lady-pug

[lady-pug]

i’m so happy you liked it!! thank you for reading!! 💛💛 honestly, i have SO MANY ideas for this story i’m so excited, I really hope you enjoy what’s to come!!

and maybe i should start a taglist going foward? i don’t know 😅

The Ballad of Green Snakes and Honey Badgers

Prologue

Summary: When your former friend and current Triwizard champion Aemond Targaryen sends you a note asking you to meet him after years having last spoken to each other, you are left wondering what he could possibly want. So when, to your surprise, he asks you to be his date to the Yule Ball, you make a decision that will either mend your broken friendship with the Slytherin boy or irreparably shatter it forever.

Pairing: Slytherin!Aemond Targaryen x Hufflepuff!Tully!Reader

Word count: 2,1k

Warnings: none

Notes: Hello hello, dearest readers! How have you all been? 

I offer you the prologue to a new story I am now incredibly excited to write. The idea for this came from the lovely @peachysunrize, whom I admire very much and love her works (I’ve actually been saving Tangerine Dreams for when I have enough free time to binge read it, ‘cause I know once I start I won’t be able to stop), after Mr. Ewan Mitchell was spotted serving cunt looks at the British GQ’s Men of The Year last night. It was supposed to be a one-shot howeeeeever I ended up getting a little carried away and dicided to go for a slightly longer story (so I’m so so sorry, Aemond actually wearing the infamous outfit at the Yule Ball won’t show up for a few chapters, please forgive me).

Just to explain a few details of this story: Hogwarts is in Westeros, located in the Crownlands near the border between these lands, the Reach, the Riverlands and the Stormlands. Volaena Academy of Magic is situated in Volantis, houses female students from Volantis, Pentos and Lys (equivalent to Beauxbatons) and Green Grass Institute is situated in Braavos, houses male students, mainly Dothraki, from Braavos, Pentos and Tyrosh (equivalent to Durmstrang)

I never thought I’d write a Hogwarts!AU but here we are! Although the HP/WW universe was a very important part of my childhood, I haven’t consumed any content related to it in a very long time (except for random memes on ig I often trade with a friend) because that woman (you know which one) pisses me the fuck off. But since no one will be profiting from me writing this (at least I don’t think so), and I still quite like the universe even if my love for it got diminished somewhat, I decided to give it a try. I won’t lie, I had fun!

I’d just like to warn that the next update for this series will take a little while, as I have quite a lot of work to get done (the semester is ending and Uni is kicking me in the butt once more, what’s new) and I’d like to finish writing a new chapter of Written Between the Lines, the other Aemond series I have on going, first.

Although Reader is a Tully I didn’t write her with a specific appearance in mind, and the same goes for Kermit Tully, so it is up to you to imagine what she looks like. I really hope you, dear reader, enjoy this and have fun while reading it! And thank you so much @peachysunrize for coming up with the idea in the first place! If you spot any mistakes, please feel free to warn me and I’ll correct it right away, and feedback is always welcome and appreciated. I hope you truly enjoy this story.

Reader is female, but no physical descriptions provided

Next chapter | Masterlist | Read on AO3

When you woke up on that rainy morning, you had expected it to be just another normal Tuesday, only barely over a week into the school year. The day had started out like any other: you had met with Oscar for breakfast at the Great Hall, being joined shortly after by Kermit and Davos, and avoided at all costs glancing in Cregan’s general direction. Then you had headed for your classes of the day, being paired with Doreah, a lyseni girl from Volaena, for your year-long Herbology project. 

While Doreah seemed nice, and you believed you would find a friend in her still, it was moments like this when you found yourself missing Helaena the most. You had promised to write to one another, of course, with you assuring you’d keep her updated in all the latest gossip around Hogwarts, yet it just wasn’t the same. You had become so used to seeing her at the farthest corner of the Ravenclaw table, waiting for you at supper, or sneaking out of the Hufflepuff common room together and into the kitchens to arrange snacks for your late night study sessions that you didn’t realize how much you’d miss this small things until she was actually gone, only just starting her career as a Magientomologist. Still, all you had to do was survive one more year until you could take your N.E.W.T.s and leave this place to search for a career of your own, and perhaps achieve your dream of sharing a flat with your best friend.

It was only after you left your Defense Against the Dark Arts class, having been squished between two quite large dothraki students from Green Grass, that you noticed something was different. A small piece of parchment was sticking out from inside your book, yet you didn’t remember putting it there; while you often used random papers as bookmarkers, it didn’t seem to be the case here, as the pages holding the parchment were ones you did not remember having ever read. As you turned the paper around you realized it was not just some paper, it was in fact a note, and you wondered how someone managed to place it inside your book, as you hadn’t left it unattended at all. But as you read the words, it would soon become clear to you.

Meet me at the library after dinner ~ A. T. 

The note carried a neat, flourished handwriting, written in expensive green ink. And yet, as your eyes skimmed over the words once more your heart started beating faster and faster, the flow of blood seemingly thundering on the inside of your eardrums. A. T., the person had signed. 

Aemond Targaryen.

What could he possibly want with you? Him, of all people? After all these years? Why did he want to speak to you now? It made sense then, how the note had appeared in your book without you realizing it; Aemond was quite good at Transfiguration, one of the top students even (but was there anything he wasn’t good at?), he excelled in it so for him to conjure a note inside your book was a piece of cake. But that didn’t explain what he wanted.

Sighing, you crumpled the paper in your hand, pinching the bridge of your nose as you pondered upon a decision you were most likely to regret.

There was only one way to find out.

You were quiet during supper, deep in thought as you poked at your food. Kermit and Davos both believed it had to do with the fact that Cregan and Alysanne were sitting right in front of you at the Gryffindor table, choosing then to sit on the bench across the table from you to try and block your view from the happy couple. But only Oscar knew the real reason for your silent demeanor.

Even though Kermit was your twin, you often felt closer to your younger brother, especially after you and Kermit got sorted to different houses on your first year, him being a Gryffindor through and through and you becoming the true embodiment of a Hufflepuff, and Oscar being selected for the same house as yours a year later. In truth, Oscar just understood you better and the other way around was also true, so you ended up becoming one another's confidants, telling each other everything and anything. So once you got back to the common room you had immediately spilled the beans about the mysterious note you had received.

He had begged you not to go. He just knew that whatever Aemond wanted couldn’t possibly be good. Not after everything. But you were curious, and although he would never admit to it, his curiosity on the back burner in face of his concern for you, so was he. So he agreed to your plan of simply listening to what Aemond had to say and leaving. 

Or that would have been the plan, had what Aemond asked not left you completely flabbergasted.

Arriving at the library, now almost completely void of students, save for one or two first year nerds, you noticed Aemond was already there, punctual as ever.

“You came.” he seemed surprised as he raised from his chair, the book he had been absentmindedly flipping through forgotten over the hardwood table.

You shrugged, not willing to let him see how affected you were by his presence.

“Let’s hear it then.” you crossed your arms over your chest, trying to appear more confident than you felt.

“What?” 

“You called me here for a reason, right? What do you want?”

“Can I not just wish to see an old friend?” it was his turn to shrug.

You scoffed, gritting your teeth as you glanced away from him. Old friend my ass, you thought. You weren’t friends. Not anymore. Hadn’t been for a long time.

“Right.” he must have noticed something in your expression, for he dropped the innocent act “I need your help.”

What could he possibly need your help with?

“Be my date for the Yule Ball.”

What?

“What, why?” you were honestly dumbfounded by his suggestion, because that was what it was; it wasn’t a question, it was closer to a demand. And how dare he demand something from you?

“It is mandatory for the champions to dance at the Ball. And for that they need a partner.”

That’s right, Aemond had been selected as the champion to represent Hogwarts in the Triwizard Tournament against Green Grass and Volaena. The professors had explained what that entailed, and how dangerous it could be, and for a fleeting moment, your heart twinged in worry over him, before it was snuffed out and replaced by the usual cold indifference you felt towards him. Furthermore, they had let all students know that a special ball would be held at Christmas, and that all three champions were required not only to attend but to dance as well.

“I know that.” you huffed, feeling a little offended “I mean why me?”

His stare turned quizzical, as if he couldn’t quite possibly understand what you were implying.

“Why not take your girlfriend?” you asked, confused “I mean, she may have graduated already, but professor Mellos said we could bring dates from outside the school.”

He glanced away from you, his expression turning dark for a split second, before returning his gaze to you.

“Alys and I broke up over summer.” he said with a nonchalance you suspected to be fake.

You wanted to ask, you were desperate to know why, but you had to remind yourself it was none of your business. His life was none of your business and it was better that way.

“Why not some other girl then? They seem to line up for your attention nowadays. Floris has always had a thing for you.”

Aemond was already considered a pretty boy even for normal standards, always having one admirer or another. It lessened a bit after he started dating Alys, a sixth year student, in his fourth year in school, but you knew for a fact people still pinned after him in silence. But after he was named Hogwarts’ triwizard champion, a lot of girls and even some guys flocked around him, vying for his undivided attention. You knew most of them would die for a chance to be his date at the Ball, to be his even if only for one night.

“It would give them the false hope that something more could happen when it won’t.” he tipped his chin, staring at you from under his lashes, and something in the way he was looking at you was deeply unsettling “At least we know where we stand with one another.”

Ouch.

“Why would I ever agree to go with you?”

“Well you certainly aren’t going with Stark, that’s for sure.” the corner of his lip twitch in the tiniest of smirks.

A pang of shame assaulted your heart, heat spreading in your chest and settling in your cheeks.

“How do you know about that?” your voice faltered, small and almost afraid. 

His face fell, then, as if he didn’t expect this reaction from you.

“Everyone knows about it.” 

Humiliation burned in your chest, the sting of tears steadily brimming in your eyes forcing you to glance away from him to stop yourself from breaking down in front of him. Great, now the whole school (and perhaps even the other two guest schools) knew how your boyfriend of four, almost five years had dumped you and practically immediately after started dating your cooler, prettier, hotter cousin. He couldn’t even be bothered to show his face, he had broken up with you through a letter, a majestic white owl bringing the news one summer morning.           

“No.” you sniffled, daring yourself not to cry, and turning away from him, ready to leave and forget this conversation ever happened.

“Wait!” he grabbed your arm, halting your movements. His face was soft when you glanced back at him, something akin to guilt clouding his own features “Please. Just- please.”

That was new. For as long as you had known him, you knew one thing was certain: Aemond Targaryen didn’t beg. For him to stoop this low, at least for his standards, must mean he was indeed desperate.

“What’s in it for me?” you asked in turn.

He pondered for a moment, a surprised look on his face, as if he didn’t expect to get this far into the conversation.

“You’ll get to make Stark jealous?” he offered, and you chuckled mirthlessly in response.

“I don’t want to make him jealous.” and you couldn’t even if you tried, not in comparison to Alysanne of all people “I just want to move on from him.”

“Then you’ll get to show him just that. That you have moved on from him and are already seeing new people.”

His reasoning made sense and you were intrigued, sure, especially considering you weren’t totally over Cregan just yet. But it definitely wasn’t worth the hassle.

“And I’ll help you study for your History of Magic N.E.W.T!” he was quick to add.

Now that was a really tempting offer. History of Magic was one of the subjects you struggled with the most, having a really hard time memorizing all the dates and events, ever since your very first year. And you knew he was well versed in history; he studied the subject even when not required, just for fun. To have someone like him help you study would definitely help you not fail the test.

“Okay.” you sighed out between, biting your tongue “I’ll be your date to the Yule Ball.”

His face lit up then, almost bouncing in his heels from excitement, before feigning indifference.

“Good.” he nodded to himself “We’ll have to spend more time together until then.”

“I didn’t agree to that!” you squealed, the thought of spending any more time than necessary with him making you uneasy.

“We need to be convincing. Otherwise Stark will see right through it.”

He was right. Of course he was right.

“Fine then. When do we start?”

He smiled brightly then, and for a moment you saw that young boy he once was, the one who held your hand on the first train ride to school all those years ago.

“I’ll find you for breakfast tomorrow then and we can go to Potions together. After lunch we can start revising History. How does that sound?”

It could be worse.

“Alright by me, I guess.” 

Aemond grinned cheekily, and you knew then that you were screwed. 

“It’s a date then.” he sauntered away, but not before throwing you a quick wink to match his smirk.

Oscar was going to kill you.

[lady-pug]

aaaaaa, thank YOU for reading it!! i’m so glad you liked it, it means the world to me coming from you!! 💛💛 i have so many ideas going forward, i’m so excited!!

The Ballad of Green Snakes and Honey Badgers

Prologue

Summary: When your former friend and current Triwizard champion Aemond Targaryen sends you a note asking you to meet him after years having last spoken to each other, you are left wondering what he could possibly want. So when, to your surprise, he asks you to be his date to the Yule Ball, you make a decision that will either mend your broken friendship with the Slytherin boy or irreparably shatter it forever.

Pairing: Slytherin!Aemond Targaryen x Hufflepuff!Tully!Reader

Word count: 2,1k

Warnings: none

Notes: Hello hello, dearest readers! How have you all been? 

I offer you the prologue to a new story I am now incredibly excited to write. The idea for this came from the lovely @peachysunrize, whom I admire very much and love her works (I’ve actually been saving Tangerine Dreams for when I have enough free time to binge read it, ‘cause I know once I start I won’t be able to stop), after Mr. Ewan Mitchell was spotted serving cunt looks at the British GQ’s Men of The Year last night. It was supposed to be a one-shot howeeeeever I ended up getting a little carried away and dicided to go for a slightly longer story (so I’m so so sorry, Aemond actually wearing the infamous outfit at the Yule Ball won’t show up for a few chapters, please forgive me).

Just to explain a few details of this story: Hogwarts is in Westeros, located in the Crownlands near the border between these lands, the Reach, the Riverlands and the Stormlands. Volaena Academy of Magic is situated in Volantis, houses female students from Volantis, Pentos and Lys (equivalent to Beauxbatons) and Green Grass Institute is situated in Braavos, houses male students, mainly Dothraki, from Braavos, Pentos and Tyrosh (equivalent to Durmstrang)

I never thought I’d write a Hogwarts!AU but here we are! Although the HP/WW universe was a very important part of my childhood, I haven’t consumed any content related to it in a very long time (except for random memes on ig I often trade with a friend) because that woman (you know which one) pisses me the fuck off. But since no one will be profiting from me writing this (at least I don’t think so), and I still quite like the universe even if my love for it got diminished somewhat, I decided to give it a try. I won’t lie, I had fun!

I’d just like to warn that the next update for this series will take a little while, as I have quite a lot of work to get done (the semester is ending and Uni is kicking me in the butt once more, what’s new) and I’d like to finish writing a new chapter of Written Between the Lines, the other Aemond series I have on going, first.

Although Reader is a Tully I didn’t write her with a specific appearance in mind, and the same goes for Kermit Tully, so it is up to you to imagine what she looks like. I really hope you, dear reader, enjoy this and have fun while reading it! And thank you so much @peachysunrize for coming up with the idea in the first place! If you spot any mistakes, please feel free to warn me and I’ll correct it right away, and feedback is always welcome and appreciated. I hope you truly enjoy this story.

Reader is female, but no physical descriptions provided

Next chapter | Masterlist | Read on AO3

When you woke up on that rainy morning, you had expected it to be just another normal Tuesday, only barely over a week into the school year. The day had started out like any other: you had met with Oscar for breakfast at the Great Hall, being joined shortly after by Kermit and Davos, and avoided at all costs glancing in Cregan’s general direction. Then you had headed for your classes of the day, being paired with Doreah, a lyseni girl from Volaena, for your year-long Herbology project. 

While Doreah seemed nice, and you believed you would find a friend in her still, it was moments like this when you found yourself missing Helaena the most. You had promised to write to one another, of course, with you assuring you’d keep her updated in all the latest gossip around Hogwarts, yet it just wasn’t the same. You had become so used to seeing her at the farthest corner of the Ravenclaw table, waiting for you at supper, or sneaking out of the Hufflepuff common room together and into the kitchens to arrange snacks for your late night study sessions that you didn’t realize how much you’d miss this small things until she was actually gone, only just starting her career as a Magientomologist. Still, all you had to do was survive one more year until you could take your N.E.W.T.s and leave this place to search for a career of your own, and perhaps achieve your dream of sharing a flat with your best friend.

It was only after you left your Defense Against the Dark Arts class, having been squished between two quite large dothraki students from Green Grass, that you noticed something was different. A small piece of parchment was sticking out from inside your book, yet you didn’t remember putting it there; while you often used random papers as bookmarkers, it didn’t seem to be the case here, as the pages holding the parchment were ones you did not remember having ever read. As you turned the paper around you realized it was not just some paper, it was in fact a note, and you wondered how someone managed to place it inside your book, as you hadn’t left it unattended at all. But as you read the words, it would soon become clear to you.

Meet me at the library after dinner ~ A. T. 

The note carried a neat, flourished handwriting, written in expensive green ink. And yet, as your eyes skimmed over the words once more your heart started beating faster and faster, the flow of blood seemingly thundering on the inside of your eardrums. A. T., the person had signed. 

Aemond Targaryen.

What could he possibly want with you? Him, of all people? After all these years? Why did he want to speak to you now? It made sense then, how the note had appeared in your book without you realizing it; Aemond was quite good at Transfiguration, one of the top students even (but was there anything he wasn’t good at?), he excelled in it so for him to conjure a note inside your book was a piece of cake. But that didn’t explain what he wanted.

Sighing, you crumpled the paper in your hand, pinching the bridge of your nose as you pondered upon a decision you were most likely to regret.

There was only one way to find out.

You were quiet during supper, deep in thought as you poked at your food. Kermit and Davos both believed it had to do with the fact that Cregan and Alysanne were sitting right in front of you at the Gryffindor table, choosing then to sit on the bench across the table from you to try and block your view from the happy couple. But only Oscar knew the real reason for your silent demeanor.

Even though Kermit was your twin, you often felt closer to your younger brother, especially after you and Kermit got sorted to different houses on your first year, him being a Gryffindor through and through and you becoming the true embodiment of a Hufflepuff, and Oscar being selected for the same house as yours a year later. In truth, Oscar just understood you better and the other way around was also true, so you ended up becoming one another's confidants, telling each other everything and anything. So once you got back to the common room you had immediately spilled the beans about the mysterious note you had received.

He had begged you not to go. He just knew that whatever Aemond wanted couldn’t possibly be good. Not after everything. But you were curious, and although he would never admit to it, his curiosity on the back burner in face of his concern for you, so was he. So he agreed to your plan of simply listening to what Aemond had to say and leaving. 

Or that would have been the plan, had what Aemond asked not left you completely flabbergasted.

Arriving at the library, now almost completely void of students, save for one or two first year nerds, you noticed Aemond was already there, punctual as ever.

“You came.” he seemed surprised as he raised from his chair, the book he had been absentmindedly flipping through forgotten over the hardwood table.

You shrugged, not willing to let him see how affected you were by his presence.

“Let’s hear it then.” you crossed your arms over your chest, trying to appear more confident than you felt.

“What?” 

“You called me here for a reason, right? What do you want?”

“Can I not just wish to see an old friend?” it was his turn to shrug.

You scoffed, gritting your teeth as you glanced away from him. Old friend my ass, you thought. You weren’t friends. Not anymore. Hadn’t been for a long time.

“Right.” he must have noticed something in your expression, for he dropped the innocent act “I need your help.”

What could he possibly need your help with?

“Be my date for the Yule Ball.”

What?

“What, why?” you were honestly dumbfounded by his suggestion, because that was what it was; it wasn’t a question, it was closer to a demand. And how dare he demand something from you?

“It is mandatory for the champions to dance at the Ball. And for that they need a partner.”

That’s right, Aemond had been selected as the champion to represent Hogwarts in the Triwizard Tournament against Green Grass and Volaena. The professors had explained what that entailed, and how dangerous it could be, and for a fleeting moment, your heart twinged in worry over him, before it was snuffed out and replaced by the usual cold indifference you felt towards him. Furthermore, they had let all students know that a special ball would be held at Christmas, and that all three champions were required not only to attend but to dance as well.

“I know that.” you huffed, feeling a little offended “I mean why me?”

His stare turned quizzical, as if he couldn’t quite possibly understand what you were implying.

“Why not take your girlfriend?” you asked, confused “I mean, she may have graduated already, but professor Mellos said we could bring dates from outside the school.”

He glanced away from you, his expression turning dark for a split second, before returning his gaze to you.

“Alys and I broke up over summer.” he said with a nonchalance you suspected to be fake.

You wanted to ask, you were desperate to know why, but you had to remind yourself it was none of your business. His life was none of your business and it was better that way.

“Why not some other girl then? They seem to line up for your attention nowadays. Floris has always had a thing for you.”

Aemond was already considered a pretty boy even for normal standards, always having one admirer or another. It lessened a bit after he started dating Alys, a sixth year student, in his fourth year in school, but you knew for a fact people still pinned after him in silence. But after he was named Hogwarts’ triwizard champion, a lot of girls and even some guys flocked around him, vying for his undivided attention. You knew most of them would die for a chance to be his date at the Ball, to be his even if only for one night.

“It would give them the false hope that something more could happen when it won’t.” he tipped his chin, staring at you from under his lashes, and something in the way he was looking at you was deeply unsettling “At least we know where we stand with one another.”

Ouch.

“Why would I ever agree to go with you?”

“Well you certainly aren’t going with Stark, that’s for sure.” the corner of his lip twitch in the tiniest of smirks.

A pang of shame assaulted your heart, heat spreading in your chest and settling in your cheeks.

“How do you know about that?” your voice faltered, small and almost afraid. 

His face fell, then, as if he didn’t expect this reaction from you.

“Everyone knows about it.” 

Humiliation burned in your chest, the sting of tears steadily brimming in your eyes forcing you to glance away from him to stop yourself from breaking down in front of him. Great, now the whole school (and perhaps even the other two guest schools) knew how your boyfriend of four, almost five years had dumped you and practically immediately after started dating your cooler, prettier, hotter cousin. He couldn’t even be bothered to show his face, he had broken up with you through a letter, a majestic white owl bringing the news one summer morning.           

“No.” you sniffled, daring yourself not to cry, and turning away from him, ready to leave and forget this conversation ever happened.

“Wait!” he grabbed your arm, halting your movements. His face was soft when you glanced back at him, something akin to guilt clouding his own features “Please. Just- please.”

That was new. For as long as you had known him, you knew one thing was certain: Aemond Targaryen didn’t beg. For him to stoop this low, at least for his standards, must mean he was indeed desperate.

“What’s in it for me?” you asked in turn.

He pondered for a moment, a surprised look on his face, as if he didn’t expect to get this far into the conversation.

“You’ll get to make Stark jealous?” he offered, and you chuckled mirthlessly in response.

“I don’t want to make him jealous.” and you couldn’t even if you tried, not in comparison to Alysanne of all people “I just want to move on from him.”

“Then you’ll get to show him just that. That you have moved on from him and are already seeing new people.”

His reasoning made sense and you were intrigued, sure, especially considering you weren’t totally over Cregan just yet. But it definitely wasn’t worth the hassle.

“And I’ll help you study for your History of Magic N.E.W.T!” he was quick to add.

Now that was a really tempting offer. History of Magic was one of the subjects you struggled with the most, having a really hard time memorizing all the dates and events, ever since your very first year. And you knew he was well versed in history; he studied the subject even when not required, just for fun. To have someone like him help you study would definitely help you not fail the test.

“Okay.” you sighed out between, biting your tongue “I’ll be your date to the Yule Ball.”

His face lit up then, almost bouncing in his heels from excitement, before feigning indifference.

“Good.” he nodded to himself “We’ll have to spend more time together until then.”

“I didn’t agree to that!” you squealed, the thought of spending any more time than necessary with him making you uneasy.

“We need to be convincing. Otherwise Stark will see right through it.”

He was right. Of course he was right.

“Fine then. When do we start?”

He smiled brightly then, and for a moment you saw that young boy he once was, the one who held your hand on the first train ride to school all those years ago.

“I’ll find you for breakfast tomorrow then and we can go to Potions together. After lunch we can start revising History. How does that sound?”

It could be worse.

“Alright by me, I guess.” 

Aemond grinned cheekily, and you knew then that you were screwed. 

“It’s a date then.” he sauntered away, but not before throwing you a quick wink to match his smirk.

Oscar was going to kill you.

[lady-pug]

The Ballad of Green Snakes and Honey Badgers

Prologue

Summary: When your former friend and current Triwizard champion Aemond Targaryen sends you a note asking you to meet him after years having last spoken to each other, you are left wondering what he could possibly want. So when, to your surprise, he asks you to be his date to the Yule Ball, you make a decision that will either mend your broken friendship with the Slytherin boy or irreparably shatter it forever.

Pairing: Slytherin!Aemond Targaryen x Hufflepuff!Tully!Reader

Word count: 2,1k

Warnings: none

Notes: Hello hello, dearest readers! How have you all been? 

I offer you the prologue to a new story I am now incredibly excited to write. The idea for this came from the lovely @peachysunrize, whom I admire very much and love her works (I’ve actually been saving Tangerine Dreams for when I have enough free time to binge read it, ‘cause I know once I start I won’t be able to stop), after Mr. Ewan Mitchell was spotted serving cunt looks at the British GQ’s Men of The Year last night. It was supposed to be a one-shot howeeeeever I ended up getting a little carried away and dicided to go for a slightly longer story (so I’m so so sorry, Aemond actually wearing the infamous outfit at the Yule Ball won’t show up for a few chapters, please forgive me).

Just to explain a few details of this story: Hogwarts is in Westeros, located in the Crownlands near the border between these lands, the Reach, the Riverlands and the Stormlands. Volaena Academy of Magic is situated in Volantis, houses female students from Volantis, Pentos and Lys (equivalent to Beauxbatons) and Green Grass Institute is situated in Braavos, houses male students, mainly Dothraki, from Braavos, Pentos and Tyrosh (equivalent to Durmstrang)

I never thought I’d write a Hogwarts!AU but here we are! Although the HP/WW universe was a very important part of my childhood, I haven’t consumed any content related to it in a very long time (except for random memes on ig I often trade with a friend) because that woman (you know which one) pisses me the fuck off. But since no one will be profiting from me writing this (at least I don’t think so), and I still quite like the universe even if my love for it got diminished somewhat, I decided to give it a try. I won’t lie, I had fun!

I’d just like to warn that the next update for this series will take a little while, as I have quite a lot of work to get done (the semester is ending and Uni is kicking me in the butt once more, what’s new) and I’d like to finish writing a new chapter of Written Between the Lines, the other Aemond series I have on going, first.

Although Reader is a Tully I didn’t write her with a specific appearance in mind, and the same goes for Kermit Tully, so it is up to you to imagine what she looks like. I really hope you, dear reader, enjoy this and have fun while reading it! And thank you so much @peachysunrize for coming up with the idea in the first place! If you spot any mistakes, please feel free to warn me and I’ll correct it right away, and feedback is always welcome and appreciated. I hope you truly enjoy this story.

Reader is female, but no physical descriptions provided

Next chapter | Masterlist | Read on AO3

When you woke up on that rainy morning, you had expected it to be just another normal Tuesday, only barely over a week into the school year. The day had started out like any other: you had met with Oscar for breakfast at the Great Hall, being joined shortly after by Kermit and Davos, and avoided at all costs glancing in Cregan’s general direction. Then you had headed for your classes of the day, being paired with Doreah, a lyseni girl from Volaena, for your year-long Herbology project. 

While Doreah seemed nice, and you believed you would find a friend in her still, it was moments like this when you found yourself missing Helaena the most. You had promised to write to one another, of course, with you assuring you’d keep her updated in all the latest gossip around Hogwarts, yet it just wasn’t the same. You had become so used to seeing her at the farthest corner of the Ravenclaw table, waiting for you at supper, or sneaking out of the Hufflepuff common room together and into the kitchens to arrange snacks for your late night study sessions that you didn’t realize how much you’d miss this small things until she was actually gone, only just starting her career as a Magientomologist. Still, all you had to do was survive one more year until you could take your N.E.W.T.s and leave this place to search for a career of your own, and perhaps achieve your dream of sharing a flat with your best friend.

It was only after you left your Defense Against the Dark Arts class, having been squished between two quite large dothraki students from Green Grass, that you noticed something was different. A small piece of parchment was sticking out from inside your book, yet you didn’t remember putting it there; while you often used random papers as bookmarkers, it didn’t seem to be the case here, as the pages holding the parchment were ones you did not remember having ever read. As you turned the paper around you realized it was not just some paper, it was in fact a note, and you wondered how someone managed to place it inside your book, as you hadn’t left it unattended at all. But as you read the words, it would soon become clear to you.

Meet me at the library after dinner ~ A. T. 

The note carried a neat, flourished handwriting, written in expensive green ink. And yet, as your eyes skimmed over the words once more your heart started beating faster and faster, the flow of blood seemingly thundering on the inside of your eardrums. A. T., the person had signed. 

Aemond Targaryen.

What could he possibly want with you? Him, of all people? After all these years? Why did he want to speak to you now? It made sense then, how the note had appeared in your book without you realizing it; Aemond was quite good at Transfiguration, one of the top students even (but was there anything he wasn’t good at?), he excelled in it so for him to conjure a note inside your book was a piece of cake. But that didn’t explain what he wanted.

Sighing, you crumpled the paper in your hand, pinching the bridge of your nose as you pondered upon a decision you were most likely to regret.

There was only one way to find out.

You were quiet during supper, deep in thought as you poked at your food. Kermit and Davos both believed it had to do with the fact that Cregan and Alysanne were sitting right in front of you at the Gryffindor table, choosing then to sit on the bench across the table from you to try and block your view from the happy couple. But only Oscar knew the real reason for your silent demeanor.

Even though Kermit was your twin, you often felt closer to your younger brother, especially after you and Kermit got sorted to different houses on your first year, him being a Gryffindor through and through and you becoming the true embodiment of a Hufflepuff, and Oscar being selected for the same house as yours a year later. In truth, Oscar just understood you better and the other way around was also true, so you ended up becoming one another's confidants, telling each other everything and anything. So once you got back to the common room you had immediately spilled the beans about the mysterious note you had received.

He had begged you not to go. He just knew that whatever Aemond wanted couldn’t possibly be good. Not after everything. But you were curious, and although he would never admit to it, his curiosity on the back burner in face of his concern for you, so was he. So he agreed to your plan of simply listening to what Aemond had to say and leaving. 

Or that would have been the plan, had what Aemond asked not left you completely flabbergasted.

Arriving at the library, now almost completely void of students, save for one or two first year nerds, you noticed Aemond was already there, punctual as ever.

“You came.” he seemed surprised as he raised from his chair, the book he had been absentmindedly flipping through forgotten over the hardwood table.

You shrugged, not willing to let him see how affected you were by his presence.

“Let’s hear it then.” you crossed your arms over your chest, trying to appear more confident than you felt.

“What?” 

“You called me here for a reason, right? What do you want?”

“Can I not just wish to see an old friend?” it was his turn to shrug.

You scoffed, gritting your teeth as you glanced away from him. Old friend my ass, you thought. You weren’t friends. Not anymore. Hadn’t been for a long time.

“Right.” he must have noticed something in your expression, for he dropped the innocent act “I need your help.”

What could he possibly need your help with?

“Be my date for the Yule Ball.”

What?

“What, why?” you were honestly dumbfounded by his suggestion, because that was what it was; it wasn’t a question, it was closer to a demand. And how dare he demand something from you?

“It is mandatory for the champions to dance at the Ball. And for that they need a partner.”

That’s right, Aemond had been selected as the champion to represent Hogwarts in the Triwizard Tournament against Green Grass and Volaena. The professors had explained what that entailed, and how dangerous it could be, and for a fleeting moment, your heart twinged in worry over him, before it was snuffed out and replaced by the usual cold indifference you felt towards him. Furthermore, they had let all students know that a special ball would be held at Christmas, and that all three champions were required not only to attend but to dance as well.

“I know that.” you huffed, feeling a little offended “I mean why me?”

His stare turned quizzical, as if he couldn’t quite possibly understand what you were implying.

“Why not take your girlfriend?” you asked, confused “I mean, she may have graduated already, but professor Mellos said we could bring dates from outside the school.”

He glanced away from you, his expression turning dark for a split second, before returning his gaze to you.

“Alys and I broke up over summer.” he said with a nonchalance you suspected to be fake.

You wanted to ask, you were desperate to know why, but you had to remind yourself it was none of your business. His life was none of your business and it was better that way.

“Why not some other girl then? They seem to line up for your attention nowadays. Floris has always had a thing for you.”

Aemond was already considered a pretty boy even for normal standards, always having one admirer or another. It lessened a bit after he started dating Alys, a sixth year student, in his fourth year in school, but you knew for a fact people still pinned after him in silence. But after he was named Hogwarts’ triwizard champion, a lot of girls and even some guys flocked around him, vying for his undivided attention. You knew most of them would die for a chance to be his date at the Ball, to be his even if only for one night.

“It would give them the false hope that something more could happen when it won’t.” he tipped his chin, staring at you from under his lashes, and something in the way he was looking at you was deeply unsettling “At least we know where we stand with one another.”

Ouch.

“Why would I ever agree to go with you?”

“Well you certainly aren’t going with Stark, that’s for sure.” the corner of his lip twitch in the tiniest of smirks.

A pang of shame assaulted your heart, heat spreading in your chest and settling in your cheeks.

“How do you know about that?” your voice faltered, small and almost afraid. 

His face fell, then, as if he didn’t expect this reaction from you.

“Everyone knows about it.” 

Humiliation burned in your chest, the sting of tears steadily brimming in your eyes forcing you to glance away from him to stop yourself from breaking down in front of him. Great, now the whole school (and perhaps even the other two guest schools) knew how your boyfriend of four, almost five years had dumped you and practically immediately after started dating your cooler, prettier, hotter cousin. He couldn’t even be bothered to show his face, he had broken up with you through a letter, a majestic white owl bringing the news one summer morning.           

“No.” you sniffled, daring yourself not to cry, and turning away from him, ready to leave and forget this conversation ever happened.

“Wait!” he grabbed your arm, halting your movements. His face was soft when you glanced back at him, something akin to guilt clouding his own features “Please. Just- please.”

That was new. For as long as you had known him, you knew one thing was certain: Aemond Targaryen didn’t beg. For him to stoop this low, at least for his standards, must mean he was indeed desperate.

“What’s in it for me?” you asked in turn.

He pondered for a moment, a surprised look on his face, as if he didn’t expect to get this far into the conversation.

“You’ll get to make Stark jealous?” he offered, and you chuckled mirthlessly in response.

“I don’t want to make him jealous.” and you couldn’t even if you tried, not in comparison to Alysanne of all people “I just want to move on from him.”

“Then you’ll get to show him just that. That you have moved on from him and are already seeing new people.”

His reasoning made sense and you were intrigued, sure, especially considering you weren’t totally over Cregan just yet. But it definitely wasn’t worth the hassle.

“And I’ll help you study for your History of Magic N.E.W.T!” he was quick to add.

Now that was a really tempting offer. History of Magic was one of the subjects you struggled with the most, having a really hard time memorizing all the dates and events, ever since your very first year. And you knew he was well versed in history; he studied the subject even when not required, just for fun. To have someone like him help you study would definitely help you not fail the test.

“Okay.” you sighed out between, biting your tongue “I’ll be your date to the Yule Ball.”

His face lit up then, almost bouncing in his heels from excitement, before feigning indifference.

“Good.” he nodded to himself “We’ll have to spend more time together until then.”

“I didn’t agree to that!” you squealed, the thought of spending any more time than necessary with him making you uneasy.

“We need to be convincing. Otherwise Stark will see right through it.”

He was right. Of course he was right.

“Fine then. When do we start?”

He smiled brightly then, and for a moment you saw that young boy he once was, the one who held your hand on the first train ride to school all those years ago.

“I’ll find you for breakfast tomorrow then and we can go to Potions together. After lunch we can start revising History. How does that sound?”

It could be worse.

“Alright by me, I guess.” 

Aemond grinned cheekily, and you knew then that you were screwed. 

“It’s a date then.” he sauntered away, but not before throwing you a quick wink to match his smirk.

Oscar was going to kill you.

[lady-pug]

hate coming to terms with things. i should be able to cast a fireball instead

[lady-pug]

casual*

a.k.a. your one-night stand with modern Aemond Targaryen

*18+ minors dnfi

main masterlist

The intimidatingly handsome-as-hell guy sitting all by his lonesome at the bar seems to be on the same wavelength as you.

His gaze has been oscillating between the rim of his pint and you. Your face, your hands, and yes—you're sure you saw it—your ass, too. You squirm in your place, several seats away, but not because his attention's unwanted. These fucking bar stools are just so damn slippery that you feel like your smooth jeans would slide right off, and you would embarrass yourself in front of blondie. Though, his hair veers closer to Santa's snowy beard than Rapunzel's gold locks. How unusual. How strangely attractive.

Silver hair coiffed neatly above his perfect, angular face, those naturally pouted lips, and those eyes—wait—that eye. One seemed to be a prosthetic, but it doesn't diminish his aura. Not even a little. The fucked up voice in your head might even think that it makes him look hotter. More dangerous.

Straight to the depths of hell it is for you.

He throws a shit-eating smirk your way when your eyes meet again, right before taking another swig of his frothy drink. But he doesn't look away this time, holding your gaze as his glass tilts in the air and inevitably finds its way back on the bar's surface.

Oh, he knows he's attractive. Worse, he knows that you know it.

Heat unfurls in your belly from all the eye-fucking, the tension, and from the very real possibility that your own fingers will not be your only source of pleasure for the night, as trusted as they are.

Too bad you just downed the contents of your drink. Or not, because it seems to signal the first switch of the night. Blondie gestures to the bartender, then to you, and before you know it, another one of your drinks materialises in front of you.

"Courtesy of that guy over there, miss."

"Oh. Thank you."

That guy over there, who is no longer over there, takes that as his cue to finally approach you.

"Hi."

"Hello." He sits on the stool next to you, inching it closer as he settles down. He's even prettier up close, damn him. His hair looks like spun threads of silk. His dark blue sweater, his snug black jeans, his lips which are tugging at the corners to form a sheepish smile. "Please don't hate me for this, but I'm about to throw you a line."

You swallow. He can throw you just about whatever he wants, and that's not just the alcohol talking. "Oh?" you half-shrug your fluster away. "I expected as much. Let's hear it."

"Hmm." He glances down, showcasing his remarkably long eyelashes, then back up at you. With his head tilted, he looks slightly menacing, but in a good way. Like he wants to eat you.

Your coworker is about to receive a luxurious gift basket for recommending this bar to you.

His line then goes, "I find it hard to believe that someone as goddamn beautiful as you would be sitting all alone in this bar tonight." His bottom lip is pulled between his teeth, then released. "But maybe I should be grateful, because this would mean that you're perhaps single?"

You have to hand it to him. That line would normally be at the same level of poetry as a middle-aged dad's Facebook rant, but from him? From his lips, and with that smooth accent? A fucking Shakespearean sonnet.

Already prematurely swept off your feet, you know you have to up your game. "I'm married actually. Husband's on a business trip. Again. My three kids, bless their hearts, stress the hell out of me so I left them with the nanny and went straight here."

His mouth parts slightly, his brows furrowing. You wink at him and add, "Glad I did."

You watch as his mind whirs, as his eye darts to your obviously bare ring finger. For a smooth talker, he sure takes a moment longer than necessary to keep up with your humour, or maybe you're just that good of a performer.

