eye. It is a healed one, so it wasn’t from the fall. At least there is that. But as you push his bangs off his face, you find blood gushing from his temple. Feeling sick, you try to check how bad it is, pressing your fingers around the cut. While you inspect, that’s when the boy starts to stir slightly.

Frozen, you stare at his face as his unscarred eye starts to move from behind the lid. Then he is blinking, slow and blearily, until it opens and you are greeted with the most vivid shade of violet. Your heart jumps to your throat as his head tilts and looks at you with the softest gaze, murmuring,

“Enke..litsos…?”

Before you can ask what he means, his eye flutters shut again, though not before you see the light in them dimming.

A sob wrecks through your body, pulling him into a tight embrace. Hoping and praying that would not be the last time you see that beautiful lilac eye.

#house of the dragon #hotd #aemond targaryen #aemond targaryen x reader #queued

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weirwoodswitch · 5 days

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Lighthouse - Sailor!Aemond x LighthouseKeeper!Reader - Mini Series

Summary: You work as a lone Lighthouse keeper on a small island just off the coast. Everyday was the same routine, tending to your duties and the lamp with not much time to spare. But what will happen to your routine when a storm rages across the sea, and a handsome man washes ashore?

Warnings: This fic is 18+. Readers discretion is advised. Warnings will be added in their relevance. She/Her Pronouns. Slow burn, pining, kiss, fingering, smut, loss of virginity, creampie, longing, dirty talk.

Note: Hello my angels! First of all, thank you all so much for being so patient for this chapter, I know it came out later than it usually does and mummy has been starving you all, but life has been a bitch but here we are! I really hope that you enjoy this, and hope that all is well in your lives. Take care of yourselves <3 Enjoy!

Chapter 3: Prayers, Whiskey and Peaks

Aemond stayed true to his word. His desire to assist you with anything he could began the next morning when he woke, eager to please and already on his feet before you were.

He woke you from the couch as he passed to fill your kettle with water, using the pump in the kitchen, toned arms gripping the handle, before lighting the stove with the embers from the fire.

Neither one of you mentioned your heated kiss, nor your silent confession, nor his pleading request. It was as if the night had never happened, the peak of your resistance breaking and the pull to him having been a mere passing thought. His attitude, however, immediately changed towards you, his teasing and smug responses became less, and he himself, became more patient, tender, and curious.

But a small part of yourself missed the cheeky disposition that he once had, and you pondered for the days that passed if his sudden change was at all due to his discovery of your ‘condition’, so to speak. Yet this discovery did not stop his physical attentions, in fact, it seemed to exacerbate them.

Unbeknownst to himself, or not, he seemed to gravitate towards you. Lingering touches of hands when passing him food, or lamp, or oil. The brushing of shoulders against your own, or even the way he would stand behind you, the heat of his body radiating into your back as you taught him all you knew about tending to the lighthouse, just as your father had.

And not once, to your pleasant surprise, did you shy away from his sudden interests, or his new found fondness for learning all that you knew. For him to be involved in your teachings, your passions, and your excitement when he would ask questions that you thought he never would, brought warmth to your chest that you had not once felt before.

You were excited to teach someone about your duties, excited to have someone listen intently, and for a moment you thought if this was how your father had felt when he had taught these thing to you. Or perhaps, when his father before him had passed down the metaphorical and physical torch to him.

Though, it was not without its obstacles. For each time he passed, body brushing behind yours, each time you felt the heated gaze of his eye roaming your body or face, each time his fingers would linger when passing food, or water, or supplies to tend the lamp, your heart would race as though trying to bolt from between your ribs, and your blood would burn hotly, heat rising in your cheeks, and a more familiar, though only to yourself, warmth would settle in your gut.

It did not help, that each time you spoke, or laughed, or managed to pull some sort of smile from his pouting lips, his eye would drop to yours, gazing at you with a longing that you had only just realised you had felt for far longer.

A longing to be held, and touched, and caressed, and what was more, loved.

But he was to leave, eventually. And you would be alone once more. And that thought on its own pulled painfully at your chest, and on occasion, when in the privacy of the lighthouse, or tending to your garden, tears would prickle in the corners of your eyes.

On that day, a sudden and most flighty disposition possessed you, and upon Aemond letting his signature smirk pull at his lips, you had jumped from the lounge and began a tumble of thoughts that continued to fall from your mouth. He had not been unkind as you rambled, and had instead, been very patient.

“The storm has passed now.” You had moved away, wringing your hands together, “And you are well enough to travel. I am sure your family would be eager to know of your survival and safety.”

His lone eye had slightly widened at you, and you avoided his gaze, suddenly feeling a sinking pit in your gut, “I am sure that the swell and tide should be calm enough for me to take you back to shore.” You did not wait for his response, instead turning immediately on your heel to leave the cottage.

Aemond called out your name, following after you in confusion as you marched towards the side of the lighthouse where your row boat was docked.

“Y/n, wait, please.” He called to you, but you would not face him, you would not allow yourself the embarrassment and shame of having developed any sort of feeling for the man, nor acknowledging that you did not want him to go.

But he had to.

It was only logical.

And it would happen.

And you would be alone again.

“What are you doing?” He huffed from behind, his voice further away than yours.

Though he had recovered remarkably quickly, his lungs still seemed to take trouble with strenuous use, and occasionally still coughed and rasped when he tried to match your racing steps.

Without turning back to look at him, you called out into the open sea, hoping the winds that pulled would take your voice away with them.

“Getting the boat ready. I’ll collect all that I need and then we can pack you a bag full of my fathers belongings and take you to shore." The words bitter on your tongue, "We can send word from there, and William would let you take lodge in his home until you can sail back to your family.” You hoped that he didn't hear the way your voice cracked at the mention of him sailing home.

You could feel heat on the back of your head from where he was staring, but he made no move to respond, and if you had dared to look back, you would have witnessed his steps falter, and his face fall.

But you hadn’t, so you didn’t.

Anxiety rocked through you, “It is no bother, truly.” You tried to reassure yourself more than him, “William would be gladdened to help, and I am sure I could ask a friend to let you take voyage on his ship to the nearest post.”

A friend.

Could you ask Dalton to help him? To take him somewhere closer to Aemond’s home?

You supposed you would have to try, and you also surmounted that it would likely come at a price, and one that would not be coins.

This however, made your stomach pull, and not in the way that it used to, for now the thought of lying in bed with Dalton put an uncomfortable ache in your gut.

“If I am to be more burden to you, Miss," His voice was sharp, deep, and you could tell that he was upset in some capacity, "Then I shall take my leave.”

You didn't dare turn to face him, to see the way his lips pulled down into a sneer, instead focusing on how you finally came to the lighthouse, stepping down the few stone steps by the water to your makeshift dock. But instead of finding your small rowboat, all that could be seen was the sunken hull beneath the waves.

“Gods be damned!” You swore, looking down into the water at your sunken boat. You had been so distracted by Aemond being washed ashore, you had not even thought to take the boat up from the raging swell.

The wooden row boat that was your fathers before you, had smashed itself to pieces as it was rocked by the waves into the cliffs face.

“What is it?” Aemond rushed to you in concern, breath wheezing slightly as he looked down to where you were gazing.

“The storm sunk my boat!” Your hands flew up into the air, “What have I done to deserve this, Gods? Have I not been faithful to you all?” Your hands gripped at your hair and tugged, pain pulling at your scalp, “I even prayed! Prayed to you. Nursed him to health, and this is how you repay me? You are mocking at me!” You spun away from Aemond, leaving him down on the steps to look at the sunken boat that had been your plan to leave the island, cursing the Gods as you moved.

You did not see as you mumbled and bitterly spat, trudging back to the cottage, focus solely on making your way back inside to drink from the whiskey you had been saving, that Aemond had smiled down at the ruins of your little boat. Not only had he smiled, he had whispered thanks to the Gods.

Aemond did not want to leave.

And the Gods had heard his prayers.

You stomped back to your cottage, tears prickling in your eyes as your chest ached. That boat had been your fathers, and it would cost money you didn’t have to acquire a new one, or even attempt to fix the old. You were now, truly, stuck on the island, with no way to escape the man unless you sent word to William, who you doubted would come right away, and would only come when scheduled, as he himself had a job and duty to his family.

What was more, your forced proximity to the man, who your heart had begun to grow affections for, was now inescapable, and you felt, and then denied, that that was the true reason for your disconcert. You knew, deep down you knew, that this now was going to develop into something. That now that the both of you would be stuck for at least another week, and it would all come to a head.

The door to the cottage slammed open, the sun outside eventually moving to set as you rifled amongst your things for the whiskey you had hidden.

You needed a drink, you needed an escape, because a physical one you could not attain, so at least the sweet and familiar burn of whiskey and the numbness that followed could help in some capacity.

You sat yourself down at the table, all but slamming the bottle and glass to go with it on its surface, eyes boring into the flames of the fireplace as you sat numbly, trying to suppress every ounce of emotion that you felt. You ripped the cork out of the bottle and filled yourself a generous pour, bringing the drink to your lips as you continued to stare blankly at the fire, one lone tear falling down your cheek.

The first bit of the whiskey burnt, and you hissed slightly as you swallowed it. But then came the warmth and the sweetness of the alcohol that William had promised when he gave it to you. You sat for what felt like hours, and most likely was, nursing that one glass, and then another, as you stared into the fire.

Aemond had not returned back to the cottage yet, and you thought that perhaps he was horrified at the thought of being stuck with you for longer, too embarrassed to come back to you and show you his disdain, and due to his upbringing, likely being a gentleman, allowing you to have your ‘womanly hysterics’ alone.

When the cottage door finally did open, you hadn’t turned to face him, and only brought the whiskey up to your lips to prevent yourself from asking him where he had been.

It was no matter to you. He would leave soon and you would be alone.

That was what you told yourself weakly.

“The lamp is lit,” Came his smooth timbre from behind you, “You needn't worry about lighting it tonight.”

You blinked.

He lit the lamp for you?

“Thank you.” You breathed quietly, not tearing your eyes from the fire as it devoured the logs you put inside.

His footsteps thumped towards you before stopping and turning back to the kitchen, where the scrape of glass was heard, and Aemond came back, seating himself on the opposite side of the table to you, placing his own glass in front of him.

He didn’t ask as he swiped up your bottle of whiskey, pouring himself a finger of the amber drink.

The silver haired man sat in your periphery, bringing up the glass to his lips before he sipped silently on it. He did not hiss as you did, but instead hummed appreciatively.

“This is a fine whiskey.” He commented, swirling the drink in his glass.

You nodded, finally tearing your eyes from the fire to look down at your own glass, bringing it up to your lips, enjoying the heat that it paved as you swallowed, “A gift from William. Locally made by a man named Balon. Quiet man. Knows his whiskey.”

Another hum.

The two of you sat in silence for a while, the sound of calmer waves outside and the crackling of fire, and the occasional thump of either of your glasses touching the table after having made their journey to your lips. And then in that comfortable quiet, Aemond having reached to refill his glass, and you having done the same, he finally broke it.

“I never thought I would be stranded so far from home.” Aemond began, long fingers tapping gently on the table to get your attention. It was only then did you look at him, meeting his lilac gaze, “In all my years of life, not once have I seen a storm as violent as she.”

You swallowed thickly, “Nor I. It felt as though my little island would have been swallowed whole.”

Silver hair fell forward over his shoulder as he ducked his head, “That is what happened to Vhagar.” He solemnly smiled, “Oldest ship in my family, passed down generations. The largest on the known seas.” He paused, tapping his finger against the glass, “Or was. My ancestors have sailed her for hundreds of years. Could fit a crew of over a hundred men. She has seen war and battle, and won them all. But Vhagar was no match for the Lady Mistress Sea.” He took a large gulp of his whiskey, “A wave four times the height of your lighthouse came crashing down upon us.” Another sip, long finger tapping anxiously against the glass again, “I do not remember a thing but waking to your voice, to seeing your face above mine.” Your heart clenched with pain for him, for the anguish he must have endured, to losing his ship, his crew.

Everything.

“I am so sorry. I cannot imagine what it must be like.”

Aemond shook his head, “No need for your apologies. You have been a generous host, and the saviour of my life.”

Heat bloomed in your cheeks, and you nibbled lightly at your lip, fingers pressing into your glass of whiskey, “Did you know where you were?”

A nod, “Aye. We had set sail for the North, past the Iron Islands. I wished to see more of the world we live in, but the world did not wish the same for me.”

You frowned, “Where is your home?”

“A long way aways.” Aemond finished his glass of whiskey reaching to refill it, the sound of it being filled loud between you, “My mother is not fond of sailing, in fact, she begged me not to go. Perhaps I should have listened.”

“All mothers worry for their children.” You offered a shy smile.

“Hm.”

You fiddled with the glass in your hands, feeling the warmth of his gaze on your face as you looked away, “Do you have brothers or sisters?”

“Aye.”

No elaboration.

“Do you miss them?”

Silence.

You met his gaze again, watching as his eye searched yours for answers. You couldn’t help but notice the way he sat again, rod straight, arm and hand politely on the table, and with this observation, you could not help but voice it out loud.

“You’re a Lord.”

Aemond blinked, seemingly caught off guard by your words, before finally he nodded.

You suddenly felt more self conscious than before. Here was a Lord in your less than modest home, drinking from aged cups and sitting on older chairs. He must look at you with distaste at times, and with this observation came the ache in your chest that he would never be interested in someone like you.

Swallowing the lump in your throat, you plastered a small and fake smile onto your lips, “And what family does the Lord of Vhagar descend from?”

You watched as Aemond pushed his tongue into his cheek, suppressing the smirk that threatened to break on his face at your comment. It made your stomach erupt with butterflies.

“Targaryen.”

You blanched.

Targaryen.

That was the people William had told you about.

They were Kings. They were-

“You’re royalty.” You blurted, heat rising in your cheeks again at your embarrassment.

The silver haired Lord’s jaw clenched as he looked at you, before nodding again, softer this time, as though he was uninterested in the title in that moment.

You immediately bowed your head, wringing your fingers together nervously on the table, “My apologies, your grace, if I have been anything but untoward. My home is humble and small, and I am afraid I have not much to give or show for it. If you-“

“-Y/n.”

Your ramble was interrupted, and warmth engulfed one of your hands. You blinked down at the large pale fingers that were clutching your own.

“Please do not treat me differently now." He begged softly, "You have been nothing but wonderful to me, and far more gracious than any Lord or Lady I have met.”

You swallowed thickly before nodding, shifting in your seat, but Aemond refused to let go of your hand, instead keeping it held in his atop the table, a lone thumb brushing over your knuckles softly as you struggled to calm your racing heart.

"Do you miss them?"

Your question must have come as a surprise, for his thumb stilled against your hand.

"At times." His answer was barely a whisper, "I miss my sister. My mother. That is all."

"I am sure they miss you very much. I am almost certain they are worried for you." Your words tumbled out quickly, unable to stop, "They will be gladdened to have you home, hale and healthy soon. I know that your siblings and mother will weep with joy." You smiled, but it felt strained, his face entirely blank as he watched you, "Your father must be sending men to look for you."

"My father dead."

Your lips parted.

Fuck.

"I am so sorry. I did-"

"-Do not be. I hated the man."

If your mouth fall any wider, you'd swallow the table whole.

"Oh." You swallowed dryly, "Well then, I am sure your family-"

"-They do not care for me and what I do," He spat, anger simmering beneath the surface, "I can assure you of this. My own nephew took my eye." His hand lifted lazily to point at the long scar upon his face, clouded eye nestled within.

Your heart sunk.

His own nephew had done that? Had they fought? Was it an accident? A myriad of questions popped into your mind about this man and his family.

No wonder he was in no rush to get home.

You flipped your hand to grip his tighter, his gaze falling to your joined fingers momentarily before he looked out the window to the lighthouse. You followed his gaze, watching as the lamp illuminated out to sea, the darkness of night having fallen across the horizon.

And then he continued, "They only care that I fulfil my duties to society, and marry whom they think is most advantageous."

Oh.

He was to be married.

Your heart felt like it stopped beating, but his fingers rubbed against your hand softly, almost out of habit if it could be one, and so you decided to swallow the sadness that suddenly filled you, and move the converasation away from his family.

In an attempt to dissolve the sudden tension, you pulled your hand from his, noting the way his lips twitched at your absence, but you moved swiftly, filling his glass generously once more and yours again.

“I am gladdened for your company these past days,” You began quietly, “And more gladdened that you will not be dying any day soon.” You watched Aemond lift his drink to his lips, and felt a sudden wave of confidence come over you, and so you continued, “Otherwise if you died, it would be a waste of good whiskey.”

Away the glass was pulled from his lips, and behind it, a full smile, teeth and all. Your heart fluttered in your chest at the sight. His full lips pulling into a sharp yet lovely grin, crooked white teeth nestled within on display, and the slightest of rosiness to his cheeks. You felt triumphant, and even more so when a soft chuckle came from his chest.

Gods, I am sorry for cursing you before. Thank you for this gift.

The night continued on, your eyes casting occasionally out the window to look at the lamp, to make sure that the lighthouse was still lit. You both dined on some bread, scones with jam, and some dried meat together, not wanting to tear yourself away from the comfortable conversation that flowed between you.

You were not drunk, however the warmth and buzz of alcohol certainly strummed in your veins, and not only that, you felt more emboldened to relax around him, noticing that the cheeky disposition that he once had, slowly making a reappearance.

It wasn’t until you looked out to the lighthouse for a fifth time, did Aemond finally say something.

“Do you not trust my skills?"

It wasn’t that you didn’t trust him. No, because that would mean not trusting your own knowledge and skills, and from the way he had actively listened to you, repeating your instructions and knowledge, and even going so far as to asking things further, it only solidified your belief that his skills were more than satisfactory.

It was more so, that you did not trust yourself to look up from your glass of whiskey to meet his burning gaze.

What you did not trust yourself to do was another thing entirely.

“No.” You blushed shaking your head, “Not at all. I am the one who taught you how to do so. Unless you question my teachings?”

His response came far quicker than your answer, “Not at all. I would say you are by far the most knowledgable teacher I have had.”

A crooked smile wound its way on your lips. You looked up to meet his gaze, “I am sure there are many things that you could teach me that I do not know.”

You don’t know why you said it, you did not even truly mean to be so crass, but at your words, his gaze darkened, and Aemond looked at you through his silver lashes, “I am sure there are. What do you wish to know?”

Heat rose up your neck and into your cheeks, core immediately clenching at his changed demeanour. Your mouth felt dry, and try as you may, you found you could not tear your eyes away from his lilac one.

“I-“ You wet your lips, “I’m not sure.”

The glass of whiskey pinged as Aemond clinked his signet ring against it, pursing his lips as he watched you.

“I don’t believe that.” Aemond’s hand dragged slowly across the table, one long finger reaching out to caress your hand, digit grazing over yours that held the glass.

Your breath stilled in your throat, and the air around you became charged, and still you could not tear your eyes away from him, “I suppose,” You swallowed thickly, “You could teach me about sailing." You diverted, "I have only ventured on my row boat, so I know little about what it takes to man a ship, let alone Captain it.”

The finger moved again, up then down, up then down, crackling energy moving beneath the skin leaving goosebumps trailing up your arm. Your breath became shallow, and that familiar warmth between your thighs amplified.

“Hm.” Came his deep hum, “Sailing. Is that all you wish to know?”

In a moment of weakness, you looked away, cheeks burning hot and heart almost jumping from your chest. Your breasts heaved against your stay, and the finger that caressed yours slipped away. You looked out again, feeling completely overwhelmed, mind racing like the winds of a storm, crashing thoughts and crackling emotions swirling rapidly inside of you.

You cast a cowardly glance to the lighthouse, your only escape, your only safety. The one thing you knew best, the one thing that was solid in your world, unmoving, unbreakable. Your one constant.

The scrape of a chair, and then, warmth.

A hand beneath your chin, Aemond lifted your gaze up to his as he stood above you, his eye darkened with desire. You shivered, not from the cold, but from him.

Everything about him set you ablaze.

“Y/n,” He whispered your name like a prayer, drawing your attention to him and only him, “Tell me what you want.”

There was no going back. No stopping what was about to happen, and your heart didn’t want to stop it, your heart wished to continue, and in that moment, you took what courage you had left, and breathed your answer.

“You.”

His head bent down to you slowly, and you exhaled a shaky breath, watching as he came closer and closer, thumb and forefinger pinching your chin lightly, not at all cruelly, but rather to keep you there for him, and when his lips finally met yours, you melted.

Uncertain as you were, Aemond guided you again through the motions, his lips moved against yours slowly, your neck craned back to kiss him, lips pressed against his. He tasted like whiskey, and the sea, and smelt of the musk that followed him, sandalwood.

