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muchosbesitos · 2 months ago

Text

BODY PAINT

the plan for your birthday had been to just go get a tattoo. so how’d you end up getting eaten out too?

pairing: tattoo artist! geto suguru x fem reader

contents: modern au/no curses, pierced/tattoed geto, cunnilingus, pulling his hair, fingering, unprotected p in v (wrap it 🫵🏼), doggy, pet names (pretty girl, cutie, etc.), sucking his fingers, spanking (once), creampie, sorta kinda public sex?

author’s note: basically just a big self indulgence fic

word count: 5.8k

Portraits and portraits of art pieces covering the walls welcomed you as you stepped inside, the jingle of the bell perched on the front announcing your entrance. From dragons to variations of skulls—some with roses, lightning, and a couple of the grim reaper. You could easily lose yourself looking at all the different works, staring at how all the different lines came together and how the colors melded into one another.

“What're you looking for today?" A low baritone voice interrupted your brief exploration of the parlor. You turned to see a man standing at the counter with pigtails, a black line going across his nose and a couple piercings scattered across his pale face. How was it that you'd missed him upon walking inside?

"I was thinking about getting a tattoo, do you guys happen to accept walk-ins?" You responded, coming up to the counter where the man was standing. Choso, from what his name tag read. "We do, our current tattoo artist's busy though. You mind waiting about.. twenty minutes?"

You supposed it wasn't too bad after showing up without an appointment so you just simply nodded, going over to take a seat in the lobby. There was only one other person sitting on the end of the black sofa, their attention purely on the show playing on the TV mounted on the wall. You went from playing with your fingers to looking over at the TV, attempting to do anything that would make these twenty minutes pass by.

"Hey, go ahead and fill this out. And let me see your ID," Choso came back with a sheet of paper, a consent form. You fished for your ID in the back pocket of your jeans before handing it over to him, starting out with the task of filling out the paper. Signing your initials where it asked you to, reading through the different medical conditions that the paper explicitly listed out.

Your foot bounced against the floor as you waited, sudden nerves starting to hit you all at once now that you were in here. You knew that you wanted a tattoo, you'd been looking forward towards getting it for a few months now. But the little nagging voice inside your head told you that you could barely tolerate a needle at the doctor's office, and that was only for a couple seconds in of itself. How would you tolerate almost an hour of it?

A woman walked out from the back of the parlor, a tattoo of what seemed to be her birth year wrapped up in cling wrap. But your attention was quickly diverted to the man coming out after her—though, you supposed it would be hard not to stare at him. He was absolutely.. gorgeous. Long dark black hair that practically seemed to shine underneath the harsh lights tied back in a half bun, eyebrow and snake bites piercings accentuating the features of his face, and dark ink adorning his forearms.

"Here's the aftercare sheet, just shoot me a text or something if you have any concerns or anything," the man told the woman before she stepped away from the counter, handing her a white paper. The jingle of the bell echoed behind her as she left, leaving only the four of you alone in the lobby. Maybe this wasn't who Choso was talking about? You couldn't picture yourself or your panties for that matter lasting hours in a room with him.

Though, you probably should've expected as much with your luck.

"You got time for a walk-in?" Choso spoke up, nudging his head towards you when the other man was finished pocketing his tip. The man glanced over at you before pulling his phone out of his pocket, scrolling through it for a couple seconds. "Yeah, I got time," the other man walked over, standing in front of you before extending a hand out, "Geto Suguru." The coldness from the silver rings adorning each of his fingers was a stark difference from how warm his hand seemed to be. You gave him your name, stopping the handshake before it prolonged more than it should've.

More than it already did.

"So, what type of tattoo were you looking for?" Geto pushed his hands in his pockets, standing back to allow for you to get up from the spot. "I'm not too sure how to describe it, but I have a reference photo, if that's okay?" You told him, getting your phone out to go back to your camera roll. "Yeah, that's fine. Just airdrop to me when you find it."

The smell of antibacterial spray filled your nose as you stepped in, the room somehow been more decorated than the one outside. Geto had a couple of his designs up on the wall along with a couple band posters—Nirvana, Iron Maiden, and Led Zeppelin being some of the more prominent ones. A couple figures placed on a shelf, photos decorating them as well. "Go on and take a seat. I'll be right there," he told you, opening up one of his drawers.

You took a seat on the leather chair in the middle of the chair, leaning against it before looking over to see what he was doing. "So.. how bad is it supposed to hurt?" You decided to ask, bracing yourself for the worst answer that he could give you. Despite the fact that you knew arm tattoos weren't all that painful from the two hours of research you'd done. "I can't give you a straightforward answer since not everyone has the same pain tolerance. But I'll walk you through the process before I start."

"The first thing I'm gonna do is shave your arm," Geto started off, opening up a pack of razors in front of you. Almost like he wanted to reassure you that everything he was using was new. "Around what area do you want the tattoo?" You opened your arm, gesturing around your inner forearm. Geto shaved the hair around the middle, wiping the residue away with a tissue.

"Next thing I'm gonna do is rub some alcohol on there and put on this cream," he brought up a small container into your line of vision, "It's not numbing cream before you get any ideas. Just so the stencil sticks." The rest of the process had gone relatively fast, the smell of rubbing alcohol filling up the space between the two of you. Geto placed the stencil on your arm, looking over at you to gauge your reaction. "Is this placement okay or do you want me to change it? Don't hesitate to ask, since y'know.. it is kinda permanent."

After a couple minutes of deliberation, Suguru placed the stencil where you’d decided. "So I'm gonna go ahead and put the needle on your arm just to go ahead and see if you can tolerate it," the machine whirred to life with the press of a button, "If you don't think you can tolerate it, just let me know and I'll wipe off the stencil." Geto turned around to face you, the buzzing of the tattoo gun getting louder the closer it got to your arm. All the nerves that you'd felt earlier seemed so silly now. While you felt the pressure of the needle , it was nothing like the excruciating pain you'd heard others have.

You cleared your throat before looking back over at him again, "Yeah, I can handle it." Suguru simply nodded, uncapping the bottle of black ink before almost filling up the small container in front of him. He arranged the small containers almost perfectly aligned to each other, the small work space that he'd set in front of him looking meticulous. Even the napkin that he'd grabbed was neatly folded up in three squares.

You'd almost wished that it was Choso doing the tattoo instead. Because, this, well this simply just wasn't fair. It wasn't fair how he managed to look so goddamn pretty just doing the most menial of tasks. The almost intoxicating scent of amber from his cologne filling up your senses with how close he was. You weren't sure if was better or worse for you that he didn't notice just how affected you were, of how much his presence alone was making you want to ditch the whole idea of getting a tattoo.

"You need something to help you relax? I got a couple stress balls hanging around or I could play something on the TV if you want," Suguru sat down on the rolling chair next to you, already grabbing the TV remote next to you. "Can you just play something, please?" Geto flickered through a couple of the channels available, settling on what was on the TV mounted outside. Not particularly your first choice, but enough to get your mind off the tattoo, at least.

And to get your mind off the very attractive man next to you trying to do his job.

"So, any meaning behind this tattoo or you just decided you wanted to get it?" Suguru broke the silence, though his focus was purely on tracing the piece of work in front of him. "Just saw it on Pinterest and I related to it a bit. Well, that and the design itself seemed pretty to me," you offered, staying still and keeping your attention on the TV. "I can follow the design that you showed me or I could try to improve on it. That is, if you have trust in my abilities," he spoke up after a couple seconds, purple eyes almost seeming to bore into you.

