liannafae

[liannafae]

Holy fuck this was amazing 😭✨✨✨✨

The dearest embrace (AE)

Alternative Ending of The sofest whisper Oneshot

[ Aemond • Targaryen x servant! • female ]

[ warnings: sex content, oral sex, angst, smut, breeding and breastfeeding kink, miscarriage, murder, violence ]

[ description: Aemond manages to escape the clutches of death and defeats his uncle in a battle in the skies. He hopes to find his servant there when he returns to Harrenhal, but she has, on his advice, fled. Although he tries, he cannot forget the night he spent with her, a night that was to be the last of her life, and he decides that he will not rest until he finds her. Obsessive, possessive, dark Aemond. ]

The first oneshot ends as it does in canon - Aemond's death during the battle with Daemon. However, I thought it would be interesting to present how I would imagine their fate if he managed to survive. If you thought the first ending was perfect and that an additional story would ruin the story for you, just don't read it.

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

My other works: Masterlist

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He survived.

Although it was he who was to die, Daemon fell into the abyss.

The gods flipped a coin again and this time showed him mercy.

He wasn't sure how he felt when he returned to Harrenhal, when Alys threw herself around his neck with a sob, ready to forgive him for what he had done the night before, ready to accept him deep inside her again, thinking only that he was back.

He, however, instead immediately went to his chamber hoping that he would still find her there, that she had not managed to escape, that she believed he would survive.

That she was waiting for him.

He walked into his chamber and saw emptiness – the only trace of what they had done was a bloody sheet, gone was the bag of coins he had left for her on the table.

She ran away.

Smart girl.

He avoided Alys, saying he needed to rest in solitude and write a letter in peace to his brother-king informing him of his victory.

The truth, however, was that after what he had endured with her that night, after the mesmerising kind of tenderness, intimacy and closeness he had experienced with her convinced he was going to die, his rapprochements with Alys appeared to him as purely animalistic, aggressive, empty.

He spent the next few days thinking about where she might have escaped to as his men searched for her, but to no avail.

He was furious.

He wanted her.

He needed her.

To Alys' despair, he returned to King's Landing unable to endure her constant efforts to gain his attention again, to win his heart back.

It was too late.

It was too late the very moment he saw her in his chamber for the first time.

After convincing him with a few gold coins, one of the innkeepers admitted that he had recently hired a young girl matching his description and that she had rented one of the rooms from him.

His envoy had only managed to find her trail after two months of his constant agony, rage and despair, during which he continually imagined the events of that night.

The way his fingers had driven into her soft flesh, what sweet sounds of pleasure and despair had risen from her throat as thrust after thrust he had taken away her maidenhood.

He set off there immediately on horseback together with some of his guards, without informing either his brother or his mother, disguised in a long grey cloak, a hood over his head so as not to attract anyone's attention with his long white hair.

He stepped into the inn late in the evening, when there were plenty of people there to disappear into the crowd, and felt a painfully strong thump of his heart when he saw her behind the counter – her hair was entwined in a long braid, droplets of sweat from exertion on her face and a calm, warm smile, her slightly rounded abdomen girded with an apron.

She was carrying his child under her heart.

He stared at her from a distance completely frozen, unable to look away, thinking of only one thing.

He walked slowly towards her and she took a step back, terrified, not knowing what to do, how to behave, a man in armour shouted to her impatiently to pour him more beer.

She noticed out of the corner of her eye that someone had walked inside and glanced in their direction. He saw her freeze and turn pale, her eyes big, her mouth parted wide in disbelief.

He saw everything in her gaze: fear, joy, disbelief, longing, pain, grief.

"− yes, my Lord −" She mumbled, saying something quickly to the older man who stood beside her. He glanced worriedly in his direction as she spoke to him, then nodded and moved towards the man who was raising his empty tankard into the air.

She walked out to him, wiping her hands on her apron in a nervous gesture, trembling all over, her breathing ragged and uneven, her lips quivering as she spoke to him in a whisper.

"− Your Grace, I −"

"I want to speak with you. Alone."

She nodded, swallowing loudly, and indicated with a hand gesture for him to follow her up the stairs to the inn floor. She pulled a key from the pocket of her bottom gown and slipped it into one of the doors, then opened it.

He walked behind her into a tiny, modest room with one small bed, a table, a chair and a wooden wardrobe. She walked quickly over to the candle and lit it so they wouldn't be standing in complete darkness.

He closed the door behind him and pulled his cloak off his head, never taking his eye off her.

She was exactly as he remembered her.

He could see that her condition was getting worse, the shock beginning to subside with the realisation that he was really standing in front of her, that he had found her.

She moved towards her wardrobe as if she remembered something and from under a pile of blankets pulled out the same bag of coins he had given her. He furrowed his brow as she approached him with it, holding out her hand.

"I spent very little, just on travel, food and rent here the first few nights." She explained in a trembling voice, as soft and warm as he remembered. He pressed his lips together at her words.

"This is your money. It belongs to you." He replied dryly, feeling insulted at the thought that she thought he had gone to so much trouble for a few golden coins.

She swallowed loudly, putting the bag down and looked away, unable to bear his burning gaze.

"Aren't you going to say anything? Aren't you glad I survived?" He asked with a pain and disappointment that surprised him, as if he expected her to throw herself into his arms with tears.

She looked at him with those big, warm eyes of hers, her eyebrows arched in pain, her lips trembled at his words. She pressed her hands against her stomach – for a moment she looked as if she was choking, tear after tear began to run down her cheeks red with emotion.

"What I am feeling now I can only reveal to the gods in my prayers. In the same ones in which I begged them to spare your life." She choked out finally, and he swallowed loudly, feeling a squeeze in his throat and chest, his hands clenched into fists.

"Is that my child?" He asked, a grimace of pain passed across her face – she covered her face with her hand as if she didn't believe this was really happening.

"− please − have mercy −" She mumbled and he approached her with a sudden, aggressive step, towering over her. She drew in the air loudly, looking at him terrified, his hand tightened on her hair not allowing her to turn her face away.

"Don't you feel anything at the sight of me? At the memory of me deep inside you? Hm? It means nothing to you?" He asked coldly, her eyes hot, warm tears running down her cheeks and dripping onto the exposed skin of his wrist, her body twitching in convulsions.

He kissed her, kissed her as if she were a spring of water and he hadn't drunk in months, as if she were a warm bed and he hadn't been able to rest for many nights, as if she were a soothing whisper when all he could hear in his head was a thousand screams.

His tongue slid between her lips in a lingering, deep kiss, her startled, stifled moan caught in her throat, his hand holding her in a steel grip, refusing to let her move away.

He hummed low under his breath, satisfied when he felt her lips part invitingly, brushing his thirsty, longing-filled skin – they embraced at last and pressed against each other like a pair of lovers, her rounded belly pressed against his body.

He took her with gentle, steady, deep thrusts on her bed, lying behind her, panting loudly along with her, the wooden frame creaking each time he stretched her wonderfully tight insides again and again with his painfully hard cock, swollen with yearning.

"− did you long for it? − did you dream of me coming back and doing it to you again? − of my cock deep inside you? −" He gasped out, tightening his hand on her plushy hip.

She mewled softly, her fingers clenched on his arm with which he embraced her waist, his nose pressed against the hollow of her neck, inhaling the scent of her sweat, their bodies, hot and sticky with exertion, slapping against themselves with each of his thrusts.

"− yes − gods, yes −" She mumbled, tears of pain, longing, terror and joy running down her fair, hot, soft cheeks, her thighs spread wide in a gesture of complete submission, allowing him to slam into her as deeply as he wanted.

"− you did so well − already carrying my child − I'm going to put another and another inside you − hm? − my sweet little girl −" He breathed out into her ear and she came hard at his words, moaning and sobbing, her fleshy, hot muscles began to clench on him greedily in pleasure, squeezing his seed out of him. He closed his eyes in pleasure, his naked, sweaty chest pressed against the skin of her back.

"− that's it − don't waste even a drop − yes, just like that −" He murmured in delight, thrusts of his length pushing his spend as deep inside her as possible.

They lay breathing loudly, embracing each other, their bodies entwined together with their hands and legs, his cheek pressed against hers, his soft manhood still deep inside her hot body.

They were one.

"Return with me to the Red Keep." He whispered.

She trembled all over and swallowed loudly, her whole body tensing in terror. He felt it and placed a soft, light kiss on her bare shoulder.

She was a free woman.

He could not take her against her will.

"I will only bring you dishonour and shame." She mumbled through her tears and he chuckled low, stroking the bare skin of her slightly rounded belly with his fingers.

"I am a kinslayer. You are incapable of bringing me greater dishonour than that which I have brought upon myself."

His mother took his decision with fury. What he was doing was against their faith and beliefs, against good customs. She spoke to him about marriage, about the disgrace to his future wife. He laughed at his words.

"What self-respecting lady would marry a kinslayer? I have no desire to push my child inside a woman who feels nothing but disgust for me, mother. I cast Daemon down from the heavens, I won the war for us. This is what I demand in return."

He assigned her a chamber in a seldom-visited part of the keep, hiding her like his secret treasure, watching her abdomen swell from his heritage, from his seed.

He cherished her character, the fact that she understood their situation and that it would never change, that she would never become his wife, that their children would be bastards, that the kingdom would call their relationship sinful and ungodly.

He made sure that the other servants did not get the idea of hurting or poisoning her as a gesture of jealousy or honour, and promised that if anything happened to her, each of them would lose an eye.

They knew he wasn't lying.

Although the news of Alys' pregnancy broke him down at first, he later came to terms with it, however, it was seeing his servant with a stomach swollen from his child that brought him some kind of satisfaction and contentment.

When he visited her he would watch her lying on her bed in her nightgown, sitting in his chair, one of her hands stroking her belly, the other holding the book she was reading to him.

This was their ritual, their time of intellectual intimacy.

He felt some kind of pride hearing how fluently she read, almost no longer making mistakes.

She shuddered suddenly, pausing and looked down at her rounded abdomen with a smile.

"− our child is wriggling − someone here was intrigued by the story −" She said with the warmth, joy and lightness characteristic of her. He hummed under his breath, squinting his eyebrows in satisfaction.

Then he undid the buckles of his black tunic, untied his breeches and lay down behind her, putting his arms around her, her hands immediately on his, a murmur of comfort, contentment and security emanating from her breasts.

He usually took her before she went to sleep, sinking between her thighs with a sigh of delight, wonderfully squeezed on all sides. He forced his way into herwith his always ready, hard erection, which she welcomed inside her with the patience of a saint, moaning sweetly in his arms, her moisture slick against his thighs each time his naked body slapped against her sticky buttocks again.