A hand snaked around your waist, and gently pulled you to stand. Even whilst standing, you still craned your neck toward him, Aemond towering above you as you tried to stand on the tips of your toes to assist in reaching him.

Little by little you melted into his embrace, one hand coming to cup your cheek, the other pulling you in tighter by your waist, the warmth of his body seeping into yours hotly, and the smell of him engulfing you entirely. Your lips parted against his, and he hummed deeply, the vibration in his chest rumbling against yours. Your hands fisted into the front of his tunic, pulling him closer, desire burning you up.

You had never felt such fire before, such heat. The pull to him, his embrace, his every being set you ablaze, a flame that you were sure, would last for a thousand years.

It felt as if you were burning together.

The hand at your waist tightened, and a moan fell from your lips into his. Tentatively, your hands loosened at the front of his tunic, sliding up to his shoulders, feeling the silky strands of hair between your fingers as you buried them into the back of his head. Aemond grunted in approval, and pulled you impossibly closer to him.

You could feel, much to your delight and nervousness, the hardness of his desire pressing against your stomach.

His lips pulled from yours, and you blindly chased after them, hearing a small chuckle emit from his throat, but his lips pressed to the corner of yours, then to your cheek, then below your ear, and finally, a whisper.

“I wish to take my time with you.” Aemond said huskily, a soft inhale pulling air into your chest as your core grew wet with want. Your fingers tightened in his silver tresses, pulling a low moan from him.

Two large hands slowly skimmed down your sides, causing you to squirm in their grip as he mouthed at your pulse in your neck. Small whimpers and heavy breaths was all to be heard until his hands came beneath your ass, and then the kissing stopped, his grip tightened, and you found yourself pulled up into his embrace.

You squeaked, legs wrapping around his waist, your hands pulling tighter in his hair as he grunted, his lips crashing against yours once more, hungrier. Starved. You could feel his hardness against your core, and timidly, you rolled your hips against his.

Aemond sighed into your mouth, his fingers tightening against your flesh, his legs carrying the two of you to your bedroom blindly. Your back bumped into the doorway, earning Aemond a breathy giggle, which in turn earnt you a low apology breathed through parted lips.

With all his carefulness, Aemond gently placed you back on the ground by the bed, breaking apart from your embrace momentarily. You looked up at him through your lashes, watching as he pushed away the hair by your face reverently. It was so tender, so praising in its touch, you felt as though the world fell away and just left you both. And with those careful hands once more, hands that were roughened and calloused from years at sea, he skimmed them down your front, halting at the line of buttons that started at your collarbones and ended at your waist.

Aemond did not move to undo them, and instead kept his hands were they were, resting atop them as he waited for your answer. Waiting for your consent to move forward, your permission to allow him to see you bared as no-one else has.

Permission to touch you in ways that no-one ever had, not even yourself.

Your heart raced in your chest, a nervous excitement making its way through your veins as you stared at up at him, your answer, you already knew, but right now, with the way he was waiting, with the way he was moving with caution and care, you could scarcely voice it. And so, without finding the voice that had been lost, you rose your own hands, placing them over his.

Aemond did not pull away, his chest rising and falling agonisingly slow, as though he was restraining himself, nor did he step away when your fingers skimmed beneath his and began slowly to pull your buttons through their holes, to show him that you very much wanted this as much as he did. And although your hands shook whilst you did it, his hands skating up to your shoulders and neck, then down to your waist and up again whilst you did it, you felt a blooming confidence to undress yourself for him.

When finally the last button was undone, your dress sagged against your shoulders, Aemond’s warm fingers brushed the material over and down your arms, goosebumps rising on your skin. His hands continued, down, down, down your arms until the top half of your dress fell away, and the skirt of it held true, the belt and tie at the back not yet being undone. But it was not your fingers who pulled it away and to the floor, but his, reaching his hands behind you to assist until all that you were left standing in was your stays, slip and stockings.

His eye drank you in, gaze falling lower and lower, your chest pressing against the stays as you heaved in breaths of anticipation, heat erupting over your skin with every second that passed. His pupil had blown wide, swallowing the lilac to leave the eye almost completely black with desire, and only then did he step away from you, and begin to do the same.

Away came his shirt, and then his shoes and breeches, until Aemond stood completely bare before you, all the while, your hands pulled at the strings of your stays, slacking its grip on your body, until it too joined the pile of clothes below.

Then came your slip, shoulder by shoulder strap, the silence around you deafening with each agonising moment that passed as you both watched each other, a slow reveal of what was to come, a slow reveal of each others bodies, and not once had you dared to look past Aemond’s shoulders at his nakedness in fear of what you would find.

For you knew without even truly knowing it, that there would be some sort of... sizeable member on his person.

Aemond stepped forth in a flurry of pearlescent skin and hair and captured your lips in his, his hands helping to pull down the slip that separated you both, no patience or care to wait any longer, the tension finally pulling his resistance taught until it broke. His thumbs dipped beneath the silky material and dragged it down your body, lips moving away from yours to mouth at your neck again, but Aemond did not stop at your shoulders.

The sailors trail of kisses moved from neck, to clavicle, heated lips seeking the skin hungrily, then he continued from clavicle to sternum, a sharp inhale breaking the silence around you, his eye momentarily peeking up at you as you looked down at him, hands on his shoulders. Turning his head, he kissed at the sides of your breasts, breathless sighs pulled from deep within you, and still he trailed lower, kneeling down in front of you as he pulled the slip with him.

His face was aligned with your core, the slip held at your hips by his hands as he looked up at you, one last silent request to which you gave him a small nod of your head, inhaling deeply for courage.

When at last he let go, letting the silk fall to the floor below, his eye dropped away from your face and down your body, settling at your centre in front of him. You could feel a hot breath of air against your mound, as he let out the breath he was holding in.

“Gevie.” He whispered, pressing a kiss to each of your hip bones, his hands skating down to the tops of your stockings on your thighs. Your hips jerked forwards, a small hum on your tongue as you looked down at him.

Aemond ducked his head and mouthed at the crux of your thighs, a kiss placed on either side of your core, an exhale breathed into the hair atop your mound, a wanting inhale, which all the more set your nerves alight.

With the patience of a saint, Aemond rolled down your stockings on each leg, and tugged away each shoe, until the both of you were completely bare, and you had to force yourself to breathe deeply. Everything told you to hide your nakedness, to run, to apologise, but the way he looked at you, the way he kissed at your inner thighs, inching his way higher to your centre, you found you couldn’t, feet rooted to the floor completely.

In the low candle light, Aemond looked a though he was praying, eye half lidded shut, on his knees, hands brushing gently along your thighs as he mouthed near your core, slowly inching his way closer and closer, eye focused on your face, until it finally happened.

A low whine escaped your lips as Aemond pressed a kiss to your centre, bottom lip dragging along your pearl softly. Pleasure struck through you when he did it again, his eye sliding shut, his large hands wrapped around your thighs as though to keep you from running away.

Each kiss was slow, wet lips pressed to your centre with practised ease, the man taking his time with you as you stood on shaky legs. His lips parted against you, and the wet of his tongue parted your folds, causing you to jerk your hips into him.

“Ah!” You squeaked, fingers gripping his shoulders tightly, unsure of what to do with them, warmth spreading up through you as Aemond pulled away momentarily to look up, tongue wetting his lips.

“Sīr dōna.” He purred, before dipping his head once more, tongue swiping up through your wet folds to pay attention to your throbbing bud. Each kiss was followed by a flick of his tongue, and you found yourself heaving breaths, and pleasure wound a familiar coil inside of you.

Aemond’s hands slid from the backs of your thighs to the front, up to your core where he used his thumbs to part your folds, opening you up for him. You looked away shyly, a breathy moan passing through bitten lips as he focused entirely on your pearl.

He pressed himself against you tightly, nose bumping your bud as he licked lower towards your entrance, tongue scooping up your slick eagerly as he hummed, his speed and pressure gaining with desire.

You were so close already, the coil tightening rapidly with every swipe of his tongue and press of his lips. You knew he could sense it, with the way your thighs shook and your stomach clenched, breathy sighs and moans falling from you as you writhed in his grip.

One hand slid down, the long digits tickling at your thighs as it moved underneath you to your entrance, it was then when Aemond broke away to look up at you again, gaging your reaction, and when you made no move to stop him, he rubbed a digit back and forth through your folds, gathering the wetness there before slowly pressing inside of you.

He kept his eye on you the entire time, the breath in your chest stilled as you held it, his fingers far longer and thicker than your own, already a minor stretch filling you inside.

You thought of what was to come, of what would eventuate from this all, how his length would be much larger than just one finger, and the thought alone caused you to clamp down against him.

Aemond stilled and pressed a kiss to the tuft of hair at the top of your mound, “Relax for me.” He whispered, and with a deep breath you did, allowing yourself to feel the pleasure rather than the discomfort.

“Good.” He praised, leaning forward once more to kiss and lick at your centre, the one finger inside slowly pumping in and out of you, not foreign to what you have done to yourself before, but foreign in the way that it was not your hands doing it.

His first finger was met by a second, and although there was a slight burn as he pressed inside of you, it still filled you with a desire you had never felt before, a barely restrained whine filling the room as he paused, keeping them pushed deep within you to allow you to adjust as he sucked at your pearl, tongue flicking over it, molten heat spreading through your limbs.

Your legs buckled forward, hips canting towards him, the tips of his fingers grazing the spongey patch within you causing you to cry out. Aemond’s brows furrowed, and tentatively, his fingers stroked at the patch again, a moan melting off of your tongue. He focused his intent, crooking his fingers against the patch inside, his tongue not once slowing down against your bud.

The coil tightened, tighter and tighter, and your hands flew from his shoulders to his hair, fingers tangling themselves in his pearly tresses and pulling, earning you a rumbling hiss, spurring his movements further. Your core tightened around him, your peak barreling towards you, and Aemond sensed it, mumbling against your wet folds as he fucked his fingers in and out of you wetly.

“Let go for me.” He moaned, sucking at your pearl with intent.

Heat burst through you, and you jerked with a cry, your peak ripping through you with such a force, if it wasn’t for your hands in his hair, and Aemond’s hand on your thigh, your knees would have collapsed beneath you.

Aemond rode you through your pleasure, fingers and tongue not slowing once as he prolonged your peak. You breathed heavily, hands loosening in his hair as you tried to catch your breath, heat strumming in your veins as he pulled his fingers from you, placing calming kisses against the top of your mound and hip bones. His hands smoothed your hips as he finally stood, standing over you, his lips and chin wet with your essence.

Pulling you close, he kissed you, and you could taste the tang of yourself on his lips, parting your own to lick at his mouth as he did to you. The heat built inside of you again, the fire in your gut beginning to burn once more, and slowly but surely, he led you backwards, pushing you to lay down as he moved to crawl atop of you. It was then that your eyes took in his whole body.

All of him.

And there was a lot of him.

Aemond’s length stood heavy against his hip bone, swollen and hard, his tip a ruddy pink as clear liquid leaked from the top. Pale veins creeped around his base, with soft silver hair dusted across his pubis. It was thick, and long, and far bigger than the fingers he had placed inside of you.

Sensing your gaze and dry swallow, Aemond lifted your eyes back to his with a touch of his hand beneath your chin, a reassuring gaze meeting yours, “We will go slow.”

You swallowed again, nodding, not knowing how going slow would help fit him inside of you. But it was clear that this was not Aemond’s first time, and what was clearer was that he was decidedly sure of himself and his abilities, and that, at the very least, settled the lingering trepidation that you had.

He crawled above you, body slowly lowering onto yours as he kissed you again, a hand skimming down your side as he shifted slightly, bringing his fingers down to your core once more. You hissed, feeling his digits dip through your folds, a burst of sensitivity shooting through you. And as if taking this into account, Aemond pressed one finger into you slowly, and then another, distracting you with a heated kiss.

Warmth began to bloom inside of you again, slowly building with each crook of his fingers, the sting of the stretch of a third finger dissipating with the heat of pleasure that began to grow and grow.

Each crook of his fingers brought that familiar pleasure back into your core, slowly building and building as you writhed beneath him. Your eyes fluttered shut, back arching as your chest pressed into his, the warmth of his gaze grazing along your face. You could feel your slick gathered between your thighs and fought the blush that rose in your cheeks, head turning to the side.

“Don’t hide.” He cooed, “You’re perfect.” His thumb swirled against your pearl.

The coil within pulled tighter with each swipe of his thumb, and you felt the warmth of his lips against yours as he brought you to your peak once again. You moaned into his mouth as he fingered you through it, lips trailing to your cheek and down your neck, whispering words or encouragement.

“Sīr gevie.”

Dragging his fingers from your core you opened your eyes, looking up at Aemond who looked back down at you. His hand moved in your periphery, and you followed the movement. The sailor dragged his slick fingers along his length wetting it, your gaze locked on his hand as you watched him languidly stroked himself above you. Your core clenched around nothing.

“Are you ready?” He whispered, lone eye searching yours for confirmation.

You licked your lips and swallowed, heart racing in your chest as you tried to calm yourself, muscles tightly wound in nervous anxiety for what was to come, but you wanted more, you needed more.

You needed him.

It wasn’t until you nodded that a small smile pulled at his lips, making your heart flutter. Aemond adjusted himself above you, leaning some of his weight on an arm above your head as he lined himself up with your dripping entrance. The candle light in the room drenched the room in a warm glow, illuminating his violet eye and silver features.

Gods he was beautiful.

You could scarcely believe that this was real, that this was happening, that he was here, in your bed. That he had survived and lived with you for days, regaining his strength and now he wanted to do this with you, he wanted to take your maidenhood, and to you, it seemed that he wanted you just as much as you wanted him.

The tip of his length brushed through your folds, and your breath held in your chest. Aemond paused, keeping his eye on you, waiting until you nodded again for him, and then slowly but surely, pushed inside.

Every muscle tensed as he pushed inside, a sharp sting shooting through you. You winced and Aemond stilled, watching your face intently, his long silver hair falling over his face and down over you like streams of moonlight.

Despite him being just barely halfway inside of you, you felt full and stretched apart on his length. You writhed underneath trying to alleviate the dull ache, core clamping down on him which made Aemond hiss above you, his cock throbbing inside of you.

His eye fluttered shut and the hand that had been guiding his length gripped your hip tightly, breathing heavily atop you. After a breath, his violet eye opened once more to gaze at you, head dipping to press a tender kiss against your lips before sliding inside to the hilt.

You both breathlessly moaned into each other, feeling him press against every single part of you. Every ridge, every vein, you could feel as it brushed up inside of you, his tip nudging against your cervix snugly. You tightened around him, and if it was even possible, he jerked further inside with a tilt of his hips. You sighed into his mouth, the painful throbbing slowly ebbing away to make way for a new sensation.

Aemond broke the kiss once again, dipping his head again to look at you, “Good?”

You didn’t know how to respond, so instead, you arched back up to capture his lips, nibbling at his bottom lip lightly. This was all that he needed before he pulled out of you slowly, testing your reaction before he pushed back inside.

Your hands, unsure of where to hold him, gripped his shoulders again, and the hand on your hip tightened further, no doubt leaving bruises in their wake.

Each thrust was gentle, slow, and he took his time, pressing kiss after kiss to your lips, trailing down to your neck where he nipped and sucked at your pulse point.

“Gods.” You mewled, arching into him, grip slipping from his shoulders up into the soft hair at the nape of his neck.

Aemond groaned as you tugged him closer, his hips thrusting against yours, each pump of his hips pulling mewl and moan from you, soft grunts and sighs falling from his plump lips, his face nestled into the crook of your neck as you gripped him tighter against you.

You had never thought it could feel like this, so full, so deep, so entirely overwhelming, and with each moment that passed, Aemond brought you closer and closer to your third peak. His thrusts began to speed up, your breasts jolting with each pump of his hips, the wood of the bed softly creaking beneath you.

Aemond lifted his head from your neck, looking down at you, his soft lips parted as he grunted, “Sīr sȳz. Gūrogon nyke sīr sȳz.”

You didn’t know what he had said, but the way he had said it made you whine, head thrown back as your core contracted around him, causing a sharp moan to fall from his parted mouth. The bed beneath you was damp from your slick, and with each thrust, the obscene wet sound of your folds filled the room loudly.

The hand on your hip skimmed up your body to your breast, squeezing the mound softly before pinching at your nipple lightly.

“Ah!” You arched your chest into him, the new sensation creeping through your chest.

“Iksā vok. Kesā sagon ñuhon. Sīr vok syt nyke. Eminna ao grevenka lēda ñuha rūs. Qogralbar.” Aemond’s hips made a particularly hard thrust, the tip of his cock pushing against the end of your walls.

“I don’t-” You moaned, hand pulling at his hair for purchase, “I d-don’t know what you’re saying.”

His lips pulled into a smirk, and his head dipped to kiss you deeply, tongue pushing into your mouth to lick at yours. You moaned into his mouth, feeling the coil begin to tighten in finality.

“You will.” He breathed, pulling away, resting his forehead against yours, “You’ll know soon.”

The hand at your breast travelled to your mouth, and your parted your lips instinctually, letting him rub two fingers over your tongue, coating them in saliva before they trailed back down your body to your swollen pearl.

As soon as he pressed them against you, you jerked, walls clamping down onto him.

“Good girl,” He praised, “Let go for me, want to feel you squeeze my cock.”

The obscenity of his words sent you over, the waves of pleasure crashing over you again and again, as you did exactly what he told you to do. Your eyes screwed shut, head thrown back, whining moan ripped from your chest loudly. Aemond cried out above you, and you felt his member throb within you, warmth filling you up as he slowly stilled.

His forehead pressed against yours, the both of you breathing heavily, chests against each other as you came down from your highs. You didn’t even have the wherewithal to think about the fact that he had filled you, the only thought in your mind was the tingling sensation that spread throughout your limbs and the utter bliss of him inside of you.

When the both of you came down, Aemond peppered gentle kisses across your face. First at your cheeks, your lips, your nose, until finally your forehead, where his lips lingered as he slowly pulled out of you.

The empty feeling you felt as he pulled away was foreign after being so full, and you whined at the loss of closeness. Warmth began to seep from within you onto the bed beneath, but you couldn’t force yourself to care, your eyelids drooping as fatigue pulled you under.

Aemond shifted in the bed to pull you to his side, your head resting against his bare chest, the thump-thump-thump of his heart loud beneath your ear.

With gentle hands, he trailed his fingers up and down your side as you tucked yourself closer to him, enjoying the feeling of protection and warmth that he gave you.

The room was still, and the candle light got lower and lower, as did your eyelids. When finally they drifted shut, Aemond shifted beside you, looking down to watch as you began to fall asleep in his arms.

You didn’t see the small smile that pulled at his lips as he watched you, or the way his eye creased with content, the only thing you felt was his lips at your hairline before you feel into a deep sleep.

I didn't put translations because the reader doesn't speak High Valyrian, so she wouldn't know what he was saying, but here they are if you're curious.

Translations:

Gevie - Beautiful

Sīr gevie - So beautiful

Sīr dōna - So sweet

Iksā vok. Kesā sagon ñuhon. Sīr vok syt nyke. Eminna ao grevenka lēda ñuha rūs. Qogralbar - You are perfect. You will be mine. So perfect for me. I will have you round full my babe. Fuck.

Thanks so much for reading along with me, if you wish to be added to the general tag list please let me know :) Likes and reblogs are greatly appreciated ! Enjoy <3

Tag List:

@blackswxnn @marihoneywk @targaryenrealnessdarling @namelesslosers @aemondsfavouritebastard @dahlias-and-marigolds @aemondsbabygirl @toodlesxcuddles @jemmaagentofshield @malfoytargaryen @bellaisasleep @aaprilshowers @assortedseaglass @elizarbell @xpersephonex @lijeno @likeanecho344 @coffeeobsessedtrencher @diannnnsss @lexwolfhale @notasockpuppetaccount @at-a-rax-ia @spinachtz@marysucks-blog @generalkenobitrash @zenka69 @shygardengalaxy-blog @kittendoll05 @300nightmare003

#house of the dragon #hotd #aemond targaryen #aemond targaryen x reader #queued

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weirwoodswitch · 6 days

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Spurred

Dragonstone Hollow Part 4 of 10

Aemond Targaryen x Reader (Modern AU)

Summary: Your riding lesson with Aemond takes an interesting turn.

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Series Masterlist

Rating: Teen

Warnings: Fluff, swearing, suggestive content that is so brief if you're not reading closely you'll miss it

Word Count: 3.5k

A/N: Got silly, posted two updates in one week. Idk I'm in a weird mood.

I hope you like it!

dividers by @firefly-graphics

Reblogs and comments are highly appreciated, as per usual.

The morning comes far sooner than you would like, and you’re awoken by a sharp, measured rap on your door.