"Can I see some of your abilities in place?" As hot as the man was—you didn't want to risk the tattoo coming out like complete dog shit. Suguru let out a short laugh, getting up from his spot before flipping through a couple drawers. He came back with a leather bound sketchbook, placing it on your lap. "I'm not much to show my works to others, but feel free to flip around if that helps you decide," you opened up the sketchbook with your available arm, immediately being greeted with a plethora of colors.

Not only were the pieces themselves better than what you could've expected, but they were so realistic. The shading of each drawing accentuating it perfectly against the lighting of the room, almost like he'd focused on that more than the actual drawing. You shut the sketchbook after flipping through a couple pages of different flowers, animals, and whatever else his brain could conjure up—handing it back to an expectant Geto. "It'd be wrong not to have faith in you after seeing that," you mused, watching him set the sketchbook aside before he went back to tracing.

"Don't worry, I'm still gonna follow the whole outline and shit. Just wanna make it look a little bit better is all," he responded, dipping the needle onto the container of black ink before bringing it back to your arm. You turned to look at much progress he'd done after the forty minute episode had ended only to realize he was just finishing up with the tip of the design. An incredibly detailed tip, though. "You okay? Don't want you passing out on me or anything."

"No, I'm fine," you reassured, going back to watching the TV in the comfortable silence that had built in the room. The only sounds emanating from the room were the soft whirring of the tattoo gun and the screaming of a couple characters on screen. "Have you watched this before?" You decided to break the silence after a while, turning to look over at him. "Something like that. Haven't watched much after the fourth season. Don't really have a buncha time available to watch TV."

The rest of the session had gone moderately well, the two of you sitting in silence for a majority of the time albeit for a couple questions that either he or you asked. He was, oddly enough, easy to talk to. "Okay, I'm gonna go in with a white paint. It's gonna hurt more than the other one so just tell me if it gets to be too much," he told you, pouring white paint into one of those small containers. And you felt the difference between the two, looking over to see him adding small marks with the white paint. Small marks that were starting to hurt like a motherfucker.

"Easy, you did so well for me throughout the session. This is nothing compared to that," Suguru spoke up, raising the tattoo gun to give you a small break. One of his gloved hands went to the furrow settled in your brow, gently easing it over before changing out the gloves for a fresh pair. You weren't even sure when you'd even started to grimace so badly. "Easy for you to say," you grumbled underneath your breath, certain that he wouldn't have caught it. But if the way his eyes shot up to look at you with a slightly amused smile was anything to go by, he did.

"You make it so hard to be nice to you," Geto muttered, turning the tattoo gun back on and going back to adding the fine white strokes. Maybe it'd been the fact that he'd offered that small bit of reassurance or maybe it was the fact that you could feel the session was starting to come to an end, but the pain didn't quite feel as bad as the first go. "Alright, we're all done," he spoke up after a couple minutes, turning the tattoo gun off and placing it on the table next to him.

"You mind if I get a couple pictures?" He waited for you to nod before setting up the ring light next to you, pulling his phone out. You extended your arm out to where he had the camera pointed, the tattoo on display. "Mm, hold on," Suguru muttered to himself, one of his hands wrapping around your wrist to adjust the angle. His touch almost seeming to linger more than necessary. Surely, all of this wasn't necessary just for a single photo, right? Especially when you weren't even the subject of said photo.

"You're gonna want to avoid shaving or waxing the area while it's still healing, some peeling's normal but just come to me if you have any concerns," he continued to explain the process of the aftercare involved, wrapping the tattoo up in cling wrap. "Try not to fuck it up," Geto led you over to the front desk, ringing you up for the price. "Wasn't it $120 and not $100?" You questioned, grabbing your wallet from your pocket.

"Consider it a birthday discount of sorts, pretty girl," the nickname spilled out so easily that you might've almost missed it. As if you needed more things to overthink about from this encounter. You handed him a hundred dollar bill with a ten dollar tip, giving him a short thanks before leaving the parlor. You looked over at the aftercare sheet that he'd given you at the counter, seeing his Instagram scrawled out in pretty decent penmanship. Well, at least you had plans for when you got back to your apartment tonight.

You knew that the tattoo was healing nicely—that you'd put the expensive ass ointment that Geto had recommended the designated three times a day. So why exactly did you find yourself standing outside the tattoo parlor once more? Out of concern for the new ink or just wanting to see Suguru once more? It couldn't be the latter, right? Not like you'd spent hours scrolling through his Instagram these last couple days to see what he'd thought about the tattoo. Definitely not the latter.

After all, he did say come to him if you had any concerns.

Surprisingly, it wasn't Choso to greet you at the counter this time around. Suguru was standing there, rearranging a couple pieces of body jewelry onto the glass display before he lifted his head to see who'd walked in the door. "You didn't let it get infected, did you? I spent hours on that thing," he didn't even bother with a greeting as Choso had done, already looking annoyed at the prospect. "Your concern for my health's endearing too."

"Yeah, yeah, what're you here for?"

"I just wanted to check up with you to see if the tattoo was healing nicely," the practiced lie slipped out of your tongue without any effort, plenty of rehearsals in your head allowing for it to slip out with any second thought.

"Alright, I have a couple minutes before my next appointment gets here," Suguru gestured for you to join him, opening the door for you. The space looked pretty much the same as the day you'd come in—which you should've expected, since it was only a week ago—albeit for a couple pencils scattered on top of a sketchbook in the middle of his desk. You took a seat on the leather chair, waiting for him to finish cleaning up his space.

Suguru grabbed a white box of gloves, grabbing a pair before placing them on. "So, what're you concerned about?" He questioned, long fingers running through your skin as he looked at how the tattoo was healing. "Well, it's been peeling a bit. I just wanted to know if that was normal or if I'm fucking something up somehow. I've been putting on the ointment you recommended three times a day."

Geto let out a small hum before leaning back on the rolling chair, folding his arms across his chest. His very muscular arms, the material of his black button down practically straining against them with the motion. "Your tattoo seems to healing well. Bit of peeling's normal as a new layer of skin comes in, nothing to worry about too much. Usually the area starts to get red if it's starting to get infected."

And maybe you should've taken that as a cue to leave. But you found yourself wanting to bask in whatever couple seconds that he would give you, unable to think about any other opportunities where you'd see him. Well, any other opportunities that didn't involve you spending upwards of a hundred dollars. You made no effort to move just yet, folding your hands over your lap. Trying to think of anything else to prolong this visit.

A couple moments of silence pass between the two of you before Suguru opens his mouth up to speak, only to get interrupted by a sharp knock on the door. "Yo, someone named Larue's here for their appointment," Choso called out from the other side, his foot tapping against the hardwood floor. Suguru gives you a glance before answering back, "Ask him to reschedule. Tell him that I'm sorry and I'll give him a discount or something."

Choso's heavy boots echoed against the floor as he walked away, leaving you alone with Geto once more. "So, tell me, what exactly is it that you're doing here again? And don't lie to me, talking about some 'I wanna see if my tattoo's healing properly,'" And you almost rolled your eyes at the way he raised his voice in pitch, mocking you with a short chuckle. Almost.