He felt a sense of peace.

She did not demand anything from him.

She didn't ask him uncomfortable questions.

She didn't get upset when he couldn't spend time with her, taking handfuls of what he gave her.

For the first time in his life, he finally felt like he was enough for someone.

Her understanding, her humility, her patience, her warmth and joy at every moment they spent together filled his chest with a warm feeling he didn't want to feel.

The only thing she feared was that Alys would try to poison or hurt her. He hadn't visited her since he brought this innocent creature to the Red Keep, filling her to the brim with his seed almost every night.

He guessed that she already knew that she was expecting his child. He ordered his servants to try her food and drink before giving her anything, two of his trusted guards watching her chambers in his absence on his command.

Eventually, however, he received a letter from Harrenhal that Alys had given birth to his son and that her condition was good. He welcomed this news and, albeit reluctantly, decided to travel to Harrenhal to greet his offspring.

He had informed her of this the day before, lying in bed with her, taking an unruly strand of curls from her warm face, raspy with exertion after he had came deep inside her.

"I have to leave for a few days." He said briefly and matter-of-factly, not wanting to get into the subject.

He saw in her gaze that she understood at once what he meant, her eyebrows arched in pain. She nodded, in her eyes both regret and understanding at the same time.

She said nothing.

She knew that she had no right to demand anything from him.

However, he allowed her to snuggle into him, giving her comfort in his arms, enveloping her into his embrace, creating a fortress out of his body in which she could hide.

When he arrived in Harrenhal Alys greeted him with his son in her arms. He kissed her forehead and looked at the white-haired infant with satisfaction, expressing his sincere joy that the child was healthy and that she had survived the birth without complications.

He ate supper with her, however, despite her pleas, he did not stay in bed with her.

He had no desire to do so.

"You are here in body, but not in heart." She said to him regretfully as he sat in a chair in front of her. He looked at her impassively, not knowing what he should reply to such a statement, or from her perspective, an accusation.

"I am performing my duty. Harrenhal is yours, and after your death it will fall to our son. You lack nothing. What more do you want from me, Alys?" He asked frustrated, and she furrowed her raven-black eyebrows, shaking her head.

"I want you. I've lost you." She said in pain, her green eyes red from tears she was holding back by force of her will. She walked towards him and kneeled in front of him, looking at him pleadingly, reaching with her hand to untie his breeches. He stroked her cheek.

"I'm not for sale." He said calmly, pushing her wrist away with a gentle flick of his hand, then slowly got up and walked out, leaving her with an expression of despair and shock on her face.

He had no intention of forcing himself into anything.

He had no intention of pretending.

He never promised her anything.

All he could think about was her sweet lips clenched around his fat cock, sucking it in a wonderfully unhurried, tender rhythm, each time bravely swallowing everything that spilled out of him, doing so with a surprisingly innocent, calm look on her face, drawing from his throat sounds he had never made before.

However, he wanted to be a good father and promised to visit his son once every few months, giving him his full attention.

He returned to King's Landing on Vhagar with a strange kind of relief, tired and discouraged, the stares and silence of Alys driving him mad.

He headed straight for her chamber, wanting to touch her, to smell her, to see her face unbidden by resentment, disappointment and regret.

When he opened the door she shuddered, lifting herself up on the bed, snapped out of a deep sleep. She rose from her place and ran to him, throwing herself into his arms.

He was relieved to snuggle his nose into her hair, embracing her warm, small body with his arms.

"I'm back."

He took her slowly, asking her how much she had missed him, whether she had obeyed and not touched herself in his absence as he had commanded.

"− I have obeyed you, my Prince − I swear −" She mumbled, her breasts bouncing gently with each of his slow, firm, deep thrusts, her hot muscles throbbing hungrily against him, wanting to keep him inside her, thirsty and yearning.

He hummed contentedly at her words, delighted by her obedience, by the fact that she always did everything to please him.

"− very well − my little girl deserves to be taken care of, hm? − to relieve her a little −" He murmured between tender kisses placed on her neck, his hands roaming over her breasts and belly, her skin wonderfully soft and warm, her scent filling his lungs, her fingers tightening on his arms.

"− yes − please −" She mewled, writhing before him, impatient, having not tasted fulfillment for days.

"− please, what? −" He growled out warningly, tightening his hand on her thigh, lifting it up slightly, sliding into her faster, more violently, her head tilted back.

"− please, my Prince − please, I have waited so patiently for this −" She whimpered, and he chuckled at her words, delighted by her desperation and helplessness.

"− indeed − you deserve a reward − that's right, there you go − good girl −" He praised her as she cried out feeling his hand between her thighs, his palms spread her moisture over her hot womanhood and began to rub her puffy bud with circular, sure strokes, drawing sweet, helpless sounds from her throat.

"− oh, gods − ah −" She mumbled unable to get any meaningful sentences out.

He leaned back pulling her with him, resting the weight of her body against him, gripping her jaw in his hand, the other caressing and teasing the spot of her greatest pleasure. He forced her to look down.

"− look how good you're taking me − how tight you are, how my cock is stretching your body − see? −" He breathed out into her ear and she nodded, moaning and sobbing, her hand rising and involuntarily gripping his hair, her hips responding to his every thrust, their bodies slapping against each other with a wet, loud smacks.

"− do you like this view? − hm? −" He asked in delight, and in response received her loud, pathetic whimper and a powerful orgasm that shook her body.

"− fuck −" He muttered, panting along with her, their bodies relaxed as they lay in a tight embrace, their legs and hands entwined together, his cheek pressed against her shoulder.

He moaned low, surprised, pressing his face against her neck, prolonging his pleasure with a few more desperate thrusts before he peaked inside her with a sigh of relief.

He wasn't sure he'd ever come so hard before.

By a hair's breadth, words would burst out of his mouth that he would later regret, that he would be ashamed of.

Never in his life would he admit out loud that he longed for her.

He licked his effort-dry lips and sighed quietly, closing his eyes, exhausted, falling asleep with her almost immediately, his lungs filling with her pleasant scent.

On the day of her delivery, he was restless, walking around his chamber waiting for any news. He prayed that she would survive, that the child would be healthy, that the gods would not punish them for his actions, for his sins.

When his servant told him that it was all over he waited impatiently until night fell, not wanting to stir up yet more gossip and commentary among the court, and headed to her chamber to visit her.

He felt an immense sense of relief when he saw her lying on her bed, already dressed in a new, clean nightgown, lying under fresh sheets, her hair loose, a dark-haired infant in her hands.

She was rocking their child with an expression of contentment and tenderness on her face from which he felt a squeeze in his chest.

When she heard him enter she lifted her gaze to him, a wide, sincere smile on her face, her eyes shining with happiness.

"Look, my Prince. I have never seen a more beautiful creature than your daughter." She said warmly, and he felt a tightening in his throat at her words, at the news that he had a daughter who could be as kind, warm and affectionate as her mother.

Her mother leaned over her and tenderly kissed her little forehead, humming contentedly.

He approached them slowly and stood over them with his hands folded behind his back, looking at the infant dressed in a long white robe.

His daughter had his eyes.

"She smells wonderful. It's almost addictive. What shall we name her, my Prince?" She asked quietly, lifting her soft, warm gaze to him, their daughter's tiny hand clenched on her finger.

He swallowed loudly, feeling that his throat was strangely constricted, something moving about the sight. He grunted quietly, thinking.

"Rhaenys." He said lowly, pressing his lips together, recalling a sentence in one of the books he was reading, dedicated to Aegon the Conqueror.

King Aegon the Conqueror was said to have married Princess Visenya out of duty, and Princess Rhaenys out of lust and love. For one night with Princess Visenya, he spent ten in his younger sister's bed.

She smiled and nodded, accepting his decision without a word of complaint, apparently deciding it was a nice name, kissing her little daughter's plump cheek.

He did not know why, but he could watch the interactions between her and their daughter for hours sitting in his chair.

Rhaenys appeared to be a cheerful child, babbling loudly, through her mother's incessant speaking to her she reacted vividly to her every move or facial expression, squirming and giggling, catching her feet in her tiny chubby hands, swinging from side to side.

He felt something when he looked at them – he knew it and it frightened him, but he also found some kind of comfort in it.

He could no longer spend a day without visiting them, he spent whole evenings in their company.

At night, when Rhaenys finally fell asleep in her mother's arms, her belly full of her milk, he gave his attention only to her.

He could not find them conversing much, if anything discussing what she was reading to him, however, the way they kissed, the way their lips found each other instantly as soon as he lay down beside her, the way their hands stroked their cheeks and hair made him feel a pleasant, light tickle in his abdomen.

He adored her body, the way it reacted to him. He adored the way she sounded, sweet and innocent, he adored the way she melted under his fingers as he forced his tongue deep inside her, rewarding her for her devotion, for her patience, for her forbearance, as he opened her wide with his cock, hard with desire, to fill her again with his seed.

Not even a few months had passed and she was expecting his child again.

He was paying great attention to her breasts, wonderfully full of milk, sucking her breastmilk from her nipples, sweet and warm, whimpering and panting along with her as she rode him.

"Leave something for our daughter, my Prince." She cooed with warm amusement, stroking his hair and hugging his head to her chest, coming with delight on his painfully hard cock as she listened to him swallow her milk greedily, unable to pull away, filling her with himself with a wonderful sigh of relief.

And then his worst nightmare came true.

Under the inattention of his guards, a strange man burst into her chamber with a dagger, lashing out at her. She struggled against him, but he covered her mouth, trying to cut her throat with his other hand – only the screaming and crying of their daughter brought the guards inside, who disarmed him.

He only managed to slit her arm and wrist, however, what was most frightening when he burst into her chamber, terrified, was the sea of blood between her thighs where she was lying, sobbing loudly.

Their child in her womb.

It was the first time he'd ever heard anyone make a sound like hers – she was wailing and howling as if she were an animal, and he felt as if someone was ripping his insides out from the inside.

He was afraid to touch her, afraid that he would hurt her even more, unable to find words of comfort either for himself or for her.

He sentenced the guards who had allowed this to happen to death despite his mother's pleas for him to show them mercy.

He himself had supervised the interrogation of the man who had been caught, wanting to draw out of him who had done it.

He insisted that he didn't know where he got the money from, that an intermediary had come to him, set him a task and told him he would be paid double if he managed to kill both the girl and their daughter.

More elaborate torture, however, refreshed his memory, one very important detail, the place from which that man had come.

"Harrenhal."