Groggily, you sit up in bed, grabbing blindly for your phone to check the time–4:30 AM. Whoever was bothering you had better be at death’s door, or you think you might kill them yourself.

Fucking hell.

You drag yourself to the door, opening it a crack with a sour expression on your face. Outside stands Aemond, his hands clasped behind his back. He looks infuriatingly put together, the top of his neck-length hair braided back away from his face, dressed in all black–jeans, a long-sleeve henley, and knee-high riding boots.

“You’re awake–finally,” he comments dryly like it was you that was ridiculous for being asleep at this hour. “I’ll meet you downstairs in fifteen minutes–I already made coffee.”

“It’s 4:30 in the morning,” you croak, glaring at him, digging a knuckle into the corner of your eye in a vain attempt to rub the sleep from it.

“Yes, it is,” is all he says, entirely devoid of sympathy, before walking away down the hall, leaving you disgruntled and bed-headed in the doorway of your room.

You were already regretting this immensely.

You get dressed, wash your face, and brush your teeth as quickly as you can, hating every second of it, and pull on a pair of jeans and the first t-shirt you lay your hands on before heading downstairs, carrying your boots.

Aemond glances over his shoulder at you from where he stands at the stove, stirring a pot of oatmeal, grunting at you in place of a ‘hello,’ and you throw yourself into a chair at the kitchen table, not even bothering to return his greeting. He snorts in deadpan amusement at your attitude but otherwise ignores you, humming quietly under his breath as he finishes preparing breakfast.

You tie your hair back from your face, unable to force yourself to give a shit how it looks, biting back a yawn as he sets a bowl of surprisingly appetizing-looking oats, topped with fresh cut peaches in front of you, along with a cup of coffee.

Thank God.

The pair of you eat in silence, you too tired to talk, he engrossed in something on his phone. When he sets it on the table, you can see that he’s reading the news–of course he is. He didn’t strike you as a Wordle kind of guy.

“Is there a reason why we’re up this early?” you grumble after a minute, gulping down a generous swig of coffee, not caring that it was bitter and black rather than drowned in creamer as you usually preferred. “Or are you just torturing me for the fun of it?”

“I always get up this early,” he informs you, as though that should have been obvious. “Got a lot of shit to do.”

You don’t have the energy to fight him–you just take another sip from your mug and focus on polishing off the rest of your oatmeal, blinking heavily to try to keep yourself from falling asleep where you sat. He had to have suffered some serious brain damage when he got kicked in the head by Arrax to think this shit was normal.

When you’ve finished breakfast, the pair of you head down toward the stables. It’s dead silent, except for the few birds that have begun to chip in their nests up above, and a layer of rapidly-thinning mist covers the ground. Nettles is there in the barn already, broom in hand and cheery as ever, though she shoots you a quizzical look, clearly surprised, both by your presence this early in the morning and by whose company you’re in.

“Morning, Nettles,” Aemond hums. “We’re going for an early ride today–catching her up to Baela and Rhaena after her spill a couple of weeks ago.” You shoot him a peeved look at his explanation, but he, as per usual, ignores it entirely.

“Smart,” Nettles agrees with a nod of her head. “I admire the dedication,” she grins at you. “I’ll bring Silverwing out, yeah?” with that, she disappears into the stable, Aemond close behind her to retrieve his own mount for the day, leaving you alone for a few minutes.

You don’t think you’d been up this early since the all-nighter you pulled in the fall semester of your Junior year, but now that you’d woken up a bit, you had to admit, it was kind of nice–quiet and still. All generous thoughts fly clean from your head, however, when a faint breeze gusts over you, making you shiver slightly in the damp early morning air, and wish bitterly that you’d brought a jacket.

You mentally curse Aemond for it repeatedly until he returns with Vermithor on a lead behind him, looking entirely unbothered by the early morning chill.

“This big guy and Silverwing have always been best friends,” he tells you, either not noticing or not caring about your less-than-pleased expression and your trembling frame. He fastens the lead to a nearby post and grabs his brushes and hoof pick, setting about readying the big bronze horse. “They’re one of the more low-key pairs to ride with, so it should be easier to get them to cooperate.”

When Nettles returns a few moments later with Silverwing in tow, you do the same as Aemond, brushing her down before saddling her up, stepping back to let Nettles examine your handiwork, ensuring that all her tack is secured correctly.

You both mount up–you with a bit of help from Nettles, to your embarrassment–and ride out to the arena, leaving Nettles to her own devices.

“Since Nettles and Criston have gone over the basics with you already, I figured it would be good to start with posting,” Aemond informs you when you’re both in the center of the ring. “You’ll need to raise and lower yourself in time with Silverwing’s trot–it’ll make it more comfortable for both of you if you’ve not slamming up and down on her back all the time.”

You raise an eyebrow at his phrasing but watch as he demonstrates the movement, doing your best to mimic him. It feels awkward, pushing up in the stirrups like this, and you’re certain you look like an idiot, but Aemond gives you a quick nod.

“Good,” he says. “When you get more experience with it, you can adjust her pace with the speed of your posting–in time, it should be easier for you to post in trot than to not, even if it’s uncomfortable right now.”

He has your practice at a standstill a few more times and then several more with Silverwing moving. You feel bad for Silverwing having to deal with your clumsiness, but she seems thoroughly unphased, plodding around the ring calmly.

The first few times you try, you bounce sloppily in the saddle, your cheeks hot from exertion from the unfamiliar movement, as well as no small amount of humiliation at your lack of grace. Still, by the end of the first hour, you can do it–nowhere near as elegantly as Aemond does, but he doesn’t comment on it.

In truth, he’s…nice, which almost makes you more nervous than if he wasn’t, and when he makes criticisms of your form, there’s an encouraging undercurrent to it that was notably absent when Criston was the one teaching.

“Don’t rise straight up, go forward and up, backward and down–yeah, like that,” he hums. “Make sure you use your thighs, not your legs–” he breaks off, and you glance at him, worried that you’ve done something wrong.

His eyes are locked on your hips as they rock in the saddle, his lips parted, pale cheeks flushed, a slightly dazed look flickering across his face. He seems half-entranced, and the look on he wears sends a ripple of heat through you. He drags his gaze back to your face when he notices you looking back at him.

“Well done,” he grunts, shifting in his saddle uncomfortably, wetting his lips with the tip of his tongue. “That’s enough for today, I think–I need to get started with Sunfyre,” he turns Vermithor, urging him back toward the barn without waiting for you to respond, and you follow close behind him on Silverwing, quietly confused by the rather abrupt end to your lesson, though you do not voice it.

He’s dismounted by the time you reach him, tying Vermithor to one of the posts and walking toward you, hooking his fingers gently in Silverwing’s reins as you bring her to a stop before him.

“Can you dismount by yourself?” he asks you with a tilt of his head. “Or do you need help?”

You open your mouth to fire a biting retort at him, but then you see the tiny grin in the corner of his mouth. He’s teasing you, you realize, and you huff a quiet laugh, shaking your head in light-hearted exasperation.

“I’m good--thank you so much for the offer though,” you grumble playfully, swinging your leg over Silverwing and landing successfully on your feet this time–thank God.

Your exhausted thigh muscles tremble for a moment, threatening to betray you, and Aemond reaches out, seemingly on instinct, a broad hand pressed to the small of your back. It’s warm and solid, and an odd thrill runs up your spine at the contact, the memory of his eyes flickering to your lips when he set you down on your bed flooding back to your mind unbidden.

You whip your head to look at him, eyes widened, heat flooding to your cheeks, and he withdraws immediately like he’s been burned, taking a step backward, scratching the back of his neck with his now-free hand.

“Sorry,” he coughs, handing the reins back to you. “You seemed unsteady, I–” he shakes his head and retreats to Vermithor, leaving you to unsaddle Silverwing alone. You stand there for a moment, watching him go, and turn to look at Silverwing.

“He’s confusing, isn’t he?” you ask her. She only snorts softly in reply, giving her neck a shake, which you take as wholehearted agreement on her behalf.

Just when he started acting decently toward you, he had to go and make things unbearably awkward again.

Figures.

When both horses are safely back in their stalls, Aemond pauses at the entrance to the barn, and you approach him to see if he has anything else he needs from you before you return to the house. He stands, considering you for a beat, before he speaks again, eye darting over your face anxiously.

“If you have a minute, there’s someone I’d like you to meet,” he tells you at last and turns, striding off toward the back of the stable, not waiting for you to reply–it was becoming a pattern for him to do that, so it seemed.

You hurry after him, curiosity getting the better of you as usual, and when you finally catch up, he’s standing outside a large stall, grinning–actually fucking grinning–at an absolutely massive horse with a coat so dark it’s nearly black, reddish hues glimmering through from her undercoat.

“This,” he says, voice tinged with an unusual amount of warmth as he opens the stall door and steps inside, “is Vhagar.” The horse huffs happily, shoving her nose into Aemond’s shoulder, nuzzling at him in greeting as he pets her neck. She holds herself in a manner that could only be described as regal, her pretty neck arched proudly.

“She was my first horse,” he informs you, his voice gentle, fingers ruffling the coarse hair of her mane, trailing up to scratch her ears. “We grew up together, more or less–she was the first one I trained with, and we did all our competitions together–isn’t that right, old girl?” he asks her affectionately, glancing over at you and beckoning you closer, inviting you to touch her wordlessly.

You extend a hesitant hand, stepping toward Vhagar and stroking her shoulder lightly, marveling at the sheer size of her. She was easily the largest horse you’d ever seen–bigger than Vermithor or Sheepstealer–and well-muscled and gleaming, even in her old age. You’d be lying if you said you didn’t feel a bit intimidated, though you do your utmost to hide your nerves. When she leans into your touch eagerly though, you break into a faint smile, exhaling in relief at her acceptance.

“She was a gift when I won my first show jump tourney,” he explains, giving her a tender pat. “My dad bought Rhaenyra and Aegon their first horses when they were deemed old enough for the responsibility, but Vhagar was free–she belonged to my aunt before she passed away, and my uncle didn’t want to keep her anymore–too many memories attached to her, I guess,” he continues. “Was kind of a cop-out from my dad’s perspective, but I couldn’t have been happier.”

A mental image of a younger Aemond, tiny and vibrating with excitement atop such a big horse, appears in your head, and you grin faintly at the thought. It was honestly kind of sweet how much he clearly adored her–you hadn't considered him capable of the softness he treated her with, even after the vulnerability he'd shown for a moment the night previous.

Moving your hand to pet her neck with more confidence, you steal a look up at him, “She’s beautiful.”

“She is, isn’t she?” he smiles, petting her velvety nose with his fingertips. “Here,” he reaches over, catching you by the wrist and tugging your hand to her nose. “She likes this best,” he doesn’t remove his hand from you, his fingers just as warm as they’d felt against your back minutes before, though this time, there’s no fabric to separate you. You can feel every callus on his hands from years of riding, rough against your skin, and your stomach flip-flops at the sensation.

He keeps his hand there, settled on you as you stroke her nose, giggling softly as she mouths at your wrist, tickling you. It is not enough, however, to distract you fully from his touch.

“Well, it seems like someone likes you,” Aemond comments, his thumb drawing circles on the back of your hand idly, as though he’d forgotten he put it there. “She’s not great with new people, but I had a feeling…” he trails off, not deigning to finish his sentence.

He’s close to you, his touch like a brand against you, burning deliciously, and you try your best to stay focused on Vhagar as his index and middle finger press lightly on the inside of your wrist. He's so terribly near–if you moved even an inch, you'd be pressed to his body, and you find that you want that, battling with yourself internally to stay still, to maintain the few inches of space remaining between you.

“Your pulse is racing,” he speaks in half-whisper, his breath against your ear making your body prickle pleasantly, and you turn your face to look up at him again, startled to find him already gazing at you. His eyes, both damaged and intact, are intense as ever, but the look behind them is quite different. He looks almost hungry, his nostrils flaring ever so slightly as he inhales, the grip on your wrist tightening a fraction, Adam’s apple bobbing visibly when he swallows.

You find yourself drawn to him, any semblance of logical thought or restraint pushed far back into the recesses of your mind, not moving as he takes a step closer to you, his gaze settled firmly on your lips, darting up to your eyes ever so briefly. The point of his cleft nose brushes against yours, and you cannot stop yourself from looking down at his lips for a beat too, your head tilting as you lean up to meet him, his breath warm against you, nearly touching, and–

“Rhaena? Are you in here?” Luke’s voice rings out from down the row of stalls, loud and clear, startling Vhagar, who snorts, shifting her weight nervously, stomping against the hay-covered floor.

Aemond jerks backward, clearing his throat awkwardly and moving back toward Vhagar to calm her, the moment shattered.

“She’s not here, Luke!” You call back, your voice wobbling slightly, fighting to compose yourself before you lean your head out of the stall, giving him a quick wave and praying that you don't look as flushed as you feel. “Sorry, bud.”

“She said she’d meet me here,” Luke groans, throwing his head back dramatically as if to ask God why he’d chosen him to bear such suffering. “Women, am I right?” he asks you, grinning at you impishly, seeming to expect you to agree. You only raise your eyebrows at him dubiously.

“Sorry,” he mumbles, cowed, ducking his head sheepishly. “I’m gonna go…” he points vaguely in the opposite direction and high-tails it back toward the house, leaving as quickly as he’d come.

You snort, shaking your head, and turn back to face Aemond, who now steps around you awkwardly to open the stall door and let himself out, Vhagar blinking at you languidly over his shoulder, practically side-eying you for what you’d almost done in front of her.

Judgmental, just like her rider, you supposed.

“She’s twenty-four now–too old for competing, and arthritic and ornery as hell, but,” Aemond stands aside to let you out, rambling on about the horse as if he hadn’t just looked for all the world like he was going to kiss you. He shuts and latches the door behind you, barely meeting your eye, “She’s always going to be my favorite.”

Pushing down the odd twinge of disappointment you feel at the lost moment, you nod, smiling at Vhagar, “I can see why–she’s sweet.”

Aemond smiles ever so slightly again, this time at you, meeting your gaze again at last, his fully functional eye shining with a joy you weren’t used to seeing in him.

You ignore the lurch your heart gives at the sight of it.

When you make it back to the house, you find Baela and Helaena sitting together at the table, both of them turning to look at you in surprise, though they greet you with smiles.

Both are dressed similarly to you, in jeans and t-shirts, but Hel wears a pair of large silver earrings in the shape of dragonflies, and Baela’s hair is held back by a gold clip shaped like a butterfly, which you assume she’s borrowed from Helaena.

“I like the bugs,” you comment warmly, pointing out their nearly-matching accessories in an effort to distract them from asking you where you'd been so early.

“Hm,” Helaena beams at you. “I thought Baela seemed like a butterfly type of person–pretty, but hardy and deceptively tough. It suits her, doesn’t it?” You nod in agreement, taking the seat next to Baela.

“You were out awfully early,” Baela comments, breezing right past your attempt to distract from the fact, raising her eyebrows in silent question. You're half tempted to make something up and tell them some lie about where you'd been, but decide against it. Aemond was just giving you riding lessons, after all–you had nothing to hide.

“Yeah,” you admit, “Aemond's offered to give me some extra riding lessons since I'm less experienced than the rest of you.”

“Uncharacteristically altruistic,” Baela comments, earning a playful eye roll and laugh from Helaena.

You just shrug, wrapping your hand around your wrist, rubbing the spot where he'd held you. You still feel the phantom burn from his touch, the thought of his gaze locked with yours making your chest tighten all over again.

“It's nice of him,” you reply, hoping your tone sounds more casual to the two of them than it sounds to your ears.

“Well, I'm glad he's making an effort to bond with someone new,” Hel comments kindly. “He spends so much time with the horses that I sometimes worry he's going to lose the power of speech.”

You laugh at that, shaking your head slightly, “Does he really?” you joke, “I hadn't noticed.”

Helaena’s phone buzzes on the table, interrupting the conversation. The display lights up with the contact name “Mom”, and she sighs faintly, picking it up and rising from the table.

“Fuck,” she mumbles, “I should take this–could be an emergency, could be that she needs help deciding on which Celine bag Nyra’s gonna buy her–you never know.” She leaves the room quickly, swiping her screen to answer the call, leaving you and Baela alone.

Glancing at Baela, you find her already looking at you, an amused expression playing across her pretty features, seeming to be holding back a teasing laugh with all her might.

“What is it?” you ask, puzzled by how she's looking at you–like she knows a secret you're not yet privy to. It almost makes you nervous.

“Nothing,” she hums with a grin, eyebrows flashing upward in amusement. “It's just funny–I never thought you'd go for the silent broody type. You've always gone for the bubbly, outgoing ones.”

“Me and Aemond are not–”

“Mhm,” she hums, dismissing your protest and sipping her tea. “I never said Aemond, but whatever you say, babe.”

You roll your eyes and try not to take her words to heart, but you can't shake the memory of his fingers twining with yours the night before and how he'd leaned toward you in Vhagar’s stall. Even worse are the thoughts of what might have happened had Luke not interrupted–or the nagging fact that you wished he hadn’t.

Still, you dismiss the idea–such silly thoughts were not worth your time.

DRAGONSTONE HOLLOW TAG LIST:

#house of the dragon #hotd #modern!aemond targaryen #modern!aemond x reader #queued

700 notes · View notes

weirwoodswitch · 6 days

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The Sublet - Roommate!AU

Warnings: She/her pronouns, slow burn, angst. Tags will be added as the fic goes along. Angst, death, mourning, funeral, fluff, smut, daddy kink, breath play, spanking, slapping, fingering, face fucking, degradation, gagging, deep throating, dumbification, edging, creampie, crying, dacryphilia, dirty talking, name calling, rough handling, sadomasochist, sadism, spitting, spitplay, squirt, the correct method of choking, drugs (weed), alcohol, smoking.

Pairings: Modern!Aemond x Reader

Summary: Living with Helaena Targaryen was one of the best decisions you had ever made. Meeting at university, the two of you became thick as thieves and quickly best friends, moving into a flat together. But what will happen when Helaena has to leave, and her quiet, brooding, brother moves in?

Notes: Another monstrous chapter sitting at 10+k, because when I said this series was going to only be 15 chapters I meant it hahaha. Goodness, gracious me, here we are. We have come to the end of this series! Thank you so much for all your love and support this whole way through! I hope that you have enjoyed it, and I hope I did the ending some sort of realistic justice. I shall be getting onto my requests now hehehe, anyway, ENJOY! <3

Final Chapter: Stay

Waking that morning, you had not expected to be met with what you were. You had thought that the day would be spent with some awkward, uncertain glances cast Aemond’s way, with the others casting theirs towards you both. Then perhaps you would talk again.

Or fuck.

Or both.

Your little traitorous brain hoped for both.

But no, that's not what you woke up to that morning. You woke up to a nightmare come true. And although all had prepared for it for years, and in fact, the reason why all were back at the Red Keep, it still came as a bombshell that shook the family to its very core.

Viserys was dead.

Gone peacefully in his sleep, found by none other than his doting eldest daughter and wife.

You had woken to the bedroom door shutting, a peak of Criston Cole’s hair in the crack of the door. Helaena stood frozen by it, swaying slightly on her feet before she walked over to the bed and sat down, staring at the far wall.

“Hel?” You sat up, hand coming to touch your best friends shoulder, “What's happened?”

Fear of the unknown settled into your gut.

Her lavender eyes turned to you.

“He’s dead.”

The Keep was in disarray.

Rhaenyra and Daemon were in shambles, having lost a father and brother all in one. It was a most terrible thing to witness. You felt grief yourself for your friends, and for the family as a whole as they moved through the motions of his death, his leaving of their worlds. You felt akin to an invasive species as you sat amongst them, foreign, displaced, unfitting in their neat yet disturbed world.

Lucerys and Jacerys were grieving with their mother and step-father, the twins joining them. As for the other children of Viserys? That was another story.

Amongst the four of them, there was not a single tear shed for their father, bar Aegon in the early light of the morning, stained cheeks hidden in the shadows, red rimmed eyes, and a tiredness that no young man should have at his age, pulling down at his shoulders. But he had swallowed it quickly and quietly as he had for his whole life and went outside to smoke.

You couldn’t however account for Aemond, as he was nowhere to be seen.

Sitting in the gazebo with the three silver haired siblings, you tried to offer condolences, a shoulder to cry on if needed, but all were content to grieve in their own way; Aegon smoking yet another joint, Daeron texting someone animatedly, and Helaena, simply staying quiet and composed beside you.

It wasn’t what you had expected for people to have just lost their father, but you supposed that everyone grieves in their own ways, theirs being much different to your own.

Helaena stood from where she had sat, dressed in all black, something you had not once seen her wear, a stark change to the bright colours that she usually donned. Perhaps this was her way of showing her grief. Her mourning.

Her loss.