"First of all, I don't sound like that. Second, I really did just come to see if it was healing properly," And despite your words, you couldn't bring yourself to move from the chair just yet. "So maybe I should go tell Larue to come back for his appointment. Since we determined your tattoo's healing nicely, our time's done," You would've thought that he was bluffing but he moved to get up from his chair, walking over to the door.

"Wait," you called out before he managed to turn the doorknob, looking over to see him already staring at you with an expectant look on his face. Like he was about five seconds away from telling you to get off the leather chair. "So maybe, there's a slight chance that I didn't just come here just because I was concerned about my tattoo," you muttered almost reluctantly, avoiding looking at him directly.

"And why don't you try telling me why you came here instead?" Suguru stepped away from the door, returning to his spot in the seat next to you. Where you couldn't avoid looking at him even if you wanted to. How would you even begin telling him that he's been clouding your mind since last week just from that three hour interaction? That you've refreshed his Instagram page more times than you could count to see what he'd say about the piece?

You gulped, willing for the words to come out before he got the chance to go back to the door again. But you couldn't. Couldn't bring yourself to the potential humiliation that would inevitably come if you had just been delusional about this all along.

"You here because you want me to fuck you?" And the words that you'd struggled to spit out, he'd just said them so bluntly. You were expecting for him to look at you with that same mocking smile from earlier, but he seemed to be genuinely analyzing you. Waiting. "No, no, of course, I was just here to.." You hadn't quite rehearsed for this part in your mind.

"Because if you were, then I'd say that I was thinking about you too, cutie," and before you had the chance to respond, he was already speaking again, "So I'm just gonna ask you again. Are you here because you want me to fuck you?"

Now that there was little chance of your advances getting rejected, the word slipped out so easily, "Yes."

"Go on and lay back for me. Wanna taste you," and by how quick he was to get on his knees in front of you, you'd guess that he was doing this for his pleasure more than yours. "Lift up your hips," you followed his words without hesitation, letting him slide your jeans off and place them to the side. Large tattooed hands spread your thighs apart, presenting you like a feast to the man before you.

And you would've felt some ounce of embarrassment for the wet spot that quickly built up in the middle of your panties in just the five minutes of being here—if it weren't for the fact that Geto's cock was already straining against the material of his jeans. "Mph, fuck!" Geto quickly pulled your attention back to the issue at hand, his tongue prodding against your clothed cunt. "Not so loud, you don't want Choso to hear us," he clicked his tongue, giving you somewhat of a relief when he pulled away.

A very short lived relief. His tongue traced the outline of your slick folds through the material of your thin panties, his eyes closed. The tip of his tongue swirled against your clit, your cunt leaking out onto your underwear. You'd be lucky at this rate, if you could wear them back home. And almost like he'd read your mind, his fingers hooked in the waistband of your panties before sliding them down to your ankles.

You waited to feel his tongue on your cunt again—but nothing came. You looked over at him, watching as he just observed your weeping pussy. "Thought you were eager to taste," you muttered, a scoff leaving from his lips. A gust of wind blowing to your cunt, your walls clenching all the much more. Eager to receive whatever he could give. "Let me admire for a bit. We got enough time," Suguru let out a small tsk after, his face in front of your cunt. And before you had the chance to say anything more—his tongue was already on your labia.

Your syrupy slick dripped onto his expecting tongue, his eyes almost rolling back at the taste. The small silver ball at the end of his tongue piercing flicked against your folds with every lick, each touch serving to have you clenching around pure air. Your hips bucked up to meet his movements, his large hands holding you down in mere seconds. "What'd I say? Let me enjoy this, pretty girl. Told you we got enough time."

"Such a tease," your grumbled words came out more breathless than you would've liked. "And you're so impatient," he retorted without missing a beat. A hushed whine escaped from your lips when you felt him pull away, his mouth moving to your inner thighs. Pressing open mouthed kisses to the sensitive skin, nibbling down just hard enough for it to leave a mark behind. "Promise I'll take care of you, sweet girl. Have some trust in my abilities."

“You say that but your abilities have been less than stellar lately."

A couple dark locks fell out of place, framing his face almost perfectly. You'd almost expected Suguru to look offended at the implication of your words—but all he did was seem to find some kind of amusement. "Guess I'll have to repair that then," he murmured, more so to your cunt than to you, his tongue prodding in and out of your entrance. "You're not doing a g-Oh fuck!" He immediately made you swallow whatever retort you were planning, his tongue penetrating inside of you.

Suguru swiped his tongue up and down your cunt, the lower half of his face covered in a mixture of your slick and his own spit. Your eyes fluttered shut, the tip of his nose prodding against your clit with every swipe that he made. "Keep looking at me, pretty. Keep those pretty eyes on me," you opened your eyes to see purple eyes already looking back at you, resuming his actions all too greedily. He was so messy when it came to eating you out—spitting into your cunt, watching almost all too eagerly as you clenched around the liquid.

"Please," a whine left your lips, your fingers tugging on his hair. Whatever act of defiance you'd tried to put on earlier had quickly faded away, all you were feeling was need. An almost slutty moan left his lips at the sudden tug, one of his hands grabbing on to yours. "Come on, you can pull harder, can't you?" An even louder groan escaped his lips at the harder tug you gave this time around—the tips of your fingers digging into his scalp. "Now, what were you saying please for?" His words came out muffled, his face buried in between your legs. "Your fingers, please."

"Since you asked so nicely," Suguru took to that almost immediately, two long fingers pushing past the ring of muscle before curling to hit your g-spot. His mouth instantly attached itself to your throbbing clit, pushing through your clitoral hood to get to the bundle of nerves. "F-Fuck, don't stop, don't stop," you sounded like a broken record, your thighs pressing tightly against the sides of his face while his tongue swirled around your clit.

"Gonna cum, gonna cum," any other thought that you had apart from cumming had been quickly fucked out of you, your grip on his hair tightening even further. Not that Suguru minded by any means, moaning against your cunt with every tug. The vibrations only added to the dual stimulation, your back arching off the chair. Needing to get more. Pushing your hips against his face, bucking up to meet every swipe of his tongue. "Cum for me, princess, come on. You can do it, right?"

All you could do was nod, not wanting to be any louder than you already had been. Part of you had been surprised that Choso hadn't come by knocking earlier. Suguru continued flicking his tongue around your clit, working in synchrony with his fingers to pull your orgasm out of you. "Fuck fuck, gonna cum!" You weren't sure if your muffled moan made it's way into Suguru's ears, watching as he eagerly lapped up your release. Running his tongue across his lips, your slick making them glisten under the lights.

"Get on all fours," Suguru told you after you'd managed to regain your breath, deft fingers working to unzip his jeans. You got on your stomach, resting it against the cold leather while getting on your hands and knees. And if Choso were to come into the room to be quiet now, he'd get a spectacular view of your ass perched up in the air. Suguru ran his cock against your folds, your slick lubricating it with ease after your previous orgasm.

Ridges running down his shaft brushed up against your tight walls, your slick coating his tip like second nature the further that he pushed it in. Your walls clenched and unclenched rapidly in a futile attempt to get used to the pure stretch of his cock. "You can take it, right? This isn't anything," But the sheer girth of his cock was just enough to dispute that statement, the position making him feel much deeper than he was. "Yeah, yeah, I can take it," your voice came out as a mewl, your grip on the leather getting tighter the more he pushed his cock in.