"You're killing me here, beautiful."

"That's what you deserve for that line. Did you take that right out of your playboy handbook?" you say, laughing softly.

"Excuse me, miss, but I own no handbook of any sort," he responds in a stern manner, but his smirk betrays him. "And you might not believe me, but I don't do this often. I mean, I don't really do this at all."

"What, is that another line? You're on a roll, handsome."

"I mean it. I don't make a habit of approaching pretty girls at bars."

"Why, because they just flock right to you?"

He raises his palms in mock surrender. "Hey, you said it. Not me."

There is a beat of silence as you watch each other, both trying to gauge the stranger sitting close. You decide that he might be more than just a pretty face. He smells immaculate, too.

And, more importantly, he seems kind. You pride yourself in having a knack for these things. Though you hope that knack isn't deliberately fooling you because you want him to get into your pants.

He's the one to break the silence and start the flirtatious interrogation that normally happens before getting right down to business. "So, when you're not busy with your three precious kids—" he says, prompting an eye roll from you. "—what do you get up to? Are you from around here? Do you frequent this bar?"

"Woah. One question at a time."

He leans forward on the counter, until his hand brushes against your forearm. "Just one more question before you begin, and brace yourself, because this is the most important one."

You find it easy to laugh in his company, so you do. "Okay, give it to me."

"Are you sure you can handle it, babe?"

No. Not when he's calling you babe. "Try me."

"What's your favourite colour?"

You learn that his name is Aemond. He's twenty-nine years old, born and raised in London before moving to New York to become the head of the American branch of his father's company. He has two older sisters, one older brother and one younger. His favourite colour is green. He's an Aries. He likes both classic rock and classical music.

And he's a fucking phenomenal kisser.

You spent another hour chatting each other up at the bar, which didn't feel like an hour at all. You could talk to him about practically anything, and you would have, until you both decided that it was time to let your bodies do the talking.

It only took 10 minutes for him to drive you back to his fancy apartment, but that didn't stop him from groaning and mumbling fuck's sake under his breath at each encountered red light.

"Patience," you giggled lightly, but then he turned his lust-clouded gaze to you, and you immediately were on the same page, cursing at stoplights in your mind.

With your back pressed against his bedroom wall, he kisses you with a frenzied hunger that you're sure you have never experienced with any lover. He lifts you up, and you cross your ankles around his waist. Biting his lip, he slowly undoes the buttons of your blouse, marvelling at your exposed chest. You twist an arm behind to unclasp your bra and it falls to the floor.

After a sharp intake of breath, he lowers himself and sucks at your nipple, his tongue padding at your stiffened peak. Your neck cranes upward at the hot sensation, and you grip his locks, and moan, "Fuck yeah, keep going."

He nips and bites at your breasts, leaving a glistening trail of saliva in his wake. "Your tits are so fucking perfect," he praises. "You're perfect."

"Mhmm, yeah," you mewl, reaching for his face. "Come here."

His hand slides to the back of your neck to tilt your head just right, then his mouth is on yours once more. It's unfair, really, how good he is at it, every flick of his tongue intensifying your desire for him.

You let out a wanton, wanting moan when he pulls back suddenly. He smugly chuckles at the sound, and how you instinctively follow his movement, craving more.

Your legs drop from his waist, and you barely catch your balance, breathless and disoriented. "What—" you start, confused, but Aemond steps back just enough to fix you with a searing look.

"Jeans off, baby," he demands. Like he even had to ask. He tilts his head, that insolent smirk playing on his lips again. "Underwear, too. C'mon, now."

Your hands move on their own, fumbling with the button and zipper before pushing the denim down your legs and kicking them to the side. You're grateful you had opted out of wearing skinny jeans, which you would have had to unsexily wiggle out of. You hook your thumbs into your underwear and slide those down too. The air is cool against your naked body, making you shiver slightly, but Aemond's gaze—burning, all-consuming—keeps you rooted to the spot.

"So beautiful," he murmurs, his tone dropping into something almost reverent. He drops to his knees in one smooth motion, and the sight alone nearly does you in—this ethereal, sharp-tongued stranger kneeling before you like he's a pilgrim who finally reached a shrine. His hands find your hips as he guides you to balance one leg over his shoulder.

You barely have time to process before his mouth is on your leaking cunt. He doesn't start slow, doesn't give you a chance to ease into the sensation. His tongue is hot and insistent, dragging over your folds with a precision that has your knees buckling almost immediately.

"Fuck," you gasp, your hands flying to his hair for something to hold onto. He holds you steady as he works you over like he's determined to make you unravel completely. And you don't doubt that he will.

The flat of his tongue drags up, circling your most sensitive spot before his lips close around it, sucking lightly. Your head falls back against the wall with a soft thud, a broken moan slipping from your lips as your free leg trembles beneath you.

You can feel the heat pooling low in your stomach, spreading outward like wildfire. His free hand slides up your inner thigh, his fingers pressing into the flesh there, holding you open for him as he works you over like it's his favourite thing to do. Like there’s nothing else in the world he'd rather be doing than ruining you right here, right now.

"Aemond", you gasp, his name falling from your lips unbidden. He groans at the sound, his tongue doubling down, faster, harder, dragging you closer to the edge. You try to fight it—try to hold onto the last scraps of control you have—but he shifts his angle, his nose brushing against your core, and the whole world tips sideways. The coil snaps, and your orgasm crashes out of you. Your body locks up, your pelvis shaking uncontrollably as you cry out, your fingers tightening in his hair.

Aemond doesn't pull away, his tongue easing you through it with slower, lazier strokes.

When you finally slump back against the wall, boneless and dazed, he leans back just enough to look up at you, his face glistening from his nose down to his chin. You're almost certain that you have never seen anything more sensual in your life. He licks his lips, and your eyes automatically follow the path of his tongue—the culprit of your sweet, little death.

"You taste as exquisite as you look," he says.

You know he deserves the sloppiest, most soul-sucking head after what he just put you through, so it's the easiest decision you have ever made to give him just that. Nothing more, nothing less. And anyway, it's for your pleasure too.

You don't relent until his warm, salty cum spills on your tongue, most of it sliding down your throat and the rest shooting out to cover the lower half of your face in milky streams.

The two of you laugh together when his leg gets caught in his trousers as he stumbles out of the rest of his clothes, making him land on his arse at the edge of his bed. The sound rings pleasantly in your ears, and you find yourself needing to hear it more often.

No. You know what this is. If all goes well, then you'll have the memory of this great night to keep.

But Aemond himself is not yours to keep.

Your face must have fallen, because he reaches an arm, coaxing you to him. "Hey. What's going on in that head of yours, love?"

"Nothing," you shake your head, closing the distance between you. He anchors his fingers at your hips and presses a kiss on your lower belly. Everything seems to pause for a moment. You both keep still as he rests his forehead against your stomach, and your fingers gently thread through his hair, massaging his scalp.

"I feel like I've known you for a long time," he murmurs, and you wish you could hate him for not making this easy.

"Is that another—"

"Not a line. I mean every word."

He rises slowly, his hands brushing the curves of your body with an aching tenderness that seems out of place for a night like this. He lays you onto the bed, then reaches in his nightstand drawer for a condom.

You nearly cry out in pleasure when his length first enters you fully, the sensation of him almost too much to bear. His face is lowered so his cheek is touching yours, and you hear every little moan that escapes him as he finds his rhythm. His thrusts are measured, not rushed or frantic. And it feels so damn good.

Aemond talks well, but he fucks even better.

"Faster," you plead.

He pauses and smiles, his lips ghosting over yours. "I'm taking my time, love. I wanna savour you."

His hips roll forward again, his cock sinking into you inch by maddening inch. "Don't wanna lose you, baby," he groans.

Oh, he is not playing fair.

Your hips soon rise instinctively, meeting his slow, deliberate thrusts, the need for more of him pulsing through every inch of you. He notices, his lips curling into a smug smirk.

"Okay, then," he says smoothly. "I'm going to fuck you as hard as I can now. You ready for me, love?"

Your breath catches, your body already trembling beneath him, and all you can do is nod, eyes widening in wonder at his promise.

"Answer me. I need to hear it," he commands.

"Oh, Aemond," you breathe, "what do you think I'm here for?"

His smirk falters for just a second, replaced by something darker. He lets out a low, throaty chuckle, his fingers digging into you. "Careful, love," he warns. "You’re about to find out."

Without another word, he abandons his restraint, and he claims you with a force that leaves you gasping, your spine arching as he delivers on his word. His hips snap against your pelvis, his body practically vibrating over you. He's relentless, just as you wanted, and he has to grip you tightly so he doesn't propel you upward into the headboard.

You feel his lips graze the shell of your ear before biting down, his breath ragged as he pounds his cock into your pussy with a heightened desperation that drags a moan from your throat. "Say you're mine, baby," he actually whimpers. "Say I'm the only one who gets to fuck you like this."

You would tell him anything he wanted. But he doesn't even have to ask for this one, because you wish so badly for it to be the truth. "I'm yours. Only you—aghhh—can fuck me as good as this—uhhhh yeah—Aemond."

He flashes you a boyish grin, and he looks so pure you have to take a mental image of the sight. Lips pulled back to reveal a perfect set of teeth, a sheen of sweat forming by his hairline as he keeps bucking his hips at a breakneck pace, hair unkempt and falling in front of his forehead.

You lose yourselves in each other, your sharp breaths falling in sync.

As before, he latches his mouth wetly over your breast, and you arch into him. His hand slips between your bodies, his fingers finding your swollen clit, rubbing it in tight, merciless circles that make you scream, "Oh, Aemond!" into the air.

"You like that?"

"Fuck yes."

"You gonna come for me, beautiful?"

Aemond sure has a habit of asking for things that are already guaranteed for him, polite boy that he is.

It doesn't take long before he spills inside you, his body shuddering with the release. The feeling of his cock convulsing deep in your pussy sends a wave of pleasure crashing through you, and you follow him, your walls clenching around him as your own climax hits hard.

He collapses next to you, the weight of the moment settling in as the room grows still. His forehead rests against yours, and there's nothing but the sound of your shared breathing, a calm after the storm.

"Fuck," he breathes, sheer satisfaction audible from his voice. "That was…"

"Yeah. It was..."

"Yeah."

Months pass before you see Aemond again. When you do, it's in another, more crowded bar—a place packed with patrons and full of noise—but his eyes find you immediately. This time, he makes sure to take your number. No disappearing act in the morning, no hasty exit on your part while he sleeps because you're running late to work. He'll be damned if he lets you slip away again.

You both fall into something deeper over time, and three years down the line, you stand in front of family and friends, exchanging vows.

Decades pass, and when your grandkids curiously ask how you two met, Aemond would smile, eyes softening with the memory.

He would say, a quiet laugh escaping him, "I fell in love with her the moment I saw her. Shame it took us a few months for our forever to begin."

Vhagar taglist 1 — @kravitzwhore @litchifaerie @g-cf2020 @notsurewhattocallthisblog8888 @noxytopy @fan-goddess @m00n5t0n3 @diannnnsss @nsr-15 @the-awkward-barbie @rockstwrsz @yellowstonebaby @urdeftonesgrrrl @eddieslut69 @callsigncrushx @starwarsdinosaur @qweq-6802 @tulips2715 @joyismm @just-mj-or-not @crystal-siren @all-for-aemond @alokaaaaa @vhwyrm @purpleskiesandroses @technicallystrangereview @jjkysnk @inesdiary96 @weirdblob21 @lonelyladyghost @tssf-imagines @nurtargaryen @paula-lkr @queenofshinigamis @breezyjin @empfm @amanda08319 @unrealwinchester @optimizche @seamaiden @spoffyos @subliiminals @believeinthefireflies95 @ex0tic-vgh @anukulee @peachysunrize (cont. ...)

[lady-pug]

oh, the angst, the betrayal, the swooping in when one is vulnerable, the snarky attitude from both parts… i loved it! thank you so much for writing this, it was sooo good!

(also, is there any possibility for there to be a part 2 in the future? you write amazingly and the ending left me desperate to know more, pls pls i beg you 🥺🥺)

Empty Promises ⥃ Dark!Aemond Targaryen

Summary: the closeness between you and your twin brother doesn’t go unnoticed by your uncle, but your bond will shatter when he is betrothed to your cousin, lightening a new path for Aemond to get his revenge.

Warnings: 18+ MDNI!!!! Dark!Aemond, manipulation, DUB CON KIND OF? main pairing: Aemond x Strong!reader (Rhaenyra’s daughter/Jace’s twin), side pairing: Jace x twin!reader (They’ll end pretty quickly lol), JACE AND READER ARE 18!! targcest, incest, mentions of pregnancy, p in v sex, breeding, rough sex, degradation, English isn’t my first language<3

Word count: 4.6k+

A/n: so heheh I received this ask and rambled about it to beloved @anjelicawrites and she helped me with this one shot!!! Tell me what you think about this one shot, lovies, and don’t forget to reblog and comment!!!

“Mm, maybe we should keep our distance during our stay here,” Jace mumbles against your lips, his arms wrapped around your waist as he corners you to a wall, “We might get caught,”

“But why? Mother said it herself that we are to be betrothed soon! It would not raise any suspicions.” You try to lean down for another kiss, but he pulls back a little, his warm hand resting on your cheek, “Besides, we have already done more than just kissing, yet I am still a maiden!”

“That you are, beloved sister,” he presses a quick kiss to your cheek, backing away from you as soon as he hears a rush of footsteps in your direction, “Do not pout.”

“I’m not pouting!” you scoff, looking away from him as you cross your arms over your chest. “But I am displeased with you! You promised we would be wed soon and that we ought to wait until we are husband and wife to explore… different sides of our companionship.”

“Because tainting your purity is the last thing I want, my love,” he reaches to loop your arm through his, kissing the side of your head before he looks at Luke who jogs toward you, “What is it you want, Luke? Can’t you see I’m busy?”

“Busy doing what? Annoying our sister?” Luke looks between the two of you, raising his eyebrows as he sees your flushed face and Jace’s swollen lips, “Or perhaps being inappropriate with our sister—“

“Mind your tongue, Luke,” you say, tightening your arm around Jace’s, looking at him pleadingly, knowing your younger brother’s big mouth that always gets you and your twin in trouble, “Do not make me mad, it will not end well for you.”

“I wish mother would betroth you two already, it is awfully obvious how… involved you are with each other,” Luke shrugs, walking ahead of you, forcing you and your brother to join him, “You must be careful, this place has eyes and ears and they are already looking at us with disgust.”

“Lucerys,” you sigh, resting your head on Jace’s shoulder, smiling softly when he kisses your forehead, his lips lingering on your forehead too long for the court’s liking, “Don’t let them win, little brother. Do not give them a chance to belittle us, we are Princess Rhaenyra’s children. Silver-haired or not, we have royal blood surging in our hearts.”

“She is correct,” Jace cups your cheek in his hand, his warm eyes looking into yours — identical to his — before he leans down to whisper against your lips, “We might not have the hair, but we own the name, and the costumes.”

“That is right,” you press a quick kiss to his lips grinning when he does not look away from you, groaning when Luke makes a gagging sound. You look at your younger brother, raising your eyebrows at his visibly disgusted expression, “One day, you will hold such affection for a lady, and we shall get to tease you for it endlessly!”

“I doubt we would need to wait for long, dear sister,” Jace smiles, his hand coming to rest on your waist, gently squeezing you before he resumes talking, “Have you noticed how flushed he gets when Rhaena talks to him—“

“Nephews.”

There they are.

The infamous Dragon princes, walk with their heads held high and chin tilted up as they both stare down at the three of you over their noses.

Aegon is just as you remember from years ago; he has unruly hair and a lazy smirk as he stares at the three of you.

Your younger uncle though, is much more put together; his hair is tied out of his face, neatly brushed and shining while he scans the entire hallway from one corner to the other, his gaze lingering on you and Jace’s linked arms.

“Niece,” Aemond says, his good eye solely focusing on you, ignoring the terrified faces of your brothers who try to play it cool without staring daggers at Aegon who tries to intimidate them by only smirking. The younger Targaryen brother, though, does not show how he feels up front, just cocking his head to the side as he starts talking, “How you have grown to a lady, dark hair and all.”

“Thank you, Uncle,” you reply, face as stoic as possible but soon the mask slips and you look at your twin brother and smile radiantly, enjoying how safe his arm feels around yours, “But it seems with all the years passing, your eye hasn’t grown back.”

“My, she’s got a mouth on her,” Aegon chuckles, running a hand through his tangled hair as he snickers at Aemond.

“Indeed she has,” Aemond says, stepping forward, closing the distance between you, and glancing at Jace who pulls you closer to him, his brown eyes meeting Aemond’s bright blue orb, “No wonder she has her dog running around her, sniffing and barking when threatened.”

“Easy, easy,” Aegon laughs, putting a hand on Jace’s chest when the dark-haired prince strides closer. Aegon holds him back, glancing at Luke who tries to appear brave while he trembles and looks between his siblings and uncles, “My brother is… too honest for his own good, nephew.”

“He is rude,” you whisper, chest heaving as Aemond leans even closer, towering over you as he raises a hand to your exposed neck, caressing the skin with the back of his fingers, until he reaches the neckline of your dress, slowly tracing the outline of the blue mark that is lightly visible.

“Hmmm,” Aemond’s eye drops to the mark before he drags his gaze up to your face, taking in your flustered expression, before he looks at Jacaerys, “It appears you are trying hard to get accustomed to Targaryen costumes, my Lord and Lady Strong. Such… proximity is seen as inappropriate in this castle. Mayhaps you have forgotten the rules of the king’s court.”

“Jace, don’t listen to him,” you sigh shakily, looking away from Aemond before tugging on Jace’s hand, stepping away from your uncles before you pull your twin brother away from them as well, cocking your head for Luke to follow your lead and back away from the blonde men, “Let us join our sisters for lunchen.”

“Yes, best to leave and make yourselves ready for tomorrow,” Aegon waves at the three of you as you walk to the opposite of the hallway, ignoring the older prince’s snickers, but Aemond’s gaze is too strong to turn a blind eye to it, especially with how hot the place he touched feels like.

“I am nervous,” you mumble against Jacaerys’ neck, tightening your arms around his middle as he hugs you back just as tightly, “Luke is distressed, he is frantic and I doubt he would be able to appear strong in front of the court and the Hand.”

“Mother has it under control, beautiful,” he whispers, sighing against the crown of your head as you both rest on the chaise in his chambers, empty plates on the desk in front of you, “Daemon will help her in the court today, do not worry.”

“Jacaerys,” you mumble, sitting straight to look into his eyes. “You promised we would wed after we strengthened Mother’s claim, and she agreed, but we are yet to be betrothed. Why? Why are we delaying such a happy union, brother?”

“We are not, my sweet,” he cups your face, closing his eyes to try and hide the annoyance that you can clearly hear in his tone, “We need to think of our family first, our lives and Mother’s inheritance are already a threat to our happiness. Do not forget about your duty to our family and the realm, you are a Princess.”

“That is irrelevant, Jacaerys,” you put some distance between the two of you before standing up to put on your gown, making sure the bruises and marks on your chest are fully covered beneath the fabric, “I know what I must do as a Velaryon Princess, but will it not make you happy to have me as your future queen?”

“I promised you since we were ten and one that, you are to be my wife when we grow older,” he replies, covering his face with his hands, “I intend to keep that promise one way or another. Now, put on your clothes and join us in the Throne room.”

You watch him leave after he fixes his coat, giving you space to finish lacing your gown as best as you can, brushing your hair so your Mother does not notice your disheveled appearance, and using a hair clip to pull the front of your hair back as the final touch.

With a sigh, you leave your twin’s room, walking gracefully downstairs to reach the throne room, passing ladies and lords who bow their heads and greet you, making your nervousness only grow worse by their stares.

The doors are open and you take your time while walking toward your family, greeting your now stepsister Baela with a radiant smile, conversing with her easily before you notice your grandmother and greet her as well.

The feeling of someone watching you makes the hair on the back of your head itch, and the heat of their gaze burns your skin and as soon as you turn around, the feeling is long gone, because your eyes lock with his good one almost immediately.

Just as the day before, you feel breathless beneath his eye, desperately hoping for him to look away and let you have a moment of peace before the Hand comes and once again questions your legitimacy.

Aemond does not look away, his stare is locked on yours or more specifically, looking at your gown where it is covering the bruise he touched before, a ghost of a smirk finding its way on his thin lips when he can not see the blue mark.

You turn around and join your brothers and family on the opposite side of the room, watching the Hand making his way to the Iron Throne, sitting on it, and observing the crowd.

You know how everything is going to happen; Vaemond Velaryon will question your brother’s legitimacy and by extension you and your twin brother as well. You are more than glad to feel Jace’s closeness throughout the exhausting trial, his hand on your waist as he tries to keep his anger at bay.

The room grows oddly silent when the doors are pushed open and your grandsire, The King, limps toward his throne slowly, the rotten side of his face covered by a golden mask. He sits in his rightful place, panting before he starts talking, demanding to know what is all the mess his family created.

Your grandmother is asked to give her own petition on behalf of your grandsire, and what she says makes your eyes grow wide, lips falling apart as you let out a shocked gasp before pulling your hand away from your brother’s grasp.

“As a matter of fact, Princess Rhaenyra has just informed me of her desire to marry her sons, Jace and Luke, to Lord Corlys’ granddaughters, Baela and Rhaena, a proposal which I heartedly agreed…”

Your lips tremble, and the world around you fades away as your teary eyes find Jace’s trembling lips, shushing you gently as you put more distance between, hiding behind Luke and Daemon.

You see your Mother’s bright smile as she turns to look at Jacaerys, but she catches a glimpse of you and sighs, lowering her gaze to the floor before she looks back at Rhaenys and nods at her.

You catch Aemond’s eye, realizing your interaction did not go unnoticed, but the ache and betrayal outweigh the utter humiliation you feel at the moment.

You do not pay attention for a second, lost between your own thoughts and the news of your brother’s betrothal to someone other than you until you see Daemon pulling his sword out and the next thing you knew is Lord Vaemond’s head on the floor.

You gasp eyes wide in terror as the tears finally fall down, but across the room, you see Aemond’s flushed cheeks as he drags his eye from the headless man on the floor to you, his bright iris shining with what could only assume lust and intrigue.

His gaze awakens something in you, something only Jacaerys used to do, but seeing your uncle flushed and breathless while his eye is solely focusing on your face has your heart pulsating more than before.

Without so much of a glance at your family, you bolt outside of the throne room, pushing people out of your way forcefully to move past the guards and leave the hall.

With your gown in your fists, you rush upstairs, tears running down your face as you hear your name being called by your twin brother, following you upstairs with haste, skipping a step or two to reach you before you run away once more.

“Please, sister, listen—“

“Listen to what?” You yell, turning around abruptly, digging your nails into your palms, “Listen to what, Jace? You were fooling me all this time, keeping at an arm’s length! Did you know about this?”

And the defeated face he makes is enough to answer your question.

“You did, did you not?” You chuckle in disbelief, resting your hand on your chest as you blink the tears away. Even the sight of him makes your heart clench in pain, “Waiting for marriage…what utter nonsense! Did you even love me or were you lying to my face this whole time just to secure a match for yourself?”

“Of course I love you! You are my sister!” He screams back, his hands falling limply next to his body, “I could not live with myself if I tainted your purity! Our lives are hanging on a thread because of our—“

“Because we are fucking bastards, I know that Jacaerys! But Mother promised us to each other, she told me, in fact—“ you laugh halfheartedly to cover up the sob that nearly made its way up your throat, “You said it yourself! We would marry one way or another, now you are telling me you did this for Mother. You told me you loved me.”

“I do! Just not enough to fight with our future queen over it!”

Your lips quiver, watching as the man you used to love turns into a stranger; you nearly gave yourself to him in one of the many nights that the desire got too strong, and he pushed you away just as he has done a hundred times. 

“If I am to be king one day, I need a strong queen who will bring me power, not to make me appear weak,” Jace whispers, and that is your undoing. With a violent shake of your head, you grab your skirt in your hands and run upstairs, trying to hide your tears from the passing servants until you are safe in the confines of your own chambers.

You should not be ignoring everyone, not when with Daemon’s help, your mother managed to keep Luke’s inheritance in her grasp, but even the thought of your sweet sister Baela being betrothed to Jacaerys makes you nauseous.

Instead, you are crying on an abandoned balcony with no guards or people in sight, tightening the shawl around your shoulders as the cold breeze hits your heated cheeks.

There are many emotions running through your head now, and the more you spend time thinking about them the more you feel like throwing up. Did your brother really put on a mask to hide your mother’s intentions by whispering reassurances to you?

“You were dearly missed at the supper.”

You hear his voice, the deep soothing voice of his that cuts through the silence. You clean your nose with your napkin, biting the inside of your cheek to stop yourself from snapping at him.

“What do you want, Aemond?” You manage to say without your voice breaking, gazing off to the distance while your tears dry and new ones burn your eyes.

“Jurnegon rȳ nyke,” look at me, he says, patiently waiting for you to turn around, and when you do not, he sighs, one hand reaching to move your hair to your left shoulder, caressing your neck with his knuckles, “Don’t make me repeat myself, niece.”

“Leave me alone, Uncle!” you cry out, hair whipping into his face as soon as you turn around, pushing on his chest as you scream at him, “I am sick of you taunting me! I know how humiliating it was and how much you must have enjoyed watching me and my brother fall apart! Surely you have already jabbed him with your words, calling us bastards and our mother a whore!”

“Mind your tone—“ he grabs your wrists in his large palms, pulling you closer until your chest is pressed against his, and he takes his time observing your face — tears coating your cheeks, lips trembling with anger, the agony of betrayal evident on your face.

You try to wiggle out of his hold, digging your nails into the side of his wrists but he tightens his grip to keep you close while he lets go of one of your wrists to cup your chin with his palm, his thumb caressing your jaw.

The heat of his gaze is enough to blossom a new warmth in your chest; it is not unkind, not what you are used to. It is… welcoming, careful, as if he is afraid you would break in his hold.

“Shh,” he shushes you, cupping your cheek completely before he wipes a tear that threatens to fall from your lashes, “Nothing is worth your tears, certainly not your idiot brother.”

“Do not call him an idiot, I love him!”

“Does he love you just as much?” He shakes his head, catching another tear with the back of his fingers, wiping your cheek gently, “He hurt you, sweet girl.”

“He-he promised me—“ a sob breaks out, your throat burning as you try to explain. You know you should not, especially not to someone who openly despises you, but you can not stop yourself, not when his hands moves to round your waist, his face leaning closer as he looks deeply into your eyes, “We were to be betrothed, but he betrayed me, so did Mother!”

“What did they do?” He asks, pressing a gentle kiss to your forehead, “You can trust me, Tala,” Niece, he says and keeps you close, merging you into his arms, and you melt right there, looking up at him with watercolor eyes.

“She betrothed him to Baela,” you whisper, fisting the front of his doublet, holding on to the fabric tightly as you sob, but he does not let you hide your face from him, no, he stares deeply into your eyes, watching each tear fall on your wet cheeks. There is a dangerous glint in his only blue orb, as if he is stripping you naked of the mask you always put around him and his family — and to your surprise, you realize he has done that successfully and you have allowed him, “He lied to me that…”

“Go on, sweet girl, tell me what that bastard did to you.”

“We were involved with each other more than it’s deemed appropriate… but he never tainted my purity, always pushed me away and made me… he made me feel as if I did not rouse something in him anymore when he would tell me we ought to wait for marriage.”

“Idiot,” you frown at him, but gasp when he gently pushes your head to the side by cupping your jaw, making room for his face as he ghosts the tip of his nose over your neck and down to your shoulders, “How could he hold himself back while he could have you like this all day?”

“I-I don’t…” you trail off as soon as he presses his pink thin lips to the junction of your shoulder, nipping at the sensitive skin, “Aemond.”

“Oh, sweet girl, he did not love you,” he groans against your neck before he detaches himself from you, “He is a fucking fool, I would have never let you leave my bed if I had you.”

“What-what do you mean he didn’t love me?” You stutter, mind hazy and limbs shaking; only Jace used to have you like this, but the intense desire was not this strong even then.

“He loves the idea of controlling you, taking his pleasure then tossing you aside as soon as duty comes forward,” he straightens his back, looking down at you over the bridge of his nose, “He does not deserve you. The Seven knows I would have worshipped you in every corner of this Keep, nothing would have stopped me from showing you how loveable you are.”

He nods and leaves with his hands clasped on his back, leaving you alone once again with your thoughts and a furiously beating heart.

You do not know what possesses you as you take a path you have never thought you would: walking downstairs to one of the ground floors, taking the hallway on your left until you see the flicker of several candles. With the final step you take, you see him sitting on one of the chairs, his legs crossed as he reads a book.

Aemond’s hair is down, and he is only in his breeches and a white undershirt, but the smirk on his lips when his eye falls on you breaks his character.

“Niece,” he says, uncrossing his legs as he spreads them, his arms dangling from the sides of the chair, his eye running over your night attire being finally visible to his gaze, “To what do I owe the pleasure?” “I don’t… I don’t know why I am here…” you whisper, crossing the room until you are standing next to his chair, “I thought about what you said… did you mean it?”

“Every word,” he closes his book and drops it on the table in front of him before he reaches to grab your wrist and guide you between his legs, “I meant every word I said. Would you like me to prove them?”

“Yes,” you nod, reaching to pull your nightgown off but he stops you, pulling you down on his lap after turning you around, and spreading your legs over his. His hand goes under your shift, slowly yet firmly pressing his fingers against the dampened spot on your underwear, “Aemond.” “Shhh, sweet girl, voices echo in this chamber,” he whispers in your ear, pushing your underwear to the side before he runs the pad of his fingers against your pearl, enjoying how suddenly your legs clamp around his wrist, “You would not like if someone hears us, now, would you?”

You shake your head side to side, resting your head on his broad shoulder, tucking your face in his neck as he plays with your heat, rubbing the right places before he pushes a finger inside. You gasp, hiding your face more but he turns his head to look at you, his stare too intense to look away from which seems to please him beyond words.

“Did your idiot brother ever touch you like this?” he asks and shoves another finger inside, scissoring you open by curling and thrusting his digits deep inside your core, a deep frown forming on his face when you nod and arch your back.

Aemond fastens his pace, fucking you with a new rush of anger, his fingers curled and hitting the sweet spots inside you that have your legs shaking in a matter of a second.

“No one can give you the pleasure I give you,” he spits the words out, brushing his nose against yours aggressively, his pace matching his fury, “Kiss me, now.” You do not need any more convincing before you pull him down and crash your lips to his, moaning into his mouth as he brings you closer and closer to the edge of your pleasure. For a second you break the kiss, gasping for air but he doesn’t let you do so completely.

“I didn’t say you could stop, niece,” he kisses you after this, his lips devouring yours as you fall over the edge, your legs shaking and quivering as you gush over his fingers, coating them in your juices,

He finally breaks the kiss and rests his forehead on yours before he whispers, “Get on the bed, all fours.” You stand up with shaky legs, but he does not let you go too far before he reaches and pulls your nightgown over your head, stunning you with how quickly his attitude changes.

You, in all of your naity, have learned a thing or two from your twin brother, and you comply with your uncle’s commands and try to climb the bed, but Aemond’s mind has changed already.

He stands behind you, pushing you down on the edge of the bed with your legs dangling and him pressing his hips into your backside as he pulls your underwear down, revealing your glistening cunt to his hungry eye.

With one hand on your shoulder blades, he presses you down on the mattress, cock already out of his breeches and standing proudly against his covered abdomen.

“Fucking gods,” he groans deeply, the sound coming from the depth of his chest as he presses his cock into you, breaching your maidenhead inch by inch, “See, sweetling? Your brother is a moron because no man can keep away from a tight cunt like this.”

You whine, the wetness is enough to let him glide inside you with ease, filling you up and stretching your poor untouched walls out. He is much bigger than you could ever imagine, he is certainly bigger than your brother even though you have never felt him inside you.

Aemond’s starting pace is bruising, brutal even. He is fucking his frustration away, making you cry out with each delicious stroke, pulling his cock out until the red weeping tip is engulfed by your walls before he snaps his hips into the globes of your ass.

“Jace did not want you, niece,” he bends down over your back, his chest pressed into yours as he drives his cock in and out of you quickly, hammering himself in your sweet cunt, “I want you, you are mine. Your brother took my eye, now I take his sister. An eye for an eye.”

You can not argue back, not when his cock is nudging every pleasure points deep inside your core, making your head turn into a puddle. You should be embarrassed, your Mother would be furious if she found out, but he is giving you something Jace had denied you for so long, and the sheer euphoric feeling you are getting is enough to make you empty your head of any thoughts — all you can think about is him, your uncle, your devious handsome uncle you have been warned to keep away.

“Do you know what that means?” he asks, biting your earlobe as he somehow picks up his pace, thrusting himself inside you before he keeps himself pressed against you, circling his hips to drive himself deeper, “I will give you my seed from this day on until I am sure you are with child; a precious Targaryen heir. Then I will make him the king after me, and you, my beloved niece, will kill your family and rule the realm with me and our child.”

You moan loudly, walls clenching tightly around his girth as you reach your peak and that is enough to send him to his high as well; he comes inside you, dumping his warm dragonseed deep inside your womb.

“We shall rule together, niece, and that is a promise I intend to keep.”

[lady-pug]

in the land of gods and monsters, I was an angel

President Aemond Targaryen x reporter!reader

mini smutshots from the National Anthem series

🍒 18+ MINORS D N fucking I 🍒

a/n: may this serve as your lusty reprieve from the great shitshow that has been unfolding. This contains scenes scattered throughout the series, and may contain spoilers, but who are we kidding. We knew these things would happen. No taglist—this will find you I'm sure.

main masterlist

after Aemond wines and dines you, convincing you to take on the job

The ride back to his suite was torturous. He wasn't sure if he had ever been left desiring someone so much, after his fingertips dragged along the wet lips of your pussy.

Your panties were lodged in his pocket like some consolation prize.

He'd much rather have the real thing, much rather be thrusting deep in your throbbing walls. His pelvic bone slamming against your ass as he jackrabbits with wild abandon. You, his pretty girl, his angel, squirting all over him.

All over his desk. All over the pristine leather backseat of his car. All over his Lyseni cotton sheets.

All over his thick cock.

Finally alone, he leaned back in his chair, bringing the delicate fabric to his face, inhaling deeply as his other hand slid down, unzipping his slacks, freeing the ache that had been building the whole night.

The desk was littered with confidential files and pressing matters, but all he could focus on was you—and how much he wanted you there, spread across his desk, begging.

His grip on his cock tightened, knuckles whitening as he drew your lace panties closer, pressing them firmer against his face, savoring every lingering trace of you. The scent was intoxicating, clouding his mind with memories of your skin, the sounds you made when he almost had you.

He imagined you there, straddling him, back arched, your tits bouncing free from your stiff white blouse. You would plead for his hands on you.

His strokes quickened, his jaw clenched as he envisioned tearing the lace from your body, you in different yet equally tantalising positions.

A low growl escaped him as he came, hips jerking, his release hot and messy over his fingers, desperate satisfaction twisting into a smirk on his lips.

It won't be long until he had the real thing.

His angel, falling apart on his cock.

The President and yourself, one night in his palatial holiday estate

The silk of his tie was tight over your eyes, leaving you in total darkness as you lay sprawled on the bed, legs spread and wrists pinned above your head.

"Look at you, angel," he murmured, his voice husky as his fingers traced down your throat, feeling the way you trembled under him. "Completely at my mercy. Can’t see a damn thing, can you?"

You shook your head, breath hitching as his hand slid down, spreading your legs wide, controlling your every motion. Controlling you.

His lips dragging down your neck, he bit just hard enough to leave a mark. "You’re not touching me tonight, angel," he growled, his mouth wetly brushing your ear, sending a shiver down your spine. "All you get to do is lie there and take everything I give you. Understood?"

"Yes, sir," you shakily whispered back.

With a wicked smirk, he slid the thick head of his cock against your drenched folds, dragging it up and down, coating himself in your slickness before finally plunging all the way in, stretching you wide with one unforgiving thrust.

"Aemond," you gasped, a shuddering moan leaving your lips as he filled you, every inch pushing you to your limit.

"Fuck, you’re perfect," he groaned, his hands on your hips in a bruising hold, keeping you in place as he pounded into you, hitting the soft spot in your walls, leaving you trembling. "Such a good little angel…"

"You feel that?" he hissed, his pace unrelenting as he drove into you harder. "That's what it’s like to be fucked by a man who can't get enough of you. Who's going to ruin you every damn time until you’re soaked and wrecked, begging for more."

President Aemond was just as fucking mouthy in bed as he was in those rallies.

But just like everyone else, you were entranced by him. You would eat up every single word.

Especially there, especially then.

His fingers found their way between your legs, circling your swollen clit, his touch skilled, ruthless, dragging you closer to oblivion with every flick.

"You're dripping for me, angel," he muttered. "So desperate for my cock, aren't you? Want me to fuck you so hard you can't even walk tomorrow?"

"Yes, Aemond," you gasped, each word a broken plea as he hammered home, his pace vicious. "Please… don't stop… Don't you dare fucking stop."

"Oh, I'm not stopping," he growled, practically splitting you open as he buried himself deep, until you were a writhing mess beneath him. "I'm going to fuck you... until your pretty pussy can't take any more."

And with a final, brutal thrust, he sent you over the edge, your release crashing through you in waves, leaving you breathless and shuddering, barely able to moan his name as he drove into you a few more times, his own release tearing from him with a guttural moan, his presidential seed coating your insides.

When he claimed your lips, tongue dragging along the outline of your mouth, he decreed, "You're mine, angel... Mine forever."

At the height of Aemond's campaign, in his office

Under the grand mahogany desk in his office, you were on your knees, Aemond's cock stretching your mouth as he lounged in his leather chair.

He had one hand buried in your hair, guiding you as he wanted. The heady taste of him filled you as you hollowed your cheeks, dragging your lips down his length, letting him hit the back of your throat with every stroke. Tears gathered in the corners of your eyes as you fought to take every thick inch he fed you.

His angel, ever so eager to please.

"I wanna see you choke on my cock, angel. Take all of me. Like that... good girl."

Just as he let out a soft, restrained groan, the office door opened. You froze, your poor heart racing as you recognized the heavy footsteps that entered. Aemond's bodyguard, Steve, had stepped into the room, file in hand.

Aemond didn't even flinch. He leaned back slightly in his chair, his face impassive as he addressed Steve in a perfectly composed manner. "You have that report for me?"

"Yes, sir." Steve's voice was just as steady, but there was the slightest hesitation, a subtle shift in his voice that told you he knew exactly what was happening.

Aemond's fingers curled in your hair, urging you to continue. So you did, the notion of being discovered sending an undeniable thrill through you. You began to move again, tonguing his length.

"Just leave it on the desk, Steve," he said dismissively.

When Steve rushed out of the office, your Aemond resurfaced.

"You love this, don’t you?" he muttered, his composure slipping now that you were alone again. "Sucking me off... knowing someone could catch you, knowing they'd see how filthy my angel truly is."

Not long after, the warm, salty taste of him hit your tongue in hot and heavy spurts, filling your mouth.

He held you in place, refusing to let you pull away as he emptied himself down your throat.

You kept your lips sealed around him, your tongue pressed flat along the underside of his cock, feeling every shudder, every twitch as he spilled the last of his release.