“Walk with me.” She said quietly, and you nodded, jumping up as you grasped her hand, letting her lead you down the garden to look at the various plants and trees that were in a part of a gated garden entrance.

Greenery of all sizes, shapes, and colours grew beautifully, small little plaques beneath identifying their scientific name. The Red Keep's garden had some of the rarest of flowers and trees in the whole of the realm. It even had the famed Winter Rose’s from the North in a special greenhouse that kept them in below freezing temperatures.

It was still early in the day, the sun only just rising to its peak as you walked together in silence, your hand in hers as you followed her lead, looking at the shrubs and immense show of wealth. If it weren’t for the reason of your walk, you would have been more animated upon seeing some rare and beautiful orchids, perfectly potted and healthy.

Your steps crunched along the cobblestoned path, twisting around to an extended part of the estate that you hadn’t been to. There, in front of you, was a most beautiful sight to behold.

Ruby red leaves sprouted out of ashen branches, twisting upwards towards the sky.

A Weirwood tree.

And a very old one by the looks of it.

“The Godswood.” Helaena explained to you, taking you closer to it.

You were so entranced by its incredible beauty, thinking of how Cregan's description of his back home didn't do it justice, that you hadn’t even noticed the man that sat amongst its roots, leant back on the trunk.

Aemond Targaryen sat beneath the branches and leaves of a tree that had been a symbol of the Old Gods to his family for hundreds of years. One leg was stretched out in front of him, whilst the other was bent, his long arms crossed over the top of his knee lazily.

He watched you as you came towards him, words caught in your throat.

The light that peaked through the tips of the branches shimmered down on his pale hair, causing it to glimmer with each parting of the leaves from the breeze that rolled through. His face looked flat, emotionless.

Blank.

Helaena’s hand slipped away from yours and you turned to look at her. She gave you a soft smile, before she walked away without a word, leaving you in the small Godswood courtyard with her brother.

You stood for a moment or two, the both of you watching each other before your legs pulled you towards him. You moved to sit beside the long limbed man, pulling your knees up to your chest as you kept your eyes straight ahead, not wanting to make him feel overcrowded, or as if he was being observed. Instead, you hoped that your presence was, at least, the tiniest bit of comfort if he needed it.

You weren’t sure what to do or say as you sat together, both staring off into the distance as the soft rustling of leaves moved overhead. If not for the death that had occurred in the early hours of the morning, the day would have been beautiful.

It was like that for a while, just the both of you. Basking in each others company silently, and yet you felt the need to do more. To say more. To show him more. To show him that you cared, to try and rebuild that bridge that had been torched between the two of you, in the way he had attempted to last night.

You felt guilt knowing that he would have woken up to not only an empty bed, but the news of the death of his father in a Keep he didn’t want to be in, surrounded by people he so desperately tried to avoid.

Tendons and veins pulled beneath the skin of Aemond pale hand as he rubbed a thumb and forefinger together atop his knee.

It was always his hands. Something you had learned rather quickly about him. His hands always moved when in thought, when irritated, lost, or angry.

Any strong emotion caused the man to fidget.

It was a habit that he shared with Helaena, no doubt inherited by their mother.

With no other way to convey what you were feeling, you lifted your hand and placed it atop his. His hand was warm, and twitched beneath yours. Aemond, without wasting a second, flipped his over and held onto yours tightly, threading his fingers through yours atop his knee.

Silence stretched forever until-

“I don’t mourn him.” Aemond’s voice moved with the breeze, soft and quiet, gently carried away from the courtyard, and you felt a pull of sorrow for him deep within your chest.

“We weren’t ever close. Cole was more a father to me than him.” There was a hollowness to his words which you would argue was grief, until he continued, “I don’t grieve the man he was, I grieve the father he could have been to me. The father he should have been to me. Something that I never had.”

Tears prickled in your eyes for him.

Gods.

Why had life been so cruel to this man?

A soft chuckle floated from his lips, a stark difference to his demeanour before, “I used to try so hard to impress him when I was young. Studied, learnt our traditional tongue before any of my other siblings did, and even then, it wasn’t enough for him. I was never enough for him. He was sick, yes,” Frustration bled from his shoulders, tense and closed in, “But he had more time for them than us.”

There was the anger.

Sorrow.

Spite.

Aemond Targaryen had felt he had been in his nephews shadow his whole life.

And it showed.

“It was worse for Aegon. First son and all. A shiny new toy for Viserys before his expectations became too high for Egg and he rebelled. Then nothing he would do could impress the man.”

You squeezed his hand tightly, shuffling across the hard roots of the tree to get closer to him, leaning your shoulder heavily against his, so he could feel your weight, so he could feel the heat of your body. To comfort him, to be there for him, all while not being smothering.

“I’m sorry, Aemond.”

He shook his head, long strand of silver falling over his shoulder as he looked at you, “Don’t be.”

Silence fell over you again, and you watched as a lone red leaf, pointed sides and all, slowly drifted from above the two of you down onto the grassy ground below. It swooped from side to side, spinning gently before soundlessly falling amongst green blades.

You didn’t want him to be alone.

You didn’t want him to feel isolated.

And in your restless, sleepless night, you had thought about him.

“It’s going to be okay.” You whispered, and watched as he turned his head to look back at you, his lone eye searching your face.

Your thumb soothed over his gently, your words having more than one meaning.

His bottom lip was pulled into his mouth by his teeth, and then his voice came up and out from deep within his chest as he gazed at you intensely, clouded eye unmoving, and the sun shining down onto his scarred side of his face.

“Stay.” He asked you for the very first time.

A stark opposite to all the times you had uttered that word to him.

Asked him to stay with you.

It was first time he spoke that four lettered word to you, beneath the crimson leaves of the ancient Godswood in a home that he had grown in.

You heeded his request.

Together, you sat beneath the branches and looked up through them, side by side in a wordless promise to each other.

Stay.

The next few days were a whirlwind. The funeral was held on the grounds of the estate, people from all over flying in to say their goodbyes to the patriarch of House Targaryen.

At first you had asked Helaena if you could go back home, not wanting to intrude on her families grief, but she had insisted, no, begged for you to stay for the funeral.

And so you had.

It was an intense and sad ordeal, but not once did you leave Helaena or Aemond’s side. You stuck by them both, and he always came to you.

Crossing the kitchen to come to you. Crossing the dining table outside to come to you. Crossing the hall to come to Helaena’s room and sit on the bed with the two of you, happy to be just in your presence and not say a thing.

Aegon had silently cried at the funeral. The only child of Alicent to do so. You had watched as fat tears rolled down his rosy cheeks, eyes cast at the coffin of his father, as his mother stood stoically beside him.

Alicent Hightower had cried softly when she had read the eulogy, then followed by Rhaenyra and Daemon's. It was the only time that you felt you would ever see the pair look out of their usual controlled demeanour.

After the funeral, there was the service, where all came to Rhaenyra and Alicent to offer their condolences, the two women standing side by side in all black. At one point, you had watched as Alicent’s pinky reached out, searching for Rhaenyra’s hand. It had curled against the other woman’s, and you watched as the other tilted her head slightly in shock, before she made a larger move, and curled her hand directly around the auburn haired woman’s beside her.

It was days after the funeral before all of you were back together again, side by side.

It had been a long day, longer than the last, and the night had bled into the sky in a deep purple before turning to its deeper shade of blue. Aegon had done rounds, going to each and every room to tell all to meet him down at the pool for some well needed drinks.

Aemond had been sat at Helaena’s vanity watching the two of you sit on the bed and softly giggle at a message Sara had sent her, your silver haired friend more intent on moving forward than looking back.

Hand in Helaena’s, you led her and Aemond down to the pool, not bothering to put swimmers on.

It was dark outside, the usual lights strung about the garden having been turned off, the only source of light coming from the moon, the stars, and the smaller lights that edged around the pools perimeter.

The others were already there, you having seemingly been the last pitstop, passing around popped bottles of champagne, wine and beer. There was the sweet, dank smell of Aegon’s weed again in the air, the short haired man leant back on his elbows as he looked up at the sky, bottle of Moët in one hand.

It was awkward at first, what with Jacaerys and Aemond’s outburst the last time you were all together before the funeral, but before long, and with the help of your trusty liquid courage, all seemed to melt into the numb feeling that the alcohol brought them.

You laid back in one of the armchairs, Helaena, between your legs, head resting on your stomach as you brushed the silver strands away from her face as she looked up at the stars. Aemond watched from beside you, having pulled over one of the other poolside chairs.

The twins, and the brown haired boys were sat at the waters edge with Aegon, their legs dangling into the pool as they swung them softly back and forth, drinking and talking quietly amongst themselves.

Daeron, having disappeared for a moment, came back with his speaker, softly playing music through it to fill the gentle quiet that surrounded you all.

It was soft, calm, and peaceful enough for such a tumultuous time, and as the night got longer, and bottles of alcohol became drained, blunts were passed, and inhibitions were lowered, smiles and laughter were shared amongst all.

Even Aemond.

But that stillness was disturbed when the tipsy, brown haired Lucerys stood and faced everyone, bottle of red wine in hand. The smiles dissipated, and a serious energy floated amongst everyone again.

“I want to make a toast.” The young man said with drunken confidence, thrusting out the wine bottle towards Aegon, “To Viserys.”

Jacaerys lifted his beer towards his younger brother, the twins following suit with their cans of fruity mixer.

Lucerys’ eyes fell on Aemond, before his lips pulled down solemnly, turning away to roam his gaze on everyone else, “He wasn’t a perfect man-”

Aemond quietly scoffed beside you.

“-But if it wasn’t for him, none of us would be here.”

Aegon hummed in agreement, sipping deeply from his almost empty bottle of Moët.

Lucerys’s gaze fell to you as he scratched the back of his neck, “Except you, Y/n. You’d still be here. Well, not here here. But you’d still-“

“-Alright, move it on.” Baela joked lovingly at him as he began to ramble.

Straightening his posture, Luc thrust his wine up to the sky, “To Viserys.”

All lifted their drinks up to toast, bar Aemond, hands bringing wine to their lips, beer to their mouths, or champagne to their tongues. You offered Aemond a small, sad smile, and he returned it, sipping at his beer in thought.

It wasn’t a full toast per-say like the others, but he drank in the mans honour regardless.

A large palm opened up towards you, pale fingers lazily spread in offering. You looked at his long digits, signet ring on one.

“Come here.” Aemond hummed, gentle look in his eye.

Helaena pulled herself from your lap and looked at her brother, “I thought you’d never ask!” She chirped playfully, and he rolled his eye at her.

A small giggle fell from your lips as you looked at his hand again. Still outstretched towards you in front of everyone.

In front of everyone.

Your heart raced in your chest as you stood, placing your hand in his, the warmth of his palm spreading up your arm as you moved over to Aemond, who pulled you between his long legs in a similar way you had done with Helaena. His legs were bent on either side of you with your back against his chest. You felt his chin dip to rest at the top of your head, and a warmth spread through your chest like wildfire.

Helaena smiled at your warmly as Aegon craned his neck backwards to look at the two of you.

“How long has this been going on?” He teased, glassy eyes narrowing on the both of you.

Lucerys, who had sat back down beside his brother after his toast, turned around with Jacaerys to observe. And when their heads turned, the others followed.

Heat rose in your cheeks and you felt a sudden shyness at it all. The urge to hide was strong.

But really, what was this?

You didn’t know.

But it was something.

Something more than before.

But still, you didn’t have an answer, so you moved to respond.

“Oh, we’re n-“

“-A while. I was just a dick about it.” Aemond interrupted you, and your heart soared.

Did he -

Did he just-

Did he just confirm your thoughts?

Did he just validate your feelings?

Answer all your burning questions that had kept you awake at night?

A while.

That implied that this was more.

That this had always been more.

That this was solid.

That this was-

“So that’s why you wouldn’t fuck me.” Aegon pouted, smirk pulling at his lips.

Aemond sighed heavily behind you, “That and the fact that you’re utterly repulsive.”

Aegon’s mouth dropped open as he stared at his brother, “You wound me! I’ll have you know that there are plenty of people who haven’t found me repulsive.”

“Too many, if you ask me.” Helaena snickered.

Aegon flicked his joint at his sister, standing straight as he looked down at everyone.

“Good thing I didn't ask you. I’ll have you know I’m polyglamourous.” Hands on his hips.

“Polyamorous.” Daeron corrected his brother.

Aegon grinned, victory in his cheeks, “I meant what I said.”

Aemond’s hand rubbed up and down your thigh soothingly as the night moved on, goosebumps rising on your flesh with each stroke of his long fingers. His chest was warm against your back, and you felt that you could fall asleep from where you were.

Helaena squealed at her phone loudly, breaking you from your fatigued thoughts.

“What is it?” You turned to face her, watching as a large grin pulled at her lips.

“Sara got us tickets to see the Phantom of the Opera!”

“What!”

“Yes!” She shook her phone in her hand whilst she screamed in excitement, “I can’t believe she remembered!”

Aemond chuckled from behind you, chest vibrating against your back, “Of course she'd remember. She’s in love with you.”

Your best friend suddenly became shy, a blush rising on her cheeks rapidly, turning them a bright red that even in the darkness of the night, you could see, “I know that. I just can’t believe it.”

“I’m jealous. Ask her where my ticket is.” You teased, “So I guess this means I’ll be seeing more of Sara again?”

Helaena gave you a knowing smirk, and you gave her one right back.

You were happy for her.

Really happy.

They were perfect for each other. And you always knew that they would get back together again. That and Helaena always told you so, and Helaena was never wrong.

Aegon having come round to where you sat, snatched his sisters bottle of Prosecco, downing the remainder in one gulp, a refreshed and exaggerated gasp filling the air as he ruffled her hair, a growl and swat of a hand coming for his arm which he dodged last second.

Aegon giggled, running around the rim of the pool, shoes kicked in one direction, socks thrown in the other, shirt torn from his back in one yank, and then came his pants. Your eyes widened as Aegon stripped himself nude before jumping into the pool with a yell.

He emerged from the cool water with a flick of his wet hair laughing, sending a hand splashing towards the twins and he smiled, “Come onnnn, live a little! Get in!”

Baela and Rhaena gave each other a shared look before standing, stripping themselves of their clothes before jumping in, hand in hand.

Before you knew it, you were all stripped bare, splashing about in the pool laughing and swimming around.

Even Aemond.

His cheeks were pulled taut by the grin plastered to his face as he swam towards you, tickling your sides as you screamed for backup from Baela and Rhaena, who swam towards you, a flurry of splashes and squeals until his large palms rose above the water and conceded.

Aegon pulled another spliff from the side of the pool and passed it around, and although it was dark, and you couldn’t see the details of anyones bodies, you still felt slightly shy in knowing that not only were you naked, but you were naked with a certain someone pressed up against your back.

At one point, you could have sworn you felt his cock twitch against the cheek of your ass, but you shrugged it off, going to the others as they tossed a ball like piggy in the middle back and forth, little Lucerys in the centre trying to jump up to catch it with all his might.

Eventually the water grew cold, and as you swam to sip at some of Baela’s drink, Aemond slid from behind you, hand wrapping around your waist. Heat spread through you as you felt him press up against you, mouth beside your ear.

“I think it's time for bed, don’t you?” He whispered hoarsely.

You bit your lip turning your head to try and sneak a peak at him, but was interrupted by a loud and obnoxious wolf whistle.

Aegon grinned at you both, “No fucking in mummy’s pool.”

“Ugh, Aegon. What the fuck.” Helaena grimaced.

A laugh exploded from your lips as you turned to look at Aemond, who was chewing the inside of his cheek, desperate to hide the smirk that was rising on his face.

“Come on.” He urged you, tilting his head to outside of the pool.

You climbed out with his help, getting dressed, all the while Aegon continued to whistle at the two of you and make obscene noises. But it was short lived as Helaena pushed Aegon’s head under water with all her weight, Jacaerys and Luc clapping in laughter.

You saw this as your out and grabbed Aemond’s hand, racing him through the Keep in fits of giggles until you reached his room, anticipation strumming in your gut. You watched as he shut the door behind him, turning to face you. His hair was wet, much like yours, and he advanced on you slowly, energy bouncing around inside of you.

“Come here.” He beckoned you with a finger, soft smirk on his lips.

You shook your head at him cheekily, “Nuh uh.”

His head tilted as he looked at you, “Please.”

Your feet carried you towards him, a magnetic pull dragging your chest to his. He smiled warmly down at you, cupping your cheek with one hand as the other dragged a wet strand of hair away from your face.

“Beautiful.” He praised you, before dipping his head down to kiss you.

Aemond bent slightly as your arms wrapped around his neck, large hands wrapping around your thighs as he hoisted you up into his arms, carrying you towards the bed as you didn’t once break the kiss.

It wasn’t hurried like the last time.

It wasn’t frenzied.

This time, you took your time with each other.

Aemond stripped you of your wet clothes and brought you to your peak on his tongue, his name whispered from your mouth like a prayer. He hovered above you as he slid in, watching the way your mouth opened and brows furrowed at the stretch, his lips pressing sweet kisses to the side of your face as he slowly moved through your folds, the tip of his cock rubbing against every point within you.

“So fucking beautiful.” He praised you as you fell apart once again on his cock, walls gripping his length tightly as you keened and whined, hands gripping the sheets for dear life as he smiled sweetly at you.

This was a side of Aemond you hadn’t seen before, and a side you hoped to see more.

He came with a quiet moan of your name, head dipping down into the crux of your neck as he planted kiss after kiss there.

You spent the rest of your night together curled in each others embrace, falling asleep with one word echoing in your mind.

Stay.

Waking up in a dark green and black room was disorientating at first, probably exacerbated by the steady strumming of a slight hangover in the back of your mind. But the warmth of two strong arms wrapped around you, and the familiar scent of Aemond that filled the space between, reminded you of where you were, and who you were with.

Your eyes opened as you looked up at him. His good eye still shut, chest rising and falling slowly.

Everything had happened so fast.

It was as if a match had been lit and set you both ablaze. The two of you burning together hotly, in more ways than one. Your tempers. Your stubbornness, but more importantly, your desire to be with one another.

It was different with him.

Unlike anyone else before.

Passionate.

Fiery.

All encompassing.

And you relished in it.

Relished in the fact that not only was it real, not only tangible, but Aemond had made it open last night as he had pulled you into his lap in front of everyone, and verbally confirmed what had been happening all along.

You weren’t ‘Helaena’s roommate’.

You were more.

You knew that now.

His confession for his love for you however, was something that the two of you would dissect on a later date. But right now? You would be lying if you said you didn’t feel the same way. Didn’t feel the same pull in your heart towards him when he would smile, or laugh, or just look at you. Or how your body would be set alight with even just a touch of his hand.

Aemond Targaryen had you well and truly under his spell.

And there was no other place you’d rather be.

Aemond shifted beside you, eye blinking open sleepily before he looked down at you.

“Morning.” His voice crackled with sleep, mouth opening in a small yawn before he pressed a kiss to the top of your forehead.

Your heart raced in your chest.

“Morning.”

Aemond squeezed you to him tighter as he stretched out the fatigue in his limbs, a whiny grunt escaping his lips.

That was noise you hadn’t heard before.

He sounded content.

Comfortable.

Safe.

But there was still one final thing.

You wanted to be sure that last night wasn’t just a drunken little display, or a declaration emboldened by the grief around the others tainted by possessiveness against Jacaerys.

“What happens now?” You asked quietly, watching as he blinked at you again.

“Whatever happens, happens.” His voice was deep, lulling you into a calm, “But I know I want to be with you.”

Here it was.

“Are you sure?” Your eyes searched his face.

This was it.

His last chance to back out.

His last chance to say no.

“I’ve never been more sure about anything in my life.”

You couldn’t contain the grin that creeped on your face, hands pulling him down into a relieved kiss, pouring your adoration and care for him into it as much as you could.

He returned it equally with fever.

Heat ran through you as you pressed yourself closer to him, gasping into his mouth as you felt his cock twitch against your thigh. Aemond groaned into the kiss but pulled away.

You looked at him in confusion.

“Come on, we got to have breakfast with the others.”

You whined, plopping back into the pillows with a huff, “I don’t want to.”

Aemond chuckled from beside you, sitting up in the bed as he ripped the sheets away from your body, exposing your naked form. You rolled over onto your stomach, hiding your face in the pillow as you whined.

Two light smacks landed on the cheek of your ass, and you cried out in surprise, “Come on, grumpy.” He teased, “I’ll give you what you want after. But first, we need to eat.”

At the promise of getting what you wanted, you rolled out of bed, begrudgingly, looking at your semi wet pile of clothes in disgust.

You could do a run down the hall to Helaena’s room, but you could also be spotted running nude through the estate, which to you, didn’t seem appropriate considering the funeral held there only a few days past.