At first he wanted to burn Alys alive in the Vhagar's fire.

Later, however, he decided that he would show her mercy and sent his envoy to her, who after a few days reported to him that the matter had been resolved.

He wrote him that she had not defended herself against the cut of his dagger, as if reconciled to her fate.

He personally flew to take his son from Harrenhal, having no intention of leaving him in the care of strangers.

He was of his blood.

He was relieved that she was treating Vaemond as if he were her child, offering to look after both his children as they needed a mother in the same way. He agreed seeing how quickly his son bonded with her, how he lunged into her embrace reaching out his chubby arms to her, impatient.

He wasn't sure Alys had ever shown him as much tenderness, interest and care as she had. She sang to him and read to him, carried him in her arms for hours when he had a colic or cried.

His presence helped her deal with the grief and suffering of losing their child, her scars had healed, but he knew that, like the one on his face, they would remain on her body for life, reminding her of this event.

Precisely because she had been so caring towards him, his son and their daughter, during the night when he was reunited with her with his body he was even more tender to her, even more understanding, caressing her for hours with his tongue alone, teasing and sucking her bud, making her a babbling, helpless mess, ripping from her fulfilment after fulfilment.

When his brother decided to give him Dragonstone as a reward for his services he took her with him, not imagining that she should be anywhere else.

She wore the gowns he had given her, blue, with long sleeves reaching the ground, emphasising the wonderfully dark colour of her hair, eyebrows and eyelashes, sapphire necklaces around her neck.

Looking at her from the side, sitting on the stone floor, reading to his children at his feet, he thought that enough was enough.

That he would do it right.

He called the right man and told her to follow him into the night without asking where they were going or why.

They got out through a back passage to the seashore.

She did not understand what was happening, why he had said he would cut her lips and her hands, let alone why he had told her to do the same. She trembled with tears in her eyes as he cut her soft skin with the dragonglass, and he watched the sight as if enchanted, strangely calm.

He told her to drink their mingled blood from the goblet, so she did, terrified, touching him by the fact that, as usual, she obeyed him, full of trust.

He took the goblet from her and drank a deep sip from it himself, licking his lips, delighted by this sensation, this ritual that united them forever.

She looked at him questioningly as he handed the cup back to the man standing next to them, wanting to understand what had happened, why they were doing this, what purpose it would serve. He looked at her and for a moment he couldn't get anything out.

He was furious with himself, but he was emotional, his throat constricted.

"I just became your husband."

She looked at him in disbelief and laughed, thinking he was mocking her.

After a moment she made big eyes, her eyebrows arched in pain, her lower lip trembling.

"− please, my Prince, it's not funny −" She gasped regretfully.

He looked down at her with calm eyes, waiting for her to realise he wasn't joking.

If it didn't get to her then, she understood it when he pressed her face against the cold wall of the underpass under Dragonstone, pulling her skirt up, the space between her buttocks shiny and glistening from her juices. He slapped her there with his hand and she cried out loudly, clasping her hands on the stone wall, leaning forward.

"− my little wife is always so fucking wet − hm? − constantly asking for my cock −" He hummed, untying his breeches and lowering them quickly, with one, sure thrust, stretching her tight, hot walls to their limits, their loud moan echoing around them as he began to fuck her with brutal, deep stabs of his hips.

They had their wedding night long ago then, in Harrenhal.

Now he just wanted to fuck her.

"− happy now? −" He mocked and she nodded, all red and hot with emotion, her whole body trembling in convulsions.

He could feel by the way she clenched down on him that she was close to fulfilment and watched with delight as with each thrust his length stretched her tight, hot walls again and again.

"− I'll put my next child inside you − hm? −" He hissed, tightening his fingers more firmly on her hips, pumping his manhood even deeper into her, all the way to the end, her moans turned into mewling and whimpering.

"− you must secure my inheritance − as any − good − wife − would − do −" He growled, the last words uttered accompanied by determined, deep thrusts from which she almost screamed, her face wonderfully red and warm, stunned by the pleasure and this partly brutal, partly passion-filled sensation.

"− please − oh, gods −" She sobbed loudly, coming hard on his length with her mouth wide open, he sighed heavily tilting his head up, feeling her walls throbbing against him and he gave in, filling her at last with himself.

"− take it − take your husband's spend like a good wife − you'll give me many more children − fuck, yes −" He breathed out, looking down at her, holding her hips with his hands, feeling her slump to the ground otherwise.

She opened her eyelids and looked up at him with her hot gaze, the kind he adored most, and whispered the words that sent a shiver through him.

"Fill me again in your bed, my husband."

_____

Aemond Taglist:

(bold means I couldn't tag you)

@its-actually-minicika @notnormalthings-blog @nikstrange @zenka69 @bellaisasleep @k-y-r-a-1 @g-cf2020 @melsunshine @opheliaas-stuff @chainsawsangel @iiamthehybrid @tinykryptonitewerewolf @namoreno @malfoytargaryen @qyburnsghost @aemondsdelight @persephonerinyes @fan-goddess @sweethoneyblossom1 @watercolorskyy

[liannafae]

Amazing 😍👏🏻

OO

Can I have the reader comforting Aemond after…you know.

I don’t mind a little angst

I love you!! ❤️

*ೃ༄ 𝐂𝐀𝐋𝐌 𝐀𝐅𝐓𝐄𝐑 𝐓𝐇𝐄 𝐒𝐓𝐎𝐑𝐌 .ೃ࿐

— ☆ amira speaks : BABYGIRL 💕💕 as a Lucerys girl picture me aggressively typing this while violently wiping my tears lmao. Enjoy this my wifey !! ♡ — summary : [ — ✧ request ] you comfort your betrothed, Aemond, after provoking war on Storm's End. — word count : 1.2k

— pairing : aemond targaryen x reader — genre : hurt/comfort, fluff, slight angst

The sound of crackling fire coming from the fireplace was the only echoing sound in your private quarters as you sat on a wooden chair in front of it, quietly reading a book; occasionally adding to the sound of fire, the sound of the flipping pages from your book.

Quite some time had passed since Aemond, your betrothed, had gone with Vhagar to Storm's End in search for Lord Borros' support to the Green Team of House Targaryen as to have more allies. Nerves had began getting the best of you, overwhelming the thoughts that crossed your mind with the absolute worst of situations — but you had decided to wait for him by reading a book, and distracting your mind from it.

Abruptly, a soft, yet seemingly desperate knocking interrupted your silent reading. Lifting your sight from the book that was placed on top of your lap, you stared at the door curiously. “Come in.” you shouted in a soothing voice tone, but vehement enough for the other person knocking to hear it.

The door was swiftly and suddenly opened the second you allowed the person to enter. You encountered yourself with none other than Aemond himself. His face was tinted by a certain frowny, concerned expression, and the entirety of his body was fully wet: body, hair, clothing, absolutely everything from him. Your eyes widened with surprise at the sight of him and you rapidly stood from your seat, leaving the book you were reading on top of the wooden chair.

“Aemond, you returned! I was growing worried for you already, my love.” you keenly ran towards him as you greeted. But suddenly, you stopped at noticing his lack of response, not even a brief grin. His entire self seemed paralysed, and shocked by something. Even, his breathing seemed increased. Furrowing your eyebrows, you cautiously approached him, daintly placing your warm hands on his arms. “Are you alright, my prince? Did something happen?” you cooed softly.

“Lucerys Velaryon.” he breathed out, gazing down at you with his eyes. The furrow on your eyebrows provoked a crease in between them. “Yes, what about Lucerys?” you inquired softly, as Aemond with trembling hands took a desperate hold of your waist. He seemed absolutely dumbfounded, aghast. A mix of emotions overwhelmed him.

“I... I have killed Lucerys Velaryon.” he spurred out. At hearing his statement, your eyes widened with great surprise. Was he being serious? You thought to yourself. A vast amount of concern yet confusion began washing over you, trying to comprehend the situation. “You did what?” you asked him, not believing what was happening lifting your eyebrows. For a brief moment, you closed your eyes, pinching the bridge of your nose, utterly uncertain of what to do.

The death of Lucerys Velaryon was simply going to worsen the already complicated relationship with his family, and you knew that. “My love, please let's take a seat and explain me what happened.” aemond didn't think much of your suggestions, he simply did as you told, and you lead him to a seat in front of your own by taking soft hold of his hand.

Aemond carefully took a seat in front of the very own chair you previously sat on as you awaited for him, resting one of his arms in the underarm of the wooden chair. In a delicate movement, you sat on top of his leg, and slided your hand through his back, rubbing it. “I couldn't take control of Vhagar, outside of Storm's End.” he mumbled under his breath. His gaze moved from staring at the crackling fire, to your very own eyes, finding some sort of soothing comfort. Some sort of guilt made him choke on the own words that got stuck on his throat trying to explain to you the situation.

As he spoke, one of his arms began snaking it's way to take hold o your waist. “Vhagar ate Lucerys, and I could see how she ripped apart Arrax.” a quivering sigh of concern escaped your lips. Things wouldn't get any better after this, you knew, but at the moment nothing else but wholeheartedly comforting him mattered to you.

Without being able to help it, your arms both held a tight grip around his body, and warmly embraced him as you rested your head on the crook of his neck. “Everything will be alright, my sweet prince.” it didn't take long for him to return the embrace you gave him, melting at the feeling of your warmth you irradiated. The softness of your cooing tone brought a sense of comfort to him, even if he was still appalled from everything that had happened in Storm's End. The only thing he had wished to do, was scare Lucerys as some sort of vengeance for taking his eye out when they were children, but he had never expected for Vhagar to react in such way.

One of your hand softly ascended to cup his cheek which was still wet with some drops of water from the rain, and you leaned your face as to place some tender kisses on his promiment jawline. A quivering sigh escaped from him, fluttering his eye shut at the way you took care of him. The grip he had on your waist with both his arms tightened, pulling you closer to his chest as if his life depended on you.

With little pecks all over his jawline, your lips travelled to meet several zones on his cheek, and then you couldn't help but kiss the corner of his rosy lips with a fervid need of showering him in love. “No matter whatever happens next after this, I will firmly stand by your side to defend your rights, and those of your family.” you whispered to him, caressing his cheek with the tip of your thumb.

There wasn't anything that he could crave for more, that the warmth of your comfort, the cooing words that graced off your beauteous lips, and your touch. “I love you, (y/n).” he whispered back, placing his own shaky hand on top of the one you used to cup his cheeks as you showered him with unconditional, supporting love. “And there isn't anyone whom I could possibly wish by my side, but you.” those words escaped from him naturally, making his need for your comfort more than obvious. Meanwhile, your lips met all the exposed zones of his skin, demonstrating how in deep love you were with him despite the things he could've done, or that would happen in consequence of his very own actions.