The rhythm that he started up was fairly slow at first, allowing you to get used to the feeling. Whatever he was lacking in length, he certainly compensated for it with the sheer size of his girth. Just a couple inches inside of you and he'd already stuffed you full. "Doin' so good, gonna speed up, okay?" He waited for you to nod, retracting his cock before pushing the full length inside of you with one sharp thrust. Your mouth went agape, your eyes almost rolling to the back of your head upon the impact. "So good, so so good," even after a couple thrusts, he already sounded so obsessed.

"That's ittt, that's my girl. Fuck that ass back into me," A strangled groan left his throat at the sight of your ass cheeks jiggling underneath him with every thrust, the two of you moving in tandem. One of the hands that'd been on your waist went to cup whatever he could of the flesh, all too entranced with the vision presented in front of him. "Mm, fuck!" A moan left your lips as you felt the palm of his hand strike against the flesh, your ass stinging from the impact. Not to say that you necessarily hated it, by any means.

And Suguru caught it—the way your slick ran down his shaft at the sudden impact. "Should've fucking guessed you would've liked it," his tone practically dripped in condescension as he spoke, his hand going to cup your other ass cheek. Holding the flesh in his hands before giving you another harsh slap, almost rivaling the harsh smack of his hips against your own. "Shit shit, Geto, don't stop," you whined, pushing your ass back into him. "Think it's okay for you to call me Suguru after bein’ inside you and all."

"Suck," a simple command, two of his fingers in front of your face. Your tongue swirled around his fingers, tasting the remnants of your cum on them before letting it fall flat. Simply sucking on his fingers as his cock pushed in and out of you with such fervor. "Get 'em all nice and wet for me, just like that," Suguru pushed his fingers deeper into your mouth the second you started to get too loud again, tears building up at your waterline when you gagged on them. "Aw, don't cry, cutie. Y'know I had to."

And while his words were meant to be reassuring, the mocking tone of his voice was anything but. Spit dribbled down from the corners of your mouth, dripping onto the chair beneath you. "Sugu-Sugu, fuck, right there!" He'd adjusted the angle of his hips, his shaft brushing up against your g-spot with every thrust. "So. Fucking. Tight," each of his words was accentuated with a deep thrust of his hips, filling you up impossibly so. Like he wanted to show you just how much he'd been thinking about it, like he claimed he did.

If the moans coming out of you weren't evidence enough as to what was happening in the room, then you were pretty much certain that the plap! plap! echoing through the walls was evidence enough. Geto's heavy balls smacked against your ass with every harsh thrust of his hips. He brought his hand down to your clit, rubbing at the nub just in time for it to match his pace. You clamped around his cock like a vice, a strangled moan leaving out of his lips. "Just had to tell- shit me that you wanted my cum, ma."

"Mph, cumm- I'm cumm-" Muffled babbles left your mouth, your cunt clenching around him yet again. A creamy ring formed around the base of his cock, his thrusts getting sloppier and faster. Whatever small bits of concern about being too loud had been disregarded—loud squelches and skin clapping filling up the room as Suguru rutted inside of you. You turned your head to look over at him, the sight before you almost like something out of a painting. His hair had completely been released from the half-bun, cascading down his back perfectly and his eyes were closed in pure bliss.

Spurts and spurts of cum shot deep inside of you, his cock twitching as you milked him for whatever he could offer. Suguru pulled his softening cock out of your cunt, his cum starting to dribble out of you and down your thighs. With the same fingers he'd had inside your mouth, he pushed his cum back inside of you. Scooping the substance up with relative ease. Your body slumped against the chair, willing that Geto would give you a couple seconds to catch your breath.

You'd expected him to grab a wipe or a paper towel to clean you up with, but he simply got up from his spot behind you. Grabbing his pants off the floor and fastening up his fly. You looked over at him through half lidded eyes, seeing him pop the fingers that had previously been in your cunt into his mouth. Slurping at them in a similar fashion that you'd done just a couple minutes prior. "Wanna taste yourself, pretty girl? 'S so fucking good."

Geto didn't give you a chance to respond before he was leaning down to your level, one of his fingers underneath your chin to raise your head. He leaned in, his lips pressing against yours in a messy exchange. More of spit getting intertwined than an actual kiss, not that you minded in your state. His tongue flicked against yours, the bittersweet taste of both you and him combined filling your tastebuds. Geto pulled away after a couple seconds, a string of saliva connecting the two of you.

You hadn't even finished putting on your pants yet when Suguru spoke up yet again,

"You mind giving me a five star review when you get home?"

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fromthereachwithlove · 2 years ago

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V: A Different Era

This is my TLDR Quick and Dirty AU for House of the Dragon Era Activity:

Willas and Margaery's Parents are still Mace Tyrell and Alerie Hightower. That said, Mace is not a first son. This means while they are from a Noble House, Willas and Margaery are not heirs, and thus don't have the same amount of influence or power as they do in A Song of Ice and Fire

Alerie is not fond of her brothers/cousins (depending on the comfort of the other writer and character) The Hightower Boys: Otto and his brothers. Malora Hightower may be alluded to; if so, she's very indifferent to politics and keeps to herself.

Both Tyrell siblings on this blog are protective of their younger cousin (however many steps) Alicent.

Their perspectives on the Dance of Dragons may vary per AU depending on interactions and their own paths.

I do recognize that being closely related to the Hightowers and being from the Reach, they should be Greens.

But Margaery has very strong opinions about things like: "Didn't your late husband insist his firstborn was his heir for his entire life since before you got married." "Maybe think this through before you send the realm into War? Because there will be war if you do this."

"I don't trust Uncle Otto's motivations."

"Aegon would be a terrible king." I have revoked this opinion since Margaery was prepared to marry Joffrey in A Song of Ice and Fire

#HOTD RP #House of the Dragon RP #Dance of Dragons RP #V: A Different Era #A Rose By Any Other Name || Verses

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incissam · 2 years ago

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@empathetixs sent: “ i wouldn't tell you this if it wasn't important. “

Daenerys leaned forward looking into those doe eyes of Margaery nodding her head as she spoke. Whatever it was clearly it was important enough for them to both sit to talk about it. She tipped her head curiously at her and motioned with her hand for her to go on. "You have my attention, my lady. What is so important that you need to tell me?"

#empathetixs #v;aegon with teats #ch; daenerys #;ravens for the queen #Time to break the ship tag back out #s;rose petals and dragon scales

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misswynters · 4 months ago

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Pleasure to the mind

Aemond Targaryen x fem! reader

[synopsis: You and aemond get married, spending the night together.

[warning: mature/explicit, 18+ (minors dni), no use of y/n, afab reader, p. in v sex, unprotected sex, breeding kink, mating press, riding, cream pie, rough sex towards the end

[a/n: smut under the sparkles, not proof read

[word count: 2.0k

[note | pls don’t just like, reblog & give me feedback. i don’t want to get shadowbanned

It was your ceremony today, as you are betrothed to Prince Aemond. The halls were decorated with lavish flowers, candles and other gifts. And the presence of the nobles waiting to see you, greatly increased.

On the other hand, aemond is sitting at the middle of the table waiting for you to come in. His gaze was intense as he continued to look towards the door. A free moments later, you were announced into the room, with one of the most beautiful gown in all of westeros. It was made from the most exquisite of silks and gold. You’re hair was neatly arranged in the targaryen ceremonial hair style. The grand hall of the Red Keep was adorned with lavish decorations, tapestries of red and black fluttering gently in the breeze that wafted through the high windows. The scent of roses and jasmine filled the air, mingling with the warmth of the hundreds of candles illuminating the room. Nobles and lords from across the realm filled the hall, their murmurs of excitement and anticipation a soft hum beneath the soaring arches.