"Fuck, fuck yes... my good girl."

You wiped your mouth with the back of your hand, but Aemond was quick in letting you know that he hadn't had his fill of you yet. Truthfully, he never would have enough.

Always needing you, always needing more.

His strong arms carry you sit on top of his desk, hitching your skirt up to reveal the glistening lips of your pussy.

It was his angel's turn.

And so the President got on his fucking knees, and devoured.

May the gods bless Westeros, indeed.

[lady-pug]

hey

thank you so much for writing this. i’ve been feeling like garbage the past few days, and it was becoming a bit overwhelming and this story was exactly what i needed right now, so thank you. you write beautifully, it was cozy and made me feel a little bit better 💛💛

As the World Caves In

modern!Aemond x reader

summary: When the world tumbles, the last thing you expect is to see your best friend's brother at your doorstep.

warnings: Hurt/comfort, nothing too explicit.

word count: 2k

a/n: for anyone in need of a hug—this one’s for you 🖤

🎵Matt Maltese - As the World Caves In

divider credit: @saradika-graphics

When the world caves in and you’re suffocating under your tears, the last thing you expect is the doorbell to ring — and Aemond Targaryen standing at your door.

Your eyes are red, swollen, and blurry. At first, you doubt it’s him, thinking it must be your imagination. His hair is loosely pulled back, a few strands slipping free to frame his face. It’s the first time you see him without his usual bun.

When his low voice cuts through the silence, it dispels all doubt.

“Helaena asked me to check on you.”

Oh, Helaena. Fourteen missed calls. But what could you have told her? She’s miles away, absorbed in her art exhibition. She has enough on her plate, and you’d hate yourself more for adding to her burdens. You’ve always had that stubborn flaw — never able to talk about hardships as they’re happening, only in the exhausted aftermath.

“I’m fine.” The words stutter out with a hiccup. “I’ll call her later.” You avoid his gaze, focusing on the floor. He’s wearing Adidas sneakers and gray pants, casual in a way that’s almost unsettling for Aemond. He must have come straight from home, from rest. Shame bites at you.

“Well, bye,” you murmur, already retreating, closing the door to avoid the embarrassment settling in.

But his hand flashes forward, catching the door before it clicks shut.

“You don’t look fine.”

His unyielding gaze makes you shrink, as if he sees beyond the facade, where misery and hurt lie exposed. You’re sure you’re a sight. An oversized Barbie T-shirt blotched with tears, mismatched socks, eyeliner smudged like a defeated panda.

“Just a rough day, nothing serious,” you say, trying to inject something casual. But his eye narrows slightly, catching the excuse, and you know he won’t drop this easily.

“May I come in?”

You tense. Bad idea.

“Em—” You fumble for a coherent excuse, but before it arrives, he nudges the door open, striding past you.

“I wasn’t expecting guests,” you mumble as he kicks off his shoes. The door closes with a small click.

“No big deal,” he shrugs, already peeling off his jacket and tossing it onto a hanger, revealing a Metallica hoodie.

“Kitchen — this way?” He nods to his right, and you only manage a nod before he’s already on his way there.

You follow him like a kitten, lost and unsure. Hours ago, curled into a fetal position, you’d prayed for a miracle to pull you from the tornado of swirling thoughts and despair. But you’d never expected life to play this kind of trick.

“This doesn’t look fine to me,” he remarks, surveying the place. Empty pizza box, days-old dishes piled in the sink, sugar spilled over the counter, a scattering of crumpled papers — failed attempts to make sense of yourself.

“I wasn’t expecting guests,” you repeat, leaning against the doorway, shifting one foot over the other.

He hums, but his gaze holds no judgment. In fact, it’s something softer, something you’ve never seen before.

Your brow furrows as he fills the kettle. He looks strangely… at home.

“Got any tea?” he asks, his voice low and grounding.

The question jolts you back to the moment. “Sure.” You reach for the drawer and pull out a selection, fingers skimming over the boxes. “Black tea, green tea, herbal… fruit tea. Take your pick.”

He glances at you. “What are you having?”

“Uh, black.”

“Herbal, then.”

“Then why ask?” you mutter.

"Black tea will keep you up all night. You need something more soothing."

You hand him the box in silence, letting the smart-ass remark slide. But the loud thud as you close the drawer speaks to your irritation perfectly.

“Sit.” He gestures to the chair, grabbing two mugs and a spoon.

You don’t argue, just sink down, feeling spent. A dull ache throbs in your temples, and even your nose stings, forcing you to breathe through your mouth. You can’t help watching him — the way he moves around your kitchen, how he belongs here in a way that shouldn’t make sense.

“What happened?” he asks, finally facing you.

“Nothing.”

He tilts his head. “Your face says otherwise.”

“Just my face.”

“Two guesses.” He leans back against the counter, arms crossed. “Either you cried for hours or got into a fight with a beehive.”

You press your lips together. Under different circumstances, you’d find his remark funny.

“So which is it?”

His tone is gentle, no trace of reproach, but his intrusion stirs your defenses.

“You don’t have to babysit me.”

“Not on my to-do list,” he replies, meeting your eyes squarely.

“Then why are you here?”

The pause stretches, long enough for you to notice. Aemond Targaryen, searching for words?

“Helaena.”

You drop your gaze to your hands, suddenly fascinated by them. “I told you I’ll call her la—”

“She’ll burn me alive if anything happens to you.”

You shake your head. “Nothing will happen.”

“Right.” He nods. “That’s why I’m here.”

The kettle whistles, and your retort dissipates like the steam swirling into the air. He pours the water into two mugs, each small sound breaking the silence in the room.

He sets a mug before you, and the herbal scent fills the kitchen — chamomile and mint. Your mother used to make it for you whenever you were sick. You stare at the steam as it fades into the air. In mid-November, everything turns cold in five minutes.

“You should drink it,” he murmurs, his voice gentle, appealing to your better judgment. “It’ll help you settle down.”

But you only frown, feeling as though he’s speaking to you like a child.

“I don’t want to settle down.”

His mouth falls open, the unspoken words lingering before he bites them back, his tongue pressed to his cheek. Very un-Aemond-like.

Without a word, he moves smoothly around the kitchen, restoring order, turning the chaos into something closer to your usual, serene space. The pizza box lands in the trash, sugar wiped from the counter, mugs straightened, tea box returned to the shelf. You watch him, both drawn in and irritated, as if his steady presence contrasts too sharply with the storm inside you.

Finally, he takes a sip from his own mug, his eye flickering to yours. “What is it, then? What do you want?”

So many things burn on your tongue—so many things you can’t control. Even those aspects you thought you had control over are slipping through your fingers like sand. The world has been pressing in, at first slowly, here and there, then harder. Day by day, grain by grain. You feel trapped in a dead-end maze.

What could one want when all dreams, every good thing get taken away?

“Love?”

You wince at the familiar nickname, one he invented, you always assumed, just to annoy you in front of Helaena. A quick, easy tease that he’d tack onto every mocking comment. But tonight, it sounds different. Like a raw, quiet reminder of things you don’t have and won’t have. Another loss.

“I…” Your eyes well up as a pang of hurt strikes your chest. “I just want to hide away.”

The words are faint, shaky, barely escaping your lips, but he catches them.

“From what?”

“From the world.”

With that, you press your face into your hands, shamefully hiding your tears from… what is he? An acquaintance? Your best friend's brother? Someone you might never see beyond the small, careful circles of family and friends?

He says nothing. Your body shudders with the effort to stifle your sobs, but they betray you, tiny tremors giving everything away.

Then you feel his warmth close, his presence grounding you. He’s knelt in front of you, lifting the mug gently, waiting until your gaze rises, meeting his.

“Come on, love,” he murmurs, guiding the mug to your lips. His hands are steady, cradling the weight, while your own tremble around his, barely helping. “Just a sip.”

You take that first sip, warmth spreading through your chest, each swallow grounding you, steadying you.

“One more,” he urges, his voice gentle, violet eye never wavering from yours. “And just one more.”

You follow, sip after sip, letting the warmth melt away the iceberg of worry, anxiety, and overthinking.

“Good,” he murmurs as he draws the mug away, setting it aside.

A quiet fills the space. You reach for a napkin and wipe your face, surprised at how little you care about your appearance right now. He remains kneeling before you, so your gazes are level.

“Whatever happened, you have every reason to feel down.” His tone is gentle and sincere, a sharp contrast to his usual detached, witty demeanor. “To cry your eyes out,” he continues, “to hate the whole world—me, if you need to. But maybe the best thing you can do right now is let all the burdens slip away and just take care of yourself.”

You shake your head slowly. “The thoughts…” Your voice wavers. “I want them to go away, but they just keep coming back.”

The truth alone is enough to make you flinch in pain, a new wave of tears rising to your eyes.

Then his hand brushes over your shoulder—a small gesture, but enough to anchor you, to pull you back to solid ground. Like a toddler learning to walk, teetering on the edge of a fall, only to be caught just in time by a steady, guiding hand.

“How about starting small?” he suggests. “Like a warm shower?”

You close your eyes as the water washes away your pain and tears. The bathroom fills with steam, the mirror turning white. You follow his advice, making the water as warm as you can bear. When you finally step out, skin pink and warm, your body feels lighter, the ache somehow dull.

You slip into soft, light-blue pyjamas. You brush your hair, staring at your dull gaze in the reflection, until the brush slips from your hand and clatters to the floor. Aemond’s voice sounds from behind the door, calm but laced with worry.

“You alright?”

A subtle warmth stirs within you. “Yeah. All good.”

When you step into the room, he’s near the kitchen window, looking out at the city lights below. At the sound of your steps, he turns, and his face softens. Almost as if he’s relieved to see you.

You stare at each other, silent, but there’s a mutual understanding flickers between you. A wordless message: It’s fine. I won’t hurt you. And you trust it.

“Try to sleep. It’ll feel better tomorrow, I promise,” he says.

“Okay.” You nod, not moving from your spot. Neither does he.

You finally let yourself accept it. He’s here. Whether for just Helaena, the universe, or pure coincidence. His presence soothes something deep, like a quiet balm, and for once, you don’t feel the need to analyze it.

The moment stretches, and a strange feeling blooms in your chest. An ache tugs at your heart, and you realize you don’t want him to go, even though you know you should let him. But you can’t find the words—it feels selfish. Enough for today, you tell yourself.

Then, without a word, he crosses the room and wraps his arms around you. His hands, broad and steady, rest against your back. His firm body is warm against yours as if he’s an immovable force meant to shield you. You breathe in the musky scent of his cologne, memorizing it as if it might become something familiar.

You know you should ask, “What are you doing?”—if only to maintain some semblance of distance, of decency.

And he’d say, “I’m hiding you from the world.”

A small smile tugs at your lips as a feeling of safety and calm replaces the anxiety and despair that have weighed you down for so long.

Tomorrow, you’ll wake to find him beside you, faces inches apart. He’ll greet you with a soft “Hey,” and you’ll echo it, butterflies stirring in your chest.

But for now—here, in the quiet of your kitchen—you bury your face against the warmth of his chest, your arms wrapping around his shoulders as you let yourself lean into him as he hides you from the world.

A kind reminder to all readers: every comment you share matters, as it fuels the writer’s inspiration and passion. 🤍

[lady-pug]

Written Between the Lines

Interlude - Meddling With Our Hearts

Summary: Five times someone interferes with yours and Aemond’s relationship and one time you decide to take the reins and shape your own fate.

Pairing: Aemond Targaryen x Reader

Word count: 6,9k

Warnings: canon-typical incest (uncle-niece)

Notes: Hello!! How have you all been? This one came out faster than I expected! Yay!

Okay, just to explain a few things, so this chapter is a bonus, non-chronological chapter in the story. It is separated into items, as it follows the ‘5+1 Things’ model, spanning across several years. In item 1, Reader and Aemond are very young, around 4 and 6 respectively (and Aegon is around 10), whereas items 2, 3, 4 and 5 are set after chapter 1 of this story (think episodes 6 and 7 of season 1). Lastly, the last item is set in the middle of chapter 2. 

I am having lots of fun writing for Aemond, so much so I have a few ideas for unrelated one-shots I plan on writing for him. Anyway, I really really hope you enjoy this!

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1. Aegon Targaryen

As young children, wherever Aemond Targaryen was you were never too far behind. As the eldest of Rhaenyra Targaryen’s children, you were often regarded as a possible successor of your mother’s to the title of the Realm’s Delight, being soft and sweet and so very beautiful even from such a young age. There was no shortage of people wanting to gaze upon you, spoil you with attention and possibly win over the favor of the heir to the Iron Throne after King Viserys I. But there was only ever one person whose attention you truly craved.

With the birth of your younger brother Jace and your mother’s pregnancy with yet another child, your parents’ attention was naturally split. It wasn’t to say they neglected you or favored your brother above you, oh no, but it was only natural that you were no longer their sole focus, even more fickle given their duties at court. Your father in particular, Ser Laenor, tried to give you as much attention as he possibly could, but even then that was restricted to specific times of the day, mostly at supper and after. It was an adjustment, for sure, and for a little while you resented your little brother, but you were quick to find another source of the attention you craved somewhere else: your uncle Aemond. You couldn’t possibly know why, nor had you ever thought about it, but you were drawn to him in ways you could not explain. And the feeling seemed to be mutual.

Aemond Targaryen, as the second son of King Viserys and his fourth child, was most often overlooked by many in court. He wasn’t Rhaenyra, who held their father’s unconditional love, or Aegon, who carried the title of his first male child, and matters were made worse by the fact that his dragon egg had yet to hatch, whereas Aegon’s had done so when he was still pretty young, and Helaena had quickly claimed Dreamfyre. Even his mother, who once doted on him like never before, had lessened her attention over him, as her fourth pregnancy progressed and her affection usually leaned more towards her only daughter. 

So when his little niece, barely old enough to attend lessons, had developed a fascination towards him and would often trail behind him wherever he went, he absolutely basked in the attention that was so freely given. You, who had no obligation to him other than to be cordial at best, gazing up at him with adoration in those innocent eyes made him cherish the moments you spend together.

It was only natural, then, that the two of you could often be found in each other’s presence. Whenever neither of you were having lessons and were left to your own devices, you seemed to always find each other, your tiny hand enveloped in Aemond’s not much bigger one as he pulled you behind him towards whatever destination he had in mind.

“Where we going, Aem?” your sweet voice, not yet able to properly speak his name, would often ask. The library, the dragonpit, the gardens, it didn’t truly matter as long as you were together.

Aem.

The nickname you had bestowed upon him was one of his deepest treasures. To everyone else he was either Aemond, son or brother, and two of these he had to share with other people, but to you, and to you alone, he was Aem. It was something so inherently his, something to share with you and only you. It reminded him of you, of the devotion and admiration you held for him, something no one else seemed to have for him, and he never wanted to let go of it.

But as he would be reminded time and time again he should never hope, nor should he wish for good things for himself, for they could be ripped from him at a moment’s notice.  

The day had started out like any other: after your lessons you had quickly scrambled out of your quarters to find Aemond and spend the day together. He had decided, then, to take you to the training grounds to watch some of the knights train.

“See that one over there?” he pointed to a man, just barely out of adolescence, training with Criston Cole “That is Ser Arryk. Or could he be Erryk? It matters not, either way, both of them are really good. Ser Criston is training them to be the newest members of the Kingsguard.”

“Wow.” you sounded from next to him, mesmerized by the clash of the swords.

“Impressive, hm?” he then pointed to another man who was supervising the training “Ser Criston, over there, he is the best knight in all the realms. I hope to train under him and be as good as he is one day.” 

He was eager to start training with the sword, like his older brother already did. His mother had promised him that he could start his own training after his next nameday, though it was still a few moons away, he was already eagerly waiting for that moment.

“You be amazing knight in future, Aem.” you turned towards him then, that look of pure reverence made warmth spread in his chest, for he felt your words were true.

“Aem?!” a familiar voice cackled behind the two of you, and Aemond could feel the cold dread seeping into his heart like it usually did when his brother decided to torment him.

Aegon marched over in your direction, almost an entire head taller than Aemond, and ruffled his younger brother’s hair with a tad more force than necessary.

“Oh, Aemy, you will be such an amazing knight one day.” he spoke in a poor imitation of your own voice, high pitched and overly sweet and dreamy. Your face was scrunched in anger and poorly contained humiliation, and had the two of you not been under scrutiny Aemond would have found it adorable.

“Aegon, stop it!” he tried defending the two of you but he couldn’t stop his own cheeks from lighting up in embarrassment.

“Aemy, oh, Aem. Perhaps our mothers will marry us off to one another and I can carry your children.” Aegon chuckled before flicking his brother on the forehead “You would surely want that, wouldn’t you, you twat?”

You couldn’t take it anymore. With a warcry unbefitting of a princess of the realm you delivered a sharp kick to Aegon’s shin, the only part of him you could really reach, before running off with tiny droplets streaming down your cheeks. Aemond tried going after you, holding your wrist, but you swatted his hand away and disappeared around the corner.

“She attacked me!” Aegon complained, voice strained from the intensity of the blow, utterly baffled at how something so small could carry so much strength.

“Oh, please!” Aemond pushed past his brother, annoyed, before stomping away towards his own quarters “It barely scratched. And you deserved it.”

For the next three days you ignored both of them, preferring to spend your days with Heleana. Whenever he asked about you, his mother would claim you didn’t wish for visitors and would rather stay in the company of your aunt. Aemond couldn’t deny that it stung, the only person he felt cared for him deeply, no longer wanting to spend time with him.

So he was overjoyed when, on the fourth day, you approached him as if nothing had ever happened, your expression light and smile bright as you held his hand.

“Where we going, uncle?” and his face fell, joy completely dissipating and giving way to sadness. 

You refused to call him by his previous nickname after that day, opting to refer to him only as ‘uncle’ going forward, and Aemond felt an overwhelming longing for things to go back to the way they were. He couldn’t help the resentment he felt towards Aegon for ruining what you had, for he felt it in his bones that things between the two of you would never truly be the same again.

2. Jason Lannister

You were bored out of your very mind at the moment. You had zoned out completely and could barely hear the incessant droning of Jason Lannister’s voice in the background as you reflected upon your life at the moment.

After that night in the bathtub where you shared your very first kiss with your uncle, you feared things between the two of you would change, and change for the worse. You didn’t want that, cherishing what you had with Aemond, even if it never went anywhere beyond friendship. But you needn’t have worried so much, for both of you seemed adamant in not ever speaking of that night ever again. It did sting a little if you were being honest with yourself, but you preferred that over ruining what you had.

So you were very much looking forward to spending a few hours with him before lunch when you were intercepted by Ser Jason Lannister.

“You look wonderful today, my princess.” the man had smiled down at you.

“Uh, thank you, my lord.” you answered, confused as to what he could possibly want.

“Why don’t you give me the pleasure of going on a stroll with me around the gardens?”

You didn’t know why he wanted to take a stroll with you of all people. And to be fair you didn’t want to spend more time than necessary in his presence. What you did want was to find Aemond and spend your day with him. But something, a strange sense of propriety and duty, held you back and you found yourself agreeing with his proposal.

That’s how you ended in the current situation, arm looped with his as he droned on and on and on about himself and his wealth and his castle and many other topics you couldn’t care less about. 

In your reverie you hadn’t even realized you had reached the training grounds until Aemond, who had just finished his training session with Ser Criston, smiled and waved at you as he was putting a wooden shield away. You were about to wave back when Ser Jason’s voice pulled your attention back to him once more.

“Well, princess, this is where we must part ways, unfortunately.” he gave a small bow of his head before letting go of your arm “The maesters say it is good to keep active, so I will go see if I can find a sparring partner.” 

You barely spared him a courtesy as Aemond was already by your side, ready to whisk you away.

“What was that all about?” he asked when you were already halfway to the library, a sense of unease pulling at his heartstrings once he remembered the way your arm was linked with the older lord.

“I do not know for sure.” you shrugged “I barely paid attention to what he was saying. Something about his riches I believe, we just went on a walk around the Keep.”

He laughed then, though it lacked any mirth, and his smile no longer reached his eyes.

“What is it?”

“You are so naïve, niece.” he explained.

“And why is that?” you questioned, feeling slightly offended.

“He wishes to court you.”

Your disgust at the thought must have been reflected very clearly upon your face, for he let out a full, genuine laugh this time.

“B-But- why?!” you tried collecting your thoughts, flabbergasted by such revelation “He is so…”

“Arrogant? Boring? Plain? All of the above?” Aemond completed for you, jesting at the situation.

“Old!” you whined and he laughed even harder at your expanse “I mean it! He is older than my own father!” you got closer to him to whisper conspiratorially at him “I heard he courted mother when she was looking for a husband, and he was already considered too old for her at the time.”

His laughter echoed around the halls, a few servants stopping to stare at the two of you, dumbfounded at the way you seemed to be able to bring the usually stoic prince out of his shell.

“But why does he wish to court me? Why not some other, older, lady?” you asked, still confused.

“Well, you are not just any lady, mandianna. You are a princess.” he explained, though his words seemed practiced, like they were reflections of not his own thoughts but those of other people “Any lord would jump at the opportunity to wed you. Chances are, in fact, that more suitors will start to flock around you for attention as you grow.”

“Ugh!” your shoulders slumped under the weight of your frustration “I do not wish to marry these lords!” you threw your hands up in exasperation “I just wish to spend my days with you and Helaena! Why can I not just marry you, then?!”

He felt a twinge too tight of happiness at the notion, but chose to ignore it and listen as you continued with your rant.

“If I were to marry one of these lords I would be miserable!”

His face softened in sympathy, remembering the conversation he overheard between his mother and grandsire regarding Aegon and Heleana’s betrothal. He felt pained for his sister, for he knew Aegon would not treat her how she deserved, and now he was seeing the same pattern with you.

“It is our duty, I fear, to find matches that best interest our House.” he spoke softly, but you turned towards him infuriated, and he feared he said the wrong thing.

“But I do not want to marry for duty!” his heart clenched in his chest as he noticed your eyes brimming with tears “I want a husband who loves and cares for me, like father and mother!”

He held back his tongue, knowing that speaking his mind about the kind of love between your parents, or lack thereof, would only upset you further. There was no denying that Ser Laenor cared deeply for Rhaenyra, just not in the way a husband should a wife.

The both of you stayed quiet for a moment, you simmering in your unsettled thoughts and him disappointed he couldn’t comfort you further, for this was something that was out of his hands.

“I would not mind, you know?” he heard you speak softly, turning his head to find you already looking at him.

“What?” 

“Marrying you.” you smiled softly at him “At least with you I would be content. I could see us being happy, even.”

Your words were a soothing balm over his heart, making it clench in his chest. He, too, did find the notion appealing, he could be happy with you, hells, you already made him happy.

“If it matters,” he spoke, trying to hide his true feelings behind a layer of nonchalance “I would not mind marrying you either.”

Your smile brightened then, and you bumped your shoulder with his.

“One can dream, right?” you giggled, before sighing once a servant came to fetch you to clean up before lunch, annoyed that your time with him had been cut short.

But as you walked away an idea formed in his mind, and with a determination he hadn’t felt in a really long time, he set off to find his half-sister.

3. Alicent Hightower

“No.” the Queen’s voice was harsh, and Aemond’s heart filled with dread as he peaked from his hiding place behind a pillar in her solar. He knew he shouldn’t eavesdrop but his traitorous heart was too anxious to wait.

“Come on, your grace.” Rhaenyra answered, clearly annoyed, a hand placed on her very pregnant stomach and another on her lower back, as if standing here arguing was bringing her physical discomfort “The boy came to me, begging for her hand in marriage, all that was left was for him to fall to his knees. She herself has asked about the possibility of marrying him once. They are the perfect match!”

After your conversation earlier that day, Aemond had set off to find Rhaenyra and ask, no, beg her to allow him to court and eventually marry you. She had laughed in his face, and he tried not to show how her dismissal wounded his pride, until her face softened once she realized he was serious. 

“Please, sister.” he had even stooped so low as to address their familial bond, no matter how sour the word tasted in his mouth “Allow me to marry her. As her husband, she would want for nothing, I would protect her with my very life. And I could even… make her happy.”

Rhaenyra’s face softened then, for the first time realizing how much her little brother truly cared for her daughter. She had known the two of you were close, but the depth of your feelings for one another was only now being revealed to her. So she promised him she would speak with his own mother, and if Alicent agreed, then so would she. Aemond’s heart had plummeted then, knowing it would be a lot harder getting through his mother. But he wouldn’t give up hope.

But hope, it seemed, was not enough.

“No, and my answer is final.” Alicent moved about, trying to get Rhaenyra to leave and go bother someone else.  

“Alicent,” even though she had her back towards him, Aemond could imagine the tick in his mother’s eye at the informal way Rhaenyra was addressing her “All I am asking is that you consider it.”

“Why do you even think they would be a good match for one another?”

“Oh, by the Gods, Alicent! Can you not see how much they care for each other? The amount of time they spend together? They are practically glued at the hip at this point!” Rhaenyra threw her hands up in exasperation, and Aemond could see yourself so perfectly in your mother’s image “I will just ask my father then.” 

“Do not entertain that idea even for a moment!” Alicent’s voice became shrill as she glared at her former friend “What is this even about, hm? Are you so afraid that child” and she pointed at Rhaneyra’s prominent bump “will be born sooner or later bearing a striking resemblance to a certain commander of the City Watch once more that you resort to this… this scheming? To secure your line of succession, is that it?”

Ouch. That was low, even for Alicent’s standards. 

Rhaenyra’s face hardened as she stepped closer to the Queen, and for a moment fear gripped Aemond’s heart that he was about to witness his mom get battered.

“My brother, your own son” she spat out, genuinely angry now “begged me to let him marry my daughter when they are older. He promised me he would be a good husband, and for once in my life I am inclined to believe him.” her face softened then, raising her hands as if to grab Alicent’s but let them drop, thinking better than to try and touch her “Please, your grace. If there is still any care left in your heart for the love we once held for one another, please let me do this for him.” 

Aemond waited with bated breath for his mother to say something, anything. For once in his life he allowed himself to hope; he’d give up everything, even his dream of having a dragon of his own, just so she’d say yes. But the longer she went without saying anything, the deeper the cracks in his heart became.

“I will not be able to change your mind, will I?” Rhaenyra asked, her face contorting in sympathy, and when Alicent shook her head, breaking his heart in a thousand tiny little pieces in the process, she sighed “Then I feel sorry for Aemond. For both of them.”

As Rhaenyra left the Queen’s solar, Aemond took his leave as well, his heart shattered and a weight heavy on his stomach, regretting even going to his half-sister in the first place. It seemed you and he could never be after all.

4. Rhaenyra Targaryen

Tears streamed down your face as you ran through the cold tunnels of Maegor’s Holdfast, not caring even for a moment that you were only dressed in a nightgown. The news you had just heard from your father regarding your mother’s decision weighed heavily in your heart, and you had to share them with your uncle immediately. It couldn’t wait until the morrow, because come first light you might be gone.

“Hells, niece, will you ever learn to knock?” Aemond had turned towards you once you barged inside his chambers through the secret door, freezing once he noticed the state you were in. He was in front of you in a second, holding your cheeks in his palms and forcing you to look at him “What happened?”

Even though his image was blurred by the tears that kept on rolling down your cheeks, barely noticing when he started collecting them with his thumbs, you could perfectly see the concern etched upon his features, and that was all it took for you to release the sobs you had been holding back, falling into his arms and hiccuping against his shoulder.

“Mandianna, what happened?!” he asked, holding your trembling figure in his arms and awkwardly trying to console you, running a gentle hand up and down your back. He had never seen you in such a state before, and he did not truly know how to help, much less without knowing the cause of your distress.

Once you had calmed down enough, your wails reduced to soft sniffles, you pulled back from him, running the back of your hand through your face to try and look more presentable.

“Mother has decided to move us to Dragonstone.”

Aemond’s breath hitched then.

“What?” he whispered, taking a step back from you.

“Father just told me. We are to leave King’s Landing come first light in the morrow.”

He felt his whole world crumbling before his very eyes then. He believed his heart could no longer face more damage, for it had already been broken when he overheard his mother and Rhaenyra’s conversation a sennight before, but he felt it shatter all over again at your words.

“C-Can you not stay behind?” With me?, he wanted to ask as his own eyes started filling with tears.

“I asked, but father says we are all to go. Me, Jace, Luke and baby Joffrey.”

His heart was beating widely in his chest, twisting painfully at the prospect of having to face everyday at court without you to keep him company, to keep him sane.

“We can write, of course, but-” you started, voice still trembling.

“It will not be the same.” he completed for you. 

It was true, wasn’t it? Things were about to change. On one hand he wouldn’t have to face the teasing from Jace and Luke, just Aegon, the main instigator. But on the other hand he would lose you, which was so much worse.

But then he noticed how your lower lip had started quivering again and realized he had put quite a lot of distance between the two of you. Not wanting you to jump to the wrong conclusions he crossed the space he had created and cupped your cheeks, looking sternly into your eyes.

“It does not change anything.” 

“Aemond-” you looked at him with sympathy and disbelief but he wasn’t having it.

“No. It does not change anything between us.” he spoke, determined “I will write to you every single day, and I expect a response every time. It will be like you never left. You can fly on dragonback and come visit. And when I get my dragon, I will visit you in return.”

Your smile, although tentative and still wobbly, returned to your face and he felt relief wash through him.

“You said so yourself, the lines promised me I will have a dragon.” he rejoiced at hearing you giggle “I have to make good use of them when time comes.”

A comfortable silence settled over the two of you. Something in your eye, glimmering with a blazing hope, compelled Aemond to lean forward, resting his forehead against yours, his eyes closing as he took everything in.

“We will still be the same.” he felt you move, nodding against his head, never once moving away “We will still be us.” 

And even though, or perhaps exactly because neither of you could prevent the events that would unfold in the following weeks, both of you believed it with every ounce of your souls.

5. Aemond Targaryen 

“Aemond.” you knocked once more, your knuckles red and starting to ache from their incessant contact with the hard wood “Qȳbor, please open the door.”

He hadn’t left his temporary chambers in days, and no one would let you see him. After the whole ordeal with Vhagar and the fight between your two mothers in the grand hall at Driftmark after the loss of his eye, Aemond was whisked away to the quarters he was stationed at during his stay so the maesters could work properly on his wound and for him to sleep off the copious amounts of milk of the poppy he had been given.

Having talked to your brothers and cousins and understood what had gone down, you started feeling a tad guilty for the way you reacted to it. Yes, you were still hurt over what he had said about your brothers and, by extension, you. But at the same time you had let him go when he was the most vulnerable, he had just lost an eye for the Gods’ sake. And yet, even though you were hurting, so was he, he needed you and yet you let go and ran from him.

So you had decided you needed to talk. Perhaps, if you apologized for Luke’s actions and your own behavior, he’d offer an apology of his own, for calling your brothers bastards and for not extending Rhaena the courtesy of trying to claim her late mother’s dragon before him. Then, having cleared the air, you could move past this and go back to the way things were, with exchanged letters and promises of visiting one another. 

But your attempts seemed futile. There was always a guard stationed in front of his door, denying you entrance every single time you asked. Even though they were stern, hardened by their training, you tried using your authority as princess to order them to let you through, but to no such luck.

“Apologies, princess.” they would say, a smidge of sympathy and annoyance in their tone “The prince is to receive no visitors. Orders from her grace, the Queen.”

Panic was starting to grip at your heart, for your time was running out. Eventually, as soon as Aemond was recovered enough to travel, King Viserys and his family would leave Driftmark and return to King’s Landing. By then it would be too late. If you didn’t speak to him now, you would lose Aemond forever. That is, if you hadn’t already lost him for good. You had to speak to him, and it had to be soon, otherwise he’d leave and you would lose the one person you cared most in the world, who understood you like no one else, and would be left to drown in your own loneliness.

So you started scheming. You waited around the corridor of his chambers, waiting for rotation of the guard so you could catch his door unattended. You almost managed once, but Queen Alicent opened the door to exit the room, stopping dead in her tracks once she came face to face with you, about to knock.

“Your grace!” you were quick to recompose yourself “I came to visit the prince. I wish to see if he is faring well.”

You winced, instantly regretting your choice of words once her face hardened. Of course he wasn’t faring well, he just lost his bloody eye! 

“Aemond is not receiving any visitors.” her voice was harsh, and dread overcame you as she started to walk away.

“Wait!” she stopped but didn’t turn around to face you as you pleaded “I just- I just want to see him.”

When she did turn her features were laced with a combination of disdain and pity. It stirred something so deep inside you you almost recoiled and ran, but you decided to endure.

“He doesn’t wish to see anyone, princess.” she spoke, her tone stern yet motherly. But the implications of her words were not lost on you.

He doesn’t wish to see you.

It hurt, tears brimming in your eyes as you turned around and headed for your chambers.  

Did he truly not wish to see you? Or did he just wish for solitude, away from everyone? Could your friendship still be mended after both of you had been hurt like this? 

It didn’t matter, afterall, for you were determined to try until the very end.

That’s how you found yourself in front of his door, finally alone with him, having waited patiently for the guard’s rotation and making sure his mother wasn’t around. It was his final night in Driftmark before he was set to return to the capitol, and so this was your last, final chance to talk to him before that. 

There was a light flickering inside his chambers, visible from under the door, so you knew he likely wasn’t asleep, and when you had knocked for the first time, you heard a thud coming from inside, like he had bumped into some furniture, so you believed he had listened to you. But no matter how many times you knocked, he wouldn’t open it, nor give any indication that he was listening. 

“Aemond, please.” you tried again “Please, let us talk.”

The longer you went without an answer, the tighter the knot that was forming in your throat became. Growing desperate, you laid your forehead on the cold, damp wood.

“Please.” you breathed out, not even sure he could hear you now “Talk to me, Aemond. Please.”

For a moment, a short, passing moment, you heard a flutter of movement from inside the room. Your breath hitched, a tiny flicker of unadulterated hope burning in your chest that he had heard you and was coming to talk. But it was quickly snuffed out when you heard nothing else follow.

A deep ache took over your chest, like something had dug its claws in your heart and squeezed. The inevitability of it all, the looming sense of grief over something so close yet impossibly far, out of your grasp completely, clouded your mind and had your ears ringing.

“I am sorry.” you said, taking a step back and turning around to leave “For everything.”

As you walked away you couldn’t help but feel like a part of you was missing. For you had just lost him for good. Perhaps forever.

+1

As you brushed off your skirts, having been sat on the grass by the weirwood tree, you set off to find your mother, determination written across your features.

You nearly ran into Luke as you walked briskly, sending a thankful look to Rhaena as she helped you steady him.

“Where are you off to in such a rush?” Jace asked as he came up behind your brother at the same time you bypassed him and Baela and continued on your way. 

“To secure myself a husband!” you shouted over your shoulder, not even turning back around to address them. Now all that was left was to find your mother.

And search for her you did. It was imperative that you found her quickly, for you wanted to make sure you did this tonight. It had to be tonight. No one knew how much longer the King would live, and the moment he drew his final breath, a war would break out within your family. A war that would ravage all of the Seven Kingdoms. So you had to make sure that didn’t happen while your grandire was still alive and lucid enough to give you his full support.

But Rhaenyra was nowhere to be found. The Keep was huge and there was a probability that you were both on the move and simply never crossing paths. You even stumbled upon Helaena during your search as she tended to her youngest son, Maelor.

“Have you seen my mother, aunt?” you asked after a brief and sweet exchange, though you did not hug her like you would Baela and Rhaena, for you knew she did not like to be touched.

“I have not, niece.” she bounced baby Maelor in her arms as he cooed up at her “Why are you in such a haste to find her, if I might ask?”

“I have something of utmost importance to discuss with her.” you smirked as you added next, and by the glimmer in her eyes she understood the hidden meaning of your words “I believe I have found myself a suitable husband and must ask her to arrange our betrothal as soon as possible.”

“Oh!” she smiled brightly then “So we might be celebrating tonight.”

To your surprise and confusion, her smile faltered just a bit, her eyes becoming unfocused, before she smiled brightly again.

“With a union forged in fire and blood, the dragon’s nest is put to rest.”

You dared not question her, for Helaena often spoke in riddles, even in your youth. Biding her farewell you went back to your task. You didn’t have to search long though, for you quite literally bumped into your mother and Daemon right as you were turning down the corridor from Helaena’s chambers.

“Mother!” you exclaimed as you helped Daemon steady a once again very pregnant Rhaenyra “There you are!”

“You were looking for me, darling?” she asked.

“Yes.” you cleared your throat, squaring your shoulders “I wish for a husband.”

That seemed to take both of them by surprise, their eyes widening.

“O-Oh!” she smiled then, still confused where this was coming from “And did you have someone in mind?”

“I wish to take Aemond as my husband.” 

“Darling.” her face softened in pity as Daemon scoffed “You know the Queen would never allow this union.”

“That’s not all, mother. I think I may have found a way neither she nor the Hand could refuse.”

Rhaenyra and Daemon exchanged a curious glance with one another.

“Let us hear it then.” your step-father encouraged.

“I want Aemond as my husband.” you took a steadying breath, knowing you’d have to argue the next part “And I want him to be King.”

“Absolutely not!” was Daemon’s reaction, while your mother just looked… betrayed. And it broke your heart. You knew what she was thinking, she had just reaffirmed you as her heir, had to fight for it, and you now want to pass that off to someone else entirely?

“Please allow me to explain.”

“Why would you suggest such a thing?! To that cunt, of all people!” Daemon kept on raging, but his words were abruptly cut short as Rhaenyra raised her hand.

“Let her speak.” her tone was firm, and you knew you had to choose your next words carefully to plead your case.

“Word has come to me of a… plot against you as King Viserys’ heir.” her face twitched in anger for just a moment “The Queen and the Hand will try to instate Aegon as King once grandsire passes.”

“What is new?” Daemon laughed, incredulous.

“And the noble houses would back his claim.” you explained “Many will not recognize you as the legitimate heir-”

“But-” your mother tried cutting you off but you continued over her.

“-regardless of the oath they swore years ago. Simply because Aegon has a cock and you do not.” you hated how crass you sounded, but you had to get the point across “And then a bloody civil war would break out, for you would not let this go unpunished, am I wrong?” 

Rhaenyra pondered for a moment before nodding, and you took that as a sign to continue.

“A war between us, dragonlords, would absolutely decimate not only our House but also the realm. But a marriage alliance between me, your heir and future Queen, and my uncle might just make them give up on this quest.”

“Otto would never settle for his blood being just consort.” Daemon argued.

“That is why he would not be consort.” you smirked, the catch you were waiting to reveal slipping from your lips.

“You shouldn’t give up your claim and be consort either!” your mother exclaimed.

“I would not do such a thing. I would be the rightful Queen of the Seven Kingdoms.”

Both of them looked baffled.

“Now you have lost me.” she said.

“When the time comes, both me and Aemond would be crowned Queen and King, and we would rule together as equals. No consorts.”

Rhaenyra took a step back from surprise, and Daemon looked like he was told the realm’s funniest joke.

“You cannot be serious, tala!” he chuckled, but there was an undertone of disbelief to it.

“It could work.” your mother spoke to herself.

“Rhaenyra, you cannot be entertaining this ridiculous idea!” Daemon turned towards her then, wringing his hands as if to stop himself from grabbing her by the shoulders and shaking some sense into her “It is not tradition!”

“Fuck tradition!” you exclaimed a lot more harshly than you intended, and probably a lot harsher than it was appropriate. 

You took a deep breath, trying to calm down enough. 