The piercing shock remaining on him, leaving the One Eyed Prince utterly horrified. But leisurely he gave into your comforting touch, feeling vulnerable under your tenderness, and care.

Aemond couldn't revert what had happened in Storm's End, however, you were enough to provide him with courage and determination of the upcoming war that would come along the death of Prince Lucerys Velaryon. And you would be the one that he will always cling to in search of emotional support, as bad as the situation was.

♡ taglist : ♡

@tickle-euphoria @capellaadara @kyuupidwrites @tchatso @chompchompluke @dragon430 @zzz000eee

[liannafae]

Crying a river 😭😭

solace

Aemond Targaryen x Reader

Summary: You take care of Aemond's hair after a rough day. You take care of him, too.

A/N: I fear I might be obsessed with this little concept. And Aemond truly deserves some genuine love. :)

Masterlist

Aemond's chest hurts. He's not sure if it's because his heart is beating too erratically or if it's because he can't hold a steady breathing pattern. Perhaps it's both.

He's looking down at his hands resting on his lap. He notices the barely there tremble to his fingertips but he pretends not to. There's a low and sweet humming of a song coming from behind him, Aemond knows you do it when you're concentrated doing something you enjoy, and it raises goosebumps on his bare arms and back.

Earlier, when Aemond walked into your chambers seeking the comfort your presence offered him after a hard day, you'd seen him struggling with the tie holding half of his hair back, and offered to help. Perhaps against his better judgment, Aemond's tired mind decided to accept.

Now, the Prince sits on the padded stool in front of the vanity in your chambers, with only his pants on, and hair loose falling over his shoulders while you slowly undo small knots and tangles. The night sky is clouded but there's golden candlelight illuminating you and him.

Aemond can't bring himself to look up in the mirror. It had taken months for him to accept taking off his eyepatch in your presence, but as much as he would hate to admit it, he hasn't yet dared to look into your eyes whenever he did so. He fears for what he might see. He learned to love you—or at least he thinks that's the overwhelming feeling that swells his heart when he's with you—and he's reluctant as to what he might see in your eyes during moments like these.

But you're still gentle with the way you handle him, too gentle. Aemond feels faint when you love on him like this, he doesn't know what to make of it; it's new, it's unfamiliar. You touch him with a kind of delicacy that's foreign to him, but he thinks that if he were to be deprived of it he would already miss it.

Your fingers bury into his hair, nails barely scratching the scalp. You go from the top of his head, to behind his ears, and down the nape of his neck, slowly. Silver strands slide in between your hands like silk. You touch him carefully, each motion thought of and intentional. Repeating the pattern again, and again.

And Aemond is quiet, not moving a single muscle. Because what if he moves and you stop?

He feels almost selfish for not wanting you to stop touching him, ever.

But you're so gentle, it might just break him. There's a tear caught on his lashes, if Aemond blinks it'll fall, and you'll see his weakness.

Aemond rubs the pad of his thumb against his other palm. What would you think of him then?

The two of you haven't been together for long. Would you think him unbefitting for you? Undeserving?

Would you leave?

Aemond holds his breath until there's an ache in his lungs. He doesn't want you to leave.

You've moved on to softly rub your thumbs against his temples, because there's a crease on his eyebrows that he hasn't noticed yet. You take extra care when you touch his scarred side, and Aemond feels his lower lip wobble. He bites onto it, hard, but then the lower lid of his eye starts trembling and he feels helpless.

Aemond realizes that it's becoming hard to get air back into his lungs, he's a little overwhelmed. He's been alone for too long, it's hard to unlearn that.

He only notices his tears falling when the first one drips down on top of his hand and slowly rolls down the slope of his palm. There's no going back after it, and his cheeks shine with the wet trails left behind by the many tears that follow. But Aemond remains quiet, almost concerningly quiet.

Maybe that's why he's suddenly watching you kneel down in front of him. Shame paints his insides in an ugly color, and Aemond lowers his head, eye closed. He holds his breath so no sobs escape.

He feels, however. Your hands close around his, in a tight but still oh-so-gentle grip. Your thumb brushes up and down, up and down, until Aemond brings himself to follow along with his breathing—up and down, in and out. Shaky and unsteady, but you bring him back.

It's bewitching, how you can calm him.

"Hey." Your voice is all sweet and warm, like the first ray of sun on a cold day, "Did I hurt you?"

Aemond's eye finally opens, wanting, needing to see you.

Aemond realizes he shared a lot of firsts with you. You were the first to hold his heart with kind hands, you were the first to make him feel calmer in your presence than when he is alone, you were the first to touch him as if he's something worth caring for. And now, you're the first to look at him with nothing but unconditional affection.

There's a glint to your eyes, a tilt to your brows and lips. He could crumble under your gaze, it burns and soothes all the same, as if there's nothing about him that you would change. Nothing you wouldn't love.

His voice almost fails him when he speaks; "You could never." But he means it.

The candlelights shape your easy smile as you get up. Aemond's eye follows you, squeezing one of your hands he still holds. His lips part and he feels how dry they are. He's raw, exposed, bare. He finds he doesn't mind it; Aemond doesn't want to wear an armor with you.

You reach to push his hair behind his ear, watching as his eye closes again and he melts for you. Fingertips linger just beside his scarred cheek before you pull him in, one hand around his shoulders and the other cradling his head.

Aemond buries his face against your stomach without protest, both his arms circling your waist and nails almost digging into the fabric of your clothes with desperation.

Your hand resumes to smooth down his hair while you hold him, and your melodic humming returns. Silver strands give beneath and curl around your fingers as if they were made only for you to touch.

Aemond breathes you in. His heart is so full of you that he can barely call it his own.

⋆* ☾ ⋆*･ﾟ:⋆*･ﾟ

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[liannafae]

This was so fluffy that I cried 😭😭😭

The Way to a Man's Heart

summary | In which Aemond's new wife earns his affections through her care for his niece.

pairing | king!aemond targaryen x wife!reader

tags | fluff, KING AEMOND HEHE, slight angst, arrange marriage, allusions to trauma, aemond is the dad that stepped UP! contains some spoilers for f&b

wordcount | 3.6k

note | back with some king aemond, but something sweeter this time :) idk music terms so apologies for anything that i might get wrong!

likes, comments, reblogs are much appreciated!

“Aren’t you hungry, Jaehaera?”

It’s become ubiquitous for Aemond to be met with silence. It was rather frowned upon to act in such a way in the face of the new king, but His Grace has found that his niece was inadvertently exempt from standard.

She had refused her meals again. Since the war’s end, Helaena’s girl had reclused into the lonely solace of her mind. It reminded him too much of his fallen sister, with their faraway gazes and cryptic whispers. Jaehaera, once bubbly and exuberant with the blissful hum of youth, grew weary, burdened by matters no young girl should ever be subject to. The shift in her behavior raised much concern from her Septa that there were no other means but to call upon her uncle in hopes of a way to get through to her. Aemond would never say it out loud, but such efforts would be futile. 

Despite being the only connection left tethered by blood, the one-eyed king couldn’t be at a greater length to his niece’s reach. He used to be a prominent figure in her life, back when war hadn’t taken what they didn’t wish to give. Aemond loved being around his sister’s babes. He relished in helping them take their first steps and watch their lives take shape. 

Perhaps it’s guilt that stopped him from reaching out to her. His hands were all bloodied and bruised, porcelain flesh all torn up from fighting his way to get to the throne. His ambition cost him much, and now he has seen that it cost her too. No mother to keep her close to her bosom, no father to carry her on his shoulders, no brothers to tumble around with. He had done this to her.

“Jaehaera?” he tried again.

It would take a lifetime and more to atone for how he has wronged her. He would have to weep on his knees if it meant she would grant him the undeserved forgiveness. If she ever turned her face to look at him, that is. She would stare out the window, always so deep in thought, unacknowledging of the man sat across the dinner table. Much like Helaena, in a sense.

Her plate, bountiful with colorful bites of meat and greens, grew colder with the air in the room. She hadn’t eaten in two days, the last time being only a few reluctant nibbles of cheese during her customs. It left Aemond wary with an apprehension he hadn’t so much felt even in battle. It had him frightened. 

Watching his mother wither away had done something to his once stone-dry heart. They hadn’t seen eye to eye long before then, with their contest for power when Aegon lay burnt severing any warmth their bond once had. Alicent’s last years were spent in darkness, with nothing but ghosts to keep her company. The fever that took her was a mercy, Aemond would like to think. He couldn’t let the same happen to the young girl, now nine, before him. Yet, he was clueless. The king, in all his razor-sharp wit and dexterous intelligence, was at a loss. He’d never felt more helpless sitting there at the opposite end of the dinner table, separated by a distance ever-growing by the day.

Being queen was rather lonesome. You were left on your own most days, free to wander around the halls and indulge in whatever pursuit filled up time in your day. You didn’t see your husband much, and if you did it was only at court or by the occasional call of duty to his chambers. This didn’t surprise you really, it was not as if your marriage was borne out of romance after all. Rather, done so to appease the growing questions about the fragility of his position with his rise to power. 

It could be worse. He could be cruel, either with his hand or his tongue, but he was none of those things. You wondered whether it was only because he hadn’t had the chance to be.

Perhaps, you could say he was kind; gracious enough to grant the wants and the needs you voiced through his staff if it meant he had one less person to worry about. The king was an enigma, a passing shadow in the halls you were only granted a glimpse of now and then. 

It wasn’t for a lack of trying on your end. You had attempted in those spare moments you had with him, had dared to get through the impregnable wall of his character, all to no avail. His priorities simply lay in the crown, not in small talk and hopeful glances.

With another day left to dwell on matters out of your reach, you’d taken to establish a routine of your activities. In the mornings, an hour or two of prayer after your meals, then entertaining your ladies-in-waiting in your solar until you tire of wanting for company. The latter part of your days were spent alone, a welcome solitude after constantly being attended to. You would paint, or read, or embroider, though sitting down with your harp would be the most enjoyable of all.

You had brought your lovely carved instrument to the capital when you wed, a piece of home brought with you into a foreign court. A room at the end of the hall was bestowed upon you dedicated to your music playing, conveniently placed at the end of the hall and away from your husband’s apartments. 

Your fingers never tire of strumming tune after tune. It was the greatest pleasure in your young life to be able to procure sweet melodies ever since you were a girl. Music filled you with something bright, something alive. You could close your eyes, lean on your harp and nothing else would matter. The scriptures would describe devout faith as the means to unlocking a divine state of being, an otherworldly form where one was light as air. You would argue that music served the same purpose.