At the end of the aisle, Aemond Targaryen stood tall and composed, his violet eye fixed on the grand doors as they slowly opened. He wore his finest tunic, a deep black emblazoned with the silver three-headed dragon of House Targaryen, and a black eye patch that only served to accentuate the intensity of his gaze. His silver hair gleamed under the candlelight, cascading down his back like a waterfall of molten silver.

As you entered the hall, the soft rustle of your gown echoed against the stone floor. The dress was a masterpiece, a blend of Targaryen red and the color of your own house, woven together in intricate patterns that shimmered with every step you took. Your heart pounded in your chest, a mix of nerves and excitement as you made your way towards the man who had captured your heart.

Reaching the end of the aisle, you took Aemond’s outstretched hand, the warmth of his touch sending a reassuring wave through you. The septon began the ceremony, his voice a deep and melodic drone that filled the hall.

“Today, we gather to witness the union of Aemond Targaryen and Lady Y/N,” he proclaimed, his words echoing in the hushed hall.

Aemond turned to you, his expression softening as he began his vows. “Y/N, from the moment I first saw you, I knew my life would never be the same. You have brought light into my darkest days and strength when I needed it most. I vow to stand by your side, to protect and cherish you, as long as we both shall live.”

Tears welled in your eyes as you took a deep breath, your voice steady despite the emotions swirling within you. “Aemond, you have shown me a love I never thought possible. With you, I am home. I vow to support and honor you, to be your partner in all things, for as long as we both shall live.”

The septon nodded approvingly, signaling for the exchange of rings. Aemond slipped a band of Valyrian steel, etched with dragon scales, onto your finger, and you did the same for him, the metal cool against your skin.

“With these vows and the exchange of rings, we now join your hands and hearts,” the septon declared. “May your love burn as brightly as the dragonfire that flows through your veins.”

Aemond took your hands in his, his grip firm and reassuring. “We are one, now and forever,” he whispered, his eye locked onto yours.

“And now, seal your union with a kiss,” the septon announced.

Aemond’s hand cupped your cheek, his touch gentle yet possessive. As he leaned in, your breath caught, the world around you fading away. His lips met yours in a kiss that was soft at first, then deepened as he pulled you closer. The hall seemed to hold its breath, the kiss lingering far longer than tradition dictated. Your fingers tangled in his hair, and the cheers of the gathered crowd faded into a distant roar.

When you finally parted, breathless and flushed, Aemond’s eye was dark with promise. “This is just the beginning, my love,” he murmured, his voice low and filled with emotion. You smiled, knowing that whatever the future held, you would face it together, bound by the vows you had exchanged and the love that burned brighter than any dragon’s fire.

The cheers and applause of the gathered crowd still echoed in your ears as you were led away from the grand hall, Aemond’s hand firmly holding yours. The corridors of the Red Keep were quieter, the sounds of the celebration fading into the background. Each step you took together heightened the anticipation, the weight of what was to come settling over you like a cloak.

࣪⠀⊹ ˑ ִ ֗ ִ ۫

Aemond’s gaze remained fixed ahead, his jaw set with determination. Yet every now and then, he would glance at you, his eye softening with an emotion that made your heart flutter. The journey to your private chambers seemed both too quick and agonizingly slow, each moment stretched out by the tension that crackled between you.

At last, you reached the door to your chambers. Aemond paused, turning to you. “Are you ready?” he asked, his voice a low murmur.

You nodded, your breath catching as he pushed open the door. The sight that greeted you took your breath away. The room was bathed in the soft glow of countless candles, their light casting flickering shadows on the stone walls. The air was thick with the heady scent of incense, a blend of exotic spices and fragrant flowers that created an intoxicating atmosphere.

The bed at the center of the room was a masterpiece of opulence. It was large and inviting, adorned with fine linens of deep crimson and black, embroidered with silver dragons. Silk and velvet pillows were piled high, promising comfort and luxury. The canopy overhead was draped with sheer fabrics that caught the candlelight, giving the bed an almost ethereal appearance.

Aemond closed the door behind you, the soft click of the latch loud in the quiet room. He stepped closer, his hand coming up to gently cup your cheek. “You look breathtaking,” he whispered, his thumb brushing against your skin.

“And you,” you replied, your voice barely above a whisper. “You look like a prince from the old tales that i’ve read.”

His lips curved into a small, almost shy smile. “Tonight, I am yours,” he said, his voice filled with promise.

He took your hand, leading you to the bed. The anticipation was a palpable thing, a living entity that wrapped around the two of you. He turned you to face him, his hands coming to rest on your waist. Slowly, he leaned in, his breath warm against your ear. “Are you nervous?” he whispered, his voice a soft murmur.

“A little,” you admitted, your heart racing. “But I trust you.”

Aemond's fingers gently traced the contours of your face, his touch both soothing and electrifying. “I will always protect you,” he vowed, his eye filled with a fierce tenderness. “You are my wife, my heart.”

His words sent a shiver down your spine, the weight of his promise settling deep within you. As he began to undo the delicate fastenings of your gown, his movements were careful and deliberate, each touch sending a ripple of anticipation through you. The fabric slipped from your shoulders, pooling at your feet, leaving you feeling both exposed and cherished under his intense gaze.

Aemond stepped back, his eye roaming over you with a reverence that made your cheeks flush. He quickly discarded his own garments, revealing the lean, sculpted lines of his body. The candlelight danced over his skin, highlighting the sharp angles and smooth planes that spoke of both strength and grace.

He reached for your hand, guiding you to the bed. The fine linens felt cool against your skin as you sank onto the mattress, Aemond following you down with a slow, deliberate grace. He settled above you, his body warm hovering over yours.

For a moment, he simply looked at you, his eye tracing every detail of your face as if committing it to memory. “I have dreamt of this moment,” he confessed to you, his voice a huskey whisper. “Seeing you like this” he continued, as he started to kiss your neck. His lips exploring every inch, leaving pecks everywhere.

Aemond leaned in, capturing your lips in a kiss that was both tender and searing. The world outside ceased to exist as you lost yourself in the taste and feel of him. His hands roamed over your body, mapping every curve and hollow with a reverence that made your heart swell. The kiss deepened, growing more urgent as the tension between you reached a fever pitch. Aemond's hand slid down your body towards your core, his touch igniting a trail of fire in its wake. You responded with a hum, your fingers tracing the lines of his muscles, feeling the strength and power that lay beneath his skin.

When he finally pulled back, his eye was dark with desire, his breath coming in ragged gasps. "You are mine," he declared, his voice a possessive growl.

You hummed in response as pleasure started to cloud your mind. Aemond continued to touch you where you most needed him, playing with your core as he slipped a digit in. You nodded, your own breath catching. Eventually he stopped and looked at you.

“You gotta use your words, sweetheart” he said as he looked you in the eyes with a soft gaze. With desperation wishing for him to continue you answered, “Always…i’m yours”

The anticipation built to a fever pitch, your bodies pressed together, the heat between you almost unbearable. Aemond's control began to slip, his touches growing more urgent, more desperate. His lips trailed down your neck, his teeth grazing your skin in a way that made you gasp. His free hand roamed over your body, rough and demanding, each touch a testament to his need for you. Your skin tingled under his touch, every nerve ending alight with sensation. His kisses grew more demanding, his lips and tongue exploring every inch of your skin.