“You being heir over Aegon already breaks tradition as it is. Like I said, many will not see you as legitimate. But even if they do, and you are able to rule, the same thing would happen to me and Jace. But will you make all the great houses swear another oath to you?” Rhaneyra understood where you were going with this “Having a husband to back me up as heir, to rule alongside me, would give me strength in my own claim. If you are already breaking traditions, what is one more, eh?”

“You might want to keep your voice down.” Daemon spoke lowly, and you noticed he was staring at someone “The walls have ears in this Keep.”

From the corner of your eye you saw a familiar figure, and in a moment of panic, grabbed your mother’s hand and pulled her towards the temporary chambers you were housed in. You did not want Aemond to overhear what you had to say, fearful that should anyone hear about this ahead of time it would all crumble to shambles. As Daemon joined you two, shortly after, you continued. 

“Please, please mother! Think about it. It might be the only way.”

Rhaenyra was silent. While Daemon looked vexed, but made no further complaints, she looked deep in thought. You knew she knew you were right. She just had to see it for herself.

“It would be easier to convince them if we had the King’s approval. That is why we need to do this tonight, at supper.”

Daemon bristled but didn’t say anything. Your mother on the other hand agreed, even if she believed this was all very rushed.

“Would you be happy though?” she then asked, and it was your turn to be surprised “Marrying Aemond? After everything that has happened?”

You looked between her and Daemon, and for once in your life you were certain of what you wanted.

“Aemond has always been kind to me. Or most of the time, at least.” you shrugged “I believe, with due time, we could put our differences aside and rebuild what we once had. Perhaps even learn to love each other.”

Again, you meant. Learn to love each other again. At least in your case.

“Then it is settled.” she looked determined “We will pitch this proposition tonight.”

A wave of relief washed over you. This could work, genuinely actually work. Perhaps it didn’t have to end in bloodshed like you believed it would. Maybe your family could be whole again. And all of that at the cost of marrying the one you had longed for deeply in your heart once.

“He asked for your hand once, you know.” Rhaenyra broke you out of your trance, a soft smile on her face and a far away look in her eyes, as if she was reminiscing on a fond memory. Daemon had left at some point, leaving you both alone to share this conversation, too deep and personal for anyone else to hear, in private “Right before we left for Dragonstone.”

Your heart clenched in your chest at the revelation. He had wished to marry you as well?

“He said he could make you happy. And I believed him.” she then looked at you, cupping your cheek as pride took over her smile “I believe it still.”

You grasped at her wrist, feeling warm at the love you could feel it emanating from her.

“If you believe you could be happy as well,” she continued “then you have my blessing. That is all I want.”

You nodded, blinking back tears.

“I do. I will be very happy.” 

She nodded then, pulling you into her arms. In the safety of your mother’s embrace, you finally let yourself relax. Your fate was yours to shape how you saw fit, and you intended to make the most of it.

And you would.

High Valyrian translations: - mandianna - niece (older sister’s son or daughter) - qȳbor - uncle (mother’s younger brother) - tala - daughter (meant here affectionately, not by blood, as there are no terms for step-relative in High Valyrian)

Tag List:

@callsignwidow

@sleephereicome

@bitchassgoose

@voguiing

@dibutw

@fruityvampslayer

@garden-in-the-rain

@queen-of-elves

[lady-pug]

stooooop, this was sooooo good! nerd!aemond is my new favorite kind of aemond, all thanks to you 💛🥵

(also, i’d 100% pretend i wasn’t biochem ta a few years back if it meant having ‘private lessons’ with him if you know what i mean 😏😅)

MDNI! word count: 890

Nerd!Aemond who is shameless when he eats you out in the corner of the library, his head buried under your short skirt and between your thighs while he sucks on your clit.

He is patient with how he drags the tip of his pink skillful tongue between your wet folds, soft thin lips closing around the bundle of nerves before he makes a delicious suction on them, making you bite on the sleeve of the hoodie you stole from him today.

You push your hips up, hand reaching down to tangle in his neatly brushed and tied hair, pushing him further into your eager pussy, and he doesn’t back away from it. Quite the opposite in fact, he dives down more, smothering his face with the scent and taste of your wetness, his stupid rectangle-shaped glasses digging into the flesh of your thighs.

You moan as he tightens his grip around you, pulling you on the edge of the table so he can have better access to your aching cunt. Aemond opens his good eye, dragging his gaze from your pelvis up to your flustered face while he opens his mouth to bite on your mound, relishing how you squeal and throw your head back, one hand coming down on the table harshly.

Your eyes widen at the loud sound you made, but Aemond seems unbothered as he places your legs on his broad shoulders pulling you impossibly closer before he brings his hand down to your pussy lips, humming at the sight of your hole clenching and unclenching around nothing.

You look down at him; lips parted, breathless and worried about getting caught, but you don’t wish to stop him at all. Not when his glorious chin is glistening with your juices, his bright blue eyes shine with mischief even from behind the fog on his glasses.

“Stop staring!” You hiss at him, biting your bottom lip when his eye meets yours, a huge grin forming on his face as he slowly circles your entrance with his pointer finger.

“Why?” He asks, resting his head on your inner thigh while you reach to play with his hair, caressing his forehead while he wraps his arms around your waist, “I’m simply worshiping my dumb girl.”

“I’m not dumb!” You flick his forehead, whispering angrily at him, “Not everyone can get these stupid chemistry questions right like you!”

“That’s why we are here, to study,” he smirks, leaning down to prep your inner thigh with kisses, sucking and biting a path leading to your weeping cunt, “But you were dumb enough to fall into my trap, baby.”

“It’s not my fault you look stupidly handsome and can make a puddle out of me with your words,” you groan, closing your eyes and pressing your lips into a thin line as soon as he brings his finger to your hole, “You’re a fucking dick, you promised you’ll help me study!”

“What can I say? All this academic stress should be relieved somehow, right?” He whispers against your cunt, pushing a digit inside, sucking on your clit while he stares at your twisted face, “Otherwise I can’t help you pass your exam.”

No more words are exchanged and he shifts his focus on the task at hand, closing his eye before he pushes his nose against your nerves, thrusting his finger in and out of you slowly.

Moans are threatening to spill out of your mouth as soon as he adds another finger, curling them immediately as he fucks you with them at a fast pace, making a filthy lewd sound echo in the quiet library.

The feeling of his tongue lapping at your throbbing clit and his fingers massaging your sweet spot is enough to make your legs shake. You arch your back, one hand slapping against your lips and the other holding you up while you wrap your thighs around his head, locking him between your legs as you gush over his face, coating him in your juices.

“Hmmm,” he gives your clit one last kiss before he rests his chin on your lower belly, looking up at you with a shit-eating grin as he pulls his fingers out slowly, “Sweet as ever, my star pupil.” “I—”

“Targaryen!” 

Your eyes widen, and you jump down from the desk, fixing your skirt as best as possible before sitting next to Aemond, crossing your legs as one of the Library ladies steps in your aisle.

“Keep quiet!” She hisses at Aemond, and he nods and smiles, wiping the corner of his mouth with a napkin he pulled out from your bag, watching as she gives the two of you a pointed look before leaving you alone once more.

“That was so fucking close, Aemond!” you slap his shoulder, still breathless and flustered by your mind-blowing orgasm, “Academic stress my ass, we were nearly caught!”

“Fuckin’ hell, come here,” he grabs you by the nape of your neck, bringing you close until he can press his lips to yours, “I needed an energy boost before I could sit here for hours and try to teach you how biochem works.”

“I thought we were studying chemistry!” You gasp, looking at the wrong books you have brought with you.

“My dumb star pupil,” he chuckles lowly, grabbing your hand before you can pinch him.

“Asshole!”

[lady-pug]

ah, yes, what a lovely spooky way to end halloween! i’ve mentioned earlier that i am not really fond of horror or scary things, but i decided to take a shot at some horror-related fics today and i I don’t regret it one bit, this was so so so so so good!

the first part had me feeling all the feelings of failure, and had me hoping for something to change the tide for reader, and then aemond’s introduction??? that was so amazingly written i swear i could see and hear it in my head so clearly!

although i would like to believe i’d never make a deal with a demon, if this demon in particular appeared before me i might just throw my morals out the window!

and the spicey part was so intricate, so wonderful it had me feeling all kinds of things! the way aemond spoke and the way he behaved was sooooo captivating

(also I was not expecting the bit with vhagar at all???? and i was definitely not expecting to be intrigued by it???)

anyway, I really really loved reading this, thank you so much for writing this story, I’m gonna catch up on your other works as well, you write beautifully!

Pomegranate Seed

Demon!Aemond x Reader

summary: When your life goes downhill, you take the plunge and summon a demon to make a pact. But the dream life comes at a price.

warnings: !MDNI! Dark themes, mature content (p in v, fingering, oral (f), bondage, blindfolding, unprotected sex, praise kink, and snake… yep, you read that right). English isn't my first language.

word count: 7.1 K

a/n: the idea captured my brain like a fever, so in the spirit of Halloween and in honour of the deliciously freakish kinks harboured in the darkness, I share this story with crimson cheeks! Enjoy! 🖤

divider credit: @saradika-graphics

They say the darkest hour is just before the sunrise. Well, not in my case. What I thought was my sunrise turned out to be a bright flash—a burst of a supernova—before darkness swallowed everything up.

“You’re so kind, so smart, so beautiful, but you’re… detached, as if you’re always holding back.” That’s how things ended with Cregan just days before our second anniversary. His rugged features, softened by dark curls, are now out of reach. He was the one I could confide in, who believed in me at my worst—until he left me. Leaving me to sink to the very bottom.

“Your writing is captivating, nothing like I’ve ever read before! If only there were more… passion. Do you think you could work on it?” my editor, Sue, asked, checking her watch every minute while I sat across from her. You could tell she was uneasy having the conversation, but I swear she didn’t care a bit. My nails dug deeper into my palms. This was my chance to get a royalty to cover the flat—a place that was too pricey a few months ago. But since things were finally going my way, I took the plunge. And I fucking lost.

Now, you might think I’m here to pour out my soul and make you sympathize with me. But no, that’s not what I’m after. I actually want you to see why I have no other choice but to do this. This letter is to justify my actions, to make you understand I’m desperate, lonely, and left with one bullet only—so I’d better not miss. This is me making a pact with a demon, so I can breathe again.

Shutting down the laptop, you let out a deep sigh, rubbing the bridge of your nose in an attempt to relieve the tension. Your eyes burn from all the research you’ve done these past few weeks, not to mention the sleepless nights.

Would it even work? You wonder, casting a wary glance at the massive candles and the paper bundle containing the herbs on the table.

Night has fallen, and as your windows overlook a dark forest, there isn’t a single light in sight. The blackness presses close, watching, still. Perfect time to summon a demon, you think wryly.

A few weeks ago, in a moment of total despair, you stumbled upon a website dedicated to dark magic. It had everything from creating a voodoo doll for your boss—option number one on your list, considering you’d had to move into a cramped apartment on the outskirts because of her—to a premium subscription promising greater wonders to fulfil all your dreams. The price was ridiculous: $5,000 per month. No way people in despair could afford it. But later, you received a 30% discount for being the most active user, checking updates 24/7. Small comfort, as your bank account sat at under $1,000.

You glanced at the “increase loan limit” option, a bitter laugh escaping your lips. Something in you dared to take the risk. After all, could things get any worse? With a deep breath, you clicked the button.

Now here you are, setting the candles in a careful circle around yourself, your hands trembling as you unwrap the paper bundle. The smell is thick and pungent, filling your lungs until you almost cough. Whatever this package contains, the delivery guy must have been relieved to drop it off.

You place the herbs in a cup, crushing them with a masher before pouring the powder into a glass of pomegranate juice. Inside the paper bundle, a phrase in an unknown language is scrawled, along with the number 3. Repeat three times?

“Is this what I truly want?” you ask the void, your voice barely a whisper.

Your gaze drifts over your cramped apartment—the littered mess, the misery. The weight of every failure presses on your shoulders as you stare down at the drink.

So, as no answer comes to stop you, you grab the glass, holding your nose with your other hand. You gulp it down. It’s thick, almost fleshy; each gulp is a struggle as the substance coats your throat.

You clap a hand over your mouth, desperately hoping to keep it down as it stubbornly climbs up. It makes you swallow again and again before the drink finally settles in your stomach.

Right. The phrase.

You grab the paper with trembling fingers.

"Ad alt… altiora tendo. Ad altiora tendo. Ad altiora tendo."

Your gaze darts around the room as the candlelight trembles, casting abstract shapes on the walls.

Nothing but utter silence greets you.

You frown, biting back a curse. Did that first attempt count, or was it nullified by my stumble?

“Ad altiora tendo,” you repeat, louder this time, the desperation cracking in your voice.

Still, nothing.

Did you just throw away 3.5K bucks?

The glass hits the wall and shatters into countless pieces, the sound echoing down the long corridor, followed by your low growl.

“Fuck!”

Blowing out the candles, you storm into the bedroom, leaving the mess untouched.

No choice but to go to the only place where things still feel right: to dreams. Whatever was in that bitter concoction works quickly, sleep greets you like the embrace of an old friend.

You find yourself on a stage, seated in a plush chair beneath a glaring spotlight that halos around you. The woman across from you asks something, her voice reaching you muffled and distorted, as if coming from underwater.

“What?” you whisper, confused, staring at her crimson lips as they part in a slow, graceful smile. Her poise stings, almost mocking you—she’s everything you aren’t: confident, magnetic, entirely sure of herself. You wish you could be… And then it hits you.

It’s you.

You’re staring at yourself.

You transformed.

No dark circles. Lustrous hair. A wine-red dress that flows like liquid confidence.

Behind you, a display showcases the book with your name, labelled “The Bestseller of the Year.” The audience watches you with rapt attention, their gazes warming you like sunlight soaking into your skin.

This is your book launch. Your moment in the light.

The applause thunders, pride swelling in your chest, flooding your body with heat and joy—

Then you wake up.

The darkness is a stark contrast.

Cold. Silent.

You sit up, pressing your palms hard against your eyes, as if the lingering spotlight could still hurt. Your skin is damp and warm with tears. What a weird comfort.

Your stomach suddenly lurches a low, queasy growl making you cover your mouth.

This isn’t good.

Barely able to walk, you shuffle toward the bathroom, reaching the toilet just in time for the maroon liquid to erupt from your mouth. It burns on the way out, forcing you to double over as fresh tears sting your eyes.

Flushing it down, you can’t help but think bitterly that you just poured all that money straight into the sewer. Cold water brings you back to your senses as you rinse your mouth. Goosebumps race across your arms—a strange comfort in the sudden chill.

You turn to leave, and your foot slips on something cold and slimy. You gasp, fumbling for the light switch, pressing it down repeatedly, but it flickers uselessly in the darkness, humming softly without illuminating the room.

Then you hear it—a faint, shifting sound from down the hall, underscored by a low, breathy hiss. Every hair on your body stands up as the primal instinct to flee runs through you.

Slicing through the quiet, a velvety voice says, “Vhagar means no harm.”

It’s coming from the living room.

“Who are you?”

“The one you called. Come and say hello.” Amusement dances in his tone.

In the dim light by the window, you see him. A tall, lean silhouette clad in a black suit. His presence exudes effortless confidence. His profile is striking, with a strong jaw, a long nose, and slightly dishevelled hair that gives him a rebellious look.

As he takes a drag, the tip of the cigarette flares to life with a soft pop. The smoke dissolves into the air like a ghost.

His gaze flickers to you, eyes glinting dark blue like two sapphires.

“Are you...” Your voice trails off, uncertainty hanging between you.

“Yes.”

“Oh.”

A pause lingers, full of tension.

“Oh?” he mocks, a smirk playing at the corners of his lips as he takes another languid puff. The teasing lilt in his voice sends a shiver down your spine.

A soft hiss from below captures your attention, and you glance down. A long, slender snake slithers past you, its dark green scales glistening as it moves with hypnotic fluidity. As if drawn by an invisible thread, it curls near his legs.

“No! I just… didn’t think you’d actually come,” you stammer, surprised by your own honesty.

He studies you for a long moment. Even in darkness, the intensity of his gaze is ablaze, making you want to hide your naked legs and tug your shirt longer to your knees.

“Hm.” He casually puts out his cigarette on the windowsill.

Your landlady will kill you.

With measured steps, he approaches, and his proximity makes everything inside you tremble. “There’s nothing to be afraid of,” he murmurs. His voice works like a calming pill, settling warmth in your chest.

He stops just inches away, and your breath hitches as he lifts your chin, coaxing your gaze to meet his. “Now, tell me—what is it you want?”

Despite the self-preservation instincts yelling inside you to call it off—to resist being lured into the biggest trap—the words come out involuntarily.

“I want… I want my life to get better. I want Cregan back,” you say, your gaze becoming teary. “I want to be better at writing. I want to be happy again.” The words spill from your lips, almost a prayer. For the first time in forever, it feels like God can hear you.

He hums softly, withdrawing his hand. The warmth lingers where his fingers touched your skin. He begins to circle you, his hands clasped behind his back. You hold your breath, waiting for his verdict, as your heart could jump out of your chest.

“You must choose what you want most,” he stresses, “and I shall grant it.”

You blink, caught off guard, as a few tears fall, dispersing into the darkness of the room. Choose?

As if reading your thoughts, he says, “You humans are so insatiable.” Despite the reprimanding nature of his words, his tone feels like an amused chuckle.

Your cheeks flush.

“But it’s understandable.” He stops behind you, his warmth brushing against you, making you want to lean into it. There’s something oddly comforting about his presence. “To have it all is… tempting,” he murmurs, his voice low against your ear, and you swallow hard at the sensation. “But you must choose.”

He brushes a few hair strands aside as if to sense how they feel under his touch before pulling away. Settling into a wide armchair, he sprawls lazily, his eyes locked onto you, as though he’s savouring every flicker of your reaction. The snake crawls beside his foot like a protective guard.

“What will it be?” he asks.

You weren’t ready for this. Cregan or writing. Writing or Cregan. But then, like a beam of sunlight breaking through clouds, the answer crystallizes.

Both Cregan and your editor have left you, unable to find the passion they craved. They couldn’t ignite that spark within themselves and blamed you for not having it, too. You felt as if you should shine like a star—not just any star, but a supernova. That’s what you felt you lacked—a brilliance that could light it up, to make darkness disappear.

“I want passion,” you say. He raises an eyebrow, his gaze glinting with intrigue.

“To be more passionate,” you clarify, “in both my personal life and my writing. Is that possible?”

“Quite so,” he replies, his lips curving into a smirk. “Let’s make a pact and consider it done.”

The ease with which he says this stirs a flicker of suspicion.

“What would you want in return?” you ask cautiously.

“Oh, that’s simple,” he says, tilting his head slightly. “My price is as sweet as you are.”

You stare at him in confusion, the implication is totally lost on you. “And that is…?”

“You. Your body. For one night.”

Your mouth falls open at his brutal honesty.

“It’s very generous of me,” he says, adjusting his maroon tie, “since most demons would demand your soul. Consider this your lucky day.”

You cross your arms as if attempting to shield yourself from his oddly predatory gaze. “No way!” A pang of pride hits you. Demon or not, you won’t trade your body.

“You desire passion, and you’ll get it this way,” he says composedly.

“I don’t know you! I’m not going to… sleep with you!”

He laughs softly. “Who said we’d be sleeping?” The way he easily twists your words sends a shiver down your spine. “No, no, my little dove,” he shakes his head as he speaks, “that’s not part of the arrangement.”

Your cheeks burn, flustered by both his implication and your own reaction.

“It’s Aemond,” he adds smoothly, as though sharing a simple courtesy.

You stare, unsure of what to say or do. Your investment is either going to pay off or be wasted completely. Perhaps there’s a way to reason with him.

“Is there another way…?” you try, desperation creeping into your voice.

“No.” He shrugs, cutting off any hope. “Choose. One night of passion for a life filled with it.”

This is insane. Completely insane.

“It is,” he says, nodding his head. 

“Get out of my head,” you snap, and the snake hisses at you, as if warning you not to disrespect its owner.

But Aemond just chuckles. “There’s no need. Everything you feel is written on your lovely face.”

“This isn’t what I want,” you protest, shaking your head.

No, no. You can’t do this. Summoning a demon was one thing, but giving yourself over—no, that’s too far. Madness.

“Have you thought carefully?” His voice rumbles like distant thunder. “There may be no second chance.”

You meet his gaze, your heart pounding. Even if it’s the only way, it’s not right.

“I can’t. It’s not who I am,” you say somewhat hesitantly, feeling ashamed by your lack of confidence. You’re not that woman from your dream, and you’ll never be.

“Hm.” His response holds a note of bitterness. He stands up, shaking off the invisible dust from his jacket.

“Well, you could’ve had it your way.”

You frown in confusion, but before you can respond, he says, “Good night, sweet dove,” and disappears into the shadows. The snake vanishes with him.

The next few days, you spend in a fog. You clean up your flat, collecting the broken glass and mopping the floor from the pomegranate juice. And he… as if he were never present here.

At times, you wonder if you made him up or if it was a sick fever dream caused by the eerie mixture. But the dark stain from the cigarette on the windowsill serves as a reminder that he was not a figment of your imagination.

Searching through job vacancies, you circle a few with a pencil, sometimes biting down on the eraser. Maybe, just maybe, you can piece together a life that feels right if you put in enough effort.

It was so stupid to risk your life and challenge dark powers for the sake of a life you could create on your own. Yes, going back to square one feels shitty, but starting small is still a start.

An Instagram notification pops up on your screen: Cregan shared a story. You haven’t muted his notifications. You tap the link, and his lit-up face appears alongside a stunning blonde in a décolletage that would make one very aware of their movements not to let it slide. Bold chick, that’s what her look screams. Unlike you.

The emptiness and pain clash in your chest, washing over you. Slowly, you put the phone aside, staring blankly at the wall. Has he moved on so quickly? After all the years you’ve had together? Has he found a passionate substitute for you?

In the kitchen, you grab a bottle of dry red wine. The cork goes into the rubbish bin as you pour the dark red liquid to the brim, more than etiquette allows. Fuck it. You gulp it down, letting the alcohol warm your chest. The bile is swallowed for a fleeting moment.

You should’ve made the deal. You could’ve had it all. But here you are, on the same road once again. You fucked it up.

On your way to the bedroom, you slip out of your pants, leaving only a long t-shirt—Cregan’s. At the thought of it, a wave of revulsion washes over you, and you fling it aside with a grunt. You open the wardrobe and slip into a burgundy peignoir, its fabric soft against your skin. At least you’d feel sexy, even if it was just for yourself, alone in the vast bed of this compact room.

You close your eyes, curling into a ball, whispering into the void, “Ad altiora… tendo.” You draw your knees tighter, wrapping your arms around yourself. There’s no way to pull it off without those nasty herbs, without that pomegranate—a desperate attempt, akin to the final words of a condemned man before death.

The temperature drops, your erratic breath disappears like a fleeting puff of vapour in the cold air. No tears are left to shed. Cregan. If only he were here. If only he would offer his warm embrace—just one more time. Yet, in the silence of your grief, another name slips past your cold, blue lips. “Aemond.” The name hangs in the air.

Your eyes fall shut. If you're lucky enough, you'll fall asleep soon. Perhaps the dream will offer you some comfort.

“Changed your mind, little dove?” His question crashes over you like a thunderclap, jolting you upright in bed. In the dim glow from the table lamp, he appears more tangible, dressed in the same dark suit and maroon tie, that familiar glitter dancing in his blue eyes.

“You came,” you whisper in disbelief, your gaze drinking him in as if he were a mirage sitting upon the chair.

“You summoned me,” he replies, tilting his head slightly. “Not that I had much of a choice.”

“But what about the pomegranate and…?”

“Not needed since you have my name.”

“I see.” Suddenly aware of your sheer, lacy gown, you fumble to cover yourself with the blanket. His smirk widens, catching the moment with delight.

His cocky demeanour might have irked you—were he not a demon, potentially the strongest creature around. But there’s also something magnetic about him. The way he tilts his head, the fluidity of his movements, the elegance in each smirk—they’re deliberate, drawing you in against your better judgment. He could easily be one of the characters in your book, no doubt he’d be loved by readers.

“If you haven’t changed your mind, what is it then?” he hums.

You remain still, your eyes falling to your hands. It’s salvation or a curse—this dark creature steps in after the one you loved left you in your darkest hour.

“I accept the offer,” you mutter under your breath. Or maybe those are the remnants of wine speaking on your behalf.

“Interesting,” he says unemotionally. Either he’s foreseen it coming or no longer cares. “What prompted the change, if I may ask?”

You glance at him warily, suspicion creeping in—does he not know everything? But his gaze holds no trace of insincerity.

“Cregan,” the name burns on your tongue, “my ex has already moved on with another girl.”

“And?” he cocks an eyebrow at you.

“And I think I shall be moving on too.”

“The wish is still the same?”

You nod.

“Let me think,” he murmurs thoughtfully, a calculating glint in his eyes. “You summoned me once and refused the most generous deal. Now you summon me again over your lousy ex. Given the circumstances, I shall increase the price.”

A chill runs through your veins. “How much higher?”

With that question, you feel yourself shrink beneath his piercing gaze.

“You’ll be running errands for me every three weeks for the next seven years.”

You swallow hard.

“That’s still very generous of me,” he adds.

“What kind of errands?” you ask hesitantly.

“Minor stuff. I’m sure you’ll manage,” he says, shrugging.

“Not connected to…?” Your voice trails off, hoping he’ll catch your meaning, but he simply continues to watch you in question.

You bite your lip before adding, “to my body?”

“Unless you want to.” The devilish spark in his eyes dances.

Heat rushes to your face, an uncomfortable mix of embarrassment and something else—something darker.

Alright, think. What’s at stake? A few minor errands or ending up in the ditch? But can you trust him? The demon, the dark creature?

“You’re not going to trick me?” you ask, your voice shaking slightly as you realize the absurdity of the question.

“Me? Never,” he replies, raising his hands in mock innocence. “Seventeen minor errands per year doesn’t sound that much, does it?”

It’s hella much. But it certainly sounds better than a ditch.

Then he adds nonchalantly, “Oh, and of course, one night is still the key to all of it.”

A chilling horror passes through your body.

“Would you… hurt me?”

“No.” His gaze remains steady, unflinching.

“I will not be in pain?”

His lips tug upward. “I believe quite the contrary.”

Something within you burns—tugs at your core, like a siren song. Enticing, yet lethal.

“Come on, little dove. Just one night and a few errands a year—the key to your dream life.”

“Alright.” Your voice sounds distant, as if it belongs to someone else entirely. “I agree.”

You hardly blink as his tall figure looms over you.

“Stand up,” he commands, extending his hand toward you.

It feels warm and mighty, the way his veins curl upon his hand like intricate geometric patterns.

Your legs feel wobbly as you stand.

“I shall grant you never-ending passion in return for your service every three weeks for eight years. Deal?”

“Deal.” The word feels heavy on your tongue.

“You shall not resist completing any errand I ask of you. Understand?”

“Yes.” The answer is automatic now.

“As validation of the trust and service, you shall be all mine tonight.”

“Tonight?” you gasp, the reality of it sinking in.

“Any problem?” The way his eyes narrow sends a shiver down your spine.

“No,” you shake your head. “No problem.” 

“Good.” Then, out of nowhere, a paper appears, along with a pen.

The contract is written in capital maroon letters, bold and commanding.

“Everything I’ve just said and you’ve confirmed is written here. Sign, and we have a deal.” He stretches the pen toward you.

You scan the lines, seeing all the requirements he just named. Biting the inside of your cheek, you wince at the metallic taste on your tongue.

It’s now or never. 

With a shaky hand, you take the pen and scrawl your signature in burdungy colours just as your peignoir.

The paper disappears as quickly as it appeared.

The light flickers unsteadily a few times before settling into a steady glow.

Aemond is nowhere to be seen. Turning around, a silent question burns on your tongue.

What has just happened? Didn’t it work?

Then your body tenses as you feel the heat radiating from behind you, as if something unknown and thick is about to wrap around you. His voice is a gentle whisper in your ear.

“Well, well, little dove.” His voice strikes you like an electric shock. “What shall I do with you now?”

Your head turns slightly, and fear drips into your veins.

“So many ideas, and only one night.” His face dips toward your neck, inhaling deeply as though you’re not flesh and blood but a feast meant to be savoured. Your body tenses, betraying you as his hands land on your waist, his touch both featherlight and unyielding. His fingers drift down to your hips, gripping firmly through the hem of your nightgown.

“Did you put it on for me?” he murmurs.

“No,” you reply, squeezing your thighs together.

A puff of warm breath trails past your ear. “Liar.”

Without warning, he pushes you onto the bed. You land on your elbows, the soft rustle of his clothing close behind. You turn onto your back, propping yourself up to follow his movements. He tosses his jacket onto a nearby chair, his gaze never wavering from you.

“Rule number one,” he begins, loosening his tie, “I set the course, and you obey.” He drops the maroon tie beside you. “Rule number two: no kissing on the lips.”

Your brows knit, but words catch in your throat. He undoes his shirt slowly, button by button, his gaze holding you captive. That small voice inside insists, Just one night—endure, and you’ll have everything you desire.

Your gaze drifts to his torso as his shirt falls away, revealing lean muscle, sculpted and stark. A flicker of shame rises within, but your eyes won’t look away.

“Like what you see?” he asks with a smirk.

You swallow hard, unable to find words.

“I’ll take that as a yes.” His fingers undo his belt, slipping it free with an unhurried rhythm. “Tell me what your ex was like in bed.”

His request makes you blink in confusion.

“He was…” Gods, even in the silence, Cregan’s name feels like an anchor pulling you down. “He was gentle. Sweet.”

“Sounds tedious.” He tosses the belt onto the bed. The unknown chills you to the bone, and the room suddenly feels far too hot.

“No, it was… it was good.” You cling to the words, a shield he sees through with ease. A glimmer of something strange dances in his gaze, but you’re too nervous to understand it.

Barefoot now, he looms at the edge of the bed. His pants remain the last piece of clothing.

“Lie down properly, hands to the headboard,” he commands, picking up the belt once more.

“What… what are you going to do?” The question barely leaves your lips, and something about your wide-eyed, doe-like expression draws out his amusement.

“What your ‘lousy ex’ couldn’t dream of.” He leans in, the tip of his thumb grazing your lower lip. “I’m going to give you everything.”

Swallowing the tension in your throat, you move to the centre of the bed, your head resting against the pillows, arms raised to the headboard.

“Good girl," he praises, wrapping the belt around your wrists, and binding them firmly to the headboard.

“One more little thing, and we’re all set.” He steps away, and you tug at the bonds, a spark of dread trickling down your spine.

His maroon tie appears in his hand as he leans closer.

“What’s that for?”

“Sometimes, true passion requires a bit of darkness.” He slips the tie over your eyes, knotting it securely.

The fabric is soft, yet it plunges you into a cold, sightless world. You shift uneasily.

“Shh,” he soothes, his voice calm. “It’s all for what you want, remember?”

A stillness lingers as he waits for your answer.

“Yes,” you whisper, your voice barely your own.

“Good. Now, my little dove will get what she desires most.”

The bed dips under his weight as he moves over you, and with one deliberate tug, the flimsy fabric of your peignoir tears beneath his hands. A gasp escapes you, a reaction to both his brazenness and the cold that trails over your skin. The only thing left to cover your decency is your underwear. Despite your eyes being closed, you sense his gaze roving over your naked body, a brazen exploration that ignites a heat within you.

“Well, well. What a delicious little dove I have all to myself,” he murmurs, his voice a low purr.

Wasting no time, his mouth descends to your nipple, swirling his tongue around the bud before capturing it fully, enveloping it in his warmth and slickness. He devours you as if he’s starving for the act itself. His other hand finds your other breast, massaging it just after his thumb brushes over your sensitive skin.

Your fingers tighten around the belt, a soft rustling filling the room. Your breath catches in your chest as your mind fogs over. The blindness intensifies every sensation, each touch igniting a fire you hadn’t known existed within you.

“Getting excited?” he teases.

“No,” you reply, though "yes" simmers on the tip of your tongue, pride pushing it back.

“Hmm, we’ll see about that.” His tone holds a dangerous challenge as if you’ve ignited something within him. He trails his mouth to your other nipple, teeth grazing the peak just before tugging it into his mouth. A sigh slips past your lips, helpless. His hot tongue swirls around the sensitive peak, licking it like a lollipop.

Your hands twitch, and the belt feels tighter, holding you in place as much as binding you to him. You cling to it like a lifeline, feeling its roughness bite into your palms.

Aemond moves to your neck, leaving a trail of kisses before his lips latch onto your delicate skin, sucking with a possessive intensity that promises to leave marks. Each touch feels like a candle’s flame against your skin, each sensation you can’t see setting you ablaze.

“Is it...ah...necessary?” you ask, your voice cracking, as you wonder how you'll cover all the marks.

But his teeth sink harder into your shoulder, drawing a sharp gasp.

“Aemond!” you squeak, your voice torn between pleasure and pain.

“We’ll work on the way you say my name,” he murmurs, his breath hot against your ear as he nips your earlobe, sending shivers down your spine. His hands explore your hips, kneading the soft flesh, his thumbs pressing circles against your skin.

He pulls back just slightly, his gaze lingering over your face, a silent study of your expression. Then, he dips his head, his tongue making a slow, wet line from your collarbone to your ear. A moan falls from your lips as your body trembles beneath him, pliant.

“Did he ever tell you how gorgeous you look when that little mouth of yours falls open?”

His words drift over the sensitive skin near your ear, the teasing warmth in his voice melts away the last of your resistance.

“Answer,” he commands, his voice as a hiss, punctuated by the possessive squeeze of your hips.

“No,” you breathe out, a shaky sound that only widens the grin you sense playing across his lips.

Before you can catch your breath, his fingers slip past your lips, gliding against the warm, soft insides of your mouth. You nearly choke on the unexpected intrusion, a startled moan rising in your throat.

“Suck.” One word, and you obey, your lips wrapping around his long, slender fingers as your cheeks flush hot. It’s as if he’s cast a spell, making you cling to him, sucking eagerly as though your life depends on it.

Another moan escapes you as he presses his hardness against your thigh, letting you feel the thick, rigid length of him through his pants.

“Do you feel it?” he murmurs, pulling his fingers free and leaving a wet trail down your chin and breasts. “Do you feel what I’ve generously offered you?” He grinds against you, deepening the sensation, and your head swims.

“Yes,” you gasp, your voice barely above a whisper as you struggle for air.

“Say it properly. ‘Yes, Aemond,’” he breathes against your skin. “Say it like the obedient little dove you are.” His tongue sweeps along your chin, licking away the traces of saliva.

“Yes, Aemond.” His name falls from your lips like a surrendered plea.

“Good.”

He draws back, and the sudden absence of his warmth sends a shiver rushing through you, leaving your skin aching for the return of his touch.

“What do we have here?” he murmurs, pressing his fingers against your heated centre. A soft hum escapes him, content as he notes the wetness soaking through your underwear.

“Was that vanilla sex with Cregan so disappointing, or… are you just desperate for my cock?” His voice drips with amusement.

You bite your lip, shame and regret flaring at the mention of Cregan’s name. Gods, what were you doing? Clarity flickers in your mind, but only briefly.

With one swift motion, he removes your underwear, and his fingers slip into your slickness, coaxing deeper than you ever could on your own.

A moan breaks free as he brushes against your G-spot.

“Tell me, little dove,” he whispers, tapping lightly over the sensitive spot, “where does all that desperation come from? But think carefully.” Menace laces his words.

“I… I don’t know,” you manage to say, breathless.

“Wrong answer.” His fingers curl inside you, forcing your hips to buck forward, and then he swiftly withdraws them, leaving you aching. Your frustrated sigh draws a dark chuckle from him.

“You,” you say softly, biting your lip.

“Me? Full sentence, little dove,” he replies, tracing circles on your lower belly. “I haven’t even started fucking that mind of yours.”

His vulgar words stoke your desire further, and you feel a sting of tears in your eyes behind the fabric.

“I want you. Please.”

“Shall we believe her, Vhagar?” His question catches you off guard.

A hiss near your ear makes you flinch. The idea of a snake terrifies you, and you instinctively try to pull away, but neither the belt nor Aemond’s firm grip on your hips lets you move.

You gasp as the cold, slick creature glides from the top of your head, slithering slowly down your exposed body. Its cool scales trace a shiver down your spine, passing between your breasts, over your belly, and stopping just above the smouldering heat of your core.  The juxtaposition of temperatures drives you wild.

Aemond bends your knees, positioning your legs so the snake coils around your right thigh, its grip tightening as though it means to bind you further.

“Aemond,” you say, his name slipping from your lips in a desperate whisper. You know you're in no position to beg, but the creature’s presence sends panic racing through you.

“Shh, little dove. You’ll enjoy this,” he whispers softly, his tone laced with promise. Suddenly, the silence of the room feels deafening.

“Enjoy… what?” you ask, confusion mingling with dread as his hands remain still upon your hips.

In response, the creature inches toward your heated centre, its head pressing into your wetness with a soft slide, slowly easing itself inside. The cool, slender sensation twisting inside you makes you writhe, your body instinctively arching toward the pleasure. Aemond’s grip on your hips tightens, steadying you as the world blurs around you.

“Aemond, what—? Ahh,” you gasp, a raw moan slipping from your lips as the creature burrows deeper, filling you in a way that steals your breath. Your core spasms around it, overwhelmed by the relentless sensation, caught between fear and pleasure.

“Shh, let her have her fill. She just wants a taste of you,” he murmurs.

“It’s… too much,” you pant, tugging at the belt with all your strength, the leather biting into your wrists, amazed it hasn’t snapped beneath the strain.

Inside you, the creature twists and coils, its presence impossibly cool against the warmth of your depths, building a relentless tension that grows stronger with each passing second.

“Fuck, I guess we’ll have to share you,” Aemond says, the heat of his breath ghosting over your dripping, spasming cunt. The snake teases one side of your clit, coiling near your pubic bone, while Aemond’s hot tongue plunges into your clenching walls, the lewd licking sounds echoing in the charged air. Every time his tongue goes deeper into you, his nose presses harder against your sensitive bud, sending jolts of pleasure coursing through you.

Your mouth forms a silent 'O' as his hands squeeze your ass cheeks harshly, digging his fingerprints into your body with a possessive force, leaving deep imprints on your skin. You feel a sharp pang of ecstasy within, your body trembling in waves of convulsions that crash over you like relentless tides, flooding you with pleasure you've never experienced before.

“Don’t give her too many kisses unless you want to melt her brain.” His playful words meant for Vhagar fade into the background, lost in the intoxicating haze that envelops you. Your face bears a hedonic expression that any woman could be jealous of.

You don’t know where one orgasm ends and another begins, energy leaving you as you give yourself completely to the sensation. The snake eagerly swirls within you while his pouty lips latch onto your clit, as if they are rivals competing for the prize—you.

“Ae—Aemond,” you gasp, his name trembling on your lips. The fire pools low in your abdomen, making your legs tremble, before it snaps like a firework, exploding through every cell of your body.

You wince as the cool snake withdraws from your dripping centre, dragging your juices down your thighs. Suddenly, it feels achingly empty within you.

You become aware of Aemond only when your hands are finally unclasped, freed from the confines of the belt. Your fingers fumble to untie it, the fabric slipping away as you breathe in the dimly lit room. Your legs glisten with a mix of his saliva, your own wetness, and the snake's  presence.