It was easy to get lost in it all. The hours would effortlessly pass you by and nightfall would greet you when you floated back to the ground. You would have to be reminded of supper sometimes, or if the king required your presence in his bedchamber. However, there was less of that these days. 

Thus, it came as a surprise when one day, while finishing up the tail end of the song of Alysanne, you found a pair of amethyst eyes watching you from the open door of your music room. Jaehaera stood there with a hand on the doorknob, curiosity evident in her face.

“Oh!” you exclaimed, turning to the young princess at your door with a soft smile. “Hello, princess.”

Not a word was uttered from Jaehaera’s lips, merely staring at you with those bright violet hues that shone in the late afternoon sun. You hadn’t spent much time with her, much to your regret. The king, a scholar partial to the importance of academics, had her busied with lessons from both the septa and the maester. The growing concerns about the princess’ well-being reached your ears in hushed whispers, as did the efforts of your husband to care for her fragility.

“I wasn’t too loud, was I?” you quipped lightheartedly, tilting your head in hopes of spurring a reaction from the quiet girl. Her response came in the form of a shake of the head; you figured that was a start. She seemed to be without her septa, nor her handmaiden, only the armor-clad Kingsguard standing tall behind her smaller form. Your eyes flickered to the knight, stating the princess would be under your care, and nodding to him as the door closed shut. “Come,” you beckoned.

She approached you with small, unsure steps until she stood an arm’s length away. You watched as she eyed the instrument with an inquisitive gaze, and you wondered if the Targaryens ever expressed interest in diverting affairs like music. With the look on Jaehaera’s face at the foreign object, you figured not. “Have you ever played the harp before?” you asked, earning another shake of the head, wispy silver tresses swaying with movement. “No?” She fidgeted on her feet, small hands absentmindedly playing with the gold embroidery on her skirts. Her eyes displayed the intrigue her lips would not voice, and it spurned a twinge in your chest. “Would you like to try?” you offered, which made her eyes flicker to look at you for the first.

“I do not know how,” she said unsurely, voice small and meek. You were delighted to hear her speak, ever more encouraged to become familiar with the young princess.

“Tis rather simple! Here, try this,” you suggested, tugging on one of the strings for her to follow. She approached the carved wood, pulling the thin hair with less sureness than you did. It visibly vibrated as Jaehaera let go, a low chord flittering through the room. You held onto the harp as the young princess, interest now fully piqued, tugged on another string, now a higher tone. “It sounds different, doesn’t it?” 

You let her pull on the strings as she liked, merely holding the instrument steady while you watched her with a smile. You had half a mind to pull her into your lap and hold her close as if she were your own, but that would be too forward. She had gone through much, been made subject to brutalities at the hands of barbaric adults that made your heart quiver at the thought of such an innocent soul going through all of it. Though your womb remained childless, you’ve always wished for children of your own. Granted, you assumed you would not be blessed with a babe any time soon if the lessening instances you and your husband tried to procreate were anything to go by, but the maternal urges in your budding heart grew in the presence of the girl. You wished to care for her if she would let you.

“Would you like to learn how to play a song, sweetling? Your favorite one perhaps,” you suggested. Her eyes brightened at your offer, eagerly taking a place on your bench when you scooted over for her to sit. Flowers of Spring, she told you. A rather elaborate song to perform for someone having never played, though you figured you could teach her the simple way of creating the melody.

You shifted to let the harp lean between the both of you, taking the weight on your leg lest it became too heavy for her. Jaehaera looked so small beneath the large instrument, her arms not lengthy enough to reach the last few strings. You watched with vivid amusement at her instantaneous shift in focusing on following which stings you tugged on. Her silver, almost white, brows furrowed when she would make the wrong note, a huff of frustration escaping her nose.

“It’s alright, just try again,” you comforted her softly. There was no real melody yet, merely a few notes played carefully in the right order, but her dedication was quite stellar. It reminded you of yourself in your girlhood, when you would escape from your own lessons with the septa in your home just to play your harp. Suffering your father’s ire was a welcome consequence if it meant you could escape the present world for a moment.

A knock on your door interrupted your impromptu tutoring, gathering both your attention. The grand oak opened to reveal your handmaiden carrying a steaming pot of tea, followed by another young servant with a tray full of teacakes and pastries. “Your afternoon tea, my queen,” she said, greeting you with a curtsy. You caught the way Jaehaera’s bright purple hues followed the sight of fresh treats, quietly observing as the table was prepared for your enjoyment. If what you heard from the maester was anything to go by, you knew the young girl was starved.

“Shall we take a break for a moment, Jaehaera? I often find myself rather famished after a bit of playing. Don’t you feel the same?” you asked, earning another meek nod from the girl. You soon found yourselves sitting by the open balcony, preparing the young princess a plate. With every bite she took, the more she spoke. Words flowed out of her crumb-lined lips, telling of anything that came to mind— her lessons, her dragon, even the dreams she would have of her mother. It was evident how much she had longed to have a listening ear, jumping from topic to topic without finishing the last, and so, you listened.

“What do you mean no one has seen her? How could you imbeciles lose a young girl?!” 

Aemond’s head was already throbbing hard enough from the tedious council meeting that took up the better part of his afternoon. What made it worse was the news that greeted him the moment he exited the small council chamber. Jaehaera was nowhere to be found, having slipped away from her afternoon customs at the library to gods know where. An instant panic settled into a chill in his spine, the memory of hearing of his sister’s peril taunting him in the back of his mind. He took slow, deep breaths, willing himself to calm. 

He couldn’t think this way. He shouldn’t get ahead of himself. Aemond had promised Helaena that her girl would be protected under his care. He can’t fail her again.

Both Jaehaera’s septa and handmaiden quivered under the king’s deathly glare, heads bowed in fear of meeting his eye. “The princess was to take her lessons, Your Grace, though a matter requiring my attention with the maester had my arrival delayed, and when I arrived… s-she was not in the library.” Exasperated, Aemond pinched the bridge of his nose. The thumping in his temples only worsened at such incompetence. 

“Her guard, where is he?”

The silence that greeted him made his hand itch to draw his sword to cut their heads off right then and there, but the arrival of a squire stopped him before he gave in to his violent urges. “My king,” he bowed. “The queen has offered her invitation for supper in her apartments.”

Gods, you sure had your timing. He waved his hand off in an angry dismissal, resolve now cluttered at what to do first. Your sudden invitation was rather odd. Aemond wouldn't deny he hadn’t cared for his wife much. His mother was sure to be reeling in her grave on his shameful treatment of such a refined woman, but you merely came with his duty.

However, he was still a man. The indifferent king would admit you were as comely as they came and of good upbringing. He was rather appreciative of the fact you were never too forward, only ever eager to drink up any ounce of attention he gave you. Until now, it seemed. 

“The queen has expressed your presence would be greatly appreciated, my king. She hopes it would be the most pleasing for all of you to dine together for your meals.”

All? 

Aemond could scarcely recall a time in the short moons you had been married when he had purposefully sought you out in your wing of the royal halls. The path to your apartments was unfamiliar, the sight that greeted him in its interior even more so. “Husband,” you greeted him from the dining table upon his entrance. Your smile welcomed him with a warmth he had refused himself to be familiar with, your eyes sparkling against the amber glow of the hearth. His apparent confusion seemed to amuse you, mirth decorating your lips as you watched him approach. 

Aemond’s good eye flickered at the sight of his niece, his anxiety from her disappearance bubbling down into an aggravation that tickled his sharp tongue. “You have left the castle in shambles, Jaehaera. Escaping your lessons like that! What have I told you about wandering off unchaperoned?” he scolded, though his ire was quick to falter at the pitiful look that flashed across her cherubic face at his tone. Jaehaera dropped her eyes to her lap, fidgeting with the napkin in her hold.

A soft hold on his wrist prevented him from speaking any further, your beseeching gaze unknowingly loosening the tension he held in his shoulders as you rose from your seat. “She was with me. I dismissed her guard while she spent the afternoon with me in the music room. I thought Ser Derek could guard us just fine. I should have informed you of it, ‘tis my fault, husband,” you explained with an apologetic look on your face. Aemond could only stare as you spoke, and he thought of a time when he was able to get a look at you this close. His mind drew blank. “Come sit, let us eat,” you beckoned him. He let you guide him to his seat, right beside yours. The small, round table served to make supper a rather intimate affair.

This all felt foreign to him. A wife who poured his wine for him, a little girl to care for, and made sure was well-fed. 

No book had taught him this. The one-eyed king was proficient in talks of politics, battle, and history, but not of domestic affairs. His upbringing surely wasn’t the standard to hold, he knew that much. Though it seemed you were more adept at this than he, gracefully bridging the gap around the table with a smile. “Would you like to tell your uncle what we did today, sweetling?” you asked with an urging nod.

His niece chewed on the small nibble of bread, pondering on her words. Aemond waited with bated breath to her speak. It had been far too long since he had heard her, past the small, one-worded response he would have to coax out of her, and even those were rare. “The queen showed me how to play the harp. I learned how to play some of Flowers of Spring, though it was quite hard, but I liked it,’ she said softly, punctuating her sentence with a bite of chicken. Aemond could tear up at the sound of her voice with such a simple answer. His chest started to feel lighter than it did in a long time. The smile that spread his cheeks wide couldn’t be helped, his relief palpable at the sight of her finally taking her meals.

“Wonderful, my darling. I am very pleased to hear you enjoyed yourself,” he remarked, his tone now rid of the harshness it held when he first walked into the room. His gaze met yours, already staring back at him. You shared a nod of understanding, and it was then the bridge between the king and his wife started to be crossed.

The young princess, who’d now taken her second plate of roasted potatoes, looked at his wife with an urging look. A flicker of remembrance had you turning back to him, voicing out her wishes. “Jaehaera has informed me of her wishes to learn music. She’s taken quite an interest in the harp, it seems.” Aemond turned to look at his niece’s eyes, small beads of amethyst that held glimmers of hope, and he couldn’t find it within himself to disapprove.

“Of course, we shall find you a mentor of your liking,” Aemond said, satisfied with the delighted look that overcame Jaehaera’s features. He’d scout the best tutor in all of Westeros himself it meant seeing the way her eyes lit up at his approval. It was the first time since the war that Aemond finally felt himself getting to her, a success sweeter than anything he’d felt on the battlefield.