The world outside ceased to exist as you lost yourself in the feel of him, the raw intensity of his desire. His hand slid up your body, towards your breast as he pushed a second digit into you. Your own hands roamed over him, feeling the strength and power that lay beneath his skin, finally settling on his sculptured shoulders.

He let out a moan, lifting your thighs with his hands until they touched your chest. Aemond started to push his hips into you. He could feel your warm walls slowly closing in, it was a tightness feeling that was driving him insane.

He claimed you with a possessive hunger, each thrust a declaration of his love and desire. His rhythm was slow at first, but it quickly built to a frantic, driving pace that left you both gasping for breath.

Aemond's control slipped entirely, his need for you overtaking everything else. His movements were relentless, each thrust drove you deeper into the mattress as he continued to press your thighs towards your body. He worshipped you, his touch a mixture of his possessive and gentle nature.

He stopped for a moment to catch a glimpse at your beautiful body and without warning he entered you again, his thrusts hard and unyielding. The intensity took your breath away, your body arching against the mattress as he set a relentless pace. His movements were powerful, each thrust driving deeper, the sound of your bodies colliding filling the room.

Your thighs slapped against his hips, the force of his movements sending shockwaves through you. The pleasure was overwhelming, a mixture of pain and ecstasy that left you gasping and moaning. Aemond's hands gripped your thighs, holding you in place as he pounded into you, showing no signs of stopping.

He leaned over you, his mouth finding one of your breasts. His lips closed around the sensitive peak, sucking it into his mouth with a fervor that made you cry out. He sucked hard, as if he wanted to milk it dry, his tongue flicking over the hardened nub, sending jolts of pleasure through you.

The sounds of your combined pleasure filled the room, a symphony of moans, gasps, and the rhythmic creaking of the bed. The bedframe banged against the wall with each powerful thrust, the noise a testament to the intensity of your love. You clung to him, your fingers digging into his back, your body trembling with the force of his passion.

Aemond's pace never wavered, each thrust driving deeper, harder. His grip on your thighs tightened, his need for you evident in every movement. The world outside ceased to exist, the only reality the two of you, joined in a frenzied dance of desire. As you lay entwined with Aemond, the desire that had simmered beneath the surface began to boil over once more.

You looked into his eye, seeing the same need reflected back at you. With a determined glint, you decided to take control, to show him that you could match his passion. Summoning your strength, you pushed against his chest, urging him to lie down.

His eye widened in surprise and then darkened with anticipation as he let you guide him onto his back. You straddled his hips, feeling the hardness of him against you. The power in this position, the control, sent a thrill through your body.

With a slow, deliberate movement, you sank down onto him, taking him in fully. The sensation was intense, a delicious mix of pleasure and pressure that made you gasp. Aemond's hands found purchase on your waist, his grip firm but reverent.

You began to move, starting with a slow, teasing rhythm that made his breath hitch. His eye locked onto yours, a fierce blend of love and lust that made your heart race. You placed your hands on his shoulders, using them as leverage as you increased the pace.

Aemond's grip on your waist tightened, his fingers digging into your flesh as you rode him harder. The sound of your bodies slapping filled the room yet again, accompanied by the wet sounds your clue made as you slapped yourself down onto him. You could feel every inch of him inside you, the pleasure building with each bounce, each thrust. The intensity grew, your movements becoming more frantic, more urgent.

You bounced hard on his cock, each descent driving him deeper, sending waves of pleasure through your body. The friction, the heat, it was all-consuming.

Aemond's hands moved to your hips, guiding your movements, his own hips thrusting up to meet you. The sensation was overwhelming, a perfect blend of dominance and submission, control and surrender. You threw your head back, a cry of pleasure escaping your lips as the intensity reached new heights.

A white sticky ring began to form beneath you, a testament to the raw, unrestrained passion that consumed you both. The sight of it, the feel of it, only spurred you on, driving you to move faster, harder.

Aemond's eye was fixed on you, his gaze burning with desire and admiration. "Gods, you're perfect," he growled, his voice thick with emotion.

"Ride me, my love. Show me how much you want me." Aemond’s words sent a jolt of pleasure through you, adding fuel to the fire that already burned so brightly. You gripped his shoulders tighter, your nails digging into his skin as you moved with renewed vigor. The bed creaked and groaned beneath you, the sounds of your lovemaking echoing in the candlelit room.

He continued to move your hips against his at an animalistic manner, sleeks of cum appearing at the bottom of his abdomen. His eyes were lit of fire thinking of you appearing a few months from not with a swollen belly. Aemond couldn’t wait to breed you and stuff you full of his seed.

The pleasure built to an almost unbearable peak, your body trembling with the effort and the intensity of your emotions. Aemond's hands never left your hips, guiding you, encouraging you, his touch a constant reminder of his love and desire.

As you approached your climax, the world seemed to blur around you, the only reality the two of you, joined in this fierce, beautiful dance. The pleasure was overwhelming, a tidal wave that threatened to sweep you away. With a final and powerful thrust, Aemond pushed you both over the edge once more.

banner by: @cafekitsune

#hotd season 2 #house of the dragon #hotd fanfic #house targaryen #aemond fanfiction #aemond x you #aemond smut #aemond x reader #hotd smut #hotd x reader #hotd aemond #aemond targaryen

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rcsegilded · 1 year ago

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ASOIAF: A CLASH OF KINGS STARTERS (accepting) | @rhaegxr

❝ the unseen enemy is always the most fearsome. ❞

Of all the martial games, the melee was one Margaery enjoyed the least. They lacked the dance-like cadence of the joust and the chivalric splendor she'd come to love about tourneys as a whole. The 'battles' were chaotic and brutal and—if her father was to be believed—more war-like than the other events. At any of the Reach's tournaments, she would have paid the melee little attention or forgone attendance altogether.

But this was King's Landing. She could not afford to miss a single moment of the tourney, even if she hadn't been invited to sit in the royal box. That had been Prince Aegon's doing, she was certain. No doubt, he'd wanted her to have a good view of him in the melee for however long he lasted. It boded well for their budding courtship, such that it was.

Margaery had taken note of the of the crowded field—nearly forty participants—and wondered aloud at how anyone could keep track of so many opponents. The king's voice at her right nearly made her jump but she managed to stifle the reaction. Their interactions had been limited thus far, save for her introduction to court and a handful of passing greetings. He seemed kind enough to her, if rather reserved.

“My brother Garlan believes so, Your Grace. It's why he trains with three or four opponents instead of only one. He's said that it helped him learn to expect the attacks he cannot see coming.” The brother in question was located in a group closest to the stands, stretching his limbs and chatting cheerily with the men nearest him. She could see Leonette's favor where it had been tied to his right wrist, the green ribbon fluttering in the slight wind. Though favors were more commonly given to jousters, Garlan always insisted on wearing his wife's during the melee. The thought made Margaery smile.

“Do you have any predictions for the melee? Any favorites?” she asked, turning to face the king once again. He did not seem the sort to make waivers but he likely knew many of the fighters and their abilities. As for favored participants, well...she was curious to see if Aegon was among them.