Aemond sits beside you, and your eyes widen as he starts massaging your wrists. His gaze lingers on your dilated pupils, flushed cheeks, and bitten lips, absorbing every detail of your state.

“Sorry, I couldn’t deny Vhagar. She deserved to taste just as much as I do,” he says solemnly. “Besides,” he adds, his gaze sliding down to your breasts, a smirk tugging at the corners of his mouth, “she prepared you so nicely for me.”

The way he says it makes you tense. Both desire and fear clash within you. When no retort comes, Aemond stands up and pulls down his pants, along with his underwear. A dark chuckle rumbles from his chest as he catches sight of your wide eyes, drawn to the impressive girth of his cock, glistening with precum.

“I don’t think it’s gonna—” your voice falters.

“It will,” he assures you, positioning himself between your legs as you fall back, surrendering to the moment. His face inches closer, breath warm against your skin, his whispers brushing your lips like a caress. “I’ll bury myself so deep, so hard”—his cock nudges teasingly toward your entrance, making your mouth dry—“that it’ll wipe his name from your mind forever.”

His promise, or perhaps the threat, sends a shiver down your spine, making you swallow hard. Before you can fully grasp the moment, he plunges into you.

You burn as he thrusts, filling you completely, over and over. As you choke on your sobs, he devours every micro-expression on your face.

“Perfect,” he murmurs into your ear, propping himself on his elbow, his other hand steadying against the headboard, which squeaks in rhythm with your bodies. “I could stay buried inside this perfect cunt forever.”

You shudder at the thought of how it would feel if he started straight away—you’re certain he would slice you in two. As he jackhammers into you, your nails dig into the taut flesh of his back, leaving dark pink scratches.

“Shall I go deeper, mm?” A smirk curves his lips.

Amidst your whimpers and moans, you manage to gasp, “yes,” “yes.” Normally, you’d blush furiously, but today… your desire is insatiable.

His gaze darkens until the blue of his irises disappears, consumed by hunger. He pulls away slightly, slinging your legs over his shoulders. This time, he thrusts slowly, deliberately, but the sensation of his cock pressing against your cervix sends a strangled noise escaping your lips.

“Beg me to fuck you harder,” he teases.

“Please.”

“Please what?”

“Please, fuck me harder.”

His expression twists menacingly, a predatory glint in his eyes. “Who knew the little dove could beg like an elite slut?” he muses, his voice dripping with dark amusement. The angry look on your flushed face only seems to fuel his desire, and he chuckles softly. “Well, since you asked so nicely…”

With a swift, powerful movement, he rolls his hips, establishing a mind-blowing tempo that sends waves of pleasure coursing through you. Sweat glistens on your skin, the heat of your bodies mingling.

His eyes are fixated on your bouncing breasts, the way they sway and ripple with each thrust driving him wild. The sight urges him to deliver even harsher thrusts, as if he’s trying to claim every inch of you.

Incomprehensible words spill from your lips like a desperate prayer, each thrust hitting that sweet spot perfectly. God, you’ve never felt so alive, so consumed by pleasure.

“Your tight little pussy is fucking loving it, isn’t it?” he growls.

The way he phrases it makes your walls clench involuntarily around his thick cock, your body responding to his every word.

“It’s been waiting for a great fuck for a long time, mm?” he taunts, the smugness in his voice only intensifies your arousal.

“Yes, yes,” you whimper, feeling the pressure of an impending orgasm build like a tidal wave, ready to crash over you. “Aemond!”

“Good girl. That’s the right way to say my name,” he praises, his voice rich with satisfaction as he senses you starting to unravel beneath him. “There’s so much passion within you. You just needed to be fucked properly.”

He continues thrusting, each powerful stroke intensifying your overstimulation, pulling you further into a dizzying spiral of pleasure, making you see stars in the darkness. The world around you blurs as he becomes your sole focus.

The demon who gives you heaven.

You crave to clasp his hair, to feel its softness, but he grasps your fingers, intertwining them as he cums inside you with a low growl like an animal. His warmth spreads deep within you like molten gold, filling you with an exquisite heat.

Is it merely a sign of your fantasy, or does someone press a kiss against your forehead? You’d never know, lost in the haze of desire, quickly captured by a dream that lures you further into another world.

The following morning, you wake up to the gentle warmth of sunlight caressing your face. A thin gap between the curtains allows the sun to greet you. Sitting up in bed, you wince, forcing yourself to remember what day it is and what the hell has happened. Your mind feels like an empty canvas.

On wobbly feet, you make your way to the bathroom.

Since when do I sleep naked? you wonder.

But as you see your reflection in the mirror, your mouth falls open. The memories flood back with intensity as you witness numerous purple marks peppered around your neck, chest, and fingertips, marked deep into the flesh of your hips. Yet the most striking change is the intricate tattoo of a sapphire nestled between your breasts, glimmering in the light.

As your gaze darts to the corner of the mirror, you spot a note scrawled in an elegant hand: See you in 3 weeks. Unless you wish to see me earlier. Just call my name.

Your cheeks flush.

Fuck.

Likes, comments, and reblogs are deeply appreciated! Each word you share fuels my passion even more 💋

*Ad altiora tendo - I strive towards higher things.

[lady-pug]

Diet Mountain Dew

chapter 2 of the National Anthem series

President Aemond Targaryen x f!reporter reader

synopsis: a reporter finds herself entangled in an affair with Aemond Targaryen, the President of Westeros.

in this chapter: In her new assignment, the reader has to immerse herself in political affairs. But will she get caught up in another kind of affair altogether?

word count: 6.5k

themes/warnings: smut! (18+), tension!, language, pining, power imbalance, infidelity, a bit of a slow burn then a decisive unravelling

series masterlist ▪︎ main masterlist

How did you get yourself into this?

You’ve been asking yourself that question a lot lately.

You’re not sure when your job as a reporter became quite so complicated. But you had prepared yourself for hard work, for late nights and challenging deadlines. Highgarden News granted you this assignment—a high-profile, career-defining opportunity to shadow President Aemond Targaryen, as he campaigned from city to city. It was the type of assignment that could make a career, a ticket to bigger stories, bigger roles, maybe even a permanent spot in King’s Landing.

Yet here you are, two weeks into the campaign trail, and you already feel yourself slipping.

What started as an assignment became something else, something you’re almost afraid to name.

Only one news team is granted access for each region, with yours being the one assigned from The Reach. The reporters from the other regions had arrived in droves in Lannisport weeks earlier, and then now in Riverrun, trailing Aemond’s every public appearance. In each city, his campaign team organised luxurious setups, from lavish hotel suites to VIP access at his events. It was a calculated display of power and promise—a future where the country could have all the sophistication and glamour it desired, all thanks to the Targaryen name.

And you are always closest to him. You.

As you move from one city to another, you can feel it growing, that silent speculation from your colleagues. You’re special, they whisper. His favourite. His go-to for the tough questions, the tough days. 

At first, it was easy to ignore. But when Aemond singles you out in every briefing, when his publicist Margaery—almost maternal in her role as his chief handler—asks if you need anything on behalf of “the President’s office,” it gets harder to deny that connection lingering between you and him.

Every day, it’s something else: a small smile sent in your direction, a private nod, a comment to you and only you when a question gets a little too personal. It’s like he’s let you into his inner circle, and even your best friend Theon, who kindly volunteered to assist you throughout this assignment, has become more insistent in his insinuations.

And, as much as you tell yourself otherwise, you find it impossible not to watch him just as closely.

Aemond is, without a doubt, relentless. It’s as if he’s constantly at war, a one-man show of steely-eyed ambition and razor-sharp wit. He doesn’t just address his audience; he commands them. His campaign team circles him like hawks, eager to please, but he always keeps them at arm’s length, rarely indulging in their advice.

His grandfather and campaign manager, Otto Hightower, is the only one who gets close, hovering, guiding Aemond’s every move with a careful hand, though it’s clear they clash. Otto wants a puppet, someone to execute his carefully curated, well-worn tactics to keep the Targaryens in power, and Aemond… Aemond wants something else entirely.

He’s made it clear—he will not be controlled.

“I’m the one they’ll listen to,” he snaps in a rare, private argument you overhear in the hotel corridor one evening. You can almost feel the electric charge in his voice, the tightly controlled anger that lingers beneath the surface. He’s too smart, too keenly aware of his image to lash out publicly, but in these quiet moments, the crack in his polished exterior shows.

“And you’ll destroy your own campaign if you keep refusing to listen,” Otto fires back, with a ferocity that is reserved for his grandson, not the President. “You think they care about you? They want to see power preserved, to see someone they can trust and control—”

“They trust me,” Aemond interrupts, his voice a low, cutting whisper. “And I won’t be controlled by you, or anyone else.”

There’s a silence after that, and you find yourself stepping back, pressing against the hallway wall, your heartbeat spiking as you try to blend into the shadows.

Otto’s voice drops to a chilling calm. “You’d do well to remember, Aemond, that being president means knowing when to bend.”

But Aemond doesn’t bend. Not for anyone.

He finds you, always. In each press briefing, his attention always seems to land on you, pulling you into his orbit whether you want it or not. Because no matter how you deem it to be—inappropriate, overwhelming, distracting—he’s simply too intoxicating.

He relies on you—most of the time only you—when he’s tired, frustrated, or just seeking a confidante. With each private moment, each conversation, the promise you made to yourself of keeping things professional grows weaker and weaker. 

The occasional brush of his hand on your hips or on the small of your back as if letting you know that he’s got you, that he’s there, is nearly enough to get you to break.

And then, there’s the pen incident.

In an afternoon meeting, a few people from his inner circle gathered around, including Margaery, Theon, and Aemond’s loyal security guards, Steve and James. You’re taking notes, barely listening to the endless back-and-forth about strategic points in the city that will “swing the voters,” when Aemond turns to you, breaking the hum of conversation.

“Could you grab that pen from my pocket?” he says, his voice low and casual, as if it’s the most natural request in the world.

Your hand falters, and you glance at him, wondering if you misheard. But no—he’s watching you intently, with that strange, intense expression that you can never quite read. There’s a faint curve to his mouth, a glint of challenge in his eyes. He knows you can’t refuse without drawing attention, yet his request feels deeply, absurdly personal. It feels like a dare.

Aware of the eyes on you, you slip your fingers into the front pocket of his suit jacket, which haphazardly rests on the small table beside you. You begin to suspect that he placed it there deliberately, just for this moment, and this suspicion is confirmed when your fingers brush against something unexpected—something soft, delicate, and unmistakably familiar.

Lace. Your lace panties.

Your breath catches, and you feel heat rise in your cheeks as you realise exactly what he’s done. Those were the same ones you had been missing since that night—the same night you made out in his car, crossing a line you’d sworn you’d never approach.

His gaze doesn’t waver, a flicker of satisfaction flashing across his face as he watches your reaction. It’s a possessive look, a reminder of that moment, of the way he had drawn you in, breaking every rule you’d set for yourself. You quickly pull your hand back, clenching the pen and clearing your throat, avoiding his gaze.

“Something wrong, angel?” he asks smoothly as he retrieves the pen from your outstretched, near-trembling hand. Oh shit. Not here, not now.

Margaery raises an eyebrow at the name, her lips twitching in amusement, and Theon, standing off to the side, looks like he’s holding back a loud, theatrical laugh. But Aemond doesn’t break, doesn’t show even a hint of embarrassment. If anything, he seems pleased, his eyes glinting with amusement as he seamlessly segues into the discussion at hand.

After the meeting, Theon doesn’t waste a second before sidling up to you, eyes glinting with barely concealed amusement. 

“Angel, huh?” He draws out the word, savouring each syllable. “Didn’t realise we’d upgraded to pet names with the Commander-in-Chief. That’s new.”

You give him a deadpan look. “Theon, don’t start.”

“Oh, but I’ve already started,” he says, all faux seriousness. “I mean, what’s next? Is he going to give you a little heart emoji in his messages? Add a winky face?”

“Don’t you have something better to do than dissect my life?”

“Normally, yes,” he replies, feigning deep thought. “But in this case? Absolutely not.” He raises his eyebrows suggestively. “In fact, I think I owe him a thank you for giving me endless material. And you know Margaery caught it too—she’ll have that eyebrow arched for weeks.”

“Are you done?” you sigh, but he’s relentless, clearly enjoying himself.

“Oh, honey, I’ve barely begun,” he says, leaning in as he glances around to make sure no one’s listening. “Because let’s be real. You’re not getting called angel for, what? Your groundbreaking, objective reporting?”

“Theon, what the fu—”

“Yeah, I bet he’s covering you too… literally...”

“You’re gross.”

“...with his tight body, and his thick c—”

“Okay! Okay, I get the picture!”

The next day, it becomes ever clearer that Riverrun—a critical, symbolic region—has remained steadfastly out of reach.

The Tullys, who are influential in Riverrun, have held a deep-seated mistrust toward Aemond’s family for generations. Once allies, the Tullys and Targaryens grew increasingly distant over the years, tensions flaring over each slight, each perceived grab for power by either family. Riverrun is deeply traditional, loyal to old values and wary of Aemond’s ambitious plans, which feel to them like unwelcome interference. And with Cregan Stark—Aemond’s primary rival—making calculated moves to win over the Tullys, Aemond’s approval ratings in Riverrun are slipping even further.

Cregan Stark is as adept at appealing to people’s hearts as Aemond is at appealing to their logic. With his easy smile and steady presence, Stark has positioned himself as the family man, the man who values every corner of the country and pledges to protect its heritage.

Aemond, on the other hand, is seen as a firebrand—a Targaryen not content to merely lead but determined to change, to push, to innovate. Stark’s connection to the Tullys is not just strategic; he has endeared himself to them, winning over not only the common people but Governor Edmure Tully himself, the unyielding leader who holds significant sway over Riverrun’s political landscape.

Still, Aemond persists, though his methods grow sharper and less forgiving by the day.

The morning in Riverrun is bitterly cold, as if the city itself has turned on Aemond. After his latest speech, which was met with only a polite smattering of applause, he retreats with his team to a private conference room in the hotel, his jaw clenched, his demeanour taut as he listens to Margaery brief him on the polling numbers.

“Riverrun isn’t budging,” she says, her voice hesitant but steady. “They’re not warm to us—and to be honest, Cregan Stark’s campaign is winning them over. He’s made a point to connect with the locals, attend Tully family events, visit their memorials. His team’s doing an incredible job of selling him as someone who’s part of their world.”

“Their world?” Aemond repeats, his voice laced with disdain as he leans back in his chair. “Is that supposed to mean something to me? I don’t run campaigns based on sentiment.”

“Sentiment isn’t useless,” she counters, glancing around at the team with a knowing look. “Especially not here. Riverrun values its heritage, its ties to old families. Stark’s giving them exactly what they want—a friendly face who promises stability.”

You observe him from the far side of the room, notebook in hand. You’ve been watching him closely, taking mental notes, seeing just how he ticks under pressure. And right now, his restraint is paper-thin.

Theon nudges your arm, leaning close enough to whisper, “You know he’s never going to win them over with these tactics, right? Riverrun doesn’t want what he’s selling.”

You nod slightly, acknowledging Theon’s point, but say nothing. It’s true: there’s no sense of warmth or nostalgia in Aemond’s approach. Instead, he comes off as cold and unyielding, refusing to play the game of familiarity and tradition that Riverrun adores. Stark, on the other hand, seems to step right into that world effortlessly, casting himself as the everyman with a steady hand and the charm that disarms even the most sceptical locals.

Aemond’s voice breaks your thoughts. “The Tullys can have their nostalgia, their small-minded ways. But it’s a relic of the past,” he says, a sharp edge in his tone. “I’m not here to coddle them. I’m here to bring Riverrun—and the entire country—into the future, not keep them mired in their ancestral grudges.”

Otto clears his throat, his gaze calculating as he turns toward Aemond. “If you ignore the Tullys, you risk alienating a significant power base. And frankly, this region is one you can’t afford to lose. Stark may look like an innocuous threat, but don’t underestimate him, Aemond. He’s winning because he’s using tactics that work, that make him appear… sympathetic.”

Aemond’s mouth twists, barely masking his contempt. “Sympathetic isn’t the same as capable,” he says icily, his gaze flicking to you. “But maybe the press has some insights they’d like to share?”

You feel the weight of his gaze and everyone else’s as the team shifts their attention toward you. For a moment, you hesitate, caught off guard. You meet Aemond’s intense stare and try to keep your response measured. “Cregan Stark’s strategy here seems to be focusing on shared values,” you say slowly, choosing each word with care. “He’s connecting with people on a personal level. He’s convincing them that he’s one of them, someone who understands them. And while you’re pushing for change, they may not feel ready for it… or see the need.”

Aemond’s eyes narrow, his expression unreadable as he takes in your words. “So you’re saying I should be more like Stark?” he asks, his voice carrying an edge that raises goosebumps along your arms.

“No, not exactly. But it might help if you met them where they are before asking them to follow you somewhere else. Sometimes, people need to feel seen before they’re willing to listen.”

His expression tightens, and for a second, you think you’ve overstepped. But then he lets out a low, humourless laugh, leaning back in his chair. “I don’t do nostalgia tours,” he says finally, his voice low. “I’ve already won once before, that’s why I’m sitting here. They still don’t know who I really am? Fine. I’ll show them. But I’m not going to beg them to like me.” 

It doesn’t take long before he dismisses the team, instructing them to meet later in the evening for the next round of campaign preparations. Everyone files out of the room in a silence that feels heavier than it should, but you’ve only just stood from your seat when he commands, “Stay.”

You look around, and it is only Margaery and Theon left in the room, but they barely pause on their way to the doors, communicating their understanding that Aemond pertains to you. They’re used to it by now. 

“So,” he says, his voice smoother and more level than mere moments ago, “we’re here, angel. Riverrun.” He’s perched on the front edge of his desk—his usual spot, whenever he calls you in for a word.

You only emit a noncommittal hum, legs crossed as you sit on the chair in front of him. A small act of defiance because he continues to ignore your request for him to stop calling you angel. Never mind that there is no one else within earshot at the moment, save for Steve and James patrolling the hallway outside. 

“Nothing to say…” he posits the question, and you quickly jump into a response.

“Well, there is—”

But then he adds, purposefully cutting through at that moment to catch you off guard, with the slyest of smirks gracing his lips. “...angel?”

You sigh in defeat. “I told you—”

“Not to call you angel, I know, I know.” He waves a hand dismissively, and you know he’s just going to disregard the repetition of your plea. “But it’s the only name that feels right. That or… I don’t know… Baby? Sweetheart?”

Mortified, you look away from him, scanning the view outside the windows and ignoring the warmth you felt from hearing baby roll smoothly off his tongue. “None of those, Aemond, please. You know what, nevermind.”

He carries on, laughter still evident in his voice. “Tell me, are the people here in Riverrun right to be sceptical of me?”

“They’re wary, yes,” you admit, choosing your words carefully. “You’re a Targaryen; the older generation still remembers your family’s history. Frankly, many of them are wondering if you’re actually here for them or if you’re just trying to settle old scores. It also doesn’t help that Cregan Stark has endeared himself to the Tullys, and if he has their endorsement—”

“Then I’ve lost Riverrun,” Aemond states, his eyes darkening at the possibility, but he doesn’t lose his composure. Or if he feels the slightest hint of worry, he doesn’t let it show. If anything, he’s much calmer now, with just the two of you in the room, as opposed to when he was surrounded by his team. “And what do you think?”

“Well, the Tullys—”

“No,” he clarifies sharply. “What do you think of me?”

He stands perfectly still, all of his focus directed at you. Your stomach twists with the sudden intimacy of his question, but you meet his gaze, refusing to back down. 

“I think you’re ambitious. Smart, ruthless when you need to be. But I also think you haven’t shown enough respect to the values of tradition and ancestral heritage. It’s clear in how you talk about the opposition, how you dismiss their concerns. People feel that.”

His jaw clenches, a flash of anger in his eyes. “I dismiss what doesn’t matter,” he says coldly. “I’m not here to appease everyone, nor to waste time on people who aren’t willing to listen. I’m here to make real changes.”

“You’re here to secure your legacy, Aemond,” you counter, unable to hold back the accusation. “It’s about power as much as it is about the people. Maybe more.”

The air becomes charged, and his stony mask almost falls to give way to surprise. You’re willing to wager that no one in your position has ever spoken so directly to him before. For a moment, you wonder if you’ve crossed a line. But then his lips curl into a smirk, and he lets out a low chuckle.

“Perhaps it’s both, angel,” he concedes, surprising you. “But ambition isn’t a sin, you know. Everyone in this room wants something out of this campaign.” He gives you a pointed look, as if daring you to argue.

You’re unsure whether to feel guilty of the truth he’s pertaining to. You did accept this position because of the prestige that it offers, the way it can doubtlessly do wonders for the trajectory of your career. And only that… right?

Aemond can’t have been a motivation, no matter how strong his pull is. No matter how often you have imagined that it were his fingers, in the place of yours, stroking your wet folds before you fall asleep.  

You cross your arms, standing your ground. “There’s ambition, and then there’s ruthlessness. People don’t trust a man who’ll do whatever it takes to win. They need to believe you’ll put them first.”

His expression shifts, something flickering in his eyes that you can’t quite read. He crosses the space between you with slow, measured steps until he’s close enough that you can feel the heat radiating from him, and he plants his hands on the armrest of your seat, caging you in.

“And what about you, my angel?” he asks, voice low, his gaze intense. “Do you trust me?”

Your breath catches, his proximity affecting you more than you’d care to admit. His hand brushes against your arm, featherlike and tantalising, and you feel your resolve hanging on by a thread. How soon until you surrender another pair of your lace panties to be his salacious keepsake?

“I trust you to be who you are,” you say quietly. “The question is whether that’s enough.”

He lets out a long sigh, his gaze softening, and for a moment, you  see a glimpse of something more—a vulnerability hidden beneath the polished veneer of the aspiring president. He watches you with a strange intensity, as though he’s trying to read your every thought.

“We’re not so different, you and I,” he murmurs, his voice barely audible. “We both know how to play the game.”

Your heart hammers in your chest, but you force yourself to look away, breaking the spell. You know the price of getting too close, of letting yourself get sucked into his orbit. It would be so easy to lean into him, to let yourself be caught up in his ambition, but you can’t afford to lose yourself.

“I’m just here for the story,” you reply, your voice steadier than you feel. But even as you say it, you know it’s a lie.

“Go ahead then, say it,” he murmurs, coaxing you. His gaze is trained on you, hard yet unmistakably interested. “Tell me how I’m arrogant, tell me how you don’t need this job, don’t need me,” he taunts, but his eyes betray him—they’re daring you, almost pleading, though he’d never admit it.

You hold your ground, refusing to let his words twist your resolve. “I wouldn’t give you the satisfaction,” you retort, but the bite in your voice only seems to amuse him. The corner of his mouth curves, barely a smile, yet somehow even more alluring than a full one. 

He leans closer, his scent enveloping you—something fresh and faintly musky, muddled by the thick aroma of premium-grade cigars. “Then why don’t you walk away?” he asks, as though he already knows the answer. “Are you still here because of your job?” he murmurs, voice dripping with sarcasm, “Or maybe… you enjoy this.”

Your words falter, caught in your throat. Because you don’t want to lie. Not here, not with his gaze stripping away every pretense, every defense you’ve carefully held between you.

He reads it on your face before you can speak, and it emboldens him. His fingers trail up your arm, over the thin material of your white blouse, and his touch is maddening. His hand moves to cup your face, and the tenderness in the gesture is an almost unbearable contrast to the edge in his voice.

“Tell me I’m wrong,” he whispers, daring you.

You can’t. And in the silence, he makes his move.

Without warning, his mouth is on yours, fierce and unyielding, a kiss that speaks volumes about everything you’ve both left unsaid. The world blurs, narrows down to the way his hands move against your back, the press of his lips on yours. Every nerve, every inch of you feels ignited, drawn helplessly toward him.

Aemond pulls you from your seat, carrying you to his expansive desk without much effort. He sweeps an arm across the desk, papers and official documents scattering to the floor, pens clattering with a reckless abandon he rarely lets show. For once, the President’s carefully curated world is disrupted—by you.

Your ass slides along the smooth surface, his arms bracing at your sides. And even as you resist, pressing your palms against his chest in some futile attempt at defiance, he only pulls you closer, responding with a hunger that’s every bit as intense as his usual restraint. 

Aemond steps back just enough to tug his tie loose, letting it fall to the desk before undoing the buttons of his shirt, each one revealing more of the hard lines of his chest. When he finally shrugs the shirt off, he returns to you, his hands trailing down your thighs, his touch firm, almost searing.

“You don’t want to leave,” he breathes against your lips, his voice roughened by need. His mouth traces a path along your jaw, his breath hot against your skin. “Tell me you do, angel, and I’ll let you go.”

Your lips part, but no words come, just a breath that’s half sigh, half surrender. And the truth is, you don’t want to. Not even close.

He pulls back to catch your gaze, the weight of his stare laden with desire. “You understand what this means, don’t you?” he asks, his voice thick with urgency. 

“Wh-what does it mean?”

His mouth curls into a sly smile, one that’s both playful and predatory. “It means you’re all mine, angel,” he declares. 

Before you can respond, he lowers his mouth to your neck, trailing soft, heated kisses along the sensitive skin. 

“Do you know how much I’ve craved this?” he murmurs against your skin. “I’ve fought every part of myself to keep this professional, as you wished. But every time you look at me, I can’t help but want more.”

His fingers trace along the zipper of your pencil skirt, and as he slowly pulls it off, his eyes stay locked on yours. When the skirt falls away, followed by your blouse, and finally, your undergarments, he leans back, taking in the sight of you with unabashed greed. For a brief second, his gaze softens, a look of admiration flashing across his face, before his jaw tightens and he regains his control. 

He tugs at your thighs, urging you to wrap your legs around his waist, and as you obey, your body instinctively pulls him closer, pressing against him. You can feel the hard length of him against your core, and a soft moan escapes your lips as he grinds against you.

His fingers dig into your flesh as he rocks his hips into yours, so firmly that his signet ring is sure to make its marking. You arch your back, pushing against him, craving the friction, the connection, the release that feels just within reach. “Aemond,” you manage to gasp, the sound barely above a whisper. “We shouldn’t be doing this.”

“Oh yeah, baby? Shouldn’t… Or wouldn’t?” He knows exactly how to push you, and he revels in it, his gaze flicking down to your lips before returning to your eyes.

“Shouldn’t,” you decide, feeling emboldened.

“Good,” he growls, a glimmer of triumph in his eyes. He captures your lips once again, and you can taste the desperation in his kiss, a hunger that ignites something primal inside you.

In a sudden movement, he grips your waist and lifts you off the desk, his strength almost overwhelming. He turns you around, pressing you down against the cool surface, your cheek brushing against the scattered papers and pens, the remnants of his work now a forgotten afterthought. He holds you there, his body cocooning you, and you can feel the heat radiating from him, the way he’s anchored in the moment, unyielding in his intent.

You hear the rattling of his belt buckle as he hurriedly shimmies off his suit trousers, until he’s left as naked as the day he was born. The fucking President, in all his glory, his glistening cock fully erect as if saluting the bastard it belongs to. 

You can’t help but gasp as he positions himself behind you, his tip propped against your ass. His hands roam your body, gliding over the curves of your hips, the swell of your thighs, and you shudder when he trails his index finger along your slick folds, prepping your hole for entry. The thrill of being so exposed, so completely vulnerable before him, only makes you feel hotter.

Aemond leans closer, his breath hot against your ear. “Are you ready for me, angel?” he asks, the question hanging heavy in the air, thick with implication.

You turn your head just enough to meet his gaze, feeling the undeniable chemistry that crackles between you. “Yes,” you whisper, and the admission feels like a declaration.

And with that, he pushes himself inside you, entering you with a powerful thrust that steals the breath from your lungs. You gasp at the sensation, a mix of pain and pleasure that ignites every nerve ending in your body. The desk creaks beneath you as he moves, holding you tightly, anchoring you against him as he finds a rhythm that’s both unforgiving and intoxicating.

You push back against him, matching his rhythm, letting the heat and pleasure wash over you in waves. Every thrust sends sparks racing through your body, and you can’t help but moan, the sound echoing off the walls, mingling with the soft, urgent sounds of skin against skin.

“Uhh, yeah, baby, just like that,” he growls. “Let me take you—”

Your body responds instinctively, tightening around him, drawing him deeper, and you feel the rush of euphoria just within reach.

“Aghhh… please, please!” you gasp, your words bordering on desperate, a testament to the need coursing through you.

He grips your hips, urging you to meet him, to give in to the wild abandon of the moment. “Not yet,” he snaps harshly, but the smirk on his lips betrays the pleasure he finds in your desperation.

He pulls back slightly, just enough to change positions, and before you can fully process what’s happening, he lifts you up, urging you to wrap your legs around his waist. In a fluid motion, he shifts you both, and he climbs atop the desk so that he has you in missionary, your body flat against the cool surface. 

He thrusts into you again, even deeper this time, the sensation overwhelming as he fills you completely.

As he looks down at you, the image of your flushed cheeks, beautifully fucked expression, and the way his name rolls off your tongue in sensual mewls loops in his mind, each time with a sharper pang of satisfaction.

“Look at me,” he growls, gripping your jaw when your head flops to the side. He demands your eyes—he wants to peer into your soul when you finally crumble. “Look at me when you fall apart, baby. I want to see you unravel.”

“Aemond, fuck yes—” He sees you give in, eyelids fluttering as you obey. He likes being in control, but having you like this might be enough to make this part of him fray. Just say the word and he’s yours. You’ll be the only one who can command the Commander-in-Chief.

“Oh, my angel,” he purrs, a sensual melody that is soft and rough all the same, as he stretches you with his girth and brings you to ecstasy with every roll of his hips. “My beautiful, beautiful angel. You like this, don’t you? You like when I take your body like this? You’re so fucking hot, baby…”

“Yeah, yeah… I fucking love it—”

“You’re gonna love me,” he murmurs, his tone dropping to an intimate hush. “I’ll make sure of it.” 

You’re gonna love him. Whatever the president wants, the president gets. 

“Yes, yes, yes—”

Aemond thinks of making you swear it. To promise that you will love him. Perhaps, if you say it in an official capacity—under oath, for instance—you’d actually fall in love with him for fear of perjury. It’s a childish thought, but he considers it, and mulls it over with as much seriousness as he does the labour policy frameworks Criston is proposing.

He can make you do it. He wants to. 

Please, please, angel. 

“You mean it, baby?” Aemond asks you, not minding that your pupils are blown out from sheer pleasure and your mind is probably going haywire. “You swear you’ll love me?”

Your lips quiver around a gasp as the swollen mushroom tip of his cock drives roughly into your g-spot, the whites of your eyes visible as they roll to the back of your head. “Whatever you want, Aemond.”

You said it. So he has you now. No takebacks.

He sits back, eyes glued to your writhing figure from above, lording over you like you’re his most prized possession. He takes one hand and uses it to lift your hips, raising your pelvis a few inches off the mattress, while his other hand comes to rest firmly on your lower belly, pressing on your flesh as if sensing his cock buried within. He feels it all—from the outside, the outline of his pulsating length sliding in and out of your core, and inside, your walls clenching on instinct when he slams deep. 

The ruthlessness in his gaze spurs you on, as well as how he handles your body, positioning you right where he wants you. His angel, in the perfect angle, a vision as he hits the right spot with every wet-sounding squelch. Your glistening juices coat his cock, and he has to keep himself from bending down and drinking them all up from you. It’s an exercise of willpower to resist sucking your folds and licking every bit of the sticky, tangy moisture. All his, just as you’re all his to eat, to devour.

But that’s for afterward. Now he has to cum in you first, and decorate your insides with his seed. May the gods bless Westeros, his constituents all recite. 

But nothing compares to you. The gods don’t hold a candle to your light.

There is only his angel, taking his cock so well like a good girl, like a good little slut.

“I’ll fill you up, angel,” he murmurs, his voice rough and dripping with lust. “Give you everything I have. Bless you with every bit of my fucking… patriotism.”

“Fuck yes, Sir,” you whine helplessly. He is so gone.

“Oh, my angel is so needy, isn’t she?”

“Yes, Sir… need you so much…”

“So mouthy, baby,” he says proudly, a deep laugh rumbling in his chest. “Are you going to sound this pornographic in the morning? Ask me… ask me how I like my pussy in an interview?”

You reach for him as you sweetly giggle at his words, your fingers curling at the back of his neck as you pull him down for a kiss that’s hot, messy, and all-consuming. He moans in your mouth, looking at you all cunt-drunk with heavy-lidded eyes. 

You trace his jaw as you attempt to come up with something coherent. “That’s—” Slam. He slows his pace, punctuating your words with rough thrusts that take your breath away. “—a good question—” Pound. “—Sir.” Plunge. “So… how do you like your pussy, Mr. President?”

He laughs. Now that’s one question he could get used to hearing more often. But only if it’s from you.

“Hmm.” He curls his lips, pretending to consider while caressing your face. “Let me see… I like my pussy… wet, tight, and completely fucking yours.”

“Good answer.”

“Warm around my cock… just like this.” His aforementioned member twitches as it massages your inner walls, and it feels so good when you tighten around him, that he has to bite his lip to restrain from letting out a feral growl.

“—s’that so?”

“Yeah, angel,” he smirks, reaching down to flick your aching bud. “You see, it’s gotta be on this body right here.”

“Sure,” you say in mock defiance. “Bet you tell that to all your women.”

“No,” he breathes, his roguish smirk in place, “only the journalists.”

With an indignant whine, you slap his chest. “You ass!” Your voice is light, full of warmth, and it prompts him to make a face at you, pulling the corners of his lips downward. Your laughter echoes freely, and something in him switches, as if he’s been disarmed. 

He lets his forehead rest against yours. He knows he’s teetering on a precipice of something he won’t be able to pull back from, but he feels like jumping into the void if it means being with you. “Are you calling your president an ass? My, my, angel, that could be a felony,” he teases, his brows quirking. 

“What, are you going to send me away?”

Aemond’s expression hardens for a moment. “Not a chance.”

He increases his pace again, his hips blurring in the motion. The two of you desperately chase your climax, settling in an unforgiving rhythm—your ankles suspended in the air with your legs spread wide, him ducking down to suck your tit or bite along your jawline, his balls grazing the flesh of your ass. 

When the moment overtakes you, his grip tightens, an unspoken command, and you give in, your whole body quivering underneath him. He follows you over the edge, groaning deeply as he reaches his own release, warmth spilling into you as he involuntarily shudders. His breathing is heavy against your skin when he finally collapses beside you, his arm slipping around your shoulders, holding you close as the last ripples of pleasure fade.

“You know, if I’d known what it would take to get that fire out of you,” he murmurs with a smirk, “we’d have done this sooner.”

You raise a brow, playfully challenging. “Assuming, of course, I’m even coming back after this.”

Aemond rolls his eyes, drawing you even closer, but there’s a hint of vulnerability lingering there.

His forehead presses against yours, and his pulse steadies as he allows himself a moment of closeness, a silent confession. "Stay with me," he whispers, and he is suddenly stripped bare, because the words slipped out without his permission.

“Aemond—”

“I don’t want you going anywhere, okay?” Though his words are possessive, there’s a plea just beneath the surface.

You don’t answer with words; instead, you let your hand reach up to cradle his face, thumb brushing the faint scar underneath his ghost-white prosthetic.

And he deems it more than enough.

The next morning dawns bright and unyielding, the weight of Aemond’s words lingering in your mind, but you’re determined to focus on the task at hand, burying yourself in notes and strategies for the day’s events.

But your sense of composure shatters, when you’re met with the imposing figure of Floris Baratheon, the First Lady herself. She glides toward you under the harsh lighting of the hotel lobby, impeccably dressed in a tailored fuschia suit that speaks of authority and sophistication, her presence commanding the room’s attention. 

“So, you’re the flavour of the month,” she says, a mocking lilt colouring her voice. “I’ve… heard about you. Honestly, I was expecting more.”

You straighten, feigning confidence despite the nervous flutter in your stomach. “I’m here for the campaign coverage, ma'am,” you reply, keeping your tone professional, but she’s not having any of it.

Her eyes dance with cruel amusement. “How quaint. Must be quite the thrill, getting special treatment from the President himself. Access like that must mean you’re more than just another reporter. Just a passing phase, I’m sure. A little distraction to help him cope with all this pressure.”

You bristle at her insinuation, indignation rising within you, along with the inevitable shame. “I’m just doing my job.”

She leans in, her voice dropping to a conspiratorial whisper. “Let me give you a word of advice—don’t get too comfortable. My dearest husband has a habit of moving on when the novelty wears off.”

The venom in her words strikes a nerve, and you’re struck speechless, searching for a retort that won’t come off as surprised or defensive—and finding none.

Floris laughs at your expression, a cold, biting sound that sends a chill down your spine. “You know, you’re not the first ‘angel’ Aemond has forcibly inserted into our marriage, and I assume you certainly won’t be the last.”

With that, she flicks her hair over her shoulder and walks away, but she glances back one last time, adding, “Enjoy your little fling, angel.”

a/n: and so it officially begins! It's going to be tough out here for our girl, getting involved with a married man. The fucking President, at that! Oh well. As long as she doesn't fall in love. Let me know what yous anticipate from the story (apart from even more filth that's sure to come) 🤍🤍🤍

Vhagar taglist

@kravitzwhore @litchifaerie @g-cf2020 @notsurewhattocallthisblog8888 @noxytopy @fan-goddess @m00n5t0n3 @diannnnsss @nsr-15 @the-awkward-barbie @rockstwrsz @yellowstonebaby @urdeftonesgrrrl @eddieslut69 @callsigncrushx @starwarsdinosaur @qweq-6802 @tulips2715 @joyismm @just-mj-or-not @crystal-siren @all-for-aemond @alokaaaaa @vhwyrm @purpleskiesandroses @technicallystrangereview @jjkysnk @inesdiary96 @weirdblob21 @lonelyladyghost @tssf-imagines @nurtargaryen @paula-lkr @queenofshinigamis @breezyjin @empfm @amanda08319 @unrealwinchester @optimizche @seamaiden @spoffyos @subliiminals @believeinthefireflies95 @ex0tic-vgh @anukulee (cont.)

[lady-pug]

someone needs to take the power of the boop away from me (it’s addicting)

[lady-pug]

uhmmm, excuse me? hi, yes. why am i reading about politics (not like political themes, but actual politics) in my daily dose of fanfictions? and why am i enjoying it so much??

oof, president aemond is not something i knew i needed??? this was incredible, I cannot wait to see how this is all going to go down. something tells me this power imbalance in their dynamic is inevitably going to go wrong and i am scaaaaaared. and what about floris??

anyway thank you so much for this, it is amazing so far and i’m so excited to see where this goes! (also i’m really sorry about the late comment, i know this story is already a few chapters deep but i’m only now catching up with some reading i has separated for later 😞😞🥺🥺)

Official Business

President Aemond Targaryen x f!reporter reader

a/n: I caved in and listened to the depraved gremlins in my mind. I hope you enjoy this official intro, you're welcome.

also, thank the gods for Rue (@peachysunrize) for creating the hottest gif of all time.

themes/warnings: language, barely-there smut, infidelity, unequal power dynamic, gross misuse of a fancy desk, getting involved with a politician (also gross)

main masterlist

Update! - upcoming series

President Aemond demands the company of his favourite reporter, whom he has been eyeing for quite some time.