Supper was a delight Aemond never expected to relish in as much as he did. The battle-hardened king had once resigned to the fact that he was alone in his glory, despite the many faces that swarm him daily. He was starting to realize his new life might not be as lonesome as he thought, with a niece who took his hand as they walked and a wife leading them to the room at the end of the hall. Your husband watched you with a newfound fascination as you strummed the strings on the harp, and you had never been so close to his reach. His good eye would study every furrow in your brow as you played, or the shift in your spine as you readjusted in your seat. Your eyes would close, carried away by the melodic tunes your fingers were able to create, and he thought you were utterly beautiful like this. He pondered on what other facets you had that made you whole, and how he could explore them. Perhaps he had been a fool; blind to what was before him. His lifelong strive for greatness had him believing he was cursed, destined to be struck down at his time of judgment. It was by some miracle that the gods deemed it fit to grant him a chance of a life of warmth and affection, a prize even more valuable than gold. “I must thank you, wife,” he said to you at the end of the night, bestowing a kiss on your knuckles that left you blushing.

You broke your fast together come morning. Afterwards, he found his way into the gardens to join you for tea. The first of many.

He would become acquainted with the path to your apartments for supper every night after that, as well as the sight of his niece and his wife awaiting him at the dinner table. The evenings would always be capped with an hour or two of you playing, and eventually, Jaehaera had mastered a few songs to play for you as you both looked on proudly. 

It would come as no surprise when he began to seek you out, a natural urge to get closer that had him yearning for his presence despite the call of his duties. His fondness only grew with the care you had shown his niece, an instinct that left him thinking how great you would be with a babe of your own. The gods would bless you when the time was right but until then, Aemond was pleased with the little family he had, with his niece and his lovely wife. 

[liannafae]

I am in heaven 😭😭❤️❤️❤️

Your not meant for me (MASTERLIST)

Dark! Aemond x Transmigrated! Lannister! Reader

Summary: Everyone dreams atleast once in their life to be transported to the world of their favourite series. Whether that be a book, a video game, a TV show or a movie series. But after a serious falling out with a loved one, you find yourself in your favourite book about to marry your favourite character, you think this to be an apology of sorts after your untimely death but you soon begin to eat your words when you realise that some broken characters don't want to be fixed.

Your not meant for me (Part One)

Your not meant for me (Part Two)

Your not meant for me (Part Three)

Your not meant for me (Part Four)

Your not meant for me (Part Five)

Your not meant for me (Part Six)

Your not meant for me (Part Seven)

Your not meant for me (Part Eight)

Your not meant for me (Part Nine)

Your not meant for me (Part Ten)

Your not meant for me (Part Eleven)

coming soon....

Taglist: @themorriganisamonster@hangmanscoming@itsjustmyopinionf1@sm3156@prettyduckling22 @strangersunghoon @thewriterthatghostedyou @callsigncrushx @meomeo1099 @aoi-targaryen

[liannafae]

My baby 😍😍

[liannafae]

I need more please, thank you 💖🙏🏻

Ewan Mitchell moments

[liannafae]

The ARMS ✨✨✨✨✨😩😩😩

EWAN MITCHELL House of the Dragon | Season 2 Press

[liannafae]

My reaction to every new content and crumb

Gurl, same.

[liannafae]

Season 1 Alicent is toptier

Alicent is better than me bc if my son got ganged up on by 4 other kids (2 being his bullies), had his eye stabbed, had to have his eyeball removed with medieval medical tools and almost half of his face being stitched, had the mother of the kid who did that ask for my son to be questioned sharply(tortured) for stating facts that everyone knows but the only reason no one says it out loud is bc of her daddy, and my husband's solution is to hold hands and sing kumbaya? I'd take Lucerys' eye out with a spoon, cook it and feed it to his mother.

[liannafae]

Love love love it 💖💖

So lucky 😭😭🫂🫂🫂🫂

another photo shared by the fan who met ewan mitchell recently + answering questions.

i really appreciate that there are still fans who respect the privacy of actors.

[liannafae]

I will look for you in every lifetime 💞💞

I love you in every universe

[liannafae]

Going insane with Ewan's new content

Bibi let me kiss you all over, please 🥺💖✨

More stills of Ewan from the Fontaines DC music video

[liannafae]

Literally took my breath away 💖💖💖

[liannafae]

No words 🙂‍↕️🙂‍↕️🙂‍↕️🙂‍↕️😏😏😏💖💖💖

The Cry of the Sea

Halloween Request Oneshots Series

[ pirate! • Aemond x mermaid! • female ]

[ warnings: sex content, virginity loss, fingering, smut, angst, abduction, violence, threats, obsession ]

[ description: A mermaid who rarely surfaces of the water decides to save a drowning boy. While she tries to keep him safe, she is kidnapped by strange, terrifying people, taken away from her mother and her home. On her way, she meets a captain with one eye who will decide her future fate. Obsessive, possessive, dark!Aemond.]

*Warning! Note from the author: The heroine has a name because of the plot, but apart from that there are no detailed descriptions of her appearance. Oneshot is written from a third-person perspective.

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

My others works: Masterlist

____

She had only heard about who people were from stories, and what she learned made her rarely floated to the surface of the water – her mother said they were cruel, that they killed through need, waged wars and destroyed each other.

She also said that in order to walk on the ground they needed two limbs, as they had two arms, so in place of their fins were to be so-called legs.

She never dared to ask her mother how she knew such things – she spoke of something like a sound, like music, that it reverberated through the air and was pleasant to the ears, that it had a rhythm, that people danced and jumped to it.

She couldn't imagine it; she, her mother and the other inhabitants of the underwater city communicated with finger gestures.

One day she was awakened by a muffled bang, something she had never heard before, and she swam out into the night depths, seeing little. She widened her eyes in surprise to see not the night sky but an orange glow above the surface of the water. She looked back, thinking in horror that she should return to her shelter, but decided that she would just look out to see what was happening, to see if they were in danger.

So she surfaced, feeling the air in her nostrils which caused her pain – she used them so rarely that her lungs were not properly developed and she felt like she was suffocating.

She plugged her ears, terrified, hearing loud shot after shot, the great mountain with sails that her mother called a ship was hitting another masthead with fire, and she was between them, not understanding what was happening. She panicked, hiding under the water again.

The sound was instantly muffled as she plunged into the depths – she heard suddenly a loud splash beside her and saw the body of a white-haired boy struggling to lift himself up.

She could see his limbs, his legs unable to lift him higher like her fin, merely waving fruitlessly in the watery depths, his body sinking lower and lower to the bottom.

She remembered her mother's words about how people couldn't breathe underwater and once they fell into it, they died.

That's why she swam after him, terrified, grasping him in her hands; he was struggling, terrified, but she managed to hold him and they emerged from the water together, panting loudly and coughing.

"Daeron!" She heard a loud, low, desperate cry, which frightened her – for the first time she heard the words, human speech – it sounded strange, not like the noise of the water.

"Here!" She heard the childish, squeaky cry of the boy she was holding and plugged her ear with one hand, feeling a terrible pain. She heard the splash of water beside them and saw that a much smaller boat had fallen into the water.

There were people in it, big, pale, dirty, frightening.

She wanted to run away, but she was afraid that if she let go the boy would start sinking again, so she held him until they came closer. She helped him get into the boat, panting hard, shivering all over, the men who sat inside looked at her in disbelief.

"Holy Seven. I think it's a mermaid!"

"Kill her, she can deceive with her singing!"

"Are you mad?! We'll get a fortune for her! We take her, let the captain decide."

She heard loud sounds spoken quickly, feeling like her head was going to explode – she wanted to turn around and submerge herself back, but she felt a large hand grab her by her hair.

Something strange came out of her throat, a sort of high-pitched squeal that frightened her alone, and then she felt burning wetness in her eyes. Even though she was fighting her way out she didn't make it, another man grabbed her by her shoulders and forcibly threw her into the lifeboat.

She was feeling that she was cold and wrapped her arms around herself, shivering all over, her half-naked body now surrounded by the cool night wind, one of the men shouted that they were swimming away and back up.

"Drop the net!"

"Don't hurt her! She saved me!" Whined the boy she had rescued from death, pushing away the men who wanted to touch her, laughing loudly, amused, looking at her body.

She was terrified and trembledall over – a white-haired child came up to her and embraced her, shivering along with her.

"It's going to be alright. I won't let you get hurt." He whispered softly, something in the sound he made of himself reassuring her.

She squeezed her eyes shut, feeling the moisture running down her cheeks, thinking only of the fact that she should have listened to her mother, and now she had to pay for her curiosity.

They threw her into a net like an animal, then lifted her up with a hand crane and her body suddenly fell to the wooden floor, lots of legs around her, lots of men speaking loudly to each other.

She covered her ears and cried, feeling only pain, terrified and frozen, and suddenly she felt that something was wrong.

The voices around her fell silent as she lifted her gaze to her body.

In place of her shiny fin, covered in beautiful scales, were two long limbs, the same as theirs.

Legs.

She covered her mouth with her hand and turned away, another terrifying high-pitched sound came from her throat that felt like it tore her skin – she just cried loudly, terrified.

What had happened?

Where was her tail?

Her mother never spoke of her father.

She said he was not worth mentioning.

"He chose the sea, but not me." She had told her once, but it was only now that it was beginning to occur to her what she might have meant.

"What is the meaning of this?" She heard a low, cold voice and saw above her a man with a large scar on his left cheek and a black eye patch.

He had the same white hair as the child she had saved, except that his was longer, tied with a black ribbon – he looked at her in disbelief, as if she were some strange, frightening creature.

"It's a mermaid, Captain! I saw for myself, as long as she was in the water she had a long tail!"

"That's right, sir, if we sell her we'll get crores!"

"Don't sell her, brother! She saved me!" She heard the voice of the same little boy holding him by the sleeve of his black leather coat, his gaze directed at her again, this time focused and excited.

"We're turning back to the harbour. Find her some clothes, nobody can touch her." He said, and after a moment the men lifted her up. Although she tried to pull away, it was to no avail.

They forced her to put on a long, smelly cloth and gave her some scratchy material, although when she covered herself with it, it made her feel warmer.

They locked her in a room from which she could only see the sea through a small hole. She watched in despair as she moved away from her home, from her mother – she pressed her forehead against the wooden wall and wept.

She heard footsteps, quiet at first, then louder and louder, and the door to her cabin opened – the same terrifying man with a black eye patch stood over her, closing the door behind him.

"Who are you?" He asked. She looked at him with big eyes, not understanding what she was supposed to do, what they wanted from her. She only swallowed loudly, not taking her eyes off him.