#[ i went w the assumption that mace would have put marg forward as a match for aegon #but lmk if you'd like to go in a different direction! ]#rhaegxr #. : : V. A DRAGON'S ROSE #. : : IC

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scarlet-star-witch · 4 months ago

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The moon and his sun (Part V)

Aemond Targaryen x female reader

Summary: People would remember their story. Even decades after they were gone, Septa’s would tell young children about the one-eyed dragon prince and his sweet wife as if they were a part of a fairytale, too good to be true for the harshness real life possessed.

Aemond meets a young girl who quickly becomes his most cherished friend and changes the course of history.

Word count: 9.8 K

Warnings: Angst galore, violence, miscarriage

Part 1 Part 2 Part 3 Part 4 ... Part 6 Part 7

A thump at her door roused her from her sleep. She blinked tiredly, propping herself up on her elbow as she looked around the room, seeing no indication of her husband’s presence. It wasn’t unusual that he would leave as the sun rose, but she knew today was not one of his training days.

With a groan, she stood from the bed, wiping the sleep from her eyes as she stepped towards the door. She grasped the handle and frowned as she felt resistance, unable to turn to it.

She tried again, jiggling the handle, her movements becoming more desperate as she realized it wouldn’t budge. She banged her fist against the door, calling out to her husband, but it was no use.

The door didn’t open.

With a racing heart, she rushed to the hidden passage across the room, her shaking hands pushing at the wall with all her might. A hushed curse fell from her lips as it refused to give way. Something was blocking it.

Her mind was racing frantically, no thoughts making sense as to why she was locked in her room or where her husband was.

Raised voices from outside caught her attention and she frantically looked around the room for the dagger her husband kept, suddenly fearing that she’d need to defend herself from whatever enemy had trapped her in her chambers.

The door abruptly slammed open, her husband stepping inside with a heated expression on his face. He gave one last scowl to the guards outside before closing the door behind him, turning to face her with a guilty look.

“What’s going on? Why was the door locked?”

“Are you alright?” He asked, stepping towards her quickly, his hands cradling her face gently, his eye greedily taking her in, noting her distress.

“I’m fine, but I have no idea what in the seven hells is going on.” She replied heatedly, her frustration clear.

Aemond had been furious when he learned his wife had been locked inside their chambers at the orders of his mother. He knew his mother wasn’t overly fond of his wife, but he never thought she would stoop so low.

His face darkened as he thought over the past few minutes, the news that had been shared, the duty that now fell onto his shoulders.

“What happened?” She asked warily, his expression making her wary.

“My father is dead.”

Her lips parted in surprise, a heavy weight suddenly settling over her, as it soon became harder to breathe. Her arms winded around him, hugging him tightly without a second thought. She gripped onto him as if afraid he would run.

He didn’t respond to her embrace, his arms laying limply at his side, his face devoid of all emotion, his ire for his father seeming to grow even more bitter in the wake of his death.

“Aemond… I - are you alright?” She pulled away from the embrace to look at him, her frown growing at the sight of his passive expression.

“Of course I am.” He said tersely, causing her to flinch at his abrupt tone. “I have to find Aegon.”

His words caused fear to strike her, her eyes widening, the tension growing thick.

“It’s happening isn’t it.” She spoke monotonously, no question in her tone, for she already knew.

“It is.” He spoke quietly, reaching for her hand. “It shouldn’t be him, but it is what my father wanted.”

Her face twisted in disbelief, the expression enough to have the brief moment of softness removed from his expression, his gaze turning hard once more, resentment building within him.

“What? You would rather have my whore of a half-sister sit the throne and my bastard nephew to follow?”

She sighed, reaching for his hand again, but he pulled away before she could reach him. His blinding hatred for his nephews and his half-sister hardening him against the hurt that crossed her face, a moment that would have melted him and brought her into his arms only further incenting his rage.

“You would bow to the ones that tormented me my entire childhood, that took my fucking eye, that boast when they have no right-”

“Stop!” She yelled, stopping his rant, her eyes alight with an anger that was unfamiliar to him. “You know I could not care less who sits on the damned throne, but you know as well as I do who certainly does not deserve it.”

Aemond’s anger shifted, giving way to his own apprehension. The thought of the power Aegon would soon wield was not appealing to say the least. His shoulders sagged, the fight in him petering out weakly. He reached out, his hand taking hers, his silent apology for his outburst.

“It is what we must do.” He spoke, the words sounding as if he were reading from a script and not how he truly felt.

She sighed, her arms coming to wrap around herself, as if she felt she already needed to protect herself against what Aegon’s reign would ensue. Aemond sighed, fighting his temper at the sight of her complicated reaction.

The mere thought that his own wife supported Rhaenyra’s claim was enough to boil his blood and he grit his teeth, trying to remain calm in the face of her worry.

“You know those bastards don’t deserve the throne.”

“Would you rather a bastard or a rapist?”

All anger was gone swiftly, his face falling as a pit grew in his stomach. His gaze softened, determination sparking within him and he reached out, grasping her shoulders gently.

“He would never touch you. You know I will protect you.”

“Even from war?”

He seemed less sure of that, his gaze floundering before dropping to the floor. He pulled away from her touch, his unease swirling with thoughts of his uncertainty, inciting his anger and he swiftly turned on his heel.

“I will be back soon.”

With that, he was out the door, leaving her alone in their chambers. She let out a shaking breath, her mind twisting with thoughts of what was to come, dread bubbling within her, forcing her to wonder if it was only the pregnancy that was causing her nausea.

The next hour was a whirlwind. Alicent had sent a gaggle of maids to style her, ignoring her winces as they laced her into a tight, corseted gown, as they pulled and pinned her hair to the appropriate style for her station.

She was corralled through the Keep and it was only until she spotted Helaena that she felt she was able to relax the slightest amount, though her frown deepened as she noticed the despondent expression on Helaena’s face. She linked her arm through her good sister’s, eyeing her carefully, noting how her chest heaved with every nervous intake of air.

“Are you alright?”

“I will be Queen.” She spoke monotonously, as if she couldn’t believe the turn of events, that she would soon hold a powerful title, something she had never longed for or dreamed of.

She squeezed Helaena affectionately, a weak smile painting her features.

“You will be a wonderful Queen.”

They were soon herded into a carriage to take them to the Dragon Pit for the coronation. She sat faithfully by Helaena’s side, her hand clutching hers tightly, her chest aching for the trembling she felt from her friend.

She leaned her head back, blowing out a long breath, the unease swirling within her leaving her seconds away from demanding they stop so she could empty her stomach. She placed a protective hand over her stomach, wishing she could feel a flutter, any sign of life to comfort her in this bleak moment.

Her eyes wandered before landing on Alicent sat at the other side of the carriage. She flinched, her eyes quickly casting down as she noticed the cold glare directed at her from her good mother.

She knew how Alicent felt about her, she had made it perfectly clear even before she married her son. She had always put on a brave face and never let her stares of disapproval or back handed comments get under her skin, but now, on this day when their lives were to change, when a war would soon unfold because of their actions, a measly scowl seemed to strike her deeper than ever before.

She kept her eyes locked onto her feet for the rest of the ride which was thankfully short. They were guided inside and she immediately found her husband. Aemond was already standing at the dais with his grandsire and Ser Criston, his face hardened like the visage of a statue.