You try to walk with your head held high, but your clammy hands and racing heartbeat betray your nerves.

“President Aemond wishes for you to grace his suite,” was all they said. They, being two imposing bodyguards in impeccably tailored black suits, occasionally touching their earpieces as if confirming orders.

“What does he want?” you asked, your voice coming out weak and tentative. More importantly, why you?

They only shrugged, impassive. Whether they didn’t know or didn’t care, it wouldn’t matter anyway. The President always gets what he wants.

You’d only spoken to President Aemond in your capacity as a reporter, part of the small circle allowed to amplify his words to the public. The first time was at the annual Westerosi Gala, where he arrived with First Lady Floris Baratheon on his arm. Your colleagues whispered incessantly about how the uncut footage showed his gaze barely straying from you, even with his stunning aristocratic wife beside him.

Your supervisor even had the footage edited. “You don’t need the media vultures swarming you,” he reasoned, trying to sound reassuring.

Now, after covering yet another event in Highgarden, it seems you’ve been summoned for an exclusive interview in the President’s suite. You hope that’s all it is.

After all, you can’t be another victim of President Aemond’s wandering eye. Socialites like Alys Rivers and Lara Lannister had been publicly shredded after being exposed as his mistresses.

You never understood his affairs. They seemed so juvenile, reckless even for the youngest President ever elected. Barely thirty and in the highest position imaginable. And yet, what truly baffled you was why Floris stayed.

“Ma’am, the Presidential Suite,” one of the guards states as he opens a set of ornate ivory doors for you. “The President is waiting inside.”

Your feet move automatically, sparing you from blurting something that would inevitably fall on deaf ears. But as you cross the threshold, you turn and ask, “Will you be waiting to escort me back to – ”

The doors shut behind you. Of course.

The suite is grand – no expense was spared for the President. A perfect blend of classic Valyrian architecture, all white marble and gold accents. It’s more impressive than you could have imagined, having marvelled at the Highgarden Hotel from the outside for years.

“Come,” you hear a voice command, smooth and authoritative, from the room to the left of the main parlour. 

You head in that direction, mentally steeling yourself. Just get this over with.

There he is, leaning casually against a wide desk, dressed sharply in a tailored blue suit and crimson tie. The moonlight streaming through floor-to-ceiling windows catches the scar across his left eye, the glint of his prosthetic eye giving him an almost sinister allure. The kind that draws people in despite themselves.

Maybe it wasn’t immaturity driving his affairs. Maybe he was just too beautiful to resist. You roll your eyes at the stupid thought, surprised with yourself.

“Something amusing?” His voice is tinged with laughter.

Gods, you just rolled your eyes in front of the President.

“N-no,” you stammer, immediately flustered. “I’m sorry, Mister President. It’s just... I thought of something funny. Not about you! I mean, I’m sure you can be funny, but - ”

“Relax, angel,” he chuckles, raising a hand to stop your rambling. The term “angel” lingers in the air, branding itself into your mind.

You quickly introduce yourself, fumbling through your full government name like a nervous schoolgirl.

“We’ve met before,” he reminds you, smirking. “Am I that forgettable?”

“No, I know we have,” you nod quickly, “just not in such a… private setting.”

The corner of his mouth quirks at your choice of words, and his gaze sweeps over you with an intensity that sends heat rushing through your body. He hums softly, and the sound settles uncomfortably low in your stomach. Gods, get it together.

“I was told you wanted to see me, Mister President?”

“Aemond,” he corrects. 

You nod, offering your nickname in return, but he only smiles, shaking his head slightly. “Thank you, but I think I’ll stick with ‘angel.’”

Weird, considering how this is your first proper conversation with him, you think, but nod regardless.

He gestures to the plush chairs in front of the desk. “Sit, please.”

You comply, smoothing your dress nervously. Thankfully, it’s modest enough – a safe choice that flows just above your knees.

“How are you?” he asks, his voice polite but edged with something else. Part of you wishes he’d just get to the point, but another part – one you’d rather not acknowledge – wants to stay, to drink in the sight of him. Aemond Targaryen, the most powerful man in Westeros, and he’s looking at you like you’re the only person in the world.

“I’m doing well,” you reply, your smile faltering under his heavy gaze.

He hums again, eyes dipping to your lips. That same maddening hum that sets your nerves alight.

“You must be wondering why I asked for you tonight,” he says, leaning forward slightly. “I wanted us to get better acquainted. You’ve caught my attention, angel. I find you… intriguing.”

“But you don’t know me,” you counter quickly, heart racing.

“I know more than you think,” he says, eyes narrowing playfully. “You studied at the Casterly Rock Institute for Journalism. Top of your class, until your grades dropped in your final year because you were taking care of your ailing aunt. That says more about you than any degree.”

He continues, “You’re an only child. Estranged from your parents, especially your mother, after she remarried. You’ve moved city to city since, keeping your distance. Avoiding attachments, especially romantic ones.”

You freeze, his words hitting too close to home. There’s an amused lilt to his voice at the end, and you desperately want to respond with a defensive retort, but you hold your tongue. You like your job after all. He’s the President. One call and he could have you right back in the unemployment pool.

“Am I correct?” His lips curl into a knowing smirk.

You manage a small nod. Damn him.

“How do you know all this?” you ask quietly, stunned. You wonder if there are hidden cue cards somewhere in the room, informing him of the details of your relatively uneventful life. There is no way he actually made the effort to memorise all these details about you. But then again, he is the Commander-in-Chief of the country. He must have trained himself to know everything about everyone. You’re not special – just another face in his immediate vicinity. 

“I make it my business to know people,” he replies smoothly. “Especially those who interest me.”

He reaches out to take your hand, pulling you gently to stand before him as he perches on the edge of his desk. The proximity is intoxicating. “And you, angel, have caught my eye. You’re the object of my desire. Can you say the same of me?”

His words leave you breathless, the floor slipping from under you. You’re no better than the others, drawn into his orbit. “I’d be an idiot not to find you attractive, Aemond.”

He smirks. “I adore the way you say my name.”

“There’s nothing special about the way I say it.”

“There is,” he insists, his voice low and rough as his hand moves to smooth a stray hair from your face. “You’re so fucking beautiful, angel.” His expletive takes you aback, so unbecoming of someone of his status. 

“I’m not a fool,” you shoot back, forcing yourself to remain steady. “I’ve heard about your... doings.”

“My doings?” He raises an eyebrow, amused.

“You’re married obviously,” you say bluntly. “And you’ve had affairs. Women like Alys Rivers, Lara Lannister…”

He doesn’t flinch. “I’ve had lovers, yes, but my marriage is... loveless. Floris and I, we’ve always been an arrangement for political convenience.”

“That doesn’t justify anything.”

He steps closer, his eyes darkening. “I’m trapped. I can’t leave her. It would destroy my reputation. But she has her own lovers too.”

“And so you feel entitled to have yours?”

He breathes deeply, gaze unwavering. “Not just anyone. I want you, angel. Only you.”

You feel yourself dangerously close to giving in, especially when his gaze drops to your lips and he shamelessly licks his own. Desperate to stay composed, you ask, “Am I just another lover to add to your collection? I may be a lowly journalist compared to you, Mister President, but I have a reputation to protect too.”

“I know this, angel,” he whispers, his voice softer now, yet drawing closer with every word. “I’ll protect you.”

“Did you protect Alys? Or Lara? Or the others?” you challenge, though your voice falters.

“They orchestrated their own downfall,” he says coolly, his expression unreadable. “They used me for power. That was out of my hands.”

Oh. His words momentarily rattle your resolve, but you shake your head, trying to pull yourself out of the spell he’s weaving over you. “No, this is wrong,” you murmur, the words weak on your tongue. But his warm breath fans your face, luring you into the same madness he claims to feel.

“Is this wrong?” he whispers, his lips grazing yours – featherlike, teasing, barely there. Then, as if something shifts within him, he kisses you again, harder this time, his mouth pressing hungrily against yours. His tongue traces the curve of your bottom lip, sending a rush of heat through your body as you teeter on the edge of reason.

You cave, for a few seconds, letting your lips dance with his own in a battle for dominance. You elicit a growl out of him, and he picks you up and swaps your bodies so that you are perched atop his desk. 

“Gods,” he purrs, against the heat of your neck. “Sweeter than I imagined. You’re a fucking angel.” His gaze is arresting as his hands slide from your ankles to the hem of your dress, lifting it higher and higher until your moist panties are exposed to the cool air. 

You collect yourself as if hit by a dizzying wave of whiplash, pushing him away with a sharp shove. “Stop – wait, Mister Pres – Aemond…”

He stumbles, lips swollen and slick, his good eye darkened, pupil blown wide. “Right, sorry…” His breath comes heavy as he averts his gaze, and you smooth your dress down, feeling the weight of the moment between you. He straightens, his posture stiffening as if suddenly remembering who he is. “I didn’t mean to push you, angel.”

“You didn’t –”

“It was wrong of me to –”

“Aemond,” you cut in softly, your hand slipping between you to squeeze his in reassurance. “It’s okay. I wanted it too.”

A genuine smile blooms on his lips, innocent and sweet, but it fades just as quickly at your next words. “But this can’t happen again. We can’t happen.”

"Why not?" His voice is low, measured, but there’s an edge to it. "Why can’t we? You say you wanted it too."

“We both know why,” you murmur, your voice trembling despite your best efforts. You turn to leave, but hesitate just long enough to say, “Goodbye, Mister President.”

“Angel,” he calls softly, and it’s the only word he offers.

As you step out of his suite, the door closing behind you with a quiet finality, a thought begins to take root, unsettling in its persistence – he never actually said goodbye.

And deep down, you know this isn’t over. Something stirs in your chest, an uneasy certainty - while this is the first of these kinds of encounters, it won’t be the last. 

Taglists (refer here to be added)

vhagar - @gwaynehightowerswhore @kravitzwhore @litchifaerie @g-cf2020 @noxytopy @fan-goddess @m00n5t0n3 @diannnnsss @nsr-15 @the-awkward-barbie @rockstwrsz @yellowstonebaby @urdeftonesgrrrl @eddieslut69 @callsigncrushx @starwarsdinosaur @qweq-6802 @tulips2715 @hotdismylife @joyismm @itseunaimonia @just-mj-or-not @crystal-siren @zaldrizzes @all-for-aemond @ajantanijhum @darylandbethfanforever9 @vhwyrm @purpleskiesandroses @technicallystrangereview @jjkysnk @anukulee @decaffeinatedparadisepost @iloveallmyboys @inesdiary96

Targaryen - @angel6776 @different-tale-student @binchissimo @teasweeter @raging-panda @rhaenys-nyra @gelacat0413 @simplymurdock @yariany02 @barnes70stark @stupid---person @lonan-hane @thescooponsof @donalesaa @rosey1981 @misssanzthings @urmomsgirlfriend1 @wabi-sabi1090 @girl-lost-not-found

Some notes in the margins...

Knowing me, this will inevitably turn into more than just a oneshot. Do bookmark this or my masterlist to keep updated! Or you may join the taglist using the link above ~

[lady-pug]

first of all, happy halloween 🎃

second of all, oof. big oof. capital oof. i am usually not the biggest fan of horror/horror adjacent content but this?! you had me hanging at the edge of my seat with every word! the first half of the story was soooooo good, the foreboding atmosphere, the dread, the feeling that someone is watching you, it had my skin crawling with goosebumps!

and the “dream”..! creepy and suave aemond just made the whole thing so much better, because us readers as the audience, we knew something was wrong but he was sooooo alluring. smexy terrified oof. it just makes kinda sad that reader thinks she might not be good enough for our vampire boy, like girly you gotta work on your self confidence. perhaps becoming a vampire herself might give her a boost 😅😅

i just have one questions tho, vampires can only enter a house if they are invited in, right? so did the fact that reader invited aemond in the previous weekend give him free entrance to her place? like an extended invitation kinda deal?

anyway thank you so so much for this, it made my halloween all the much spookier! (and fun! considering i’m only celebrating on saturday)

((and i also just found out about the whole booping thing and may or may not be a little bit addicted, so i already deeply apologize for any boops you might receive from me🥺🥺))

The Way You Taste

The lines between friendship and 'more' are becoming difficult to define with you and Aemond. You don't know what's holding you back, but lately you can't shake the feeling that someone is watching you.

modern!vampire!Aemond x reader

Main Masterlist

Warnings: 18+, smut, dub-con, blood play, creepy stuff (tis the season), mentions of murder and violence

Words: 3.8k

A/n: Happy Halloween/Halloween Eve 😼🖤 (depending on your timezone)

You can’t shake this feeling lately, like someone is watching you.

The season doesn’t help. The clocks went back a few days ago and the new cycle of daylight has thrown you off your axis. The mornings are bright but the night comes quicker. You watched the sun fade from the window in your office and by 4pm it was dark. Insanity.

Sure, you can wear your big coat and a scarf to fight off the cold but your limbs still feel shaky and unsure. And it still feels like there are eyes on you everywhere you go; work; the coffee shop round the corner; the supermarket; the gym; your own unassuming flat on the quiet side of Queen’s Park.

Dany’s obsessed with the news stories, always sending you videos and articles with the latest updates and theories. It began about a month ago when a student was found behind some bins in a service yard off Silk Street with a knife in her neck. She was only eighteen, from a small town in Dorne, eager to get a degree and start her life. She had been out with her flatmates at a well known pub in a busy part of town, went outside for a smoke and that was it. According to the police she might have had a chance if someone had found her. Instead she was left to bleed out for hours.

There have been three deaths in total, the student, a 30-something-year-old regular at the club Seven Heavens, and a bartender at Falling Star. Dany thinks the culprit must be some insane conservative with a twisted sense of morals and decency, determined to punish those who actually live their lives– or so she’s seen online.

You don’t know who the culprit is, you don’t really want to think about it. You can’t stop noticing every face you pass on the street, on the bus, on your way into the office, and you wonder, could they be a killer?

Your hands tremble and fumble with the keys to your front door. The key is funny, you have to sort of push it and pull it as you twist it, but the door opens and you scurry inside. The keys are tossed into their usual dish, your coat and scarf thrown on their hooks, shoes off, bag set down on the floor carefully so you don’t smash your laptop. 

You should lock the door. You will lock the door but your head is pulsing and the cold weather has left your throat dry. You need tea, or water. Maybe you could treat yourself to both. 

There are exactly three rooms in your flat. Bedroom, bathroom and the rest of it. The sight of your sofa covered in papers and notebooks fills you with dread but you move on to the kitchen and clear a space on the counter, setting out a glass and a mug. Teabag in the mug. Water in the glass. Water in the kettle. Fuck, the dishes are piling up. 

Your finger is an inch away from the switch on the kettle when your phone rings. The noise is faint, coming from the hallway because it’s in your coat pocket. So you go back around the counter, past the sofa and into the hallway. The ringtone sounds sharper the closer you get and once you’ve got the phone in your hand the name Aemond Targaryen appears on the screen.

Your heart lurches. You let the phone ring for another second before you answer in an airy voice, “hi.”

There’s a soft hum on the other side. “Hello, you. Did you get home alright?”

“Yeah, thanks.”

“Good day?”

You have to stop yourself from making a sound of exasperation. There’s only so much you can enjoy about a job when you give everything and get seemingly nothing back. “Fine. Long. Emails.”

Aemond hums. Maybe it’s meant to be sympathy but you have this same problem with Dany, the disappointment when they don’t hear what they want to. 

Dany had been the one to introduce the two of you around the end of August. Aemond is a cousin of her’s and at the time had just moved to King’s Landing from Oldtown. She didn’t know him particularly well, but said he got on with her brother, Viserys, which didn’t paint the best image in your mind. But then you met him and right away you knew he was unlike any other man you’d ever met. He was striking; tall, perfect posture, long silver hair, perfectly fitted suit. And his voice, gentle yet chilling. Hypnotic. 

He asked for your number the second time you met and you had given it to him on the basis that an exchange of numbers wasn’t a commitment. Maybe it meant nothing, maybe he just wanted to be friendly. Sometime over the last two months, ‘friendly’ became text conversations into the early morning hours, became phone calls, became coffees and dinner.

“Is everything okay, Aemond?”

“What are you doing tonight?”

You’ve wandered back into the living room. All the clutter makes you anxious. “Need to clean up a bit, get myself some food.”

“Can I come over?”

“Oh, um, I’d rather you didn’t, my place is a mess.”

“Come over to mine, then. I’ll make you dinner.”

You catch your lip between your teeth. 

You and Aemond had gone for dinner last Saturday night. He told you to wear something nice, picked you up in a cab and took you to a steak restaurant where you knew you could barely afford a side dish, let alone a main. He told you to order whatever you wanted, picked expensive wines to go with the food, insisted you get a dessert, and covered the whole bill.

He saw you home. It would have been a shame to end the night before 9pm, so you invited him in. You showed Aemond around, not that your place is spectacular, but he liked what you did with the bedroom, the plants and the postcards on the wall. In the living room you picked out a bottle of cheap white wine from the fridge. Harmless fun, surely.

All self restraint was gone. You were half delirious and cosying up to him on the sofa, telling him about your job, your shitty boss, your obnoxious coworkers. If you had your way you’d start your own blog or magazine, or disappear to a coastal town and write a novel, but that wouldn’t pay off your student loans or pay for a place to live. 

You told him about Dany’s new friends. She had her own startup with her family’s money behind her, and it was doing well but she didn’t have time for anything else. She was unreachable during the week, and every weekend she had started hanging out with her employees. Your chats are filled with photos she's sent you of pints and drunk selfies in clubs. And she never invites you.

But Aemond was there, the only person in weeks who had made any sort of effort to see you. You held his face in your hands and told him how beautiful his lips were.

Then he kissed you.

That took you by surprise. He moved you into his lap, trailed his hands along your legs to the hem of your dress, and all the while your lips moved together so perfectly. You wanted it to happen, more than you had allowed yourself to admit, but you hadn’t expected it. You pulled away and so did he. Something didn’t feel right. Something was holding you back.

He’s Dany’s cousin, you told yourself. 

“It’s alright,” you say, moving your bag to the sofa, paper and pens shifting around it. “Shit– I’ve got some work to do.”

“On a Friday night?”

It wouldn’t be so unbelievable, you staying in on a Friday, but Aemond has a way of picking up on the smallest of details. Maybe there’s a give in your voice. Maybe you’re breathing too heavily– now you’re thinking about it and you can’t get enough air into your lungs.

“I’m fine, honestly, don’t worry about me.”

“I do, that’s the problem.”

You can hardly think over the sound of your heartbeat in your ears. And gods, you feel so guilty. Why do you feel so guilty? “It’s just that now’s not a good time.”

“Now as in, right now?”

Now as in this moment. Today. This year. Until you feel that you’re ready, only, you don’t know when you’ll be ready.

“Aemond, you know I think you’re wonderful, I mean, I hope you know that. And I… appreciated dinner last weekend. I just…”

There’s a flow of breath through the speaker, a slow exhale that sets your nerves alight. Aemond has a way of tapping his fingers when he’s impatient or when he’s thinking. You picture him drumming his fingers against his thigh.

“I thought I was being rather direct in what I wanted. I hate to think I’ve imposed,” he says. 

It’s hard not to overthink this kind of thing, after a lifetime of drunk flirting, harmless fun, no strings attached, “not looking for a relationship” and men keeping their options open. Aemond is intelligent and generous. He has an eye for detail, a way of reading you, and a self assuredness that means he can breeze through life effortlessly.

He’s perfect, and you’re not. 

“I’m sorry,” you say.

Aemond is silent. No breathing, no sign of life. It’s like that for a few seconds, but it feels like minutes. And finally he says. “I understand perfectly.” 

“I really am sorry,” you say, but the white noise of the call is dead. 

You finally make yourself that cup of tea. Dany calls and you don’t want to answer. But you do. She’s on her way to the pub. 

“It’s Jon’s birthday and we’re going to Falling Star!”

You don’t want to hate her for being around other people, but why can’t she do it without rubbing it in your face? “Enjoy. And don’t die,” you say.

“I’m too pretty to be murdered,” she says. A slew of true crime documentaries and faces in newspapers would say otherwise, but by then she’s already hung up.

The rest of your evening is a peaceful one. You don’t pay much attention to the dating show you put on the TV, more interested in an algorithm of videos, cats making funny noises, a man shoving his wife’s face into their wedding cake, a tribute to the three victims of the Silk Street murders– no new news there, new economic policies, fantasy book recommendations…

You check your messages. Dany’s just sent you a photo of her pint.

You scroll a little further down and hover your thumb over your chat with Aemond, but you don’t open it.

Nothing in particular wakes you. Still half asleep, you’re aware of your body, the exposed parts of skin against the fabric of your bedsheets, the rise and fall of your chest. Instinct tells you it’s a few hours after midnight. There are no strange noises, no sources of light, just the cold air beyond the duvet, pulled up to your chin.

Then it starts to slip away. 

Your hands struggle to catch up with your mind. You think about grabbing the edge and tugging against whatever is trying to pull it off you, but you can’t. The fabric slips through your limp fingers, dragging over your body until there’s no weight on top of you. Your limbs are frozen in place, curled over on one side, dressed in an old t-shirt, panties and nothing else. Your skin crawls at a silent breeze, but you can feel it again, eyes on you.

Then there are fingers, stroking along your bare legs, closing around your ankles. 

Your eyes blink open, adjusting to the darkness and you can see that the bedroom door is wide open. Without looking, you feel an awareness about the room, a presence looming at the foot of the bed. It pulls on your legs, dragging you further down the bed, positioning you flat on your back.

Even in the dead of night, the gleam of silver hair is undeniable.

“Aemond?”

His gaze meets yours. He smiles and starts to pull at the buttons on his shirt– trust Aemond to show up in a dream wearing a shirt and slacks.

The haze of sleep lulls your mind and sharpens your senses. You run your hands up your thighs, admiring every inch of his skin as it’s revealed to you.

Shirt discarded, his hands come to his belt and linger on the buckle. He hums and it infuriates you how even the slightest of sounds makes you desperate for him. But the belt stays where it is, so do the slacks. 

His palms fall to the mattress and he crawls towards you like an animal. You’ve rarely seen that side of him in real life, maybe that night when you kissed, the way he groaned against your mouth and grazed his teeth over your lips…

His hands are on either side of your head. The colour of his eyes and the line of his scar are difficult to make out in the dark. His body leans against yours, slowly pressing his weight on top of you, making a home for his hips between your legs. You don’t just let him do it, you wrap your legs around him, pulling him in closer as your hips start to rock. 

He leans down, placing a firm, slow kiss against your lips. You try to follow him as he pulls away, but he moves down to kiss your neck, then the base of your throat.

“You can’t lie to me,” he mutters against your skin, “I know what you need.”

He lifts your t-shirt enough to expose your breasts, taking one into his hand and squeezing, just to the precipice of pain. You’re already moaning when he takes the other nipple into his mouth, bruising and licking and sucking. 

With every moment that passes you feel the control slipping, his and yours. Perfect, sweet, refined Aemond, gripping his fingertips into your flesh like claws, restless and grinding himself against you. You thread your hands through his hair, surfaces of bone, chin and forehead, fall against each other. 

Aemond slips further still. He trails his lips along your sternum and your stomach, positioning his face between your legs. There’s no more pretence. He parts your thighs with his palms, pulling your underwear down your legs before he runs a single finger through your folds. You feel how effortless it is, how wet you are for him.

Until his finger is replaced by his tongue in slow, agonising licks. His eyes are on you, but the rest of him is obscured by your own body. You rock against him to chase the feeling, keeping a hand on his head to keep him where you need him. 

It’s like a silent conversation. He takes your queues, responds to your moans and the way your jaw slacks when he finds the right spot.

You watch his shoulder shift and feel the pressure of his finger at your entrance. He doesn’t push it in, not yet.

“Aemond,” you whisper.

He hums against your cunt and you feel it in the rest of your body, an echo through your bones and your blood.

He wants you to beg.

“Aemond, please,”

He slips inside you and you’re weightless. 

The noises you make aren’t conscious. You feel the air flowing through your lungs, the sound in your throat, panting and moaning as he nudges against the flesh inside you. 

It rises and rises until the pleasure tears through you. Aemond holds you in place with a palm splayed on your stomach, unrelenting, working you through the high.

“Aemond,” you whimper, “I can’t take it,”

He pulls away from you, and still gasping for air he comes to his knees on the bed, hovering over you. “You taste too fucking good,” he says.

You’re still writhing in the afterglow when he reaches for something in his back pocket. The shape of it is obscured in the darkness but you can see how he’s holding it, like he’s holding up a pen. It doesn’t even occur to you that it could be anything dangerous. 

“Are you going to let me have another taste?”

You should say yes, that’s how these things go, play along and see where you end up.

He leans over you again, on one hand. You watch the way his hair falls, the way he draws his tongue over his lips. 

It happens too quickly for you to make any kind of protest. Aemond puts the object into your face and there’s a stinging sensation on your lower lip. By the time he has pulled away you feel a liquid pearling at the cut he’s made, wet and warm. 

“What… what the fuck?” you utter.

Aemond surges back into you, a man starved, kissing your bloodied lips. His tongue delves into your mouth and you can taste it, the sweetness of your own arousal, the metallic tang of your own blood.

“Too good,” Aemond growls under his breath, “too fucking good,”

You meet him with hunger of your own and feel his mouth break into a smile.

“See? I knew you wanted this,” he says as his hand curls around your neck, “desperate little thing, aren’t you?”

Your body is screaming for another release. You rake your nails down his back, press your chest up and into him.

“Say it.”

“I want you, Aemond.”

“So why do you keep pushing me away?”

You pause. There’s hardly any space between you, the tips of your noses are the slightest move from touching. You see the stains on Aemond’s lips, the darkness in his expression.

“I’m not ready,” you say.

Aemond huffs to himself, you’re unsure if it's amusement or disbelief. He sits back on his haunches, grabbing you by your wrists to pull you up. He doesn’t let go. His hands are so much bigger than yours, curling around your forearms. “I could give you everything, do you know that?”

You feel yourself frown.

“Why aren’t you ready? What’s stopping you?”

There are so many imperfections in your life. People like Aemond and Dany, they make life look easy because it is easy for them. If they work it’s something to fill the time. 

Your eyes are starting to sting. “I– I have things I need to focus on. I can’t get caught up in this, I can’t distract myself.”

Aemond’s mouth curls into a small smile, his thumbs tracing circles on your skin. “I could take the distractions away. I could make you mine.” He brings one of your wrists to his lips, placing a delicate skin against it, leaving a smear of blood in its wake. "Why deny yourself the pleasure I could give you?"

It’s an enchanting idea, a life outside of a job that makes you miserable, untethered to a friend you can feel is drifting away…

You feel your head nodding.

“Good girl,” Aemond mutters.

You expect him to kiss you again, or lay you down on the bed and fuck you. Instead he reaches for something beside him. The knife.

You flinch away and get as far as the headboard. Aemond still has one hand on your wrist and pulls you back in. 

He takes the blade to his chest and makes a shallow cut down his skin. Your insides turn and tighten at the sight, unable to decide if you’re terrified or fascinated. 

You know what he wants you to do. That’s always the way with dreams, somehow you just know what you need to, even if what’s happening in front of you doesn’t make sense. 

You lean forwards, bracing yourself against his firm torso, tongue out, licking along the cut. His blood pools and burns on your tongue. It’s bitter and sweet, and you relish it.

Aemond moans, cradling your head in his hand.

He pulls on your hair to tilt your chin up. His face is full of admiration and you preen at the praise.

He moves your head down, to the bulge in his slacks. With his other hand he undoes his belt and you pull it away eagerly. He seems pleased at that and makes quick work of freeing his cock.

You delight at the sight of him, watching his hand work himself to hardness, precum glistening at the tip, and take him into your willing mouth. His sighs of pleasure spurn you on, your own arousal rising in your belly. 

Aemond’s grip on your hair tightens as he starts to thrust into your mouth. “Good girl,” he coos, “my perfect girl,”

Until he decides he’s had enough. You hardly comprehend it as he draws you away from his cock, turns you around and positions you on your stomach.

You gasp as he enters you, the sweet sting of stretching around his cock. It’s worth it when he reaches so deep inside of you. You can hear him gritting his teeth as he moans, like he’s torn between desire and restraint. 

And you wish you could watch him while he fucks you, moving in and out of you, his hands digging into the flesh of your ass, the blood dripping down his chest– you can still taste it.

Aemond’s hair tickles against your skin as he leans down, keeping his brutal pace. “Mine,” he misses against your ear, “you’re fucking mine.”

You cry out as your second orgasm washes over you, soft and simmering as he fucks you through it.

You press your fingertips into the mattress, basking in the heat of your skin, the dampness of sweat, the taste of blood on your lips…

When you open your eyes again daylight seeps through a gap in the curtains. You’re still on your front, still in your t-shirt. You move your hand between your legs and find a damp patch on your panties. 

Your legs and your arms are aching. You feel feverish, hot and cold, restless in your own skin. It’s that time of year, you suppose, flu season.

You can’t stop thinking about that dream. It almost makes you laugh, the absurdity of it, Aemond sneaking into your room, and the blood– the blood. 

It would make sense to be disgusted by it, but you’re not. You feel a sort of pressure ghosting against your lips and your tongue. You imagine the sight of him, his toned torso, offering his very lifeforce to you, and tasting yours.

“Mine,” he said. 

You drag yourself out of the bed. Everything hurts. Even setting out a clean t-shirt and sweatpants exhausts you. Worst of all is the hunger starting to appear in your stomach, the kind that twists and churns.

Maybe a shower will put your head right. It’s amazing how many problems can be solved by warm water. You move in slow, sluggish steps to the bathroom. With the water running, you turn to the sink and reach for your toothbrush, catching sight of your reflection.

Something about your face feels different, and you’re not sure it’s a bad thing. You can’t pinpoint it, but you don’t think you’ve ever felt so beautiful.

There is one thing though, a scab on your lower lip, right where Aemond had cut you in the dream.

“I could take the distractions away. I could make you mine.”

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[lady-pug]

Written Between the Lines

Chapter VI - One Flesh, One Heart, One Soul

Summary: After marrying in the Faith of the Seven, you and Aemond are ready to consummate your marriage. But something has been troubling him about it and you are determined to get to the bottom of this before finally giving in to your desires.

Pairing: Aemond Targaryen x Reader

Word count: 10k (on the dot!)

Warnings: canon-typical incest (uncle-niece); smut, so minors DNI; oral sex (female receiving); p in v sex; hand job; fingering; switch!Aemond (leaning more towards sub!Aemond); jealousy; referenced past SA (Aemond talks about the time Aegon took him to the Street of Silk) and it's consequences to oneself (please please read carefully)

Notes: Hello everyone! You thought this story was over, didn’t you? Well, it is not. I just took a really long time writing this chapter. Because of this, the first thing I’d like to do is apologize. I’m sorry for taking so long, I got caught up in some college work and this huge event I help organize, and it took me quite a while to finish that (and not only that, as you can see by the word count, this chapter is one chonky boi, for the more I wrote the more I wanted to write and I just couldn’t stop.) Anyway, here it is and I’m sorry once again.

TW: Please please read the warnings, this one does talk about SA and it’s repercussions and consequences to oneself, (it doesn’t happen during the story, it’s only mentions of past events). If this is something you are uncomfortable with feel free to skip this one, put yourself and your own comfort first, only read it if it doesn’t make you uncomfortable. Stay safe!

This story will have more parts to it, but like I said, I’ve been having a lot of work to do (a shame I can’t just write all day, but meh, c'est la vie) so I won’t be able to update weekly like with the previous chapters and updates will take a little while longer.

Also, I used an online translator (I don’t know if it’s grammatically correct, I’ll just roll with it, if someone spots any mistakes please let me know and I’ll correct it right away), translations are in the end notes.

I am really proud of how this one turned out, really, I’d even dare say (throwing modesty out the window entirely) it’s one of my favorite works of mine so far. So I really hope you enjoy this one as much as I did! Thank you so so much for reading!

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Your feet were killing you. There was no other way to describe it. You yearned to finally retire to your marital chambers and take off these dreaded shoes, but alas you had to entertain the guests for a little while longer at least.

“What troubles you, ābrazȳrys?” your husband asked from beside you.

“Nothing you need to concern yourself with, valzȳrys.” you smiled softly at him, your heart clenching at his concern.

Husband.

After four whole moons you could finally call Aemond your husband. Twice over in fact. Not only were you married in the Faith of the Seven, as per his mother’s and grandsire’s wishes, but Daemon and your mother had organized a ceremony for you to be wed in the ways of Old Valyria (after which your step-father had jested, asking if you were to consummate the marriage already or wait until after the second ceremony at the sept, earning a slap on the shoulder from Rhaenyra and a chuckle from Laenor. Aemond had in turn blushed profusely, and you thought the pink hue that dusted his cheeks suited him, wanting to see it more often).

Laenor had stayed with you in your chambers, running his fingers through your hair until you fell asleep. He had woken you by dawn, reluctantly saying he had to go, for Daemon had arranged a ship to take him back, but he needed to leave as early as possible as to not risk being seen by anyone. You said your goodbyes with tears rolling down your cheeks, for you felt this was the last time you’d ever see him again, though he did tell you to pay him a visit in Qarth should you ever find your way to Essos before disappearing through the secret tunnels of Maegor’s Holdfast.

You barely managed to fall back asleep after that, too eager to start the day already. Both Rhaenyra and Alicent insisted on helping you get ready, you and your mother sharing complicit smiles every time your good mother referred to her son as your ‘soon to be’ husband. The ceremony itself went by without a hitch, with Aemond placing his cloak, in a mixture of both green and black colors, over your shoulders and kissing you tenderly afterwards.

The feast was grand, with almost every major house having been invited. You had saved your first dance for Aemond, but quickly switched partners and danced with Helaena, then with Baela, Jace, Luke and even with Aegon, though the last one was short lived for Aemond, not at all enjoying the sight of his brother’s grubby hands all over you, not so gently pushed him aside and resumed as your partner once more. You felt happy, happier than you had been in several years. Your family, or most of it, was reunited again, celebrating love and not fighting a senseless war like you feared they would.

And now, even though you were having a splendid time, you were counting the minutes until you could finally retire and spend some time alone with your husband. 

“I cannot believe you are going to forego the bedding.” Aegon groaned from next to you “It is tradition.” to which you had to hold Aemond back from reaching across from you and strangling his brother as the latter cackled.

In the moons that followed your betrothal you had noticed that, whenever someone who wasn’t you made any reference to anything involving your marital bed or your marital duties, Aemond would tense up. Anyone else would think the way his shoulders straightened was a demonstration of pride, a man who couldn’t wait to bed his future wife, but you had come to know him better than that. While you had no doubt he was eager to lay with you, you knew his stiffness stemmed from somewhere else, somewhere he had yet to disclose. Where most saw him preening with pride you noticed him shrinking back in on himself.

So you requested, more, begged your mother to forbid the bedding ceremony, much to Aegon’s dismay, claiming you weren’t comfortable with the situation and you were the one who wanted privacy. It wasn’t technically a lie, for you truly wanted to share this moment with your husband only, but you wanted to get to the bottom of the issue first. She was quick to agree, and anyone who complained that it entailed breaking tradition got a scorn filled glare from her and a reminder that, as Queen, her word was final. The only condition, set by some of the men in the Small Council, was that you deliver the linens to one of the maesters in the morrow as proof of your virtue.

Aemond must have noticed you slumping in your chair, tiredness seeping into your bones from hours upon hours of celebration, for he stood from his seat and extended a hand to you.

“Shall we retire for the evening, my love?”

My love. 

The moniker set your cheeks aflame as you smiled softly at him, glancing briefly at your mother, seeking her permission to be excused. She nodded softly, mentioning something about retiring as well to check on Visenya. You accepted his hand and both of you left the great hall amidst praises and cheers from the guests. 

As you approached his, now yours as well, chambers you could see him getting progressively more fidgety. If it was due to nerves or anticipation you could not tell. He opened the door for you, allowing you to step inside and take in the room, the things you had requested the servants to move from your previous quarters already in place.  

“I have something for you.” he spoke hurriedly, almost as soon as the door was closed “A wedding gift, if you will.”

“What is it?” you watched him cross the space towards a chest nestled against the wall, rummaging inside. When he turned back to you in his hands laid a sheathed sword, a large sapphire resting on the top of the handle, almost where it met the blade, catching your eye.

“I had a little help from my uncle to get the measurements correct for you.” he extended the sword to you which you took from him almost reverently, running your fingers delicately over the intricate golden designs of the sheath.

Your eyes were filled with wonder as you pulled the blade out of the sheath, noticing how smooth and shiny the metal was. There was something different about the steel, it was more vibrant than what you were used to seeing, softer, yet somehow almost… sharper.

Aemond must have seen your questioning gaze aimed at the sword for he smiled, an almost proud smirk adorning his features as he explained.

“Valyrian steel.” you whipped your head to stare at him, astonished “Jewelry from all over the realm made of valyrian steel was melted and added to the steel alloy.”

This was a lot. It was such a thoughtful gift, made just for you by your husband that it almost brought tears to your eyes.

“I know it is not the same as an actual valyrian steel sword, like Dark Sister, but those are even harder to come by.” he started rambling, taking your silence as a sign you didn’t enjoy the gift “And it is not made with the same technique, as it was lost after the Doom-”

“It is perfect.” you cut him off, gazing at him with eyes full of emotion “It is absolutely perfect, valzȳrys, thank you. How did you manage to find the jewelry?”

“I have my ways.” he shrugged, as if unbothered.

He hummed in contentment, his face softening as he took a step closer to you.

“I also had a belt made just for you.” he stepped even closer, his gaze turning slightly darker, as if he was a predator stalking its prey “So you can wear your sword around court. All day, every day.” his finger stroked the sapphire on the handle as his lips grazed your ear “I want all to know how fierce of a woman my lady wife is.”

He closed the gap between your mouths, claiming your lips in a soft yet passionate kiss. It was over all too soon as he pulled away from you, but thankfully he didn’t go far. He took the sword from your hands, resheathing it and placing the gift on a nearby table, before kissing you again.

His arms circled around your waist and clung to your back as he kissed you hungrily, like if he didn’t get a taste of your lips he would die of starvation. His kisses left you burning from the inside, wishing, craving more.

Yet, as you placed your hands on his shoulders to steady yourself you noticed how tense he was. You couldn’t help but take in the way his hands trembled as he started unlacing the back of your gown. 

“Aemond.” you tried pulling away, to look at him properly, but he chased after you, not wanting to be parted from your lips. He only stopped when you gently grabbed his cheeks and had to physically pry himself from you “Husband, I think we ought to talk.”

He recoiled and was out of your arms and across the room in an instant, moving so fast you barely had any time to react.

“Do you not wish to consummate our marriage?” he looked so heartbreakingly hurt for only a moment but then he steeled himself and you could sense the mask of indifference he often wore around court starting to slip back on.

“No, my love, of course not.” you rushed to his side, once again cupping his jaw urging him to look at you “I am just worried for you, is all.”

“Why should you be worried about me, ābrazȳrys?” he spoke, his tone clipped and cold, more so than it had been in a really long time. If he noticed how much his question offended you he didn’t let it show.

“Why should I not worry about you, husband?” you emphasized the last word, taking a long deep breath to steady yourself and let go of your exasperation “I just wish to know why the thought of consummating our marriage worries you so.”

It was Aemond’s turn to stare at you in confusion.

“I believe I have made it quite clear the depths of my desire for you.”