Aemond must have noticed your predicament, “Here.” He came over to you, handing you one of his black shirts and those grey sweats you loved so much.

You threw them on, the top coming down to your mid thigh. The pants however, didn’t stay up, and kept sliding down your legs no matter how much you tightened the strings or rolled them at your hips.

Aemond laughed at you as you stepped out of the pants and threw them at him in a huff.

“I need pants.” You whined, searching his room.

“Would prefer it if you didn’t.” He raised a brow at you.

Your core clenched around nothing as you looked at him, his stance challenging you to obey.

So this is the game he wanted to play.

Smirking, you turned to the door, opening it up, “Come on. We will be late.”

You left without looking back, not getting to see the way Aemond’s tongue poked into his cheek, watching you trot out of his room clad in his shirt.

Only his shirt.

The others were seated at the table outside picking at the spread. They all greeted you both as you moved sit down, except Aegon, who’s head was in his arms atop the table as he groaned dramatically and loudly for all to hear.

“Is he alright?” You asked Helaena, watching as she rolled her eyes at her older brothers antics.

“He’s fine. He’s just a drama Queen.”

“Drama King.” He grumbled back.

You ate together for a while before catching Helaena’s attention, it wasn’t something you wished to do, but it was something you had to nonetheless.

You had to go home, and what was more, you had to go back to work.

“Hel, is Criston around today?” You asked, plopping a sweet piece of watermelon into your mouth.

“I think so. Mum’s home today. Why?” Her head leant against her hand as she twirled one of her dragonfly earrings in between her fingers.

“I have to go back to work. I’ve used far too much of your mothers generosity, and uni starts back up next week.”

Helaena sat up straighter, “Holy shit, that’s next week?”

You nodded, “Yep. Not looking forward to Orwyle’s Citadel History class. Man could bore you to tears. I think I’ve actually cried once or twice.” You joked, rolling around a slice of starfruit on your plate before plopping it into your mouth, enjoying the sweet nectar that coated your tongue.

“Are you going to take Rhaenyra’s offer?” Helaena asked, eyes flitting from you and then to Aemond.

“What offer?” Came the grumbling groan of Aegon, his head lifting momentarily to look at you.

If he wasn’t speaking and breathing in front of you, you would have mistaken the man for being dead. Dark rings sat beneath his eyes, and his pale skin had a sallow dullness to it that made him look almost grey.

“Rhaenyra offered her a job at her firm.” Helaena confirmed.

Aegon grunted, dropping his head back into his arms.

“I didn’t know she offered you a job.” Aemond looked at you from the side, brows pulling slightly.

Why did you feel a slight stab guilt in not telling him?

But how could you have?

It had been a whirlwind since she spoke to you.

The offer.

Aemond returning.

Your spat.

Your make up.

Viserys’ death.

It didn’t seem like the right thing to bring up at that time, and if you were being truly honest, you hadn’t even thought of it since his arrival.

“I didn’t have the chance to tell you with everything that’s happened.”

Aemond hummed, and so you continued, turning to face Helaena, “I think so. I need to give it a proper thought when I get home though.”

Helaena nodded at you, “I’ll speak to Cole after breakfast.” She promised, and resumed her eating.

You thanked her with a smile before doing the same.

“You should take it.”

His words came as a surprise.

You placed your fork back onto the plate as you looked at the man at your side. His face was honest and open, there wasn’t a sneer or grimace, or even the straight line that his lips did when he was upset.

He was being genuine.

You brows twitched as you wordlessly urged him to continue.

“My sister, despite everything, is a hard worker. She’ll look after you and make sure you’re taken care of. Besides, her firm is likely more your style anyway.”

“What do you mean by that?” You probed casually, trying to hide your real intrigue behind another piece of fruit in your mouth.

“More…” Aemond thought for a second, and then it came with a cheeky smirk, “Woman led.”

Helaena stayed true to her word and had Cole come to take you home, or at least, back to the private runway where that sleek jet picked you up once again.

You said your goodbyes to all, giving everyone a tight squeeze, especially Alicent Hightower, who you thanked for her endless generosity in having you there at such a tough time.

However, you wouldn’t be going home alone. Aemond was coming with you, citing the need to be with you, and the need to get away from a place he hated.

When you moved to say your goodbyes to your best friend, you asked her when she would be back with you, mind wondering when you would need to part ways with Aemond's presence.

“I’m going to stay here for the next month." She told you, "I’ve already emailed uni.”

“The next month?” You felt sadness in your chest. Another month without your best friend.

You were going to miss her.

“Yeah,” She kicked at the gravel at her feet, “Mum needs me here for the solicitors and the Will and Testimony reading.”

“Oh? Are you going to be okay?”

Helaena pulled you in for a hug and whispered into your ear, “I’m going to be taken away in a straight jacket by the end of this.” Before pulling back to smile again, cheekier this time, “Besides, I’m sure Aemond will keep you company.”

His smooth voice came from beside you, “I have no plans on leaving.”

The flight home was quick with his company, and on more than one occasion, you had to swat his hands away from you as he whispered the chance of joining the mile high club in his mothers jet.

It felt good to be home as you stepped through the front door, dropping your keys in the empty bowl, followed by the sound of Aemond dropping his in beside it.

It made you smile, the familiar scent of your apartment, the soft glow of light, it's tidiness perfect for your arrival home. You turned back, grin tugging on your lips to look at the man behind you, only to see him looking at you hungrily.

You continued forward, butterflied erupting in your stomach as you felt the warmth of his gaze behind you. You dropped your bags in the lounge room and stretched your arms up high, the day dress you were wearing sliding up your thighs.

Aemond watched you with a hooded eye, and the heat you had felt that morning came back tenfold.

And then you remembered.

“You didn’t make do on your promise.” You smirked.

Aemond raised a brow at you as he dropped his bags next to yours, hands flexing at his side, urging you to elaborate.

“You said you’d give me what I want after breakfast." You purred, "It’s past lunch.”

The silver haired man’s lip twitched as he looked at you, tongue in cheek, “Look whose gotten all bratty the moment we get home.”

Home.

The word sent heat straight to your core.

“Not my fault you're a liar.” You teased back, feeling confident to push him now that you knew where you stood. Now that you were home, away from his family, away from it all. It was now just the two of you.

You and him.

“A liar?”

“Uh huh.”

“Did I say when I would?”

You brows furrowed, “After breakfast.”

“And is lunch not after breakfast?”

Your eyes narrowed at him.

“Dick.”

Aemond’s demeanour changed entirely, posture straightening which gave him an extra inch of height. He looked down his nose at you as he watched you take a smirking step back, “Come here.”

You had to push down the flurry of excitement that almost unleashed a giggle into the room, “Make me.”

Your chest rose and fell sharply as you watched Aemond take a slow step towards you, and then another.

“Last chance, baby. Come here.”

"No."

Spinning on your heel you ran towards your room, Aemond's boots beating on the floorboards behind you coming closer. Hands wrapped around your waist and pulled you up, squeal erupting from your chest as you tried to wriggle out of his grip.

“That was very naughty of you.” His voice whispered hoarsely at your ear from behind, hot breath fanning down your neck.

You stifled a whimper as his fingers dug into your skin before he threw you down onto the bed, face first. Your hands flew outwards, catching yourself as your hips hit the end of the bed. Aemond was on you in an instant, pawing at your dress as he ripped it off of you.

“This what you want, huh? Want me to put you in your place? Little brat.”

Your hands moved behind you to tried to slap his arms as he yanked your panties down your legs in one long swoop. Aemond tutted from behind you as he kicked your legs apart, your lip caught in your teeth as you tried not to whimper.

“Look at you. Already soaked. Such a dirty little slut, aren’t you?”

His hand cast down onto the flesh of your ass and you cried out, back arching as the delicious sting spread through your skin. He pulled your cheeks apart roughly and spat onto your dripping entrance.

“Filthy little fuck hole.” Aemond growled, and you mewled as you felt his spit run between your thighs and drip down onto the floor below.

His fingers smeared his spit into your folds, parting them easily as he looked down at you and cooed, your head craning back to watch him as he chuckled darkly, “What am I going to do with you, hm? You want me to fuck this pretty little pussy, baby?”

Your legs tried to shut so that you could apply pressure with the squeezing of your thighs, but Aemond's legs were in the way, preventing you from getting any release of the tingling that spread through your aching centre.

“Please.” You murmured, pouting at him the best you could in the hopes that it would entice him to take you right then and there.

Another chuckle rumbled in his chest as he let one long finger circle around your entrance, the tip of it just barely pushing inside before it came back out again, teasing you.

“I don’t think you deserve it.” He hummed.

“Please, Aemond.”

“Not my name, sweetheart.”

A shiver ran down your spine, your eyes sliding shut, “Please daddy.”

The warmth from his body disappeared as he stepped back, your eyes opening to find him looking down at you with a stern face. Your heart raced in your chest, his height towering over you, dominance dripping from his every fibre of his being.

“Kneel.”

Gods be good.

Your eyes widened as you stared at him, his hands coming to undo his belt buckle slowly, watching as you didn’t move. He pulled the belt slowly from the loops, to soft flipp loud in the room. The belt dropped to the floor with a thud.

“I said,” Aemond moved quicker than you could react, grabbing a fist full of your hair and dragging you off of the bed onto your knees, “Kneel.”

The wooden floor bit into the skin on your knees sharply, but it was dull in comparison to the sheer desire to be ravaged by the man in front of you.

Long fingers slowly dragged down the zipper of his pants, opening it with languid movements as he kept his eye completely and utterly upon your face.

“Were you being bratty to get a reaction?”

You watched as he pulled his hard length from his briefs, running his fist from base to top slowly, the tip leaking a drop of precum that he smeared down his shaft.

Aemond hummed, “What? Can’t talk now?”

You shook your head defiantly as he took a step closer, “I’m going to ask you one last time,” His voice grew deeper, darker, and it added to the slick that was settling in the crux of your thighs, “Were you being bratty to get a reaction?”

You shook your head.

No.

Liar.

Aemond clicked his tongue at you in disappointment before sighing loudly, “Thought you’d say that. I’ve got a better use for that mouth of yours.” One hand in your hair, he tugged you forward, “Open.”

You don’t know what it was about this man, or what he did to you to make you the way you were with him. The way he absolutely ruined every inch of your mind and thoughts, the urge to both please him and defy him coursing through you all at once, but you wouldn’t give in. No, you needed him to react, you needed him to take what he wanted from you with force.

So biting the insides of your cheeks to keep you from smiling, you defiantly kept your mouth shut as you looked up at him from your knees.

The corner of his lip twitched as he hummed at you.

The sting across your cheek came quickly and stunned you enough to open your mouth in a gasp, exactly as he had planned when he slapped you. He grabbed your jaw with the entirety of his hand and squeezed at the joint meanly, mouth falling open further in pain.

Aemond slid his cock straight into your open lips, his heady weight sitting upon your tongue as he looked down at you, still holding the base with one hand, your jaw in the other.

“There you go. Far more useful with my cock in your mouth.” He grunted, pulling out slowly as you curled your tongue upwards, running it along the underside of his shaft, pressing into the long vein that travelled along it.

Aemond began to thrust into the back of your throat, letting go of the base so that the whole length of him would slide into your mouth. His cock was salty on your tongue, hot, swollen, and heavy in your mouth as he forced you to take him as deep as it would go.

You gagged on his length, eyes watering as you shut them tightly.

Two little slaps on your cheek made your eyes open back up, staring at him as he looked down at you, “Eyes on me while I fuck this pretty little mouth of yours.”

You moaned around his length, thighs rubbing together in an attempt to relieve the tension that was building between them. But it was fruitless. It wasn’t enough. It wasn’t what you needed, and what you needed was his fingers, his tongue, or his cock inside of you.

The silver haired man thrusted into your mouth the way he would into your cunt, deep, long and hard, his tip beating against the back of your throat as he used you for his own pleasure.

It was exhilarating, intoxicating, and exactly what you had wanted.

You wanted him to use you like this, to get it all out, to get out all the tension that had been hovering over him the minute he stepped into the Keep.

He needed this just as much as you did.

A thick line of saliva ran down your chin, dripping onto your thighs below as both hands wrapped around the sides and back of your skull, dragging your head up and down his length roughly. His brow was furrowed as he watched, mouth agape as he breathed shallowly and grunted.

“Look at you," He cooed down at you, "Just a hole for me to fuck. Just a little slut begging for daddy’s cock, isn’t that right?”

You hummed around his length, sucking your cheeks inwards as much as you could. Aemond hissed at the pressure, eye sliding shut momentarily as his hips stuttered.

It was a glorious sight.

You below him, looking up as his head was thrown back, ecstasy breaking out on his features as his pearly hair cascaded around his shoulders.

Your head was pulled away, length slipping from your lips as you gasped for air, a line of spit connecting you to his tip as he cooed at you.

“Open.”

You opened your mouth wider, tongue poking out for him. His cheeks hollowed and then Aemond spat onto your tongue, its warmth spreading from your mouth, all the way through your body.

You moved to shut your mouth to swallow for him like you thought he wanted, but he stopped you with a finger, pressing down on your tongue as he smeared his spit along the wet, pink muscle messily.

With little care, two fingers slid down to the back of your throat as he looked at you, your mouth still open waiting for a command. Aemond slowly fucked your throat with his fingers, grinning at the small gags that he elicited from the action, before pulling his fingers from your mouth, smearing his spit and yours across your face, the wetness sticking to your heated cheeks.

“Such a messy girl. So dirty.” He purred, lining his cock back up to your mouth which you took with ease, except this time, Aemond didn’t fuck your throat.

He slid his length all the way down your throat, cock pressing into your gag reflex and blocking off your air. Your nose met his pelvis as he looked down at you, shaking your head slightly side to side on his length.

“Hold it.” He growled, watching as a tear ran down your cheek as you tried to not cough or splutter on his length, chest heaving as you gagged, no air being able to pass through your nose.

Your head grew dizzy as you looked at him, lungs beginning to burn, but still he didn’t let you pull back. Holding you down onto him by the back of your head.

Your hands flew to his thighs for grip as you tried to pull away, but Aemond kept his cock nestled deeply in your throat.

“You can do it, pretty girl." He told you, "Five more seconds.”

Another tear slid down your cheek, the weight of him in your throat making your core flutter around nothing.

“Five.” He began to count down, watching as you squirmed below him.

“Four.” Your nails dug into his flesh harshly as you tried to keep on him, throat swallowing around him tightly in reflex, causing a shiver to roll through his body.

“Three.”

“Two.” He grunted, pulling you down harder on his length causing more tears to fall from your eyes.

“One.”

Aemond pulled you off his length, your lungs burning as you gasped in a lungful of air, spluttering and coughing at his feet.

“Good girl.” He praised, wiping the tears from your cheeks that had left wet tracks down your face.

You coughed softly, throat aching and head spinning, feeling embarrassed and aroused all in one. The head rush from lack of air was almost as intense as the head rush you got from your desire.

“Open.”

You licked your lips and swallowed doing as you were told, feeling Aemond slide his cock slowly into the back of your throat again, but this time, you inhaled a large lungful of air in preparation. He pulled your head down all the way, nose nestled into the hair at his base as he looked down at you.

“Good girl, baby. Look at you.” You moaned around his length, feeling tears in your eyes again as he nudged your gag reflex.

“Hold it.” His voice cracked, watching a tear slide down your cheek as he brushed hair away from your forehead gently, “You're going to hold it for ten this time.”

Ten.

Oh shit.

You didn't know if you could.

But you wanted to please him.

You wanted to be good for him.

“Ten.” Aemond began to count down again, pushing his hips slightly forward, making his cock go even deeper than you thought it could, throat bulging slightly from his length, your eyes widening as you squirmed below.

“Nine.”

“Eight.”

“Seven.” Your core clenched as he counted, watching through blurry eyes as he looked at you on your knees before him.

“S-ix.” He moaned, eye sliding shut as he felt your throat closing around him as your body tried to swallow the blockage that was his cock.

“Five.”

The room spun slightly and you began to shift below him, brain controlling you as it tried to pull you away to get air into your lungs instinctually.

“Four." Heat rose in your cheeks as you squirmed, head trying to move backwards from his grip.

"Stay still." He growled down at you. Despite his command, you still wriggled, slick sliding between your thighs as it began to drip down onto the floor below.

“Almost there, baby. Three.”

Your arms tried to push yourself back, pure instinct taking over, your hands on his thighs, vision in the corner of your eyes going dark.

Was he purposely counting slow?

Oh Gods.

He was.

“Two.”

You were almost there. Your fingers fisted against his thighs, and despite his face being blurred by your tears above, you couldn’t help but notice the sadistic smile that pulled at his sharp lips.

“Two and three quarters.”

Dick.

Your eyes narrowed at him, causing the man to chuckle.

“One.”

You ripped yourself away with a gasp, falling backwards onto your bum as you coughed and spluttered, drool hanging from your lips as you tried to steady your breathing.

Aemond knelt in front of you, swiping up the spit on your chin, “Good girl. Such a good girl for me - You did so well.” You keened at his praise, leaning into his hand.

Aemond helped you to stand, pulling you over onto the bed as he stripped himself bare, watching as you still fought to catch your breath, devouring him with lust filled eyes and swollen lips.

“Let's see how wet you are from me using your mouth like that, hm?”

You parted your legs on instinct, giving him view of your glistening folds.

Aemond inhaled sharply, “Look how fucking wet you are. You're dripping all over the bed.”

You nodded your head dumbly, brain feeling light as a feather. You didn’t know if it was from the lack of previous airflow, or if it was the way he was treating you, slowly sinking you down into the comfortable little space you loved to float in with him.

“Are you all dumb, baby?” He meanly cooed at you with a sadistic pout, stroking the hair atop your head.

You nodded again as he chuckled at you, running his fingers through your slick folds, the sound of him parting them obscenely wet.

“Just from being daddy’s little fuck hole?”

You moaned, pushing your centre into his hand as he swirled a digit around your swollen clit, sparks of pleasure flying up inside of you. His finger dipped inside of you, immediately crooking upwards into the spot you needed it most.

“Look at this needy little pussy sucking me in. Do you need daddy to help you?”

You moaned at him, thrusting your hips downwards onto his hand as he added another finger, beginning to fuck them inside of you.

“Use your words.”

It took whatever remaining braincell that was left inside your head to string together one measly word, “Please.”

Aemond smirked, “Please what, little dummy.”

You whined, shutting your eyes as heat flooded your cheeks.

“Come on. Use your big girl words or you won’t get anything.”

“Please, daddy. P-please fuck me.”

Aemond smiled victoriously, kissing a tear that was drying against your cheek, “There we go. That must have been real hard when you're all dumb, wasn’t it?

You whined at his teasing, and then again when he removed his fingers.

“Shh.” He hushed you, “Daddy’s going to give you just what you need.”

And he did.

Aemond slid into you immediately, aided by how wet and open you were for him. He sighed into the crook of your neck, your legs immediately wrapping around him as he began to fuck into you, slowly building up the pace.

Your breasts bounced with each thrust, his hips snapping into your own as pleasure bloomed within. You moaned and cried beneath him, his pelvis rubbing against your swollen bud with each deep and rough thrust he gave you.

“You gonna cum already? I can feel you gripping me.” He huffed, watching his length disappear into your folds.

“Please.” You wailed, hands gripping the sheets beside you tightly in your fists as you begged him with your eyes.

Aemond took pity on you and slid a hand down to your pearl, rolling it in time with his thrusts, “Come on then. Cum on my cock.”

It took four sharp thrusts before your eyes screwed shut, stars appearing behind them as you came with an earth shattering cry. Aemond fucked you through it, hips and hand not once still until you were a sobbing and slick mess beneath him.

“Fucked the brat right out of you, didn’t I? Pretty little baby.” He moaned, rutting into your centre as the sound of your arousal surrounded you, the hair at the base of his cock soaked with your release, “Just needed me to fuck you stupid, didn’t you?”

You couldn’t form any words, mouth hanging open as little whines and pants flittered off of your tongue. It was overwhelming, and the pleasure of your first peak was yet to settle, bliss sizzling and burning within your gut in a way that continued to mount as he kept rubbing your pearl.

It was almost painful.

“Give me another.” Aemond grunted, pressing his fingers against you again harder, watching as you tried to shift your hips and escape his circling digits.

But it was no use, and Aemond ripped yet another peak from you with precision, your head lulling to the side tiredly as your body was thrust up the bed with his hips. You laid limply beneath him as he continued to fuck you, lip pulled into your mouth by your teeth as you whimpered.

“Fuck.” He gritted out through his teeth, hand releasing your clit out of mercy as he gripped your hips tightly in both hands, fucking into you harder and faster than before, beating the air from your lungs with each thrust.

“Gonna fill up this little pussy.” He moaned, watching as your brows pulled together, walls fluttering around his length.