He came closer to her, and she stepped back quickly, pressing her back against the wall, breathing loudly, terrified.

"Do not be afraid." He said a little more calmly, kneeling in front of her, something unsettling in his eye, some kind of unhealthy fascination.

She saw the gesture of his tongue running swiftly over his lower lip, as if he was just preparing to eat something tasty.

"Who. Are. You." He repeated word after word and tapped his finger against her chest hidden under the blanket. She flinched at the gesture, curling into herself, moving as far away from him as possible.

He lifted his hand and pressed it to his chest, wearing only a grey shirt tucked into black leather breeches.

"Aemond." He said calmly. After a moment, he placed his hand on her chest, looking at her expectantly.

"You?"

She wondered if he wanted to know who she was, if he had just confessed his name to her.

She saw his eye widen as she lifted her hand, touched her thumb with her pointing finger, signifying the syllable 'Le', and then lifted her pointing finger up, signifying the lone vowel 'a'.

Lea.

He looked at her, shaking his head, sitting down in front of her.

"What does that mean?" She heard him say the words quickly, but completely misunderstood what it was supposed to mean, so she showed him the same gesture signifying her name once more.

He ran his thumb over his lower lip, looking at her intensely, tapping his fingers on his knee. He rose suddenly, startling her with it, opening some cupboard with a loud clatter, taking out some large object.

She saw that what he was holding in his hands had cards and patterns – he turned it towards her, moving closer to her and it was only then that she noticed it was letters.

Her mother had told her about them and had even drawn them for her on the sand, explaining that people used them to write down words and their sounds.

She had written what her name and a few other sentences would sound like in their language, wanting to give her a comparison of how their gestures translated into their syllables.

She touched her finger quickly to a letter she recognised as 'L'. He looked at it curiously and read it out loud.

"L" He said and she nodded, pointing then to the "E" and "A".

He looked at her in disbelief, the corner of his mouth twitching in what she might have called a smile if not for the glint in his eye.

"Lea." He whispered, and she blinked, understanding that he had said her name as a whole, that this was what it sounded like.

She nodded slowly and he licked his lips excitedly, moving far too close to her, placing the book on her lap.

He began to point his fingers at more letters, and she followed the movement of his hand, trying to decipher what he was trying to convey to her.

Y O U S A V E D M Y B R O T H E R

You

sa

ved

my

bro

ther

You saved my brother.

The fair-haired boy.

She looked at him puzzled, swallowing loudly and nodded. She heard him sigh with some kind of relief and joy, happy to be able to communicate with her, pressing his lips together, leaning over the book again.

DAERON

"Daeron." She choked out the word she had heard when she had held his brother in her arms, which apparently was what he had shouted then, terrified.

She heard their captain snort a laugh under his breath, running his hand over his face, looking at her in disbelief.

"Yes." He hummed softly, his voice seeming calmer and gentler to her. She leaned over the book, this time she wanted to tell him something, and he immediately bowed his head, looking at the letters she was pointing at.

WHY

She glanced at him with her lips tightened and he looked at her, swallowing loudly, his gaze cooled. He stood up abruptly and she was unable to make a sound, not knowing how to stop him – he walked out and left her alone, locking the door.

She tried to lift herself up on those two strange limbs, but she was falling, they seemed limp and weak to her.

She preferred to crawl – she wrapped herself in her blanket and fell asleep lying against the wall, crying silently, praying to the Drowned God to take her back to the sea.

The next day, the little boy she had saved brought her food and placed it in front of her, stroking her head, saying something quietly. He then ran away as if he should not come to her and closed the door behind him.

She spotted the fish and bread on her plate and began to eat quickly, hungry and thirsty – she was given some disgusting liquid in a steel jug, but she drank it, not having much choice.

She spent the whole day lying in one place and it was only at night that she heard the sound of the lock being opened, the same man standing over her again.

He approached her slowly, crouching on the floor in front of her, massaging his chin. She held his book pressed against her chest, tried to look through it earlier, but understood nothing of it.

He gently took it from her hand.

She shuddered as he laid down on the floor just behind her, resting his cheek against her shoulder, placing the open book in front of them, pointing one by one with his finger at the letters and syllables he had spoken so that she could see them, illuminated by the moonlight.

"We - are - sai - ling - to - King's - Lan - ding." He whispered softly, and she blinked, swallowing hard, understanding enough that they were sailing somewhere far away, that she would never see home again.

She closed her eyes and wept quietly, feeling her body begin to tremble, a shudder went through her as she felt his lips on her neck.

"Don't cry." He whispered in her ear softly, warmly, tenderly, and though she didn't know what it meant, she thought he sympathised with her.

"I have no choice. If I let you go now, my grandfather would kill me. You are a chance for us." He hummed the words into her ear, his wet, warm lips trailing higher and higher.

She wondered what he was actually doing, why she was getting hot from this kind of touch, why she felt a pleasant pulsing and tension between her limbs.

They both started panting as his hand slipped between her legs and began to touch her slick, puffy folds with his fingertips – she felt that this was a very private and intimate place, her thighs clenched involuntarily but his fingers slipped inside anyway.

She heard his every stroke accompanied by a loud click of her moisture, with every move he made a pleasant warmth and tickle ran through her spine, she felt something slap hard against her buttocks and moaned softly.

"− fuck −" She heard him mutter behind her, from which a shudder went through her. She sobbed in surprise when she felt his finger suddenly inside her, clasping her hand on his wrist, terrified.

He only shushed her while moving it deep inside her fleshy, moist walls, streching her again and again, rubbing it against the place from which waves of pleasure passed through her, from which she lost the remnants of her strong will.

She didn't put herself against him when she felt him lift her thigh, as something hot, big and hard pushed against her swollen slit from below and began to slide into her flesh, pushing her core apart with her loud cry.

His free hand held her tightly – she clenched her fingers against his skin, panting along with him as he began to move suddenly, pressing his lips to her neck, to her cheek, whispering and groaning low some words whose meaning she didn't understand, his thrusts pushing her hot, throbbing muscles to the limit, opening her wide with loud clicks of her moisture.

She had no idea what was actually happening, what they were doing, but it felt good – she felt pleasure, so she let him do what he wanted, easing down completely, moaning loudly as he turned her onto her stomach and lifted her buttocks, slamming into her with loud, wet slaps, his breath heavy, loud and aroused, his fingers digging into her soft skin.

"− I'm going to keep you for myself − you'll swell from my seed and give me offspring born from the sea − my inheritance − oh, fuck −" He mumbled out, feeling her walls begin to clench against his erection, sucking it inside her. A wave of pleasure shook her entire body, stupefying her and making nothing reach her – she felt something hot spill inside her, and then there were only their loud, accelerated breaths.

"− mine −"

_____

Aemond Taglist:

(bold means I couldn't tag you)

@its-actually-minicika @notnormalthings-blog @nikstrange @zenka69 @bellaisasleep @k-y-r-a-1 @g-cf2020 @melsunshine @opheliaas-stuff @chainsawsangel @iiamthehybrid @tinykryptonitewerewolf @namoreno @malfoytargaryen @qyburnsghost @aemondsdelight @persephonerinyes @fan-goddess

[liannafae]

I demand MORE!!!!! Having one chapter is murder 😭😭😭😭 Your works are so beautiful @flowerandblood thank you so much bibi 💗💗💗💖🥺🫶🏻❤️

Will you play with me? (Oneshot)

[ gamers • modern! Aemond x female ]

[ warnings: sex content, smut, fluff ]

[description: They both love playing online games and become friends, when she comes to their house, invited by his sister. Their friendship grows stronger, but she feels something more for him. One evening, he invites her to an empty house to play together, but their meeting ends a little differently, than they both expected. Friends to lovers trope. Anon Request.]

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

My other works: Masterlist

_____

Aemond was her best friend. Admittedly, she first met his sister, Helaena. She invited her to their house one day for tea between their classes and that's when she found out that her brother passionately played the same online game as she did.

Walking down the corridor from the bathroom to Helaena's room she passed through the living room, while he was sitting comfortably on the couch, the green controller in his hand, completely focused on the TV screen. He was playing against one of the bosses with whom she had a problem for a long time.

She watched him play silently, not wanting to distract him. His character was twenty levels higher than hers, and she thought with amusement that he either had to play it all day or buy special extras.

"Fuck!" He cursed under his breath, one of the team members instead of hitting the monster hit his character, depriving him of several health points. "Fucking imbecile."

She couldn't help but giggle lightly at his words and he shuddered, noticing her at last, not knowing whether to look at the screen or at her. She walked over to him, holding up her hands.

"Keep going, play, I want to watch how you do it. I can't beat this boss." She said softly, sitting next to him on the couch, pulling her legs up to her buttocks.

She heard him swallow hard as if the sudden presence of a complete stranger had petrified him, but he kept playing.

She saw, watching his character's actions in the game that he was very experienced, while she was attacking the monster at the wrong time, too fast and thought that as soon as she got home she would try to defeat him again. After he was done she clapped her hands a few times, wanting to show him that she thought that he was playing very well.

"Congratulations! I've been struggling with this huge dragon for two weeks. At least now I know what I was doing wrong!” She said genuinely happy, saw him looking at her out of the corner of his eye, all tense, his jaw clenched, his eye looking at her uneasily.

She thought that she might be straining their hospitality and his comfort zone a bit, so she got up from the couch, smiling warmly at him.

"Good luck." She said lightly and turned to leave, but his low, cold, pleasant voice stopped her.

"If you tell me your nickname, I will help you pass this level." He said indifferently.

He wasn't looking at her, he was just switching to character equip mode, apparently preparing for another mission for which he needed different equipment. She smiled at his words and did as he asked.

She thought that it would be a one-time favor, but on private time Aemond offered to help her if she needed the support of a stronger character in the game again. In fact such help was always welcome, so she used his support very often.

Her character was an archer and his was a warrior, so all they needed was a healer. Criston, his friend, would usually come to help and they would go through fights with her that she couldn't win alone.

At some point they formed a good team, because she quickly caught up with them with so many wins. She started taking part in all new missions with them on a regular basis, even though that they could take someone with a higher level than her.

In addition to playing together, she and Aemond would often chat with each other after battles. Aemond advised her on what she could do to strengthen her character and at first they only talked about the game, then other things like movies, pop culture, books.

She loved these conversations, considered him a very intelligent and well-read man. He studied history at the National University, but she knew that he was ashamed of spending so much time in a fictional world.

am_666: I know that some might say it's a waste of time, that I could do so many other things, but it just relaxes me. Interpersonal and social contacts usually overwhelm me.

sunshine: Hehe, come on, you don't have to explain yourself to anyone! Some like to watch TV series, some like to draw, some like to play. I like it a lot myself, don't worry.

am_666: I noticed. Tomorrow me and Criston are playing at my place. Will you join us? I have a third controller.