“I know, I know. And I desire you greatly as well, never doubt that even for a moment.” you sighed, worried he’d shut you out or push you away if you prodded any further, but decided to push forward regardless “It is just that, in the past few moons, whenever anyone else mentioned or even hinted at our marital duties to one another you became tense, withdrawn even.”

He looked taken aback at your words, as if he hadn’t even realized he was doing such a thing in the first place.

“I just wish to understand what ails you, my love.”

My love.

Those two words once again seemed to be what chirped at his resolve. He averted his eye, almost in shame, and turned his back to you. For a moment you feared he was going to walk out the door and leave your shared chambers altogether but he did no such thing. Instead he walked to the bed and sat down on the edge. You wondered if you should approach him or give him space, worried he’d flinch from your touch like a frightened animal, but even if he didn’t meet your gaze his body was turned towards you, open and inviting. So you took slow and deliberate steps towards him, taking your place besides him.

He stayed silent for a moment, clenching his fists as they rested on his thighs. You took one of his hands in yours, intertwining your fingers and giving it a gentle squeeze in hopes of calming his nerves. You raised your free hand towards the side of his face but stopped before you could touch him.

“May I?” you asked, and you didn’t need to say the words for him to know what you meant. Only after he nodded almost imperceptibly did you remove his eyepatch, revealing the alluring sapphire that matched the one placed on the gift he had given you. 

“Aemond.” he glanced at you, something akin to guilt clear upon his features “Remember what we told each other earlier? I am yours and you are mine. Whatever it is, your burdens are now mine to carry as well.”

You placed your hand on his cheek, caressing the edge of his scarred flesh. 

“Let me help you relieve some of that burden, please.” you practically whispered, almost begging.

For a moment he said nothing. Then he turned his head slightly, placing a kiss upon your palm.

“I have something I need to tell you.” he spoke, fear clinging to his voice.

“What is it?”

A thousand thoughts raced through your mind, wondering what could possibly be afflicting him so badly as to react like this, but nothing came to mind. So you settled on waiting for him to speak, not wanting to rush to conclusions.

“I have laid with a woman before.”

That… is not what you were expecting.

“When?” you did not know what else to say, so you settled for asking that.

“Years ago.” he shook his head, as if trying to forget “You were in Dragonstone at the time.”

You didn’t know how to react to that. You didn’t wish to dismiss his feelings, but you couldn’t seem to understand what the big deal was.

“Okay.”

“Okay?” he pulled back, almost offended 

“Yeah.” you shrugged “I fail to see what the problem is.”

“How could you say that?” he stood up, pacing back and forth in front of you in frustration.

“We were not yet involved with one another, so you were not technically bound to anyone.”

“You waited around for me-”

“I did not remain a maiden specifically for you.” you reminded him “If I were a man I, too, would probably have indulged in the pleasures of the flesh.”

“Still. I should not have sullied myself like that, it was unbecoming of someone of my position and a disrespect to you, to my future wife.”

You wanted to argue further, to make him see reason, but the disproportionate reaction to something that, to you, seemed so trivial clued you in that his troubles ran deeper than you first thought. So you stopped talking, choosing to just annalyse his mannerisms. His movements were erratic, his fingers clawing at its nail beds almost to the point of breaking the skin, a habit inherited from his mother which he almost never indulged in.

He halted when he felt your hand wrapping around his arm, the leather of the doublet cold against your skin.

“You do not have to explain yourself to me. But I feel like there is something you are not telling me.” you grabbed both of his hands in your own, kissing his knuckles tenderly “I completely understand if you do not wish to share it. We can just forget this conversation ever happened and I shall not press any further, but, husband, please, I only wish to help ease your troubles.”

Aemond paused, exhaling shakily, before averting his eyes once more. Shame and guilt emanated from him in waves as he sat back down on top of the linens. You waited for his next move, smiling softly when his arms circled around your waist and brought you closer to him, standing between his parted legs.

“On my thirteenth name day,” he shuddered softly when he felt your fingers running through his scalp, his cheek resting in your stomach as he spoke “Aegon took me to the Street of Silk, as his gift to me. I did not know where we were going, ‘a surprise’ he said.”

It was your turn to shudder, your stomach churning as you felt where his tale was headed.

“He said… he said it was time for me to become a man. To become as well versed as he was, ‘a scholar in the ways of life’. I did not understand what he meant at first, but it was clear to me soon enough.”

He turned his head, hiding his face in your stomach as his hold on you tightened. The scene reminded you so much of the last time you saw him before your years-long distance, on that fateful night on Driftmark. Looking at him now you realized that, deep down, he was still that scared little boy, hiding behind the image of the fierce, impassive warrior he had created for himself over the years. 

“Aemond, ñuha jorrāelagon,” you whispered “I get it. You do not need to continue if you wish to stop.”

He shook his head in response, desperate to get it all out now that he had already started. You supposed this was the first time he was speaking these words out loud, never having dared to utter it to a single soul before. So you tried to soothe him as best as you could, pulling the band that held his hair up in its usual half updo and letting it down, giving you more room to run your fingers through his locks, untangling the silver strands. This seemed to give him enough strength to continue, shifting his head so only his forehead was in contact with you and his words were directed to the ground below him, as if he couldn’t dare to look up at you. 

“He arranged for a… a w-whore” he spit the word out like it was poison on his tongue “to take care of me in exchange for a bag of gold, and when the woman tried to give him back the excess amount, claiming it was too much, he told her to keep it. ‘For your trouble’ he told her.”

Your heart twisted painfully in your chest at his words. You were never too fond of Aegon, especially for the way he treated both Aemond and Helaena, but this… this was vile even for him.

“He wanted to watch.” he propped his chin on your stomach, peering up at you with a round, frightened eye that was steadily brimming with tears “I did not want him to watch. The madam tried to send him away, but he insisted, saying that he was the prince and he commanded it. Thankfully he got distracted by some other woman there and left.”

“A-and how did-” you swallowed thickly, trying to stay strong for him even though your own heart shattered for the boy he once was, the boy who shaped the man he was now “how did that make you feel?” 

He shook his head once more, his gaze becoming distant, as if he was now looking through you rather than at you.

“I do not remember much.” he whispered “I just remember the stench. The whole place stunk. It reeked of sweat and wine and something… something so sickeningly sweet it was foul. Once I left I could still feel the smell clinging to me.”

One lone tear rolled down his cheek, followed by another, and then another. You cupped his cheek, your thumb catching the tears that refused to stop as he hiccuped.

“I tried washing it off. Scrubbed at my skin until it was raw and tender, but it would not go away.” his voice started to get tight “After a few days and several baths later it was still there, still lingering. I tried asking mother and even Helaena if they could feel it in me but they lied. They lied and said I smelled fine but I could feel it.” he choked back on a sob “I could feel it in me still, like it had seeped into my very bones. Sometimes when I think too hard about that night I can still feel it in my skin, like it never even left.”

His arms brought you even closer to him, almost to the point of pain, as if he was trying to completely merge his very being into you.

“I know I shouldn’t have.” his gaze focused on you once more, eye pleading for you, his tone bordering on desperation “Forgive me, please, mandianna! I shouldn’t have gone there in the first place, I shouldn’t have-”

“Qȳbor, stop.” you whispered softly, not wanting to aggravate him when he was this vulnerable “You have nothing to apologize for. You were only a child.”

“Still, I should have known better than-” he started shaking his head again, the look in his eye almost crazed, like he wanted so desperately for you to see him the way he saw himself.

“Aemond.” you spoke firmly, gripping his chin to force him to look at you “You were a child.”

A moment of silence passed, only his heavy breathing to be heard. Then something dawned on him, for he pressed his face against your stomach once more and started sobbing uncontrollably. His shoulders shook with the intensity of his wails, your arms coming around his frame to hold him against you, one hand gripping the back of his head and the other stroking his back. He cried and cried and cried. It seemed like he finally understood, after all these years, what truly happened that night. He realized his own brother sold his innocence, something that was his to freely give to whomever he chose, for some coin. His brother and, by extension, the madam forcefully took from him something that was inherently his, that should have remained his, something he would never get back and would never not miss. It was his, it should have been him to choose what to do with it, and they took it from him.

His loathing shifted then. What was once aimed at himself, the hatred he felt for the stench that never truly went away, shifted in turn to Aegon. He slowly, very slowly, started to forgive that thirteen year old boy, the one that never left either, for the things that happened to him that night. He now realized you could not forgive him for what he had done, for the one whose forgiveness he really needed was himself. It would take him a long time, he knew, to accept his own absolution, and perhaps he never would, not fully anyway, but he could certainly try.

Once he calmed down enough, his sobs turning to mere sniffles, he raised his head to glance at you once more. You were smiling softly at him, eyes so filled with love and compassion he felt almost undeserving of it. Your fingers in his hair helped to ground him, to bring him back to this moment in your arms. Realizing what had just transpired he tried to turn his head away in embarrassment but you wouldn’t let him.

“I am glad I have earned your trust enough for you to share this with me.” you spoke with reverence, earning a shy smile in return.

He then dried the remaining tears from his face and tried to stand up, but you were quicker, pressing onto his shoulders so he would remain seated.

“We do not have to do anything tonight.” you brushed a strand of hair away from his face and tucked it behind his ear “I can just prick a finger and smear some blood on the linens.”

“But I want to.” he almost whined, not wishing for you to part from him “I want to do this with you. With you I do not feel that stench, I-” he took a steadying breath before whispering “I just feel you.” 

In that very moment you felt like your heart would burst from how much love you held for this man. 

“Okay.”

He smiled brightly then, nuzzling his nose against you.

“But…” you pulled back from him, commanding his full attention “we will do only what you wish, nothing more. Whatever you want, tell me and it is yours. And if you wish to stop, at any moment, you tell me, alright?”

“Alright.” he nodded, quite enthusiastic.

“You have to promise me you will tell me if you want to stop.” you reiterated “Promise me.”

He stared up at you with so much adoration you felt like the Mother brought to land.

“I promise.”

You smiled, satisfied that he would follow through should he need to.

“Well, how do you want to start then?”

His gaze turned to one of confusion.

“What do you mean?”

“Well, we cannot just jump right into it.” you jested.

“We can’t?” he looked so preoccupied at that, and your heart broke all over again. By the Gods, what had they done to this boy in that brothel?

You crouched down so your face was level with his, your noses almost touching as you whispered into his lips.

“Tell me what you want, valzȳrys.”

Aemond was at a loss for words, a world of endless possibilities presented itself to him and he didn’t know where to begin. But he supposed there was one thing he knew could be a good place to start.

“Can you kiss me?” he pleaded.

You sat down next to him on the bed, your body turned towards him, your knees bumping against his. 

“You want me to kiss you?” you spoke softly, deciding to tease him for a bit by pulling one of his hands to your lips and kissing his knuckles “Is this where you want me to kiss you?”

“No,” he shook his head “not there.”

You hummed as if confused and let your lips graze his cheek.

“What about here?”

“No.”

Your lips traveled lower, placing a gentle kiss against his jaw.

“Here?” to which he shook his head.

Going lower, your lips traced the column of his throat, earning a soft gasp from him.

“N-not there either.” he whimpered as your teeth nipped against his skin gently.

“Then where do you want me to kiss you?” you pulled back, staring at his eye “I need you to tell me.”

His cheeks lit up bright pink, embarrassment coursing through him at the thought of speaking his thoughts out loud. But he had come to learn that if there was one person in his life that he could trust, that person was you.

“On the lips.” 

You relented then, chasing his lips with your own. They were soft, only a trace of salt left behind by his tears previously shed. You kissed him gently, hands cupping his jaw as his own settled on your waist. It was tender, almost chaste, and you tried pouring all the love you felt for him into the kiss.

“I like it when you kiss me.” he whispered when you pulled back “No one else has ever done that for me.”

It was your turn to look confused, staring at him wide eyed.

“You have never been kissed before?” you questioned “By anyone other than me?”

He shook his head. That explained why he seemed so inexperienced the first few times around, because he truly was inexperienced.

“Not even…?” you didn’t want to say it, but he understood what you meant.

“No.” he denied again “It felt too intimate.”

More intimate than sex? you thought.

“After that night in the tub, before Driftmark,” you recalled that night, the night you shared your very first kiss. It was a peck more than anything, a childish attempt mostly, but it had meant the world to you “whenever I thought about doing it with someone else it did not feel right. Yours were the only lips I ever wanted to taste.”

You couldn’t help yourself, surging forward to capture his lips with your own in a heated kiss. The quiet whimper that escaped his mouth only spurred you on, seeking his touch. Your tongue eagerly tangled with his, tasting the sweet Dornish Red he had been sipping on before and something that was so inherently him. 

He pulled back then, breathing heavily against your lips, a sheen line of saliva connecting both your mouths before dissipating.

“What about you?” he questioned, still trying to regain his breath.

“What about me?”

“Have you ever done this before?” he asked, averting his gaze shyly “Before me, I mean? You are quite good at it, I believe.”

“Well, I have had some practice.” it was your turn to feel embarrassed, quickly glancing away from him “For a while Jace and I believed mother would eventually marry us to one another after we left for Dragonstone. We decided to get used to each other before the inevitable happened.”

Something twisted painfully in Aemond’s chest at the thought of you, a younger you, locking lips with his damned nephew. It was almost primal, this rage he felt. You were his and his alone. You have always been his from the very moment you had come into this world, and you’d continue to be his until the Stranger came to collect your soul.  

“It was gross, really. Happened only a handful of times before we gave up trying to pretend we were not disgusted by the idea.”

Your words did little to quell his unsettling feelings. Was this what jealousy felt like? Not envy, actual jealousy? Envy was something he was familiar with, for he had felt it pretty much all his life. He envied Aegon the most, but he also envied Rhaenyra a lot as well, your brothers and hells, even Helaena sometimes even though he loathed it. This was different. 

“And I may or may not have gotten a bit too tipsy while staying on Winterfell during my travels and shared a kiss or two with the Warden of the North.”

“Cregan Stark?” he scoffed. While the thought of you swapping spit with a boresome and self-righteous northerner was a little less rage inducing in comparison to Jacaerys, that simmering jealousy was still present.

That all dissipated though at the feeling of your fingers gently brushing his hair away from his face, tucking it behind his ear.

“But none of them hold a candle to you.” his heart skipped a beat at your words, your hand reaching to do the same to the other side of his hair “Especially when you blush so prettily.” 

Heat spread all over his face, as he stammered.

“I-I do no such thing!” he tried sounding offended, but all he did was make you giggle, as he proved your words right.

“Yes, you do.” you hooked a finger under his chin, forcing him to keep his gaze on you “You turn all red at a mere brush of my fingers, at the slightest of compliments. Like a maiden.” 

He felt the warmth spreading to the tip of his ears, the back of his neck and even down his chest.

“How red do you think you would blush if I touched you some more, hm?” 

Your fingers gently traced down his throat, feeling when he gulped harshly. 

“Would you like that, husband?” you trailed down his soft skin, reaching the spot where his collarbone met the leather coat he still wore “For me to touch you?”

He nodded, somewhat shyly, but very much eager for you to make due on your word.

“Can I take this off?” you tugged at his doublet, almost startling at the speed at which he stood up and took it off for you. The linen chemise he wore underneath it quickly followed and he was left shirtless in front of you. You’d never get tired of looking at him, bare or otherwise. He was beautiful, all valyrian and almost none of the Hightower blood from his mother. You believed if the god Balerion ever had a physical body it would definitely look like Aemond.

You stood up as well, facing him as your fingers traced his features. You started by tracing his nose, following the curve of it down to his mouth, his lips twitching upon your touch as he puckered them, placing a soft kiss on the pads of your fingers. You traced along the column of his throat, your fingers tangling softly on the strands at the nape of his neck and tugging gently, earning a whimper from him. Then you kept going, fingers sliding against the planes of his chest and tracing the taunt lines of muscle in his abdomen. As you reached the hem of his breeches you snaked your arm around his slim waist, sprawling your hand against the slope of his lower back and pushing him towards you. The little ‘hmph’ sound that escaped him at the impact of your bodies was quickly drowned by your lips as they claimed his own in another fierce kiss.

Your fingers started their exploration all over again, starting once more at the back of his neck and slowly following down the length of his spine, feeling each and every ridge and bump under his skin, as he shuddered with every brush of your digits.

“P-Please,” Aemond mumbled as you nipped at his bottom lip “ābrazȳrys, please.”

“Please what?” you kissed his jaw, then down his neck, then at the juncture where his neck met his shoulder.

“Please, touch me.”

“I am touching you, valzȳrys.” you smirked against him, your teeth nibbling gently on his skin.

“J-just please…” he moaned softly as your tongue soothed the spot you had bitten “touch me, please.”

You decided to have mercy on him, moving your hand to the front of his trousers, stopping short at the laces.

“May I?” he nodded his head desperately.

Untying his breeches you let them slide down his body, pooling at his feet, as he finally revealed himself to you. He was already hard, almost painfully so, weeping at the tip and awaiting your touch.

And then… you hesitated, unsure how to proceed. While you felt satisfaction at teasing him, you were the maiden in this situation. No amount of hushed, almost shameful lessons from your septa, no amount of embarrassing tips and advice from your mother could prepare you for the actual thing. You may have practiced your kissing skills with Jace and, briefly, with Cregan, but you had never gone any further, knowing what the realm regretfully thought of women of your station indulging before being wed and refusing to let your virtue be made a spectacle of. So while you may have talked a big game before, as if you held all the knowledge, it was all purely theoretical. 

Aemond, sensing your apprehension, searched your gaze with his.

“What is it?” he asked, voice laced with quiet concern.

“Nothing much.” you chuckled, although it sounded mirthless to your ears, conveying your embarrassment “I am merely assessing the best way to approach the situation at hand.”

While you had chosen not to be direct about your troubles, opting instead to jest about it, he had understood you clearly, for you had become so intune with one another the past few moons. With deliberate movements he delicately held your wrist, never breaking eye contact, as he brought your hand over to him slowly, very slowly, giving you ample opportunity to stop him if you wished. But you didn’t want to. You let him guide you, his large hand settling over yours as you gathered some of the pearlescent wetness dripping from his tip in your palm before guiding you to encircle his cock, his fingers around yours as he shuddered at the first contact of your skin against his.

He was hot and heavy in your hand as he directed your movements with precision, stroking his cock up and down, pumping him, slowing or speeding up your motions to his liking. Slowly but surely you started to take control, following his lead and mimicking his actions. He groaned encouragingly, letting go of your fingers, his hands settling on your waist as you continued to stroke him up and down and up and down, speeding up or slowing down, gathering some more wetness under your thumb and stroking his cock with it. His groans and grunts emboldened you, trying to gauge his reactions. 

And then you tightened your hold on him, squeezing his cock just a bit tighter under your grip, and he almost tumbled to the ground, his knees nearly buckling in reaction. His own grip on you grew tighter, as if supporting his weight on you, head tilted forward and face hiding in the crook of your neck as he moaned.  

He was loud.

Even muffled against your skin, his moans and whines resonated throughout the bedchambers as you continued your ministrations, increasing in pitch with each tilt or flick of your wrist, with each squeeze and stroke of your hand. You were tugging him faster now, your grip firm and deliberate as his cock twitched in your hold and his whole body trembled against you.

“Wait.” he mumbled, his voice strained “P-please, just wait.”

You ripped yourself away from him then, a sudden surge of guilt blooming in your chest.

“Forgive me.” you glanced at him, averting your gaze in shame as you wondered if you had made him too uncomfortable “I got carried away. I apologize.”

“You misunderstand me, wife.” he tried to slow his erratic breathing “I do not wish for you to stop. But if you continued as you were I would surely spill my seed against your hand. We should not let any of my spend go to waste on a night as important as this one.”

What?

Your confusion must have been reflected on your features for he continued his explanation, his voice carrying a teasing tone to it.

“It is expected of us to produce an heir tonight. We wouldn’t want to fail our duties now, would we?” he gripped your chin, placing a chaste kiss against your lips “The first time I spill my seed I want it to be inside your cunt.”

Had it been anyone else, had you been married to anyone else, you would have assumed they meant it as a command, solely means to an end, as producing heirs was indeed part of your duty. But this, you noticed in his eye, was his way of showcasing his true intentions without actually saying it, hiding behind some mere jesting: he wanted this. He wanted to give you an heir, for his seed to take root in your womb and for you to carry his child. The thought elicited warmth in your chest, feeling giddy at the idea.

“Can I touch you now?” he asked, his plea bordering on desperation as he gave a quick peck to your lips.

You pulled back then, staring deeply at him.

“Do you believe you deserve to touch me?” you whispered against his lips.

He faltered then, unsure what you wanted from him. A shake of his head had you scoffing softly.

“Try again.” you nuzzled your nose against his, trying to coax him out of his self made shell “Do you deserve this?”

The glint he noticed in your eyes gave away what you wanted from him, so he nodded, his movement curt and shaky.

“I want to hear you say it.” your voice made it sound like a request, but he knew it was anything but.

“Yes.” he whispered back, his breath fanning your lips.

“Yes what?”

“I deserve it.” as the words left his lips, for the first time in a long time, he started to actually believe them.

You nodded, satisfied with him.

“Yes, you do.” you cooed, fingers tangling in his hair and tugging “You do deserve this.”

As your lips settled on his jaw, he caught onto every hidden meaning of your words, affection swarming in his chest.

You deserve to be loved.

He claimed your lips in a soft kiss once more, his fingers resuming their task of untying the laces in your beautiful wedding gown, letting it slip down your arms and pool in a heap on the floor. He made quick work of your smallclothes as well, leaving you bare before him. He hurriedly stepped out of his discarded breeches, carefully helping out of your dress and closer towards the bed. 

Aemond’s fingers danced across your skin, caressing you with such reverence it almost brought tears to your eyes again. His fingers crawled down your spine, sliding between your shoulder blades, like you had done for him, his lips trailing down your neck with soft kisses. Goosebumps formed on your skin as his fingers traced your ribcage, his touch so close yet not close enough to your breasts. He nipped at your collarbone, his hand finally closing around one of your breasts, gentle, like he was weighing it in his hand, his lips following down and nibbling at the skin of the other breast. A loud, strangled whine left escaped you as he pinched your nipple, rolling the bud between two fingers, growing louder as his lips closed around the other nipple. 

You could feel the walls of your cunt pulsing as his tongue worked your breasts, your heartbeat increasing as he hollowed his cheeks and sucked. The noise that left your lips seemed to spur him on even further, as he sucked with more intensity and he groped your other breast more firmly, his entire hand surrounding the skin.

His fingers trailed even further down, passing your navel and slipping between your folds. His touch was featherlight against your dripping cunt, gathering some wetness and circling your entrance, without ever dipping inside

“P-please, husband.” you whined, your back arching in pleasure at his teasing, pushing your breast even more into his face.

He relented then, pushing his finger inside your cunt, slipping in easily with how soaked you already were. His moan echoed your own as your walls fluttered around his digit. He let you get used to the intrusion for a moment before starting to move his finger inside you, his movements tentative as he explored your walls, almost like he was searching for something, for what you didn’t know.

Though you’d never admit this to anyone, you were acutely aware of his fingers, having paid close attention to them when you watched him train. They were long and slender as they gripped the handle of his sword, but at the same time they were strong and thick and, as he added a second one, you could feel how perfectly well he filled you. As he explored your cunt, you could feel every movement of his fingers brushing against your walls, that familiar coil of pleasure slowly but steadily building in your core. It only intensified as the heel of his hand pressed against your clit as he tried to reach even further inside you, the molten heat pooling in your core and starting to spread through your whole body, so much so you barely noticed when his mouth had moved to your other breast. 

Then his fingertips brushed against one spot inside your cunt that almost made you see stars, your legs wobbling as pleasure shot up your spine and assaulted all your senses. You could feel him smirk against your skin as you moaned loudly, brushing against the same spot again as you mewled and whined, trying to move away from him but the arm snaked around your back prevented you from doing so. His fingers seemed to reach places inside you didn’t know existed as he clawed and scissored inside your cunt, bringing you closer and closer to the edge. It was almost too much and barely enough at the same time; you wanted him like you had never wanted anything else in your entire life.

He let go of your nipple with a wet smack of his lips, his mouth settling on that spot behind your ear and pressing soft kisses against your skin. It was such a contrast from the way his fingers were working inside your cunt, his words gentle and sweet, mumbling caring words in high valyrian as he mouthed and nibbled on your skin, but the pleasure was clouding your thoughts, the words getting fogged up in your mind. But something caught your attention, and as you tuned into the words, they were your undoing.

“Avy jorrāelan, ñuha zaldrītsos.” he whispered against the shell of your ear, laying a soft kiss on the skin “Va moriot emagon se va moriot kessa.”

With a stutter of your heart the coil in your core snapped, hot, molten pleasure washing over you and spreading throughout your whole body, tingling with dozens of goosebumps that formed on your skin. It left you breathless, sluggish and warm as you tried to regain your bearings.

“Aem…-” you tried calling out to him, voice hoarse from the intensity of your moans, but you couldn’t seem to find your voice just yet. 

But he heard you. And something in him snapped.

In an instant you were lying on your back against the soft linens, barely having time to react as he pushed you down on the bed and crawled on top of you. His lips claimed yours in a hungry, almost desperate kiss, you were sure your mouth would be sporting bruises on the morrow such was its intensity. He settled in between your spread thighs, his hard length nestling between your folds as he nipped on your jaw, kissing a line down your neck.

“Say it again, please.” he begged “Say my name again.”

“A-Aemond?”

“No, no, not that.” he admonished softly, kissing your mouth once again.

You searched your mind for what he could possibly be referring to. That was his name, was it not? What you’d always referred to him as, if you weren’t calling him by his familial ties to you, in common tongue or high valyrian alike?

Except it wasn’t.

It had been years, well over a decade even since you referred to him as something else entirely. Barely a toddler, Jace only a babe and Luke still in your mother’s womb, you followed Aemond around the Keep like a lost puppy all day, for he seemed to be the only one willing to entertain you. It was only natural then for you to worship the ground he walked on, basking in his attention for as long as he was willing to give it to you. But as such a young child you couldn’t properly speak such a complicated name in conversation, settling on calling him for a shortened sobriquet. You didn’t think much of it, and he never opposed such a nickname, until Aegon caught you calling him by the moniker and instantly started teasing the both of you relentlessly because of it. It earned him a swift kick to the shin and three days without speaking to either of them, but as it often is with small children, your grudge was quickly forgotten, going back to trailing after Aemond. However, to save both him and yourself from further humiliation, you settled for referring to him only as ‘uncle’ until you could utter his full name, never again daring to use the nickname.

It was so meaningless to you, back then. And you were both so young, he couldn’t possibly remember that, could he? 

“Aem?” you spoke tentatively, not sure if this is what he wished for.

The loud whine that escaped his lips, breathed against your cheek, and the way his cock twitched were all the answer you needed. 

“Please, little niece, byka mandianna,” he rasped, desperation dripping from his tone as he started gently rocking his hips against yours “Please say that again.”

“Aem…” you said with more confidence, breaking off into a moan at the end as the head of his cock brushed against your clit.

He shifted his body on top of you, lining his cock up with your entrance.

“Again, please.” 

“A-Aem?” even though you wanted this, truly and wholeheartedly, now that you were about to consummate your marriage for real you were suddenly filled with a twinge of apprehension. While you were certain Aemond wasn’t like most men, you had heard stories from women at court about how their husbands treated them in the throes of passion.

Sensing your quiet distress, Aemond lifted his head to stare at you, sapphire eye glinting under the soft glow of the candles and silver strands cascading around you.

“We can stop if you wish.” he spoke quietly.

“No, no please, I want to. I am just…”

Even if you couldn’t quite explain it he seemed to understand, for he placed a soft kiss on your lips.

“I promise to be gentle.”

In his eye you saw nothing but truth, the sincerity of his words easing your nerves.

“I trust you.”

He nodded and started ever so slowly pushing inside you, inch by inch, pulling back and thrusting inside again, a little deeper than before. It was a lot for the both of you, your combined moans echoing through the chambers; even though he wanted to look upon your eyes as you shared this moment he couldn’t, his head falling against your shoulder as he hid his face in the crook of your neck. His cock was met with little resistance, your cunt still soaked. The pain you were previously expecting came in the form of an acute pinch as your cunt stretched to accommodate him, your breath hitching and a whimper passing through your lips. Aemond shushed and cooed against your ear, little whispers of ‘I’ve got you’ spoken against your ear as he stalled his movements, only resuming them when he felt you relax in his arms once more.

When he finally settled, his hips flush against yours and his cock inside your cunt to the hilt, you released your breath, not even realizing you had been holding it. You felt like you were burning from within where your bodies were connected, yet it was a comforting kind of heat, not at all like dragonfire. At least not yet. You could feel every ridge of his cock, every twitch that made the walls of your cunt clench in response. It was so intimate, you had never been closer to a person in your life, and you felt like the longer you stayed like this you were being perfectly molded to one another, as if you weren’t already a permanent fixture in each other’s hearts. You felt complete.

As your discomfort subsided, the pain slowly turning to a sense of fullness, you tangled your fingers in his hair, turning your head to the side to breathe upon his ear.

“I am alright now, husband. You can move.”

Regardless of your request he stood still for a moment longer, breathing heavily and erratically against your skin. 

“Aem?” you spoke softly, worried it might be too much for him.

That seemed to do the trick, as Aemond slowly started to roll his hips against yours, pulling his cock almost all the way out and thrusting back in, filling you to the brim once more. Every time he would thrust back in the head of his cock would brush against that spot inside your cunt that had your eyes rolling back, shooting little bolts of pleasure up your spine and filling your core with fire once more. 

His hips picked up pace, then, his thrusts far faster and more powerful than before. He let go, fully dropping his weight on top of you, pressing you against the mattress as your legs framed his hips, your hands gripping at his shoulder blades. 

It was intense and blazing and comforting and overwhelming and caring and sultry and loving and oh, so good, all at the same time this push and pull and shove and tug and you couldn’t think straight yet your focus was sharp and you could feel everything and it was absolutely, downright perfect. 

The stretch of your cunt wrapped tightly around his cock was no longer painful, giving away to unimaginable pleasure like you had never felt before. You were acutely aware of the way Aemond mouthed at your shoulder, mumbling barely coherent words against your skin.

“Ñuha ābrazȳrys, ñuha dāria.” he grunted against your skin, groaning as the words made you clench tightly around him “Dōna zaldrītsos, jorrāelagon ābrazȳrys.”   

He was rambling, almost irrationally, too far gone in his own pleasure. That and the way his thrusts were becoming sloppy, now more of a rut of his hips against yours, indicated that he was close.

Enamored with the way he moaned your name and your title and your future title and sweet monikers, in high valyrian mostly, you couldn’t help but want to see how far he would go.

“Husband, valzȳrys,” you tangled your fingers in his hair once more, giving the locks a gentle tug, earning a whine in response “Avy jorrāelan, ñuha zaldrīzes. Avy jorrāelan tolī hae olvie hae konīr issi qēlossās isse se jēdar, Aem.”

It was enough to send him off the edge, his hips stuttering and cock twitching violently, painting your walls with warm ropes of his seed. He practically sobbed in your arms between clenched teeth, his arms squeezing you tightly against him as he gave a few more weak thrusts, his breath fanning the skin of your neck still. The scorching pressure that had been building in your stomach seemed to fade slightly as Aemond slowed to a stop, his softening cock still nestled inside you as he stilled completely on top of you, trembling in your arms. His hair was sticking to his head, damp with sweat, the rest of his body also drenched and clammy from the exertion, much like your own. He stood still for a moment, trying to catch his breath and recover. 

“F-Forgive me, ābrazȳrys.” he raised his head and it was then you could see the remnant of tears in his eyes, from your words or the intensity of his peak, you couldn’t tell.

“What for?” you smiled brightly at him, pushing a strand of silvery hair behind his ear, making him shiver as your fingers brushed against his cheek.

��Y-you did-” he finally seemed to recollect his thoughts as he pushed himself on his forearms above you “You did not peak.”

“That is quite alright.” you shrugged, not at all bothered by that “I did so earlier, from your fingers.”

He shook his head, a determined look in his face as if to say that that wouldn’t do.

“No wife of mine will be left unsatisfied.” he was already pulling out of you with a soft hiss and maneuvering on the bed despite your protests, coming to settle on his stomach at the edge of the mattress.

“Aemond what are you-” you yelped as he grabbed both your legs and yanked you towards himself, his face level with your cunt. He placed your thighs over his shoulders and placed one arm over your stomach “Aemond, you do not have to.” you tried once more.

“I want to.” he said, his eyes never straying from where his spend started leaking from your cunt “Can a man not enjoy the taste of his wife on their wedding night?”

“Of course you can, it is just that-” he didn’t let you finish, pulling another broken, choked moan from you as he licked a broad stripe over your folds. 

Aemond feasted upon your cunt like a man starved, drinking down your juices mixed with his own spend, but that didn’t seem to deter him, oh no, if anything the salty taste of himself against your own tangy one only seemed to spur him on.

It didn’t take long to get you back to where you were moments before, that burning pressure still lingering in the back of your mind. You knew Aemond was talented with his tongue, hells, he was known for his silver tongue that could cut down even the most fearless in court. Moreover, he was fluent in the language of your ancestors, his tongue rolling around the letters as he almost purred the words into the world, a language just for your own. And yet, he never ceased to surprise you with how good he could make you feel with his tongue alone.

Clenching the sheets under your palms, you almost sobbed as his lips wrapped around your clit and sucked. He rolled it around his lips, his tongue peaking out to give your clit a few small licks as he extended one of his arms to, prying your fingers from the linens and threading them with his own, giving your hand a gentle squeeze, his other arm draped across your stomach, holding your hips down as you started canting them against his face.

You weakly raised yourself on your forearms to be able to look at him properly, peering at him through heavy lidded eyes, and were surprised to notice him already looking at you, gazing at you with so much adoration in his eye as his hips rutted against the bed. You realized, not for the first time, that bringing you pleasure brought him pleasure in return. He hummed as he noticed you staring at him, the vibrations sending jolts of unbridled pleasure up your spine and down again. His eyes twinkled and curled up, little crinkled lines adorning the corners, and you recognized that the smug bastard was smirking, self-satisfied at having you reduced to such a moaning mess before him.

The coil of pleasure in the form of a pool of liquid heat was steadily building up again with each stroke of his tongue over your folds, each flick of his lips over your clit stoking that fire growing and expanding inside you. His grip on your hips tightened as his other hand moved down to your cunt and shoved two fingers inside you, pulling back a bit to address you quietly.

“Let go, wife. I know you want to. You can let go for me.”

And then his fingers curled upwards, brushing against that spongy spot once more and you were done for. The bliss that washed over you, tangling with the burning love you held for this man, was so intense it sent waves through your whole body. Stars danced behind your eyelids, your eyes having closed on their own accord some time before, as the pleasure rolled and stretched to all of your extremities, making your fingertips tingle and your toes curl, knocking the breath from your lungs. Although you knew your jaw was hanging open you couldn’t hear yourself, but you couldn’t discern if it was due to the ringing in your ears or if you had already screamed yourself hoarse.

As your perception of the world around you slowly returned once you came down from your high, the pleasure subsiding and leaving a warm, fuzzy feeling in its wake, you felt Aemond’s thumb gently stroking your knuckles, having removed his hand from inside you, his other palm spread over your stomach as he helped you coax you back down and when you gazed at him you were met with his gentle smile

“T-thank you, husband.” you said a few moments later after catching your breath, exhaustion starting to settle in your bones as you relaxed over the linens, your head falling back on the bed.

“Oh, you thought I was done with you?” he asked, almost mockingly. Raising your head again you noticed his prior smile had given way to a menacing smirk as he started crawling over you slowly, looking predatory. He covered your body with his once more, and you felt his hardened cock against your thigh, having stimulated himself back to full hardness.

“I don’t intend on letting you leave this bed until I have filled you with my seed over and over and over,” he punctuated each pause with a kiss to your lips as he whispered “that I have made sure it has taken root inside you. We need to produce an heir after all, dear wife.”

High Valyrian translations: - ābrazȳrys - wife - valzȳrys - husband - mandianna - niece (older sister’s son or daughter) - qȳbor - uncle (mother’s younger brother) - ñuha jorrāelagon - my love or my dear - avy jorrāelan, ñuha zaldrītsos - I love you, my little dragon - va moriot emagon se va moriot kessa - always have and always will - byka mandianna - little niece - ñuha ābrazȳrys, ñuha dāria - my wife, my queen - dōna zaldrītsos, jorrāelagon ābrazȳrys - sweet little dragon, dear wife  - avy jorrāelan, ñuha zaldrīzes - I love you, my dragon - avy jorrāelan tolī hae olvie hae konīr issi qēlossās isse se jēdar - I love you as much as there are stars in the sky

Tag List:

@callsignwidow

@sleephereicome

@bitchassgoose

@voguiing

@dibutw

@fruityvampslayer

@garden-in-the-rain

[lady-pug]

firstly, why did this have to come out when i was swarming with work and could only properly read it and comment on it now?

secondly, i knew it! i knew the angst was coming! i was waiting, hoping for the ‘summer’s ending’ and you delivered it amazingly! honestly, i sooo loved it! I did get quite angry at aemond for not communicating properly, and for ending up stringing reader along because of that. and while reader could have left it at that she said it was fine, i’m glad she stood up for herself (and while i’m rooting for them to get back together, i guess they did need to air out all of these feelings and stay apart for a while to reflect on it).

(and helaena being the best as always, I am so hoping she and reader stay in contact in king’s landing)

anyway, i just wanted to say it has been a joy reading this series, I loved every second of it and loved the way you write this characters, thank you so so much for writing it!!

August

Part 3: Summer's Over

The aftermath of dinner leaves you with some doubts. The month is drawing to a close and the cracks are starting to show.

Aemond Targaryen x Reader // Modern AU

Series Masterlist // Main Masterlist // Read on AO3

Warnings: 18+, smut, unprotected p in v sex, angst, trauma dumping

Words: 8.8k

A/n: Part 3/3!! Ignoring the fact that it is now October :)

You follow glimpses of him through the house only to lose sight of him at the old oak staircase, but you guess where he is heading.

When you reach his bedroom door it’s closed. You place the tips of your fingers on the door handle. There’s an awful feeling in your stomach, like you’re empty, like you’re missing something. Maybe this was just a cruel joke. Maybe Daeron’s a sore loser and says stuff like this all the time. Maybe it was only a cheap way to cause upset. Maybe Aemond didn’t want to deal with it. 

Did he expect you to follow him from the dinner table? Is he expecting you to care? 

This isn’t your problem to fix and Aemond isn’t yours to comfort. That evening on the beach, before you would have called him a friend, he said you were a good listener, but when has he asked you for advice in the days since? The lines have all become blurred. You’re not ‘just friends’, that’s clear enough, but you’re not more than that either.

“It’s just that Aemond’s usually into older women–”

If it was only teasing Aemond wouldn’t have left. He would have given something back. 

“Aemond?”

At first there’s no audible reply. You hold your breath waiting for a response, even just a sigh, even if he just told you to go away.

You step back, startled as the door opens.

He’s still in his slacks and shirt from dinner, the top few buttons undone and revealing a silver chain sitting at the base of his neck. He takes a moment to look at you, then swallows thickly and steps aside to let you in.

The room is cold and smells of sea salt. A breeze blows in through a thin opening in the window, the curtains thrown open to the violet sky of dusk. The moon is out already, full, bright and beautiful.