“You want me to fill this pretty pussy with my cum? Want me to fill you up?”

You nodded your head, tear leaking from the corner of your eye as he continued to rut into you rapidly, hands leaving your hips to wrap around your throat, squeezing the sides to prevent the blood flow to your head whilst allowing for air, amplifying your pleasure and making you float even further.

“Gonna cum in your cunt.” He moaned, using the grip on your neck to pull your weight down onto his cock, spearing you open with each thrust.

It was too much.

It was-

Oh Gods-

You were-

Your brain went blank as ecstasy shot through it, scrambling any thought that you had. You heard his cry as he came deep within you, his warmth filling you up, but there was a second wetness that you noticed, that soaked the sheets below you.

It took a while to come back down to yourself, held in Aemond’s arms as he brushed gentle hands over you, holding you to him. You felt warm, safe, and completely and utterly exhausted. You shifted to look up at him, watching as his eye opened to look down at you.

“Back on earth?” He asked softly, watching as you weakly smiled at him, nuzzling into his bare chest. His chuckle vibrated against your cheek.

“Come on, we got to get you cleaned up.”

You buried your head deeper into his chest, “Don’wanna.”

Lips pressed at the top of your head, “Come on. I need to change the sheets.”

This caught your attention.

Had you gotten your period?

Were you sweatier than you had thought?

You lifted your head to look at him, to which he gave you a smug little smile.

“You made quite the mess.”

You frowned, embarrassment creeping into your chest.

“Nothing bad.” He reassured you, kissing your forehead, “You ever squirted before?”

Squirted?

“As much as I love watching your mind turn and work, I’m lying in your wet patch.” He chuckled, shifting to lift you out of the bed.

Low and behold, there it was.

A large wet patch below Aemond that spread out against your sheets, proof of your pleasure and the peaks that Aemond took you too. And despite having no shame, and being roughly and thoroughly fucked not too long ago, heat still flooded your cheeks at the sight.

After lazing in bed for only an allowed moment more, Aemond helped you to the shower, your legs weak like jelly as he washed you and brushed your hair, taking off your makeup with gentle steady hands that made your heart flutter in your chest.

Ever the gentleman, he popped you on the couch as he changed your sheets, remaking your bed before he put on the load of washing. It was entirely domestic, and watching him as he moved, as he doted. on you, as he fluttered around your space which had irrevocably also became his, it only seemed to make the little part of him that had burrowed into your chest go deeper.

You ordered in that evening, getting pizza in a strange reminder of what it had been like when he first moved in. The same pizza order, the same pizza place, the same two spots on the couch as you ate.

The two of you had come a long way since then. A very long way, and in many ways, coming to a place that you would not have thought possible or even to have thought to cross your mind.

You watched his favourite movie in comfortable silence after eating your dinner, before suddenly you remembered something. You jumped up from your spot, hissing slightly at the soreness between your thighs as you ran to retrieve two spoons from the drawer, then opening the freezer door to dig around inside.

Ah.

There it was.

The forgotten tub of ice cream you had carelessly thrown inside when a certain person was in your home.

You held it triumphantly as you walked back to the couch, holding it as you would a prized jewel on show for him. Aemond chuckled at your antics as you pulled the lid clean off, offering him a spoon.

“The first dip, My Lord.” You joked, bowing your head to him.

Aemond huffed a laugh, the pressure of him digging into the tub with his spoon pushed into your wrist.

“Ñuha Riña.”

The accent sent a pulse straight to your core.

Down girl.

You dipped your spoon in after him, lifting it to your lips, “What does that mean?”

“My Lady." Aemond hummed, returning his attention back to the tv.

You savoured the ice cream, the tub becoming half full in no time as you slowly but surely demolished it together. It felt good to be at his side, to know where you both stood. To know what you both wanted, and for it to not be a secret anymore.

But you still couldn't get your mind to stop thinking about the way his tongue had rolled when speaking High Valyrian.

“Aemond?” You turned your head to look at his profile, watching as his tongue darted out to lick at his spoon.

“Hm?”

“Will you teach me?”

His brows furrowed, “Teach you what?”

“High Valyrian.” You asked him shyly, suddenly feeling like perhaps you shouldn’t have asked him that at all. Maybe he wouldn't want to teach you that. Maybe it was a family thing only.

Was that weird of you to ask?

Would it be a reminder of the tension back at home?

A reminder of his father?

Your swirling thoughts of doubt were cut short as a soft smile spread across his shape cheeks.

“Hen rhinka.” Of course.

“What does that mean?”

“You’ll have to find out, won’t you, ñuha jorrāelagon.”

My love.

That night you slept in each others embrace, fresh and warm sheets on the bed, surrounded by his scent. It was no wonder that you drifted off to sleep so easily after the romp you had had earlier, not to mention how tumultuous the days before had been.

Yet when you woke the next morning, you felt refreshed, ready for a new start.

A new day.

A new beginning.

With him.

Aemond wasn’t in bed with you, but rather than feeling any sort of panic or anxiety about his absence, you crawled out of bed and went to where you knew he would be.

Standing tall, leant against the bench, Aemond sleepily sipped from his coffee in the kitchen as he blew the smoke from his cigarette through the open window. He was clad in only black shorts, his silver hair messy and tangled, and the press of his pillow embedded in his cheek.

Hearing your approach, he turned to you and smiled.

Your stomach did flips.

“Morning.”

The familiar sound of porcelain on the bench scraped in your ear.

There, at the base of his fingers, was your steaming mug of tea.

You took it gratefully from him with a smile before sidling up to his side, leaning your head against his chest as he wrapped one arm around your shoulders pulling you closer.

“What do you want to do today?” You looked up at him, watching as he smiled down at you.

“Anything you want.”

Thanks so much for reading along with me, if you wish to be added to the tag list please let me know :) Likes and reblogs are greatly appreciated ! Enjoy <3

Taglist:

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#house of the dragon #hotd #modern!aemond targaryen #modern!aemond x reader #queued

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weirwoodswitch · 7 days

Text

My Heart Belongs to Daddy part vi, modern!Aemond

Series Masterlist // Main Masterlist // take the breath that's true

modern!Aemond x step-daughter

Warnings: 18+, language, family tensions

Words: 4500

A/n: Here we go, the penultimate installment! Part vii is going to be the last part and I can't really believe we're almost finished 🥲

And this is a complete coincidence I finished this today but HAPPY BRITHDAY to Ange aka @ewanmitchellcrumbs!! Consider this a little gift from me as a thank you for all your love n support 💚

Also available to read on AO3.

She wakes startled, her heart beating furiously to the sound of raised voices coming from the kitchen.

She’s in the middle of the bed, curled up on one side with the bed sheets bunched up around her.

After the mess of last night, Cregan had gone to the pub with Jace and Baela. Evidently he hadn’t come back but his things are still strewn about her room, the brown leather holdall by the wardrobe, his t-shirt on the floor, his aftershave on her vanity.

She runs her hands over her face and forehead, groaning at the headache pulsing in her head as the shouting continues.

It’s a rarity for Alys and Aemond to get so heated, usually their arguments are a cold war of curt remarks and furious glances. She holds her breath, listening for specific words but she can’t make anything out.

It concludes with Alys shouting at the top of her lungs, “FUCK OFF THEN!” followed by the kitchen door slamming, a pair of loafers clicking against the floor of the hallway and then the front door opening and closing.

She goes to the window, pulling the curtain back just enough to see Aemond’s silver Jag pulling out of the driveway. Something about seeing him leave feels so final.

Once she’s thrown on a t-shirt and some shorts she treads carefully down the stairs, afraid to disturb the eerie silence that hangs about the house.

Alys is leaning over the counter, cradling her forehead in her other hand. She breathes deeply and slowly, the cup of coffee in front of her long forgotten.

Finally she tries to compose herself, taking a sharp inhale through her nose, looking at her and forcing a smile, as if there aren’t tears welling in her eyes. “That’s it then,” she says, her voice hoarse from the shouting.

Panic strikes her gut like a knife, twisting and twisting until it burns. “Did he say why?”

Alys huffs bitterly. “He said it was ‘differing priorities’. Says he wants to reconnect with his family–” she licks her teeth and makes a sucking sound with her tongue– “he thinks I’ll just get in the way.”

“Is that actually what he said?”

“No.”

“Well how do you–”

“I just know!” Alys snaps and she flinches. Alys waves her hand vaguely in front of her face before she starts to rub circles against her temple. “I just… know.”

She looks down at the counter, hoping to find some way to make herself useful. There’s another cup in front of one of the stools. Black coffee, half-full. She reaches for it instinctively. She can’t see the prints of his fingertips and lips on the white ceramic, but she knows they’re there. He’s left a packet of cigarettes behind too, the same packet from the dinner party.

She pours the leftover coffee down the sink and squeezes some dish soap onto a cloth to clean it out. Her hands are shaking and she almost drops it twice.

“Gods, as if I even cared enough to interfere with his family,” Alys tuts behind her. “They never liked me.”

She can’t bring herself to disagree, but it’s not like the Targaryens are renowned for being welcome to outsiders, let alone the woman in her forties who took Alicent Hightower’s precious golden boy from her. She feels cruel for thinking that, especially because she knows she would never say that to Alys’ face.

There’s a tapping sound coming from the counter, a nail against cardboard. She glances over her shoulder as Alys drums her fingertip against Aemond’s packet of cigarettes. Her head is tilted and she hums distantly.

“I never meant for things to go this far,” she says, “but it’s done now.”

She can still feel Aemond’s hands on her waist and stomach, pushing her against the sink and pulling her back into him.

Why end it with Alys now? Had he told her the truth? Surely this would have turned out to be a very different conversation if he had. So why didn’t he?

“I just know these last couple of months have been fucking unbearable without you.”

She slowly places the clean cup by the sink, squeezes the water and soap from the cloth and dries her hands on a tea towel.

She can feel her heartbeat in her throat, and wonders if she’ll be able to speak if she tries.

“Mum?”

Alys doesn’t look up at her, still preoccupied with the packet. “What is it darling?”

When she doesn’t respond right away Alys turns to face her. Her mother can often be distracted, even when she tries to talk to her, there always seems to be something that’s more important. Not now though. She looks at her, really looks at her, with red cheeks, dried tears and her eyebrows raised in a sympathetic expression. Focused, ready to listen to her.

There’s an old harbour down by Blackwater Bay, two tall stone walls cutting out a little corner of the shore. In the summer people like to go down to swim there because the waves aren’t as rough as they are in the open sea and the kids in King’s Landing have made a tradition of jumping from the harbour walls. She used to go with Harwin and Jace, before Luke was really old enough to swim. The wall is highest right at the end, from a slab of concrete which everyone called ‘the table’ looking out on the other side of the harbour. Every year she told Jace she would jump from the table and every year she walked along the wall and clambered up onto the concrete. She would look down at the waves, rolling, colliding and roaring as they splashed up against the harbour walls. Suddenly her body would start to tremble and she’d forget how to breathe. She never managed to do it.

Now she thinks she’d take jumping into the bay over what’s about to come.

“I’ve done something really awful.”

The train from Oldtown to King’s Landing takes four hours. Four hours when she has nowhere else to go, nothing else to do but put her headphones in and watch the snow covered hills and fields of the Reach race past in a blur of white and green.

In the end she had accepted the Masters programme at the University of Oldtown. Alys’ reaction couldn’t be described as enthusiastic, but she would have been less excited for her to stay in King’s Landing.

Looking back, her first term had been good. She enjoyed her modules, liked all of her lecturers (even the stricter ones), was doing well on all of her assignments and she had access to the Citadel Library, which was far older and more impressive than the library at KLU.

She moved into a dorm room in the middle of the city just a few minutes from the main campus and made a few friends who all shared a flat in the well-to-do East District, which was where she did most of her socialising. On her free days she took herself to explore the city’s museums and bookshops, or she’d get herself a coffee and a cinnamon pastry and sit by the bank of the Honeywine, watching the boats and the flow of the water.

It should have been perfect, and it was in some ways. She threw herself into everything, research and essay writing, afternoons in pub gardens and parties full of strangers. Her life had become a tangle of possibilities and it was easy to let everything else slip away.

She ended things with Cregan well before she left for Oldtown. She told him half of the truth; she hadn’t been feeling like herself lately and she wanted space to feel like a person again. She didn’t tell him about Aemond or the incident at the dinner party, and she didn’t tell him that she felt like she was wandering through her own life like a lost puppy, looking for something she couldn’t quite put her finger on, something that would fill the space in her chest that seemed doomed to remain hollow forever.

He seemed shocked but he took it well. According to Jace he’s been getting rather close to Aly Blackwood, a KLU graduate from her year. Aly Blackwood is best known around King’s Landing as a goth with a heart of gold. She has tattoos and piercings, wears sleek eyeliner and black platform boots and spends every weekend going to concerts or music festivals. She’s smart and a people person, just like Cregan. If things are heading that way then she’s happy for them. He deserves someone like that, someone who doesn’t lie to everyone around her, someone who doesn’t fuck her mother’s boyfriend halfway through a dinner party, while her own boyfriend was only in the next room.

Oldtown was the perfect escape, until the 1st December came around. Everywhere she went there were lights and trees, couples huddling close together to keep out the cold, while Last Christmas played somewhere in the distance. She enjoyed as much of it as she could, especially when her new friends dragged her to go ice skating or to Oldtown’s annual Christmas market in the square. But she couldn’t shake the dread of having to go home and spending three weeks in the house alone with Alys. Three weeks of sleeping in the bed where Aemond used to fuck her.

She watches the window as the treeline of Kingswood vanishes, and the shoreline of Blackwater Bay stretches before her, which means the city is only minutes away.

She takes her phone from her pocket and looks at it with the same nagging impulse that so far, she’s successfully ignored for months. This is her last chance to call him before she gets to King’s Landing. She doesn’t even know what she would say. She doesn’t want to talk to him or see him, but she thinks it would be nice to hear his voice or just know that he’s thinking about her– if he is thinking about her.

She opens her notes app and the note titled really good advice.

Don’t engage.

Don’t listen to songs that make you sad.

It’s okay to let go.

The train emerges from a tunnel and slowly starts to halt as it comes into the glass canopy over the platforms of Central King’s Landing Station. She slips her phone back into her pocket.

Alys picks her up from the station. She’s not wearing her usual red lipstick and she’s cut her hair into a stylish bob that makes her look older– in a good way– but other than that, she looks the same.

They hug stiffly and exchange the same mumbled greeting. “Hi. You alright? Yeah, good thanks.”

Snow drifts down from a dark grey sky, but it’s not cold enough for it to settle, despite Ella Fitzgerald’s wishes for a “White Christmas” through the car speakers. The traffic is busy so she has plenty of time to admire the lights and displays in shop windows, and the trees twinkling inside the houses as they get closer to Queen’s park.

The house is gloomier than she remembers, but then she left it in early September when the weather was still warm. That’s her least favourite thing about winter, it’s dark and it’s only 4pm. It’s cold too. She wonders if Alys came straight from the office.

She leaves her bag at the bottom of the stairs and follows Alys through to the kitchen. She squints at the harsh lights as Alys rummages through the fridge. “Didn’t have any time to think about dinner,” she says, “the last few days have been non-stop.”

“That’s okay,” she mutters, familiarising herself with the feeling of the white marble countertops under her palms. “I can walk down to the shops, if you need?”

“Don’t be ridiculous,” Alys says, “you’re a guest.”

That’s a new feeling, being a guest in her own house.

To Alys’ credit, she’s making an effort to be around more. She comes home from the office earlier than she usually does and on the weekends she brings her laptop to the lounge and works from there.

She has reading she could be doing for uni but she’s too tired to read. Lately, every time she picks up a book the words blur and fade into one another. When she’s bored of scrolling through her phone or flicking through the TV, she tries her hand at baking gingerbread to get into the festive spirit. They turn out surprisingly well but then she’s just left sitting in the kitchen by herself, nibbling cookies and feeling utterly ridiculous for it. Why does being alone have to be so embarrassing, surely there’s no one around to care?

The worst part about being home is how obvious they’re both avoiding a certain topic.

They’re eating dinner around the island in the kitchen. The fridge is stocked up in anticipation for Christmas day (which seems unnecessary if it’s only for two of them) and in the meantime they’re living off simpler meals, mostly pasta or something with rice.

“Rhaenyra’s coming over for drinks on Christmas Eve” Alys says after a few minutes of silence.

She pauses her mouthful. Alys hasn’t so much as mentioned Rhaenyra since the dinner party after her graduation, and before that the wedding. She dreads to think this get together might include some other Targaryen relatives.

She swallows. “Why?”

Alys frowns. Rhaenyra and Harwin used to alternate their Christmases between their fathers, one year with Viserys, one year with Lyonel and the Rivers. That tradition had apparently been abandoned after Lyonel died not long after Harwin. Last year it had just been the three of them.

Alys shrugs. “Rhaenyra suggested it. We’ll just have a few glasses of wine. You’re welcome to join us if you’ve not got other plans.”

Other plans are unlikely; none of her friends are in King’s Landing. So far the holidays have just been a waiting game, but the festive season seems to drag on when you’ve got nothing interesting to do and no one to see.

“I’ll be around,” she says.

“Perfect.”

Then they come back to silence, apart from the scraping of cutlery. She worries if she’s chewing too loudly, it sounds loud in her head.

Then Alys starts talking about a new client of hers. She becomes surprisingly animated, clearly excited about the new venture for Rivers PR, until she mentions an issue with contracts and some legal dilemma, then she goes quiet. It was Aemond’s job to sort that stuff out, make things more manageable for her.

She tries to change the subject by telling Alys about Oldtown, her new friends and the possibility of a graduate role at the Citadel Research Institute.

“One of my lecturers is a partner there,” she says. “They usually reserve two placements for Oldtown students.”

“How long would it be for?” Alys asks.

“Two years,” she says, taking a quick sip of the bittersweet grapefruit soda Alys had insisted she try, “it’s paid work, and then I’ll have a job by the end of it.”

“Sounds like you’ve got everything planned out nicely.” Alys doesn’t say it like a compliment. Her voice falls as she speaks.

“I mean, it’s only a possibility,” she says, “I’d have to get accepted. I was thinking about applying for some stuff in King’s Landing too–”

“Do you like Oldtown?” Alys asks. Her expression is utterly unreadable. She might be furious. She might not care at all.

She places her glass down. Her stomach aches with hunger but she finds that she doesn’t feel like eating. “Yeah, I do.”

“Well then I see no reason to force yourself to stay here,” Alys says and promptly goes back to eating.

Her chest feels like it’s about to burst.

She told Alys the truth. She didn’t try to justify what she did. She watched her mother cry, stood there as she screamed at her and gave her space when she wanted it. Seven hells, she had moved to the other side of the continent to give her space.

She knows there’s no version of this where she isn’t the villain, where she doesn’t wake up every morning and feel like a shit human being. Part of her is still trying to accept that her mother might never forgive her, but that doesn’t mean she doesn’t want to try.

The edges of her vision start to blur. “You’re here,” she says.

She watches Alys’ chest rise and fall and her lips start to tremble as she sets her cutlery down. She breathes as she hangs her head, gnawing slightly on her bottom lip.

She anticipates another argument like the one before, that will leave her with a hoarse throat and a tightness in her head.

Then Alys turns her head to face her with glassy eyes. “I hope you don’t think I’ve held you back.”

“What? No, why would you say that?”

“You seem so happy in Oldtown I just… I hate to think that you only went to KLU for me. Don’t get me wrong, I loved having you at home for another three years, but I just wanted you to be happy. That’s all I’ve ever wanted for you–” she gasps a small sob but snatches it right back. She wipes her eyes with her fingertips, careful not to smudge her makeup. “I’m sorry if I’ve made things… difficult.”

She can hardly believe what she’s seeing. “No, no, no…” she utters, reaching for one of Alys’ hands. Her throat feels thick and when she blinks she feels hot and heavy tears trailing over her cheeks. “This was all my fault. Mum, you’ve given me everything, and what have I done with it but just be selfish and stupid and–”

“Oh come here,” Alys huffs. They both stand and Alys wipes her daughter’s tears away with her thumbs.

“But you must hate me,” she whimpers, “I lied to you. I hurt you.”

Alys strokes her hands over her hair and cradles her, bringing her into her chest like she used to when she was a child. “I wanted to at first,” she mutters, “of course I did. I never would have thought…

“You know, I never actually thought I’d have kids. My parents weren’t exactly great at making me feel like a priority, and I used to think I could never be a parent because, well, I didn’t know how to be one.

“But you were so perfect. From the moment you were born I just knew I loved you, like I had never loved anyone before, and I knew I never would love anyone more than you, ever.”

She clings onto her mother like she might fade away, with the material of her blouse between her fingers and her ear pressed to her heartbeat.