She felt a pleasant warmth at his question and she shifted happily in her seat, a wide smile on her face as she texted him on her laptop.

sunshine: I'd love to! Sounds great!

The next day she actually came to him and she could finally meet Criston in person. She brought some snacks with her which they tossed into a bowl and then they played together until late, annoying his mother who wanted to watch some TV series.

From then on, Aemond often invited her over even when Criston couldn't come, he showed her his room, old board games from his childhood, posters and records of the bands he listened to.

He didn't talk much, but he seemed more and more relaxed in her company. She told herself that they were just friends, but she was getting worse and worse at pretending that she didn't feel this warm sensation between her thighs every time their shoulders touched on the couch.

One day, when he was home alone, he invited her to play with him. He asked if she would like to drink a beer and saw that he also bought flavored beers, which she knew that he didn't drink. She blushed at the thought that he had bought them especially for her and nodded.

They sat side by side as Aemond launched the game on the big screen, taking a loud gulp from his bottle. It was a hot summer day, so she was wearing nothing but shorts and a Lord of the Rings crop top. At first they just talked about the game, cursing, because the boss was really hard and kept respawning when they didn't have a chance to replenish their health points.

After the third defeat, they both sighed heavily, leaning back against the backrest. She sighed softly, her head buzzing pleasantly from the low-alcohol liquor that she'd just finished drinking. She didn't know what came over her, but drawn by some unfamiliar, warm feeling, she laid her head on his shoulder, tired.

"I don't think we'll make it. We have to wait for Criston." She said softly, feeling the pleasant scent of his perfume, the warmth of his body. She felt his whole body stiffen. He swallowed hard, looking ahead, taking another gulp from his second beer.

He only grunted in response, which was clearly meant as an acknowledgment. He often answered her only with grunts, but she thought with amusement that now he simply couldn't get the words out.

A strong shiver went through her as he gently placed his free hand on her thigh, his thumb stroking her skin slowly. She inhaled sharply, pressing her face against his neck.

"Do you want me to take my hand away?" He asked in a low, hesitant voice. She placed her hand on his bare forearm, running her fingers up and down, noticing that goosebumps had formed where she touched him.

"No." She whispered softly, feeling more wonderful than ever, her heart pounding like crazy.

She closed her eyes and buried her face into his neck as she felt his cheek rest against the top of her head, his hand massaging her down to her knee and up, to the fabric of her shorts. They sat side by side in silence for a few minutes, shivering slightly with excitement.

She smiled slightly and ran her nose down his neck, placing a light, innocent kiss on it. She felt him draw in a quick breath, his hand stopping and squeezing the skin of her thigh lightly. She heard him open his mouth, trying to calm himself.

She moaned softly as he turned suddenly, and after a moment his lips, swollen and hot, dug into hers, massaging and sucking her, his large hand grabbing her cheek, not letting her pull away. They began to caress each other's lips, clenching their hands in each other's hair, breaking away again and again with a wet, dirty click of saliva.

Both of them were breathing fast as she rose suddenly and straddled him, falling into his lap. He stared at her with disbelief and desire as she leaned over him and kissed him again, her pink, soft, fleshy tongue slid into his mouth, causing him to moan loudly in her throat.

They kissed, the tips of their tongues touching once in a while, his hands in the meantime timidly moved to her buttocks, slipping under the material of her shorts, tightening on her soft skin. She purred in delight at his caress, feeling his pulsating manhood beneath her, starting to rub against him.

He broke away from her, panting with her, involuntarily responding to her movements with his hips, filled with lust to the limit. He looked at her with slightly parted lips, swollen from kisses, as if he couldn't believe what was happening. He looked like he wanted to say something but couldn't.

"I.. − God − you're so fucking cute −" He mumbled.

She smiled sweetly at his words, taking one of his hands in hers, lifting it up, tucking it under her shirt and pressing it against her soft, firm breast. He moaned low at the sensation, a strong shiver ran through him, she felt his cock completely hard. She had never wanted to do this so much with any man before.

"You too, you know that?" She whispered softly, her cheeks red with desire and embarrassment at how direct she was. She couldn't help herself. His shyness intrigued her even more. Involuntarily, her hands went down to the button of his pants, starting to undo it.

"Would you like to do it with me?" She asked quietly, timidly, lowering her lashes submissively, breathing unevenly with him, rubbing against him constantly, feeling that she was all wet. She heard him swallow loudly, terrified, his lips pressed into a thin line.

"− I − yes, of course I do − I just − fuck −" He mumbled, watching as she with a light, confident movement got to his boxers, exposing his throbbing, engorged manhood to her. She pursed her lips, blushing at the sight. They both gasped loudly as he watched her lift herself up a bit and pull her shorts down, leaving her naked from the waist down.

"I also really, really want it." She admitted softly, straddling him again, his hands tightening around her waist as he felt her wet womanhood begin to rub against his cock, lubricating it all over. He swallowed loudly.

"Do you − you know −" He asked in a slightly trembling voice, but she dug into his lips, kissing him greedily, rising slightly. He moaned helplessly as she gently took his cock in her hand and guided his tip towards her throbbing, hot entrance.

"I'm on birth control pills. It's okay." She whispered reassuringly. He exhaled loudly, panting helplessly with her, letting her do what she wanted with him.

She lowered herself a little against him, sliding him slightly inside her, and mewled sweetly, feeling how big he was. Aemond threw his head back, his fingers tightening on her soft hips. He opened his mouth, defeated.

"− Are you sure about that? − I mean − oh, fuck −" He moaned low as she lowered herself all the way, filling her hot insides with his throbbing cock, completely forgetting what he wanted to ask.

She placed her hands on his shoulders, rising and falling on top of him with a loud, wet, perverted slap that sent shivers down his spine. He thought that it was more wonderful than all the porn movies he had seen in his entire life.

"− Jesus Christ − you're so fucking tight − it barely fits −" He mumbled, closing his eyelid, completely drifting off into a world of his own pleasure.

She moaned sweetly at his words, throwing her head back, feeling his hands tighten on her hips, responding slowly to her every move with a thrust that sent her spasm of pleasure. She fall and rose faster and faster at such an angle that each time his cock rubbed her against her place of greatest pleasure. They panted together, staring at each other dumbfounded.

"− you're so wonderfully big − ah, this isn't the last time we do this, right? − Will you fuck me once in a while? −" She asked sweetly, almost innocently, and he moaned helplessly at her words, his whole body quivering, his hips quickened, their bodies slamming against each other loudly.

"− yeah, oh, fuck − I'll fuck your whenever you want, I swear − fuck, baby −" He panted, throwing his head back, an artery in his neck throbbing hard, his heart pounding like crazy. She began to fall on him faster and faster, his thrusts stronger, imposing a more intense pace that hardened her nipples.

"− yes, yes yes − God, Aemond, that's right, fuck me like that −" She sobbed, feeling her fulfillment coming closer, that just a few more thrusts and she would come. She heard his low, guttural groan at her words, his movements increasingly sloppy and chaotic, loud, both panting like animals.

"− such a sweet girl − fuck, I'm about to cum in you − can I? −" He mumbled, sweat dripping from his forehead, neither of them controlling their movements anymore, seeking only their own fulfillment. She tightened her hands on the material of the T-shirt on his shoulders, feeling that she couldn't hold it any longer.

" − yes, God, please, do it − oh fuck, Aemond! −" She moaned loudly and squeezed her eyes shut, throwing her head back, sobbing softly, dazed by the powerful, wonderful orgasm that surged through her body. She heard him groan in surprise, his body starting to tremble.

"− oh, yeah, baby − that's right, squeeze me like that − fuck! −" He panted, pressing his lips together, coming hard inside her, exhaling as if he felt an indescribable, miraculous relief. His hot semen spilled all over her, filling her whole.

She fell on top of him, cuddling up to him, her face pressed against her neck, her body trembling all over. He embraced her immediately, cradling her into him, pressing his nose to her hair, panting with her.

"I adore you." He whispered softly, his voice trembling all over. She smiled at his words, happy and fulfilled.

"I adore you too." She said softly, snuggling into him tighter, her lungs filled with the wonderful scent of his sweat and perfume. She could feel his heart pounding hard, his already soft cock throbbing once in a while inside her.

"Are you comfortable, sitting like this?" He asked, his voice still slightly trembling, lingeringly kissing her temple, pressing his forehead against hers, his hand caressing her back tenderly.

She nodded, and he just grunted softly as he kissed her again, this time on the cheek. They were silent for a moment, enjoying each other's closeness, slowly calming their breathing. She heard him clear his throat softly as if he wanted to say something, but hesitated.

"I − It was my first time, you know?" He whispered, embarrassed and ashamed, obviously trusting that she wouldn't laugh at him or judge him. She felt his body tense as he waited for her reaction.

She rose quickly, looking at him, taking his cheeks in her hands, worried.

"Why didn't you tell me? − I − oh gosh − we could take it slower, let you enjoy it more − I'm sorry −" She said, afraid that she might hurt him, spoil his first, such an important experience by focusing only on herself. He shook his head quickly, swallowing hard.

"No, I… − God, that was wonderful." He mumbled low, pressing his lips together as he looked at her. She pressed her forehead against his, squeezing her eyes shut.

"Next time we'll do it slower, okay? We won't rush it." She whispered and he grunted in satisfaction, slipping his large hand into her hair, pressing her face closer to him until her lips pressed against his, connecting in a sticky, hot kiss. He pulled away from her, his thumb brushing over her swollen, lower lip.

"Okay."

_____

Aemond Taglist:

(bold means I couldn't tag you)

@its-actually-minicika @notnormalthings-blog @nikstrange @zenka69 @bellaisasleep @k-y-r-a-1 @g-cf2020 @melsunshine @opheliaas-stuff @chainsawsangel @iiamthehybrid @tinykryptonitewerewolf @namoreno @malfoytargaryen @qyburnsghost @aemondsdelight @persephonerinyes @fan-goddess @sweethoneyblossom1 @watercolorskyy @astral-blossoms @randomdragonfires @amirawritespoorly @apollonshootafar @padfooteyes @darylandbethfanforever9 @fudge13 @snh96 @diosademuerte @thedamewithabook

[liannafae]

Yup, killing me so bad every time someone points this out 😭😔😭😭

to think this is the only time aemond rode vhagar with full vision