You take a few steps before you turn to face his figure standing against the light of the hallway. Muted moonlight shines on his blinded eye and the scar that frames it. His face is passive, calm, but something about this seems so wrong. 

What if he doesn’t want you here? What if he wants to be alone?

“Are you okay?” 

“I’m fine,” he says.

That’s it? You aren’t sure what else you were expecting from someone usually so perfectly composed. Maybe a glimpse into his mind. Maybe a suggestion of how he feels other than trying to seem unbothered. Now you’re standing in a room where you felt at ease only hours before, by the bed where he fucked you, wondering why you even bothered to follow him in the first place. 

“It was all very backhanded, what Daeron said,” you say.

Aemond hums in agreement.

“I’m sure he was doing it on purpose, he just wanted to upset you after you beat him.”

You stay in silence, a dangerous game because it gives you a chance to think. There’s something you don’t know, something everyone else is in on. Aemond doesn’t know anything about your past, the people you’ve loved, the people you might have loved if things had been different, the memories that live inside of your head. Equally, you don’t know anything about him.

You can’t take this, the blanks, the empty space, the overwhelming quiet of the wind.

“Do you want me to leave?” 

Aemond’s face falls. He comes into you, taking the sides of your face in his hands. Every point of contact sends a shiver through your skin, the heels of his palms by your chin, his thumbs against your cheeks, his fingertips at your neck. “No, I want you to stay.”

Maybe he thinks kissing you will make you forget everything. To an extent, it works. Once his lips are on yours it drowns out all the noise in your head and all you feel is the sensation, the delicate way he moves against your mouth, his heat, his hands trailing down your body. 

He’s slow to take off your clothes, to lay you on his bed and kiss the exposed parts of your body. Once he has you how he wants you, bare and breathless and wanting, he tugs at the buttons of his shirt, eye always on you. You figure it’s only fair to admire him back, the lines of his slender and toned torso, the definition in his arms, in his neck when he tenses when his breath hitches. 

There’s a dazed look in his face, parted lips, softened brow, as he positions himself between your legs. He wastes no time on preamble or teasing you. Your hands move into his hair. His tongue is firm and purposeful, moving with every jolt of your hips, every sigh and moan. Once he slips a finger inside of you it’s easy to let go, to give into the pleasure and let yourself fall apart, tugging his hair at the roots and you know that he doesn’t mind if it hurts. 

He groans as he pulls away from you, straining underneath his slacks.

Helplessly, you reach for him, only managing to graze your nails over his hands as he holds your thighs open. He tilts his head at you as he stands and bares himself, taking his time with it, knowing how desperately you want to feel him near again. 

It only takes a few strokes until he’s hard, then he’s leaning over you, dragging his head teasingly against your cunt. Your back arches every time he presses against your clit.

“Please,” you whisper, “Aemond, please,”

“That’s a good girl,” he says with a hum, finally pushing inside you. 

You gasp at the sensation, the pleasure through the initial pain. “Need you– need you deeper,” you whine. 

“So impatient,” Aemond says, “need to stretch you out first, don’t I?”

You nod and hum incoherently. Anything. Anything he gives you, you’ll take it. 

He holds your wrists by your head as he starts to fuck you. He rests his head against yours, lips ghosting over your temple, his breath hot, heavy and strained with grunts and groans. More than anything you crave the sounds he makes, the way his face feels pressed against yours.

You could die when he pulls away, but he repositions himself, laying back on the bed, moving you on top of him to straddle him. 

You adjust your hair and brace yourself against his chest with one palm. “I’ve never been on top before.”

“We’ll go slow,” he says as he guides you to sink down onto his cock.

The angle is hollowing. You feel your jaw go slack and Aemond grins at the look on your face. He’s infuriating, intoxicating. 

You set yourself a steady rhythm, looking down along your breasts, your stomach, to the point where your bodies come together. Aemond moves against you, pressing deeper every time your hips meet yours. 

“Is this good?” you say.

He nearly chokes on his own breath. “Fuck, yes,”

You press your lips together, determined to quicken your pace, chasing the feeling bursting at your core. You’re close. Aemond is holding your hips, bucking up into you, trailing his thumb to your clit to circle over it. 

Sounds of pleasure slip past your lips. It’s in the back of your mind to keep quiet, considering the risk of other people being in the house, even if they’re miles away. There’s no space in your mind for logic or self preservation. 

It builds slowly, tearing through you, tides and riptides. Aemond holds you as your body starts to shake and eventually you have to push his hand away because it’s too much. 

He pulls you into his arms, laying you along his body. Your hair falls over his face and he laughs it off. You bury your face into his neck as he grips you, fucks you frantically.

“I’m going to come,” he hisses against your ear.

You’re floating in the aftermath of your orgasm, hints of pleasure licking up your spine where he pushes against a particular space inside of you. “Please,” you feel yourself mumble, “please, please,”

“Where?”

“Inside me.”

He holds you tighter, goes faster, tries to hold in his moans. When he stills he pushes deeper inside you, bringing his lips to your temple as if to thank you. 

Your skin is covered in a thin layer of sweat and now you’ve stopped moving, the breeze dances over you. You press your teeth together to stop yourself from shivering, clinging a little tighter to Aemond for his warmth. He’s sweating too but it doesn’t occur to you to be discouraged.

He slips out of you, places you on your side and covers your bodies with the duvet. You cling to him again, your head on his shoulder, your arm thrown over his stomach. It would be a bad idea to fall asleep here. Even if the heat is inviting, the stillness makes you nervous. You glance at his face and he’s staring seemingly into nowhere. What is he thinking about? What is he picturing beyond the sight of his bedroom, books and childhood memorabilia in the gloom of night?

The wind whistles through the window. Eventually you move away from him, out of the warmth of the duvet and enter the glaring white light of the ensuite. Naked, you stand in front of the mirror. Your hair is messy, your mascara smudged around your eyelids. Pale patches of red and purple proudly mark your thighs and breasts, in places only you and Aemond will see. You look tired. You look like you’ve been fucked. 

Back in the bedroom, Aemond has moved from the bed. The curtains and the window are closed. He’s in a t-shirt and a pair of boxers, sitting at the desk, elbows on the surface, looking at something on his phone. When he hears the door he looks at you and quickly turns off the screen. As casually as you can, you put your clothes back on. He’s leaning back in the chair, watching you.

“I’m going to bed,” you say when you’re dressed.

Aemond stands to meet you before you can reach the door. “Listen,” he says, taking a delicate hold of your arm, “thanks for staying. And for checking on me in the first place.”

You shrug. It wasn’t a favour. You wanted to make sure he was alright. “I was worried about you.”

“Don’t be,” he says, and leans in to kiss you. It’s quick, affectionate, almost domestic.

When he pulls away he’s still looking at you. He lets go of your arm, dragging his fingers lightly down your skin until he has no trail left to follow, right to your hand, your fingers. You hesitate, wanting to kiss him again, but something stops you. Something’s still missing.

“Night, Aemond.”

He smiles but it doesn’t reach his eye. “Night.”

It’s raining when you wake up. You’ve been so lucky with the weather all summer, but now the cracks are starting to show. At breakfast you sit with your parents. Your mother asks how your night was, having not seen you since you left the dining room. You say you went to check on Aemond. He was a little upset but he wanted space and you were tired, so you went to bed.

“You two are quite close, I’ve noticed,” she says.

You try not to smile, more out of embarrassment than anything else.

She pulls the same face, trying not to laugh. “I don’t blame you, darling, he’s gorgeous.”

“You saying that must be illegal,” you say.

“Oh please, he’s in his twenties.”

“You’re also married.”

“Oh yeah,” she says, looking at your father, “that too.”

Helaena comes to affectionately pat you on the head when she appears. Aegon grins at you through his teeth, like he knows all your secrets. Daeron is defiant, making a point to greet Viserys, to kiss Alicent on the cheek.

“No Aemond?” Otto says to the Targaryen siblings gathered at one end of the table.

“He got up early I think,” Helaena says, “went for a run.”

You imagine him in a t-shirt and shorts, drenched in rain mingled with sweat, slightly overgrown silver hair sticking to his forehead. You manage a few bites of toast before you start to feel nauseous and try a peach yoghurt instead. It doesn’t help.

You follow Helaena to the library. It’s the perfect weather to watch trash reality TV and psychoanalyse the cast. For a while it’s entertaining, but at some point you start to feel like a scientist watching lab rats. 

“How was Aemond last night?” Helaena asks. She’s facing towards the TV, her legs covered in pink patterned leggings, propped up over the arm of the sofa she’s lying on. 

“Bothered, clearly, but not very talkative.”

“Hmm.”

An argument has unfolded onscreen. Dreamfyre wanders in through the door and makes a home for herself on Helaena’s lap. “Should I call Cole and ask for some snacks?” she says, flicking the screen of her phone with her thumb. 

In a way you’re surprised Aemond hasn’t messaged you, or come to find you, even just to see what you’re up to. You’re sitting on a sofa, a glaringly vacant space next to you.

“I was worried about you.”

“Don’t be.”

“Helaena,”

“Mm hmm?”

“What did Daeron mean about Aemond liking older women?”

She doesn’t respond for a while. The chatter on the TV continues. “He wanted a rise out of Aemond. They do it to each other, they always have.”

“Helaena.”

She turns her head to look at you, craning her neck in an awkward position. You can feel the worry in your face, where it tenses, where your eyes are wide. You’re trying not to overthink it, you really are. Helaena understands it as soon as she sees you. She reaches for the remote to turn the volume down on the TV, shrill, angry voices fading into the hum of electricity. “It’s probably not my place to say, I don’t know what he’s told you.”

He’s told you some things, harmless things. No mention of exes or past summer flings. In a way it scares you that you might become an unmentioned thing in his life.

Helaena shuffles the cat off her lap and sits beside you. “Aemond is…a mystery. He doesn’t tell us anything, then one day something will take us all by surprise.”

“Was him moving back to King’s Landing a surprise?”

“In a way. He was so determined to do his own thing. Get out from under dad’s thumb.”

“So why would he come back?”

“Well he…” she lets out a long sigh. “He got involved with someone while he was working at Harrenhal.”

“A girlfriend.”

“He tried to be all secretive about it but I know when he’s hiding something.”

“Were they together for very long?”

“Two years? Maybe more? He was head over heels for her.”

There have been so many possibilities playing around in your head since last night. Maybe there was a one night stand he wasn’t proud of, maybe an unrequited crush. Two years sounds like a long time to you. 

You can’t expect Aemond to have not had a whole life beyond now, beyond you, but there’s a restless feeling in your chest. Daeron mentioning this woman was enough to get to Aemond. And you were the one that went running right to him.

“Sorry, I know you like him,” Helaena says.

“And what, they broke up so he’s moving back?”

“I think it got a bit messy, she was his manager. He probably thought he was better off in a different job, and when your dad is Viserys Targaryen why not take advantage, you know?”

“And she was older than him?”

“Gods yeah, she was twice age, divorced, no kids though.” 

“Right.”

“He’s been brooding for months, even over the phone I knew something was bothering him.”

You’re trying to keep your face relaxed. This woman, she’s in the past now, it shouldn’t change how you feel about him, or how he feels about you. But the seed is planted. You don’t know what she looks like but you imagine a deep, sultry laugh in your head, red painted lips, expensive high heels.

“Which is why it’s been so nice to see him come out of his shell lately,” Helaena adds, patting your knee. “You’ve brought that out of him.”

Around lunchtime the weather clears up. The sun shines through the panes of clear and coloured glass in the dining room and Aemond walks in dressed in jeans and red jumper. He sits next to you, smiles at you, offers to pour you a glass of white wine and insists on serving you portions of salad and fries to go with the cuts of steak brought out. His leg rests against yours. When he makes a joke to the table he looks at you while everyone else is laughing. He picks a few stray fries from your plate and grins at you with perfect teeth when you scowl at him. “You’re adorable,” he says, leaning into you, hand wandering to your thigh.

After eating, you hang around with Aemond and his siblings. Aegon claims to have a deck of cards which turns out to be Uno. The lingering tension is obvious. Daeron can’t look Aemond in the eye, even Helaena’s being short with her youngest brother. In the first round of the game you all have a silent agreement to gang up on Daeron and make his life a misery at every opportunity. That makes Aemond smile, so it makes you smile. When Daeron is on the verge of tears Aemond says “fine, we’ll go easy on you then,” and poor Daeron ends up losing again.

“That’s karma, mate,” Aegon says.

After dinner that night you and Aemond drink cocktails, sweet and strong, in the drawing room with the adults. You’re reminded of how charming Aemond is, how well he can work a room when he’s switched on. Always understated, never too brash or too loud. He laughs with your father, compliments your mother’s dress. You feel yourself getting tipsy, hypnotised by the lowlights of the room, the colourful glass lampshades, the glow of the ends of cigarettes. 

On your way to bed, Aemond stops you at the bottom of the oak staircase. His pupil is blown wide, black and blue, drinking in the sight of you. He takes a hold of your waist, gently presses you back into the bannister and kisses you like he’ll never get the chance again. Grasping at your body, pushing and pulling you in closer and closer until you’re caged against him.

There’s a silhouette of a woman lingering in the back of your mind. What would a woman from the Riverlands be like, the kind of woman Aemond Targaryen could fall in love with? Did she listen to him talk about history? Did he list his favourite books to her? Was she clever like him, understated like him? If she was divorced was she cold and guarded, or was she gentler?

You shouldn’t overthink it. You shouldn’t think about it at all.

Aemond takes you to his bedroom. He’s eager to get your clothes off, more hurried than he usually is. Once he’s made you come with his fingers and his tongue he gets you on your hands and knees, pushing into you from behind. Your body feels weightless with every thrust inside of you, every snap of his hips against your ass. Your moans are lewd and gasping. 

Aemond pulls your torso up, one hand over your mouth, the other keeping you in position. “Can’t fucking help it, can you,” he says between laboured breaths. “Does it feel that good, sweetheart?”

You can only moan against his palm in response. 

“You’re so fucking sexy when you’re desperate.”

You’d say the same about him, if you could.

And the days are all fading into one again. Summer will soon be over to the sound of rain hammering against the windows, thunderstorms and the violent roar of the sea.

Daeron’s comment at dinner is mostly forgotten. He and Aemond are joking again, taking their own jabs at Aegon. Helaena is relieved the boys are all friends again, she says she can’t stand it when their family fights. You watch movies indoors, Helaena walks you through a recipe for lemon cakes with the last of the fruit from a tree on the grounds. When it’s not raining you and Aemond walk Vhagar and Sunfyre around the gardens. You spend every night in his bed and wake up in his arms each morning.

One afternoon Aemond decides to take the dogs on a trail along the cliffs. A light shower falls from the sky but most of the path goes through a forest, evergreens, which keep the rain off you. The sea stretches out to your right and Aemond holds your left hand to keep you on his seeing side. 

Nothing in particular prompts you, but the thought has been there for some time now. In less than a week you’ll get back into your parents’ car and drive to King’s Landing. You’ll begin the rest of your life. You’ll see your friends again, go to your favourite pubs on Conquest Street, find a job, maybe live for yourself for a little while. And Aemond would be in the same city. 

“How come you’re moving back to King’s Landing?”

He’s doing that thing again, not looking at you. He keeps his grip on your hand, pouts his lips slightly, thinking. “It’s where my job is.”

New job, you think. He didn’t have to go work at his father’s company. 

He turns his head when you don’t reply, eye meeting yours. “Is that not a good enough explanation for you?” he says with a slight grin. 

“I didn’t say there has to be an explanation.”

“But?”

“But you don’t seem that thrilled about it.”

He shrugs. “It’s just how life has worked out.”

You walk on in silence for a few minutes. Aemond keeps looking ahead to make sure the dogs are still in his sight. You feel the weight of his hand in yours, the heat of his skin and his fingers curled over your knuckles.

You catch the side of your mouth in your teeth. “Helaena mentioned you had an ex at Harrenhal.”

“Did she,” Aemond says, stone faced, eye fixed on Vhagar as she prowls around the trunk of a tree. “What did she tell you?”

Twice his age. Divorced. A coworker– no, manager.

“Not much, that you were together for a while and you worked together.”

He stops walking. His gaze is stern, almost focused. In the gloom of the trees and the overcast sky his eye is more grey than blue. 

“When did you two break up?”

“January, just after New Year’s.”

“Why?”

“We kept having these fights, and I suppose she didn’t want to deal with it anymore.”

“Did you fight a lot?”

“For the last few months. Work took a lot out of her, and me too, but at some point it became harder to balance everything.”

“She was your manager, right?”

“Hel told you that? Yeah, she was. I know how it sounds, we knew it probably wasn’t a good idea to let anything happen. But we got on, and something did happen, and it worked.”

You try to soften your expression, to show him you’re listening. He’s opening up and that should make you happy, right? “So what went wrong?”

“Grandfather was the one who wanted me to work for Targ Corp. We have a half-sister, Rhaenyra. It's a bit of a weird situation but she took her kids and moved to Pentos with my uncle Daemon and his wife, Laena.”

“Oh,”

Aemond makes a sceptical sound against his teeth. “Father was furious, mum was mortified, I don’t know why she took it so personally, but Rhaenyra was always the favourite. Otto saw the opportunity, as he always does, offered me a job and a place on the board.”

“And you took it?”

“Actually I turned him down. I was happy at Harrenhal, I liked my job, I was trying to convince Alys to move in with me, why would I throw that all away? But then she kept asking about it, said Targ Corp was a bigger company and I’d have better opportunities, said I was stupid to turn down a board position.”

“Didn’t she want you to stay?”

His hand comes to his jaw. “I would have hoped so. After that we kept picking arguments, even at work. It wasn’t feasible anymore. If I was around her we’d fight, if I kept my distance she’d complain. Nothing was ever good enough.”

You feel his hand loosen in its grip. You try to hold onto him tighter, but he slips from your grasp and shoves his hands into the pockets of his coat instead. 

“I wanted it to work so badly, but eventually she just… gave up on me,” he says. “Sorry, you probably don’t want to know.”

“Don’t be sorry,” you say. You thread your arm into his like a half-hearted hug. He’s watching the sea, breathing deeply, brow furrowed, lips fallen. “Do you miss her?”

“I miss when things were good. I don’t miss the rest of it.”

After dinner that night, when Aemond starts to corner you and ask if you want to go to bed, you tell him you’re tired and want to go straight to sleep. He seems concerned but doesn’t question you. He walks you to your bedroom and kisses your forehead. Before he can pull away you peck him on the cheek.

When you close the door, you feel an empty space inside your chest. Sleeping in your own bed, you miss the presence of another body beside you, his limbs intertwined with yours, the smell of his shower gel, his sweat, just him. It’s a peaceful sleep nonetheless. 

The 31st of August. It’s just after breakfast and this time tomorrow you’ll be driving through the gatehouse of Dragonstone, through the town, past all the bookshops and cafes you could have spent more time in. At least now you can say you’ve spent a month as a guest at a castle. You treat yourself to a final walk through the house, the library, the portrait gallery adorned with paintings of members of the Targaryen family; silver hair is a common theme. 

Viserys has already hung up a portrait of himself. He’s sat in a chair in a hall you recognise from the Red Keep; you visited years ago as part of a school trip. To his right stands a woman with silver hair, her hand resting on his shoulder. To his left is another woman, short hair, black suit, the family sigil on her lapel. Sitting below them, on some kind of steps are his remaining four children, Aegon, Helena, Daeron, and Aemond at the end. The painting certainly wasn’t painted in real time, all of Alicent’s kids would have been born after Aemma Arryn died, which means Viserys chose to include his first wife and exclude his second. 

You take a step closer until you can see each brushstroke. Aemond looks about ten, chin in his palm, looking solemn and serious where his other siblings have subtle smiles on their faces. His left eye is clouded over, but there’s no scar. 

Aemond hasn’t said anything more about the ex, Alys. You found her on LinkedIn one night when you couldn’t sleep. She doesn’t seem to post often, but reposts a lot from her company’s profile, Harrenhal PR. She has a square jaw, a pointed nose, short black hair and pale skin. Gorgeous, but just a normal person. 

When you woke up the next morning you felt so guilty you cleared your search history and deleted the app from your phone for good measure. 

Helaena said you’d brought something out of Aemond this summer, that you made him happy. You want to make the most of that. And there are twenty four hours left.

The rain has stopped since last night. The air is clean and clear, the sun even feels warm again. You decide to have a final walk around the pool, conveniently spotting Aemond pulling a packet of cigarettes from a back pocket when you open the door to the patio. Really, you’ve been meaning to talk to him. Properly talk to him.

He puts a cigarette between his lips, curled in a half smile as he raises a lighter to the end. Flame flickers, smoke floats from his mouth and disappears into the faint smell of greenery and chlorine. He takes a long drag and pouts his lips to exhale. “So, are you packed yet?”

“Mostly. I’ll only have to throw a few things into my bag before we go.”

He takes another drag, his breath heavy against the back of his throat. Cigarettes smell like nights out, leaning on the balcony of a dorm party, hangovers and questionable decisions. Now cigarettes smell like Aemond and summer.

He’s looking at you intently. “Are you going to miss me?” smirking as he says it.

You force yourself to laugh. For some reason you’d been expecting him to say something sweet, honest. It puts your defences up. No, I’m not. Can’t wait to be rid of you actually. You could play it off like a joke too. You fold your arms and shrug. “Maybe. Maybe not.”

“What’s the plan when you get back, job applications?”

“I guess so. What about you?”

He taps the cigarette, ash floating to the ground. “Well, work.”

You don’t like Aemond pretending to be unserious, his short responses. “Do you have friends in King’s Landing?”

“A few acquaintances. Work will keep me busy enough.”

“Right.” You can feel your heart creeping up into your throat. You can feel it pulsing. Aemond takes another drag and half smiles. “We should go out one night, the two of us.”

He takes the cigarette between two fingers and pulls it away from his mouth. You know something’s gone wrong when that air of self assuredness starts to melt away. He puts his weight into his hand on the balustrade, leaning slightly away from you. 

He says your name like he’s exhausted. “Look, we’ve had fun, but I didn’t think–” another drag, another audible breath.

“Didn’t think what?”

“I’m not looking to be in a relationship right now.”

The way he says that word makes you sick. Relationship. Like it’s poison in the air around you, like it’s churning in his stomach. It’s making yours turn now.

In a way you knew it. You knew you were missing something.

Aemond tosses the cigarette onto the grass and places his hand on your arm. “I’m sorry. I’m really sorry.”

The space behind your eyes is hot and stinging and your hand is trembling. You try to dig your nails into your palm to make it stop. All of it. Your head has tilted down, your eyes are on the concrete tiles, Aemond’s white sneakers. “Okay,” you say. 

“I’m sorry.”

“Stop apologising.”

“I just want to be honest.”

“Hmm.”

“I think you’re amazing, I want you to know that. It’s just not the right time for me.” 

He looks at you, a combination of sadness and hopefulness in his expression. Was he planning on telling you this? Or was he going to stop replying your texts once you’d left his family home? 

He’s stroking his thumb along your arm. You take a step back.

“I’ll see you at dinner, Aemond.”

He calls your name as you walk away. You don’t need explanations right now. You don’t need honesty. You need to be alone.

Part of you worries he’ll follow you down to the poolside. Part of you wants him to. But you know he won’t. Why would he? When you reach the sunloungers, you look back to the patio and Aemond is gone. You look around you, at this beautiful garden this beautiful house, the trickle and hum of the pool filter, it’s all so perfect. This whole summer has been perfect. But it was always going to end.

Aemond doesn’t show up for dinner. Aegon says he’s got a headache and that he’s going to take the dogs for a walk.

Most of the other guests are leaving tomorrow, the Velaryons, the Wyldes, the Lannisters, and everyone wants to make the most of the night. It’s like a Christmas party, jokes and toasts, stories reminiscing better times, declarations of hopes for the future. Helaena sits beside you and keeps asking you all sorts of questions to keep you engaged in the conversation. You put on your best smile. “I loved that little bakery in town… I can’t believe I got to stay in a castle, I feel like a Princess… alright, I admit it, Aegon has good taste in films.”

You try to ignore the empty space at the head of the table.

Is it better that he said no then and there? Imagine if he’d taken you up on the offer, if you’d gone for dinner or drinks, if you’d ended up at his place or yours. Would it hurt more if he told you a week or a month down the line? Would it have been better if none of this had happened in the first place?

You tell yourself not to regret it. It was good in the moment. It was fun and exciting, it was good to feel wanted for once, and being with him made you happy. You thought it made him happy too.

Dinner is followed by drinks in the drawing room. You join in for a while, until Aegon, Daeron and Helaena want to go down to the beach, one last time for summer’s sake. The sun is still setting and it's mild out. You and Helaena swap your heels for sneakers and wear coats over your dresses, while the boys go in their shirts and slacks. 

Damp sand shifts under your shoes and a sharp wind stings against the skin of your cheeks and hands. As the sun slips closer to the horizon the sky burns brighter and fiercer. You breathe in the air, the smell of salt, the sound of the waves. Aegon and Daeron run towards the edge of the water, ditching their shoes, flicking seawater at each other, laughing hysterically.

Helaena links her arm through yours.

“I’m going to miss it here,” you say. Being by the sea in King’s Landing isn’t the same. In the city there are busy harbours, factories and old power stations along the shore. There are some public beaches, none that would offer the same peaceful isolation of right here, right now. 

“Me too. I miss it every year, but then we come back to it.”

You can’t see yourself coming back here. Maybe Viserys will invite your parents again, but by next summer you could have a job, your own life in King’s Landing you won’t be able to leave behind for a whole month. And even if you wanted to, this whole place reminds you of Aemond. You imagine Sunfyre and Vhagar running along the beach, pawprints in the sand, Aemond by your side, talking with his hands, retreating into himself when you mentioned King’s Landing.

You don’t want to be upset about it.

“We’ll hang out in King’s Landing,” Helaena says.

A shudder goes through you. “It won’t be like this,” you say.

“Will it matter where we are? We’ll still be friends.”

You look at her, eyes watering with the wind. She smiles.

“Yeah, you’re right, I’m just being stupid.”

She squeezes your arm. “No, you’re not.”

“It’s just, I’ve really liked this. It’s been nice living for myself, not having to think about lectures or exams or what the rest of my life is going to look like, because I’ll figure it out like everyone else. Only it wasn’t– I’m leaving and the month is ending. How could I think this feeling was going to last forever?”

A shriek of laughter from the boys catches both of your attentions. Aegon’s fallen on his arse and drenched himself completely.

“Idiots, they’ll get hypothermia,” Helaena mutters with a grin. She turns back to you. “Maybe this is an ending, but maybe it’s the start of something else.”

You nod. You know she’s right. The world doesn’t start or end with a single person, but it still hurts.

“I thought it was weird Aemond wasn’t at dinner.”

“Yeah, well,”

Helaena looks like she wants to say something, but she pouts her lips, like Aemond does when he’s thinking. 

Aegon and Daeron call you down to the shore. You slip your shoes off and place your feet in the water, it’s like ice shooting up through your legs. You shriek and giggle, and kick water at Daeron when he tries to splash you.

Aegon puts one arm around Helaena, another soaked arm around yours. “Ladies, gent, it’s been a pleasure.”

You’d forgotten the Targaryens were about to part ways for another year too. Aemond and Helaena will be in the same city, but Daeron has another year left at Citadel Boys and Aegon never seems to stay in one place for very long.

“Don’t get all emotional on us, Aeg,” Daeron says. 

“And don’t miss me too much when you’re in Oldtown, kiddo.”

“I’m sure he’ll survive,” Helaena says.

When you finally reach the top of the path back to the house, shivering and damp, you’re the first to spot someone standing just outside the main doors. You know it’s him, you recognise his silhouette and his posture, the faint glow of a cigarette.

You hang back a little. Aegon and Daeron show off their soaked shirts and wet hair. Helaena gives him a kiss on the cheek and they all head inside. 

You stare at each other for a moment, alone.

“Did you, um, have a nice evening?” he asks.

“Yeah.”

He takes another quick drag. “I was just thinking and, you know, I feel bad about, well, everything.”

You’re so ready to get out of the cold. All you want is a shower and the weight of your duvet. You’re too tired to fight this fight. “It’s fine, you were just being honest.”

“But I don’t want you to think–”

“I don’t want to talk about it,” you say. “I want to go to bed.”

Aemond hangs his head, taps some ash onto the ground. 

You take a step towards the doors. And stop yourself. 

“Actually, it’s not fine. You’ve spent the whole summer flirting with me, talking me into your bed, making me think you liked me, just to throw it all back in my face?”

Aemond seems utterly perplexed. “No, gods, don’t say it like that,” he says in a harsh whisper. 

But you’re done being gracious and apologetic. “Like what? Like I was a convenient fuck? That’s what this was, wasn’t it? And now I look like a complete dickhead for thinking this actually meant something to you.”

“It does— it did.”

Your heart beats furiously in your chest. How could you possibly believe him? “So you liked me enough for a summer fling, but not enough to keep me around, is that it?”

Aemond tosses his cigarette to the ground and drives it into the gravel with his foot. “Is that really what you think of me?”

“I don’t know what to think. Was this all a lie? Were we playing pretend?”

Every time you caught him looking at you, every coffee he brought you when he was grovelling for your forgiveness, every conversation, every time he kissed you, every night you spent in his bed, it wasn’t real.

“I like you. I never played up my feelings. I wasn’t trying to get something out of you,” he says.

Then why does it have to be so confusing and complicated? Why can’t it be enough that you like him and he likes you? Why can’t it be enough that you like being with him? 

Your heart sinks. “Is this about Alys?” 

“Oh for fuck’s sake, that’s nothing to do with you.”

“Are you not over her or something?”

“Yes! No, I– I don’t fucking know. I haven’t thought about her for months and then…”

“And then what?”

He looks at you like he’s pleading for something. You’re waiting for him to say he still loves her. You’re waiting for him to admit you were just a placeholder, someone to fill a missing space. He huffs in frustration, pressing the heel of his palm against his forehead.

“Do you still have feelings for her?”

“Are you jealous, is that it?”

You flinch at the harshness of his tone. Jealous of someone you’ve never met? Who he never brought up until his brother wanted to be petty? You can’t bring yourself to say it outright. If he still loves her or not, the mere mention of her made him withdraw.

Aemond steadies his breathing. He steps into you and your instinct is to back away but you let yourself stand still. His chest is close to yours, your faces inches apart. He doesn’t touch you. “This,” he says, gesturing between the two of you, “this was good, why can’t we leave it at that?”

Then you do back away from him and as you look at him you realise he’s being sincere. Tears stream from your cheeks. You don’t gasp for air or try to stop yourself from crying. You can’t stay out here in the cold. You can’t look at him any longer.

But you look him in the eye one final time, even though it hurts, even though you want nothing more than to lose yourself in his embrace, and say, “maybe this is for the best. I don’t want to live my life afraid of the future.”

You give him another moment to say something, but all he can do is look at you. There’s nothing else you want from him. You head inside the house, dried tears on your cheeks, your heart that little bit more guarded, into the warm light of the chandeliers hanging over the entrance hall.

The 31st of October. It’s 5pm and it’s already dark. Even though the same thing happens every year it somehow manages to surprise you how short the days are in autumn and winter. You’ve watched daylight come and go from behind the counter of the cafe, a job which your dad thinks is a waste of time. You change out of your t-shirt and apron, into some blue jeans, a black sweater and wrap yourself up in a coat and scarf. As you pass the counter to leave one of your colleagues hands you a white paper bag, a slice of pumpkin loaf cake, which you’ve been eyeing up all day.

You walk quickly to the bus stop, grateful to see you’ve arrived at the same time as the bus, no need to wait in the cold. You find a seat near the back, put some headphones on and take a few bites of the cake, sweet and spicy. Lights and Halloween decorations turn into a blur. You watch people heading home from work, chatting outside pubs, the odd group of girls in fancy dress.

Rain starts to spit against the window as a large white building comes into view. You press the red stop button and stand by the doors as a robotic voiceover will be announcing the next stop as National Museum.

Once you’re off the bus you hurry up the steps to the museum’s main entrance. Someone scans a ticket on your phone, a security guard looks through your bag where he’ll only find your work clothes, a bottle of water and some spare mint tea bags. 

Visiting hours are about to end and the main hall of the museum is practically empty, save for a few statues of Kings and Queens and academics. It’s eerie. A few voices echo through the pillars and vaulted ceiling. You see some people dressed in suits and smart dresses head up a marble staircase on the other side of the hall and suppose that’s the direction you’ll be heading in too. There are signs to help as well, pointing you towards the Tyrell Lecture Hall. 

Your phone buzzes as you head towards the doors. You fumble to turn it on silent and check an incoming text message. Dyana, from work, the two of you became fast friends when you started working at the cafe: Offer’s still there for tonight btw!! Would be great if you came xx

But then I understand if you wanna spend Halloween talking about dead people. Very fitting lol

You walk towards the door to the lecture hall while looking down at your phone. The book launch ends at 8pm. People probably won’t show up to Dyana’s until 9pm. You could make it. But you don’t  have a costume. You could go back to your place first. But then–

Knowing that you’re probably a few steps from walking face first into the doors to the lecture hall, you look up. Someone is holding the door open. You make eye contact with a single blue eye.

“Hi,” Aemond says. He’s in a black turtleneck jumper which accentuates his jaw beautifully. He has a purple lanyard around his neck and a brown coat thrown over his arm. His hair has grown since August.

“Hi,” you say, without taking a breath.

“You’re here for the book launch?”

“Yeah,” you say, peering inside where people are taking their seats on rows of ornate wooden benches around the main stage.

“I didn’t know you were interested in Valryian history?”

“I’m not to be honest, I just thought it would be interesting, especially after spending the summer at Dragonstone…”

An awkward silence falls between you. 

You’re still looking at each other and Aemond suddenly smiles. “How are you? You look good,”

You raise an eyebrow.

He clears his throat and runs his free hand through his hair. “I meant, have you found a job yet?” His cheeks and the tip of nose are turning pink.

“I did. Not the one my parents were expecting, but I wanted some time to figure things out, go to book launches and exhibitions and plays, you know?”

“What’s the job?”

“I’m working in a cafe on Sisters Street, Blue Moon.”

His eye brightens. “No way, on Sister’s Street? I pass that place all the time, it’s right by my department building, I keep meaning to go in.”

You try not to frown, but the Red Keep, the main office for Targ Corp, sits on Aegon’s Hill overlooking Blackwater Bay, a good distance from Sisters Street. “Department building?”

“Yeah, so, right, I spent one week working for my father and I hated it. It was all very last minute and my father was furious but I enrolled in a curation course at King’s College.” He holds up his lanyard to show you and sure enough, it’s attached to a student ID card.

“Wow, Aemond, that’s amazing.”

“I was thinking about what you said, actually, about not being afraid to live life.”

You wince. That was the last thing you had said to him, until now. You said that because you were upset and frustrated at him, at his ridiculous logic, that he would end something to avoid an outcome neither of you could be sure of. With time and space to think, you’d realised he had done it for himself, not for you. It hadn’t saved you from the heartbreak, but maybe that was your fault for getting your hopes up. And to hear him say it back to you is a bittersweet feeling.

“I’m really happy for you,” you say.

It’s getting close to the start of the presentation, the other attendees are settling down but you can’t quite bring yourself to walk through the door yet.

Aemond lets the door close so the two of you are alone in the hallway. “Look, I know we’re about to go in, but I’ve thought a lot about you”

You press your jaw together. The morning you left Dragonstone he didn’t show his face at breakfast. He didn’t come to the entrance hall as you were leaving. When Helaena followed you outside and walked with you to your parents’ car, you took a final look at the facade of the castle, at all the individual windows and saw nothing. You thought he wanted to forget you, to move on and leave you in the memory of summer.

“I wasn’t fair to you. And you were right, I was afraid. I was scared of having something good in my life because I thought, what’s the point? It’s not going to last forever.”

“But isn’t the alternative worse?” 

“Well, exactly. Helaena says I’m on the right path if I want to be miserable forever.”

“That sounds promising,” you say lightheartedly.

The corners of his mouth curl shyly. “Turns out, I might not want to be miserable forever.”

Being so close to him is comforting and disorientating. You’ve thought about him too, cried over him, thought about what it would be like to kiss him again, to put your head on his chest, pictured a moment when you might run into him by chance. He’s wearing the same aftershave he did in August, underneath a faint smell of smoke and mint. 

You’ve forgiven him before. Could you do it again?

“I’m sorry too. I shouldn’t have pressed you about Alys, it wasn’t my place.”

Aemond tilts his head. “It’s alright. I thought I was over the whole thing, but then I met you and it messed with my head.”

“Oh, sorry,”

“No, sweetheart,” he laughs, “not in a bad way. I know I fucked it when we first met, but the more you were around, the more time I spent with you, all I wanted was for you to like me. I hadn’t felt like that in a long time.”

The sound of applause erupts from inside the hall. Dr Orwyle will be about to start his presentation.

Aemond offers his hand to you. “Come sit with me?” he says, and you take it.

You sit together and find seats near the back. Dr Orwyle is a professor at King’s College, presenting his book The Doom of an Empire. He talks about Old Valyria, its presence as the greatest empire of the ancient world, ruled from a capital built into a volcano, the legends of dragon lords and bloodmages.

In the corner of your eye you see Aemond turning his head towards you occasionally. You catch his eye and he smiles.

As Dr Orwyle starts to talk about the final days of Valyria and the mystery of a disaster known as The Doom, you shuffle in your seat and your leg brushes against Aemond’s. You take a breath and let yourself settle against him.

Aemond is practically bursting with questions for a Q&A portion, and Orwyle recognises him as a member of the King’s College History society. You can’t help but feel proud seeing Aemond so animated talking about something that he loves. 

You wait with Aemond to get his copy of the book signed and he’s still talking excitedly about an upcoming exhibition on the Valyrian Freehold, which he’s convinced his father to sponsor and loan pieces to.

And when the event is finished, you and Aemond slip your coats on and walk through the museum, his arm in yours. The rain that was starting as you arrived has lulled into a drizzle. You wait under the cover of the grand archway over the museum’s entrance. 

You look up at him, trying to bury his chin in his coat, keeping close to you when he sees you shivering. 

Noise exists in the space around you, cars, buses, tyres against the wet roads, music from a pub on the other side of the road. You and Aemond are removed from it, standing on the steps of an ancient building. His voice is gentle and you’re close enough to hear it.

“How are you getting home?” he asks.

“I’ll get the bus.”

“You could always– I’d be more than happy to give you a lift?”

“No, it’s fine, but thank you.”

“Would you text me when you’re home, so I know you’re safe?” 

A warmth blooms in your chest. “Yeah, of course.”

You wonder if this could be the last time you see him. Maybe he’s thinking the same. You look towards the bus stop, anticipating that it could show up any moment. You wonder if Dyana’s texted you again, if she’ll be waiting for you to show up at the party. You tell yourself you should go but you don’t want to walk away from him. 

“I think you should stop by Blue Moon sometime,” you say. 

“Yeah?”

“I can get you a discount on pumpkin spice lattes.”

“Damn, I don’t suppose getting you coffee to apologise will work the same now.”

“No chance.” You let yourself close the distance between you, your chest pressed into his and place a gentle kiss on his cheek. His skin is warm against your lips, his breath hot over your ear. You feel his hands at your waist. “But I’m sure you’ll figure something out.”

Thank you so much for following along with this mini series, I really appreciate all the love <3

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