“You’ve always been my everything,” Alys whispers, “I just… I don’t want to lose you.”

She pulls herself away from Alys’ embrace so she can look her in the eye. “I really am sorry, for everything with Aemond.”

Alys hums shortly. “Was it just sex?”

She’ll never forget that night in the hotel room, how stupid she felt, how empty it left her, how lost she was for months after. Sometimes she wonders, if she could, would she take back what she said? There’s no point in getting hung up on what-ifs.

She still feels lost in a lot of ways, but the dust seems to be settling now. She just hopes things will be a little clearer now.

“I think it was for him.”

Alys frowns sadly. “Oh you stupid thing.”

She wants to cry all over again, but it’s a fair statement. “Are you sure you don’t hate me?”

Alys considers the question. “Maybe just a little.”

By Christmas Eve her mood has significantly improved. The weight has been lifted from her body. She doesn’t have to spend an hour convincing herself to get out of bed. She doesn’t lose herself under the warm, running water of the shower. She doesn’t feel so exhausted from the simplest of tasks.

She and Alys finally get not one but two trees up. The ‘proper tree’ is in the dining room, with golden lights reflected in the silver and glass ornaments. In the lounge they have a smaller one that sits in the window. It has fairy lights shaped like stars and mismatched decorations, little wooden snowmen, plush reindeer and polar bears they’ve had since she was little and golden birds that belonged to Alys’ grandmother. She likes the small tree the best because every decoration has a memory. She feels like a little girl again, buzzing with excitement to spend Christmas day with uncle Harwin, aunt Rhaenyra and her cousins.

Tomorrow, she'll wake up slowly, have mimosas with her mum, roast some potatoes, eat too much food and fall asleep curled up on the sofa. Nothing else will matter. She won’t keep second guessing someone else’s every move. She won’t cry herself to sleep thinking of every little thing about her that isn’t good enough to be loved.

Alys is adamant tonight will be nothing like the dinner party in June, thank the Gods.

She changes into a mini dress with a colourful floral pattern and styles her hair nicely. She tilts her head at her reflection and puts in some pearl drop earrings, but something still feels missing. She shrugs it off.

She helps Alys put out snacks and drinks on the kitchen island and choses a playlist of all the essential Christmas songs, just in time for their guests to arrive.

Rhaenyra looks as stunning as ever, in a black two piece that fits snugly around a growing baby bump, bright red lipstick and gold jewellery on her neck and wrists. She hugs both of them tightly and smiles beautifully in a way that makes her think she might be genuine.

Baela and Rhaena follow behind her, which is a pleasant surprise.

“No boys with you?” Alys asks as they all walk through to the kitchen.

“Thought we’d keep it strictly pleasant company,” Rhaenyra says, “nice to have a bit of calm before we go to dad’s tomorrow.”

“Right,” she and Alys say at the same time.

They all sit in the kitchen. The twins are a year older than her. Baela’s been working at her grandfather’s company while Rhaena’s found her way into being a stylist, always posting from film sets and photoshoots. She looks the part too, she tends to wear bright, bold colours and pairs them with patterns and materials that shouldn’t work together, but somehow they do.

They ask about Oldtown and she doesn’t feel bad about repeating everything she’s already told Alys. The attention is quite nice.

Given the baby, Rhaenyra can’t actually drink but she pours some cranberry juice into a wine glass and sips it elegantly. “Jace told me you and Cregan broke up?” she says once the charcuterie boards have been finished off.

In that moment she tries to think of all the ways someone might react when they’re not bothered by something. Unbothered people smile vaguely and play with their hair without it seeming nervous. Unbothered people crack jokes at their own expense and laugh things off. Unbothered people don’t take as long as she’s taking to answer a question. “Um.. yeah.”

“Oh well, that’s life,” Rhaenyra sighs. “You know I broke up with my first girlfriend before I went to uni.”

“Really?”

“Yeah. And then she married my dad.”

She and Alys look at each other. They both try to look concerned at first, until she sees a flicker of a smile on Aly’s lips. She slips too, and they simultaneously snort into laughter.

But once the amusement wears off and Alys and Rhaenyra retreat to the lounge, she still feels guilty.

Baela and Rhaena are gossiping about some shared friends. She only half pays attention.

Maybe Rhaenyra meant it to be reassuring, empathetic, validating, but Oldtown wasn’t the reason why she ended things with Cregan, more a symptom of a single problem.

She has a sudden urge to reach for her phone, but she’s left it upstairs.

She was doing so fine in Oldtown. She was happy, busy, things didn’t seem to bother her as much as they do in King’s Landing.

“What are you doing for new years?” Baela asks.

“Oh um, nothing. Mum has a fundraiser she usually goes to.”

“Are you not going to go with her?”

A ballroom full of canapés, elevator pitches and entrepreneurs making small talk sounds like a living hell. “Definitely not.”

“We’re all going to Dracarys,” Rhaena says, “you know that club on Silk Street? Why don’t you join us.”

She starts to shake her head. Hanging out with Aemond’s cousins sounds like it could be a bad idea.

“I know what you’re thinking,” Baela says, “but don’t worry, it’s just us, Jace and a few other girls. Cregan won’t be there, he’s gone back to Winterfell.”

She releases a shaky sigh of relief. Right. Cregan. The person she should be worried about.

“He and Aly Blackwood are a thing now,” Rhaena says.

She keeps her eyes on a space on the counter. “Yeah, I heard.”

The kitchen falls to an uneasy silence. Baela and Rhaena look at each other and she can feel the anxiety radiating off them, restless and uncomfortable without something to fill the lull in the conversation. She doesn’t mind the quiet.

They don’t stay too late. When they go to leave the snowfall is a little heavier and leaves a light dusting over the drive and the cars.

“Let me know about new years,” Baela says, “we’ll have fun!”

She supposes so, and besides, she could do with getting out the house and drowning her sorrows with a sensible amount of margaritas.

She and Alys stand in the doorway as Rhaenyra’s Escalade pulls away and disappears down an otherwise empty street, leaving a trail in the snow that is quickly covered again.

Alys checks the time on her phone and shows her the time: 00:02. “Happy Christmas, darling,” she says, wrapping her arm around her shoulders.

She smiles and leans into her. “Happy Christmas, mum.”

Alys grins and nods towards the stairs. “Now get to bed or Santa’ll skip our house.”

She giggles softly as she goes, entirely pleased that Christmas isn’t turning out to be a complete shitshow. Alys has left a new pyjama set on her bed, white, fluffy and impossibly soft. It makes a difference from her old Black Sabbath t-shirt. She readies herself for bed, brushes her teeth and takes a few sips of the glass of water she’s brought up with her.

Her phone is plugged in on her bedside table, but it must be fully charged by now.

The moment she reaches for it, the screen lights up and it starts to ring. The glare of the white text makes her eyes sting: Aemond Targaryen.

All the months of distance are gone in a moment. All the time she’s spent trying to move on are lost for just one glimmer of hope. It would be so easy to accept the call. She doesn’t care what she should or shouldn’t say. One movement of her thumb and she’ll hear his voice.

Don’t engage.

It’s okay to let go.

She watches the phone ring until his name disappears.

A/n: I also realised that I've been referring to Harwin's father as Simon Strong which is incorrect, it should be Lyonel, so I've gone back and corrected that.

General Taglist: @randomdragonfires @jamespotterismydaddy

Series Taglist: @marthawrites @urmomsgirlfriend1 @aaaaaamond @boundlessfantasy @sahvlran @tinykryptonitewerewolf @arcielee @tssf-imagines @aemondsfavouritebastard @skikikikiikhhjuuh @queenofshinigamis @lost-and-founds @izzydlb @dc-marvel-girl96 @xcinnamonmalfoyx @padfooteyes @castellomargot @pet1t3 @okfashionista @khaothick @babygirlyofthevale (I'm so sorry I said I was gonna add you for last time and I completely forgot 😭)

#house of the dragon #hotd #modern!aemond targaryen #modern!aemond x reader #queued

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weirwoodswitch · 7 days

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Meleys, the Red Queen

Drawn in pencil, colored digitally.

#fanart #meleys #queued

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weirwoodswitch · 8 days

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A Merciful King ☼ Chapter Seven

Pairing: Aegon Targaryen x Reader, Aemond Targaryen x Reader

Warnings: drunk aegon, slight pregnancy complications

Word Count: 5.8

A/N: Unfortunately I got shadowbanned on my old account so further chapters will be posted on here instead of there.

Synopsis: The war is over, the blacks have lost, and as Rhaenrya’s daughter it is your duty to marry a green to secure your younger brothers safety. If only Aemond paid attention to you like his brother does.

Taglist, ones in bold didn’t let me tag: @mirandastuckinthe80s @b1gb3anz @daenerysdracarys @sidiriv @wondergal2001 @flavorofsalt @daddysfavoritesexkitten @zillahvathek @venusthevirgo @gretesstuff @rey260717-blog @tswiftsthings @itsametaphorbriansblog @elleclairez @stargaryenx @tired-ninfa @caramelcandescence @viscardiac @peachiesteve @moonxhunt @tisthekatseason @bajadotcom @xxlilyxx90 @ferrarischampions @ohitsthemaster @justasmallbean-blog @thefloatingpickle @lawlerek @miqaelababa @arcielee @watermel0nsugarhigh @lovecleastrange @lyannesworld @imakeangelscry @aloneatpeace @xinyourdreamsx @cl-0-vr @borikenlove @shion-ah @widemiffyhappy @aegonsgf @randomgirlthatlikesalotoffandom @bwormie @bellameshipper @evienorville @mandiiblanche @ggglitch-exe @hydrationqueensworld @shiranai-atsune @graykageyama @hiatuswhore @giulia2372 @curlszx88 @venice-bish @malfoytargaryen @crudemoon @crispmarshmallow @trifoliumviridi @green-lxght @sirenofavalon @wooya1224 @lesscrying @djlexi @issshhh @tempt-ress @lunablade @kittykylax @cecilyjmorgenstern @missbeeentertainment @deadgirldreaming

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Keep reading

#house of the dragon #hotd #aegon ii targaryen #aegon ii targaryen x reader #queued

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weirwoodswitch · 8 days

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The Sublet - Roommate!AU

Warnings: She/her pronouns, slow burn, angst. Tags will be added as the fic goes along.

Pairings: Modern!Aemond x Reader

Notes: Another day, another slay. Here is the next chapter of Sublet, hehe. I'm so excited for you all to read this, Aemond is such an asshole but god he is so FINEEEE <3 It's a long one... Enjoy! P.s Aemond is listening to this song: Lovers From the Past - Mareux

Chapter 5: Sīkudi Nopāzmi (Seven Hells)

Cregan left yours after you had relaxed for a time, had some breakfast in the quiet of the apartment together, and yet another round of his fingers pressed into your core.

It was, all things considered, a perfect way to start your day.

And whilst you basked in the afterglow of the evening and morning, and the content and joy that your not so subtle friend with benefits brought you, you decided to spend the rest of the day cleaning and tidying the apartment.

You turned on your speaker and let your music play through it loudly as you did a full clean down.

Usually, Helaena and you would spend your Sunday’s doing this together, glasses of wine in hands, or sometimes, if Aegon dropped it over, a nice spliff.

It wasn’t until the late afternoon that Aemond returned.

The kitchen was freshly wiped down, all cups and bowls put away in the cupboard. The lounge and dining you had spent a meticulous amount of time dusting and fluffing, not at all because you had nervous energy racing through you at the thought of his return. You had even had time to change and wash your sheets, putting on a nice smelling candle in the lounge room to really finish the job.

And then, there he was, in all his lean fury, stood in the hallway that you just mopped and vacuumed in his stupid trainers, dressed head to toe in his jogging gear.

He still had his AirPods in.

You were in the lounge room, dressed in an oversized shirt, probably looking crazed as you had been dashing about the apartment in intermittent song and dance as you cleaned, and there he was, back inside and watching you.

You felt a blush spread across your cheeks but swallowed the feeling of shame. Why should you feel any shame at all? It’s your home. He is the one living here. Besides, it's not as though he doesn’t totally have sex himself. It would be complete-

“Wheres you friend?” Aemond asked, eye looking behind you.

You blanched.

So now he was talking to you?

“Went home.”

Aemond hummed, eyebrows lifting before he carried on through the hall, still with his stupid shoes on, and disappeared into Helaena’s room.

What the fuck?

“Take your shoes off at the door!” You called out to him, irritation pulsing through you.

You didn’t want his dirty outside soles all over your nice clean floorboards, and some nerve he had to ignore you and then come back asking questions.

No, ‘Hey, how are you?’

‘Wow, the house looks so clean! Thanks!’

‘How was your day?’

Nada.

You were almost in the right mind to call Helaena and bitch about her brother to her, and beg her to come back, or at least take him from your hands like an unwanted pet.

It was not long after he went to his room that you heard him enter the bathroom, the sound of the shower carrying through the door. You decided to go back into your room and fold your laundry that you had washed and put it away.

Each fold of your clothes you tried to rationalise his behaviour. Tried to make excuses for it even, or explain it all away. But eventually you came to the conclusion that perhaps Helaena just had a soft spot for her brother, and that he was just another breed of Aegon.

Another douchebag.

Your only hope was that there was only a few weeks to go. And if you could survive living in a hostile environment for that, you could survive anything. Besides, Helaena and Daeron seemed pretty keen for you to go to the Keep and see them for a few days, so that was always on the cards.

Or you could stay at Cregan’s if you really needed an out.

You hoped it didn’t come to that.

Gods, how long was he going to be in the bathroom?

You felt sticky from cleaning all day and wanted to shower yourself and get into some pj’s.

Making plans to order some pizza before your shower so that it would arrive when you got out, you walked to the bathroom door and knocked.

He better not have used all the fucking hot water.

To your surprise, Aemond didn’t call out from inside, instead, he opened the door wide, steam curling behind him as he stood in just a towel loosely wrapped around his hips. Water dripped from his wet hair down his bare chest and onto the floor below.

Your mouth felt dry, and you could just see the barest imprint of his-

“Can I help you?”

Your eyes snapped up to his, feeling a deep blush settle on your cheeks and a warmth in your gut.

No.

What the fuck?

He’s an asshole.

Down girl.

Making a point to keep your eyes on his, you stepped back, feeling all too close to the Targaryen man.

“Are you going to be long? I want to take a shower.”

Aemond’s lips twitched in the barest of smirks, “Sure, bunny. I’m done.” And with that, he brushed past you, his damp arm sliding against yours as he made his way to his room and shut the door behind him.

You blinked at the door.

Bunny…

...

He had heard.

Embarrassment creeped through you as you rushed into the steam filled room, almost slipping on the wet tiles and slamming the door shut behind you.

Aemond had heard you and Cregan.

But why did that make a spark of arousal bloom inside of you?

Something was seriously wrong with you.

You quickly ordered your pizza on your phone, paying for it and noting the estimated delivery time.

Stripping off your clothes, you turned on the shower and jumped under the hot spray, letting the water cascade over your face and hair, scrubbing each and every inch of your body, spotting the small bruises that littered it from Cregan. Most of all, the mottling of purple across the flesh of your ass.

You bit your lip as you washed it carefully, enjoying the sting and the memory of his hands.

By the time you got out of the shower and had done your skincare routine, hair being pat dry with your towel, you trudged out of the bathroom in your pj’s and made your way to the kitchen to grab a drink.

The pizza came not too long after, and you frowned at the delivery person as they handed you two boxes of pizza. You were so confused, checking your phone again to see the order, “But I only ordered one?”

The teenager shifted on his feet impatiently, “It was a two for one deal today? You got a pizza for free.”

“Oh. Thank you.” You gave the boy a tip, and turned back inside with two boxes of pizza.

Aemond hadn’t come out of his room since he went in, and well, you had two pizzas, it would be a waste of food if you didn’t offer him some.

Even if he didn’t deserve it.

You walked over to his door, and could hear music playing inside (Lovers From the Past - Mareux). With the pizza boxes balanced in one hand, you lifted the other to knock on the door.

The door stayed unanswered, and so you knocked again, this time hearing a grumble from behind. It swung open, and Aemond stood, hair still slightly damp on his shoulders, clad in only grey sweat pants. He raised a brow at you, eye flicking to the pizza boxes and then back to your face.

You wished he would put on a shirt.

“There was a two for one deal, so there’s a box if you want one.” You explained, then remembering how he thought the snack plate last night was for him, you didn’t want him to think you were going out of your way again, “I didn’t know the deal was a thing. They just dropped two boxes at the door.”

Aemond raised a brow as if to say he didn’t believe you.

You huffed, “Alright. I’ll put it in the fridge then.” You turned on your heel to walk away and heard a chuckle from behind you.

“So grumpy.” He breathed under his breath, just teasing enough for you to hear it.

Your fingers tightened around the boxes as you refused to turn around and marched straight to the lounge room, dropping onto the couch and flicking on the television angrily. You looked at the second box of pizza, and thought about putting it in the fridge for him later.

Fuck it.

He can starve.

At best, he gets salmonella.

Leaving the second box unopened, you curled up on the couch and turned on your favourite show, munching on the hot pizza, the cheese warm and stringy on your tongue. A weight settled beside you, and you turned your head slightly to find Aemond sitting on the couch next you, reaching out to grab his box of pizza to eat.

You tried to not give him any notice, or even sneak a glance at the man, who still sat shirtless beside you, one leg tucked up on the couch as he ate. You bet that if you looked down at his grey sweats you would be able to see the imprint of his-

“Did you clean the apartment?” His voice cut through the air.

You gave him a hum in response.

“You working tomorrow?”

Another question?

You turned to face him, “No. It’s a Sunday tomorrow.”

Aemond took another large bite of his pizza, a long string of cheese being pulled taut by his stretched hand, which he pulled into his mouth with his tongue.

You swallowed thickly.

“How long have you and Craig been together?” Aemond asked, eye on you, tongue darting out to lick any remaining sauce that lingered on his plush lips.

You let out a short huff of a laugh, “It’s Cregan. And we aren’t dating.”

“An ex then?”

Why was he so interested in Cregan?

“No.” You said slowly, “Just a friend. He’s Sara’s brother. Helaena used to date her.”

Aemond hummed in recognition of Sara’s name, but then his lips pursed forward, “Just a friend.” He parroted, a smirk pulled on his lips.

Turning to face the tv, you took another bite of your pizza before swallowing, “Yeah, friend. Do you have any of those?”

The silver haired man laughed quietly, “I have enough.”

You hummed back.

Gods, you sounded like him.

You both continued to eat slowly, letting the sound of the tv surround you for a while longer.

“Seems nice.”

There it was.

You snapped your head to your roommates brother, glaring at him, “He is. Why are you so interested in him?”

Aemond smirked deeply, closing the box of his finished pizza before he stood to put it in the kitchen recycling bin, not answering your question.

You huffed, feeling entirely irritated by the whole scenario.

You watched as he came back out of the kitchen, his gaze on you. Your eyes roamed down his chest, spotting a tattoo on the side of his ribs, some sort of sword. And then your gaze went lower, spotting the tip of an inky black tattoo that sat on his hip bones, the muscles of his V leading down to-

Gods damn him.

Those grey sweats.

What was it about them that you made you so feral?

Sensing your sudden shift, Aemond poked his tongue in his cheek, as if he was debating the next words to come from his mouth. But then they came, and you were left to sit in the lounge room alone with the knowledge of what he knew.

“Goodnight, bunny.”

Fuck.

The next day Aemond’s demeanour seemed to change completely. He left the house before you woke, going for his morning jog as always, and so you got the morning to yourself to have a quiet cup of tea and cigarette at the kitchen window.

The sun was rising to its peak by the time he got back, and you were seated on the bench next to the window, blowing the smoke outside and sipping on your tea. You had expected when you heard the door open that he would retreat to his room as he always did and hide away like a recluse.

But this morning, Aemond surprised you.

Instead of seeing a blur of silver and black down the hallway, Aemond turned to the kitchen, giving you a small purse of his lips in greeting. His hair was tied back in a low bun, though small strands of silver hung around his face. His t-shirt was stuck to his chest in patches from his sweat, and the small black nike shorts he wore revealed the toned muscles of his thighs and calves.

“Morning.”

You blew a puff of smoke out the window, “Morning.”

Aemond stepped in front of you and you tensed, unsure, looking up at his face as he looked down at you. Then in one swift moment, he reached above your head, pulling down a glass from the shelf, hips brushing your knees as he moved to the sink to fill himself a glass of water.

You watched as he brought the glass to his lips and drank deeply, watching the way his throat bobbed and his lips were slightly wet, the cup almost completely empty by the time he took it away, but his eye immediately found yours, catching your shameless appraisal.

“You’re staring, bunny.”

There it was again.

That name.

Something only Cregan called you when you were locked beneath him writhing in pleasure, or on top.

You felt heat rise up your chest, “Don’t call me that.” You frowned, and Aemond smirked, humming before leaving the kitchen.

You jumped off the sill, stubbing the cigarette out on the brickwork outside before dumping your mug in the sink.

You needed to get out of the house. And so you opened your phone to call a friend who you knew you could vent to.

The phone rang three times before the melodic voice of Sara Snow came through the speaker, her Northern accent thick through the phone, “You right?”

“Hey to you too, Sar.”

Despite her and Helaena’s obvious love for each other, and the consistent on-again-off-again game of avoidance the two had, there was no denying that you felt safe and trusted around the woman. It had been a while since you had spent time with her, and the other day was just a reminder of all the good times you have had.

Besides, the rest of your friends were away for the break.

“What do you want?”

You laughed into the phone, “Charming. I don’t know what Helaena sees in you.”

Her chuckle was heard in the back, “It’s definitely not my glowing personality.” She said suggestively.

“Alright enough of that. I’m off limits.”

“Who said you were even on?”

You shook your head, “What are you doing today?”

You heard Sara shuffling in the background of the phone, “Obviously seeing you, considering you’ve called.”

Grinning, you made your way to your room and began to flick through your closet to choose an outfit, “I need a drink. Or three. Maybe five.”

“Trouble in paradise?” Sara teased, “Is my brother the cause of this need to see me? I don’t mind if it is, I love a good bitch.”

You pulled out a slinky black dress, chucking it on your bed as you found some knee high boots to match, “Not Cregan, no. I can’t say much right now about it,” You mumbled into the phone, “But I need to get out of here.”

Sara let out the highest of pitched squeals as she realised who it was that you were trying to escape, “Oh my god, I knew you two would go head to head. Helaena said I was being judgemental. But girl, have you heard their phone calls? The North is warmer than that man.”

“Tell me about it. Anyway, you gonna help me or what?”

“Say less, babe. Meet me in the Silk Lanes.”

You sighed, “Sara we aren’t going to a strip club, it's the middle of the day.”

“You’re a buzz kill. But no, didn’t mean that. There's a new bar that’s opened up on the strip. They have live music sometimes. Cool crowd too.”

You hummed, looking down at the dress, “Fine. What time?”

“See you in an hour!”

She hung up before you could even respond.

You dressed yourself and headed to the bathroom put on some light makeup, do your hair and pair the dress with some nice gold jewellery, including a pair of earrings Helaena had given you a Christmas or two ago.

Grabbing a small bag, you left, not sparing Helaena’s shut door a glance, swiping up your keys and making your way to the train station to go and meet Sara.

The trip wasn’t a long one, and before you knew it you were making your way down to the Silk Lanes, passing strip clubs, brothels, and bars along the way.

It was a cool area that was sure, but at times, more male dominated.

You kept waking, unsure of where you were really going until a low whistle was heard behind you. Spinning around you spotted Sara, who stood in a short halter neck denim dress that hugged her curves, and brown cowboy boots.

She looked hot.

“Damn, Sar. I can see now why Helaena keeps you around.”

Her green-grey eyes roamed over your body, taking in your dress. You spun on the spot, breezing your hands over your hips in a seductive way.

“My brother doesn’t deserve you. You ever get sick of him, I'm sure theres room for a third.” She smirked, looping your arm in hers as she started to lead you down an alleyway, a flickering red sign that read ‘Sīkudi Nopāzmi’ over an old brick wall, and busted green door.

You would have walked straight past it.

You blinked up at the lettering, brows furrowed as you tried to use what basic High Valyrian you had learnt many years ago in High School.

“Seven Hells?” You looked at Sara.

The dark haired woman smirked.

The inside of the bar was dark and dingy, exposed brick walls, low candle light and sultry music playing. The overall vibe was sensual, brooding, and mysterious.

You couldn’t help but think of a man who reminded you of it.

Sara left you at the table to grab you drinks, coming back to place a Porn Star Martini in front of you, small shot of Prosecco placed beside it. You took the Prosecco and drank it back, not wanting it to mix with the sweetness of the martini.

Sara raised a brow as she watched, bringing her dirty martini to her lips to sip.

“So, what has your knickers in a twist?” She twirled the stick of olives with her black fingernails.

You glared at her, sipping the martini again, “I live with a recluse douchebag.”

“That bad, huh?”

You sighed aggressively, finishing your martini and standing to go get another, “I need another one of these before I begin this shit. And you’re going to need one too.”

By the time you had both drunk your fourth martini, you begun to feel the anger roll off of you in slates with every story you spat.

“Class A Asshole.” Sara nodded, laughing at your retelling of his reaction to thinking you had made your plate of snacks for him, “I can’t believe he heard Cregan fuck you.” She threw her head back laughing, and you let yourself laugh too.

“You should have seen him run out the door in the morning, didn’t come back the whole fucking day. But get this,” You leant forward, tipping the rest of your martini into your mouth.

Sara leant on her elbows looking at you, eyes dancing in delight.

As you opened your mouth, two new drinks were placed on the table in front of you by the tall bartender. You both looked up at him confused.

You hadn’t ordered another drink.

The bartender was handsome, hair cut close to his scalp, dark skin, with bright golden eyes that smiled down at you before flicking his head to a table at the far back.

“From that table over there.”

You and Sara looked back, seeing two men who raised their drinks up to you in a salute.

Sara burst into laughter, looking back at you, “Should I tell them they’re not my type?”

You shook your head giggling, “No! I want more free drinks.”

Giving them a coy smile, you raised your drink in salute back.

“Anyway, get this.” You continued your story, sipping the drink as you winked at the men behind you.

Sara’s eyes lit up as she sipped her free martini.

“He keeps calling me bunny.”

Sara’s dark brows pulled at the centre of her forehead, “Bunny?”

You smirked, “It’s what your brother calls me.”

Her face scrunched up, sipping the drink, “Ugh. I don’t want to know.”

You chuckled, “Well its important to the story, so suck it up. Aemond must have heard it, because now he won’t stop calling me bunny. It’s driving me insane.”

Her red lips pulled into a knowing smirk, “Insane, huh?”

“Oh no.”

“I see what’s happening now.”

“Sara.”

“You want to fuck him.”

Shit.

You sipped your martini heavily, not answering the woman in front of you. You were definitely tipsy by now, borderline drunk. You picked up your phone, screen lighting up.

It was already 5pm.

Sara was leant back in her chair, cool smirk on her perfectly lined lips, “I mean, I can’t blame you. There’s a reason they have ancient rumours of the Targaryens being Gods.”

Your eyes widened.

“What? I love Helaena, don’t I?” The words slipped out of her lips before she could take them back, blush creeping on her cheeks.

Now it was your turn to grin.

“Oh no. No. Shut your mouth.” She warned you, skulling the rest of the drink.

Your smirk grew wider, “You love her.”

Sara looked around the bar, trying to find a way out or distraction.

She found none.

“No. We are here to talk about you and your problems, not mine.”

You hummed, the noise reminding you of the silver haired nightmare waiting for you at home, “Fine. But I won’t forget that you just said that.”

Sara rolled her eyes, raising her hand to hail the tall bartender again, ordering the pair of you a final drink.

“We are going to have our last drink. Discuss how you want this hulking, smouldering man to fuck you silly, and then you are going to go home and jump his bones so I don’t have to hear your complaints ever again.”

You opened your mouth widely at her in shock, “You fucking bitch.”

“You love me for the honesty. Besides, Helaena wouldn’t tell you how it is.”

You smiled.

She was right.

Helaena definitely would put more fluff around the words and be sweeter about it, especially since it was her brother.

After finishing your drinks, laughing and talking about Aemond and how he irked you, whilst describing the ways you wished to shut him up by keeping his mouth busy, you both decided to call it a night early with time to have dinner.

You kissed Sara on her cheeks as you walked through the Silk Lanes together and back to the train station. You would be getting the same train, and off at different stations. When it came to yours, Sara was still sitting as you moved to get off.

“Give him Hell, bunny.” She smirked, and you rolled your eyes at her.

The walk home was short, but as you walked, you couldn’t help but think on your friends encouragement.

Why should you let him give you shit?

Why are you letting I’m proverbially piss on his territory?

You had a sudden urge, aided by the drinks, to do as Sara commanded.

The keys missed the door twice before you finally got it in the hole, twisting open the handle and throwing the keys unceremoniously into the dish at the door. You didn’t even bother to take off your shoes as you marched straight to his room.

You didn’t even bother knocking, swinging the door open with a forceful shove, eyes meeting the shocked and almost alarmed one of Aemond.

He sat laid back on the bed, those stupid grey sweats on his defined thighs, the subtle bulge there and prominent in the grey of the cotton. Your eyes roamed his body with no shame, oggling his bare chest again as you felt heat settle in your gut.

There was a singular lamp on beside the bed, and Aemond had a book open in his hand as he looked up at you through his lashes.

He raised a singular brow.

Your hands sat on your hips, immediately feeling defensive, “What?”

Aemond scoffed, “You’re in my room. You tell me, bunny.”

You blushed, “I told you, don’t call me that.”

He sighed, shutting the book in his lap as he leant lazily into the pillows, one long finger stuck between the folds of the pages. Your eyes strayed on it a moment more than they should have.

“What do you want, Y/n?” He sounded bored, impatient, with undertones of annoyance.

But the way he rolled your name off of his tongue sounded more like a purr.

Damn him.

“Come join me.”

Both brows shot up on his face, the scar on his eye crinkling, before they settled again, cool face watching you, “You’re drunk, aren’t you?”

“No.”

Aemond smirked.

“Forget it.” You snapped, turning around.

You heard the bed behind you shift and the soft padding of feet behind you. Aemond followed you into the lounge room and sat on the couch, legs stretching out onto the coffee table as you tried not to sneer down at him.

“Is this a house meeting?” He joked.

“No. This is a ‘get to fucking know the person you’re living with’ meeting.”

You watched as Aemond’s lips twitched, battling with the smirk that was pulling at them. He pursed them at you instead, and you didn’t know whether or not you wanted to slap him, or bite them.

You crossed your arms against your chest, jutting a hip out, feeling the warmth of all those martinis flowing through your body, “Why do you hate me?”

It was Aemond’s turn to frown, “I don’t hate you.”

“Then why are you such a dick?”

“A dick?”

You hummed back at him, turning to bend over and get a large pot out of the cupboard in front of him. You had drank your fair share, and if you were being honest, you were drunk. Not tipsy like you had thought, and you knew that you had an early morning with work, and needed at least something in your stomach to sober you up.

You made quick work of filling the pot with water, turning your head back to look at Aemond who watched you under a hooded eye.

“What’s your deal anyway?” You twisted back, settling the pot on the stove to boil the water, grabbing a bowl from above.

“My deal?” He parroted again.

You sighed, pulling a packet of instant noodles from the pantry to put the sachet packet in the bowl, “Tall, brooding, ‘devil may care’ attitude. You have this general disdain for everyone around you.”

“Brooding.” Aemond hummed.

“More annoying than anything, really.”

“Hm.”

You rubbed your face roughly, pointing at your bag which had been thrown on the couch when you entered, “Pass me that will you?”

Aemond simply lifted a brow at you, staying in his spot, until you emphasised your pointed hand with a flick of your arm. The man stood, bringing it over to you as you waited for the water to boil.

Digging through your bag you pulled out your cigarettes and rolled one messily. It would do.

You leant out the window and lit the smoke, Aemond watching you amusedly from beside. You took the first drag of the cigarette, giving yourself an immediate head spin.

You shut your eyes and blew out the smoke, a small groan falling from your lips.

“I would like to live under a roof where my patience is not questioned at every moment, and I’m not faced with a living and breathing hermit. It’s hard to believe you’re Helaena’s brother.”

Aemond moved to look down at you, leaning on the opposite end of the window, his long fingers reaching out to you, asking for a drag wordlessly. You looked at his hand, eyes narrowed as you lifted the cigarette to your lips again, ignoring his request, his hand still held out to you.

Persistent asshole.

Blowing the smoke out the window, you gave him the cig, watching as he slowly brought it to his own lips, wrapping around it gently as he inhaled, eye on you the entire time.

You shifted where you stood.

“Maybe you should ask some questions, bunny.” He breathed, holding the smoke in his chest before blowing it out.

“Fuck off.” You snatched the cigarette back from him, your fingers brushing against his.

He was so warm.

Aemond chuckled from deep in his chest, a quiet rumble that was as smooth as silk.

Fuck.

“Well,” He began, looking out the window, “I’m Helaena’s brother.”

“No shit.”

“Well if you’re not going to ask questions-“

“-Will you even answer them?”

He pushed his tongue into his cheek as he thought.

“That's what I thought.” You dumped the lit smoke on the window sill and moved to put the noodles in the pot, stirring it once over, “Can you at least pretend to be civil? If not for me, for Helaena?”

You turned to face him again, your cigarette at his lips as he watched you. He gave you a curt nod.

“Why did you leave Harrenhal?”

The question caught the both of you off guard, and you watched as Aemond retreated into himself, face turning to stone and eye narrowing. He blew the smoke slowly out the window, taking his gaze from you to lean out the sill with both elbows.

The tension floated over the two of you, and you suddenly felt bad for asking. You knew about the break up. Helaena had told you it had been really bad, but still, he didn't need to take it out on you.

You stirred the noodles again, watching them swirl around in a circle before opening your mouth to apologise, but Aemond beat you to it.

“You still got some of that wine?”

You blinked, slowly inhaling, “I have something stronger?”

“Hm.” Was all you got in response as Aemond leant over you, stretching a long arm up to grab a glass.

You ducked down to rifle through the cupboards.

There, at the back, was a bottle of whiskey your ex had left behind. Not at all something you would usually drink, but the bottle alone was worth a small fortune, and so you had kept it.

Small mercy’s, you supposed.

Aemond took the bottle from you, inspecting the label as the edges of his lips tugged down.

“Didn’t take you for a top shelf whiskey girl.”

“You don’t know much about me.” You paused, watching as he uncorked it, grabbing a handful of ice from the freezer to dump into the glass before he poured the amber liquid on top, “It’s not mine.”

“Your friends?” He teased.

“My ex.”

Aemond flicked his eyebrows at you and stirred it once in his hand, moving back to the window to grab the forgotten smoke. The man didn’t reply, opening the floor to you if you wanted to elaborate, and you felt like if you told him a little bit about you, then maybe he would open up.

You turned the stove off, straining the noodles into the bowl, chucking the fork inside, mixing it all together. Bringing the bowl to balance on the windowsill, you curled the fork around some strands, blowing air on it to cool it down.

“Textbook narcissist.” You began, watching as Aemond tilted his head towards you to indicate he was listening, bringing the golden drink to his lips to sip deeply, muscles in his shoulders rippling.

“Caught him cheating on me, and then he had the gall to blame me because I came home early.” You shook your head, “Should have seen him though, face like a smacked ass. Can’t have your cake and eat it too.” You huffed, eating some of your noodles.

“Sounds like a keeper.” Came his smooth reply, taking another sip.

“She thought so. They’re still together.”

You ate your noodles quietly, letting the silence wrap around the two of you. It wasn’t that it was uncomfortable, you just didn’t know what else to say at that time.

Aemond opened the floor again, “Does he have a name?”

“Jason Lannister.”

Aemond turned his whole body towards you, mouth agape, “You dated the ‘Knob from Casterly Rock’?”

You whined, “It was dark times, okay? Character development and all that shit. How do you know him?”

Aemond scoffed, flicking the finished cigarette out the window into the darkness, “Hard to not know him. Always on campus, flouting mummy and daddy’s money.”

You snorted, “That’s rich. You’re literally a descendant of royalty. You own a castle. If anyone has mummy and daddy’s money it’s you.”

It was obvious this was a topic that was a definite no-go-zone for Aemond by the way his face and posture tensed, stomach flexing in the shadows of the kitchen. He threw back the last dregs of the whiskey, putting the glass down harder than what was needed.

“I take it you are making it on your own like Helaena, then?” You treaded carefully, trying to circle away from your comment before.

“I'm sure you'd take it any way you'd like.” His eye was narrowed on you, and the way he spoke made it seem as though he wasn’t talking about your thoughts on the matter.

You swallowed dryly, leaving the last of the noodles to be forgotten.

And then he continued, “I take what is owed to me. But I am not Aegon.”

You hummed in agreement, nodding your head, feeling the pull of sobriety in the back of your mind.

"You know Aegon tried to hit on me once?" You smirked.

Aemond made a noise to suggest he wasn't surprised, eyebrows raising in slight amusement.

"Called me a Gazelle." You mused, "Long legs apparently." You kicked a leg out in show, still clad in the long boots.

Aemond scoffed, "Aegon will say anything to anyone to try and fuck."

"And here I was thinking I was a catch." You teased back.

Aemond stood close to you, and you could smell his cologne, matched with the smell of whatever soap and conditioner that he used. But you couldn’t help but notice the undertones of just him.

Earthy.

Musky.

A large finger tapped on the glass as he looked at you in thought, gold ring on his pinky hitting the side with a tink.

“Harrenhal has nothing for me anymore.” His voice low and deep, as he watched you, “Kings Landing offers more. Finishing my degree. Friends.” His eye roamed up and down your body. Even in your boots, he towered over you, “More.”

You swallowed, feeling your heart begin to race in your chest, heat settling in your gut.

“How so?” It came out as almost a whisper.

Aemond’s eye became half hooded as he looked down at you, humming as his tongue flicked out of his lips as he watched you, wetting the already parted plump flesh, just begging for you to reach up and capture them with your own.

“What are you asking me, bunny?” He asked, voice gravelly, filled with something.

You blinked, “I told you, don’t call me that.” You breathed.

He smirked, “Then what should I call you?” His hand reached out to tuck a stray hair behind your ear, the contact sending sparks down your body.

You tried to steel yourself, suddenly sober, “My name.”

Aemond huffed, seeming to come closer to you, “Always so sharp.”

Your breath hitched in your throat.

The silver haired Targaryen hummed again, “I think… it’s all a show this defiance.”

You furrowed your brows, feeling anger begin to crackle in your chest.

“I think,” He leant forward, staring at you intently, “Under all this…” His hand caught the skirt of your dress, rubbing it between his fingers, “You just want to be a good girl, don’t you?”

Your core clenched, and you bit down on your lip to stop the small whimper that wanted to escape your mouth.

The corner of his lips quirked, another satisfied hum rumbling in his chest.

An affirmation that he was right.

And he knew it.

His face came closer to yours, tongue darting out to wet his lips again as he watched you, your thighs rubbing together subtly as you looked up at him.

Heat travelled up and down your spine, his scent surrounding you as he looked at you. The violet of his eye slimmed as his pupil widened, his chest rising and falling jaggedly.

The change in demeanour made your head spin.

Your eyes dropped down to his lips as you breathed jaggedly, and it felt as though a rubber band had been pulled taut between you.

And then, it snapped.

Aemond pulled you forward, a clash of teeth and tongue, the taste of whiskey on his mouth as he curled his tongue to the inside of yours, one hand grabbing your waist to pull you against him, the other, tangling itself in your hair.

You moaned into his mouth, wrapping your hands around his shoulders as sparks of arousal lit up inside of you. A large hand skimmed down your waist and cupped your ass, squeezing it in his large palm as he groaned into your lips, teeth nipping your bottom lip roughly.

You ground against him and mewled, standing on your tiptoes to deepen the kiss, nails digging into the bare skin of his back as you pulled him to you. His hand delved lower, cupping just under your ass beneath your dress, fingers teasing against the line of your underwear. You rolled your hips forward feeling the hardness at the front of his sweats press into your stomach.

"Aemond." You sighed into his mouth.

He grunted, running a finger up your clothed folds, feeling the dampness that had begun to seep into the material. You pulled back, staring up at him, mouth agape and breathless as his finger pressed against your bud from behind, arms wrapping you against him.

His violet eye was swallowed whole by his pupil, iris almost black with lust. His lips were swollen and pink, and a lone strand of hair had fallen away from the perfectly tucked manner he had it behind his ear.

His lips twitched as he looked at you, chest rising and falling, staring at you with nothing but animalistic lust.

It was as if cold water had been doused over you.

This was Helaena’s brother.

What were you doing?

Shame and guilt flooded you in an instant.

You couldn’t step back from where you were, pressed against the bench of the kitchen with him caging you in. All you could do was squeak a small ‘good night’ at the man, ducking beneath his arm who watched in confusion as you all but ran and hid in your room.

Fuck.

Thanks so much for reading along with me, if you wish to be added to the tag list please let me know :) Likes and reblogs are greatly appreciated ! Enjoy <3

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Bold is who I cannot tag

#house of the dragon #hotd #modern!aemond targaryen #modern!aemond x reader #queued

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