He held his hand out to her as she approached, his eyes posing a silent question. As his gaze drifted to her stomach, she knew he was pondering about the babe more than he was her own state of mind and she sighed, giving him a slight nod. Aemond let his hand drop from hers, his face shifting back into a mask of indifference as the group of them took their places as the dutiful royal family and the confused crowds of citizens were pushed into the grand hall like cattle.

“Best behavior everyone.” Alicent whispered to them, her eyes lingering on the Island girl for a moment longer than the rest, her gaze darkening slightly in warning.

She had to hold back a scoff. To think she was the one to be under warning for her actions on this day. As if she were the one starting a war.

Her nausea grew as the soldiers lined up, their swords held high in respect for a man who didn’t deserve it as he marched his way forward, his face dark and dreary. She didn’t know what was worse, giving Aegon the crown or forcing it upon his head when he didn’t even want it. Her eyes shifted to her husband at her side, imagining it was him, walking up the steps to receive the great honor.

He would be better than Aegon. He would be better than Rhaenyra.

Her eyes fell back to the crowd, a shiver running down her spine as she forced the thoughts from her head.

The energy in the room shifted as the crown was placed on Aegon’s head. The murmurs of confusion, the shock at the news of the King’s death was replaced by the excitement of the crowd, of the idea of a new, male, ruler.

Aegon turned to his mother who bowed dutifully, her face not a mask of relief as one would expect someone whose years of plotting had finally been rewarded, but that of wavering submission, as if the reality of her actions, the consequences that would soon unfold were finally catching up to her.

Otto bowed to his grandson, a smarmy smile of victory on his face.

Aegon’s eyes fell down the line, Helaena automatically bowing to her husband, her eyes slightly vacant, as if she were forcing her mind to be anywhere but the present.

Aemond nodded stiffly, his own stomach twisting slightly as he thought of what his brother would be capable of now that there was no one to hold him back any longer.

Aegon’s gaze shifted, a sickly satisfied grin growing as he met her hardened stare.

She hesitated for a few seconds, her eyes looking at the man she despised, the man who now held unlimited power. She stiffened as his gaze darkened, making note of her hesitation, and she breathed deeply, bowing her head weakly, no further than she needed to.

She didn’t need him gaining any grandeur perceptions about the respect she had for him, of which there was none.

A hand slithered into hers and her breath hitched, her eyes subtly finding her husband at her side. He remained looking forward, surveying the crowd, but his hand squeezed hers, conveying his relief, his thanks that she had put her feelings for his brother aside to not cause any conflict.

She let out a long breath, the noise of the crowd deafening as they applauded their new King. She wondered if any of them knew even a sliver of his true nature, if they would be cheering as they were if they had seen the many maids flee from his chambers with tears in their eyes and blood running down their thighs.

Her dark thoughts were interrupted as the floor before them crumbled, the cheers suddenly turning to screams of terror.

Before her eyes could even widen in shock, she was pushed back. Her breath was stolen from her as arms encircled her tightly, Aemond’s body wrapped around hers, shielding her and their unborn child from the debris that flew. His hand on the back of her head held her to his chest, his heart racing beneath her ear.

Her heart raced in a way it never had before, the rapid rhythm startling her. She stood frozen, incapacitated by shock as Aemond pulled away, his hands latching onto hers, his gaze frantically searching every inch of her, ensuring there was no harm done.

He placed his hand on her stomach, his brows furrowed, as if in pain, as if the mere thought of a threat against their growing child was enough to bring him to his knees.

“Are you hurt?”

She shook her head, her eyes wide with fear, placing a hand over her chest that heaved for breath.

He eyed her carefully, his hands holding her tightly. It wasn’t until he saw her take in a deep breath that he let himself detach from her. His expression soon turned dark, his hand moving to the sword at his hip to meet the enemy that dared threaten his family. His eye widened as the dust cleared, the dragon before them taking a mighty step towards them. His stiff body stood protectively in front of her, his gaze locked onto the beast, his arm keeping his wife behind him.

“Aemond-”

“It’s alright.” He soothed her, though it was anything but convincing with how tense his voice sounded.

She eyed the dragon from over her husband’s shoulder and quickly reached out, grabbing onto Helaena’s sleeve and pulling her back into her side, wrapping her arm around her, though her friend didn’t look scared. She looked at the dragon before them with wonder, a small smile playing on her lips.

She briefly wondered if the thought of being burned alive was more enticing to her than becoming Queen to her villainous husband of a King.

The bone rattling roar directed at them shook the walls of the Pit. Aemond’s grip tightened on her arm, as if his final act of comfort, his only way to say goodbye to her.

Her forehead rested on his strong back, her breath leaving her in quivering pants, bracing herself for the fire that would end them all.

But it never came.

With one last final roar, Meleys and her fierce rider, the Princess Rhaenys, gave a final look of resolve to the family before her and pulled on the reins of her dragon, turning away from them. With a spread of her wings, Meleys glided out of the building, Rhaenys finally free from the clutches of Alicent and Otto.

The cries of the wounded and grieving were all that were left.

Time seemed to speed, she was barely able to comprehend what had happened before they were all forced out of the Pit. Aemond’s arm around her waist, practically dragging her with him, was the only thing keeping her moving forward.

Her eyes fluttered around the room, her throat growing tight at the sight of the bodies that littered the ground, crowds of people fallen to their knees with screams and cries for their dead loved ones, innocent people caught in the crossfire of a conflict that had nothing to do with them.

Her vision blurred as tears filled her eyes, the heart wrenching cries making her flinch. Aemond held her tighter in response, his pace quickening in desperation to get her away from the blood and death that lingered in their wake.

They were deadly quiet in the carriage that brought them back to the Red Keep.

No one spoke a word, the only sound were the wheels that jerked against the uneven stones beneath them, though it would never be enough to take away the sound of grief she had just heard that continued to ring her ears in a torturous loop.

She was stiff as stone as they came to a stop, Aemond helping his sister out of the carriage before holding his hand out to her. Their eyes met briefly, the worry in his gaze turning her stomach, reminding her that this was real, that their brief brink with death was only the beginning.

She swallowed against the lump in her throat and grasped his hand, his hold much tighter than hers, which remained even after she found her footing.

Aemond’s arm lay sturdy around her waist as they stepped back into the Red Keep. She kept her head down as they walked, her mind a mess of worry, her hands still trembling, her adrenaline pumping through her veins in a mix of fearful derision.

Her husband’s steps faltered slightly and she raised her head, her eyes falling onto the sight before them before Aemond could shield her. She gasped, a hand moving to cover her mouth as she stared in horror at the swinging bodies below the gate.

Aemond’s grip on her tightened and he walked swiftly, guiding her quickly through the doors and away from the gruesome sight.

Her gaze remained locked onto the lifeless bodies. The traitors that supported Rhaenyra’s claim. Her head turned, unable to look away from the stomach twisting sight.

“Don’t look.” Aemond said softly, though the command did little to sway her.

She couldn’t tear herself away from the sight, from the reminder of what defying Aegon would lead her to.

Tears welled in her eyes again, a pit of dread settling within her like lead. She instinctively placed a hand over her belly, mourning the world their child would be brought into.

The family sat together at dinner that night, the room painfully silent as everyone but Otto and Aegon picked at their food inattentively.

Only a few bites were needed before she started to feel sick again. She leaned back in her chair, placing her fork down with more force than was necessary. Aemond looked over at her, smiling sadly as he placed his hand over her stomach.

She grit her teeth as a flash of anger coursed through her. It wasn’t the babe she was growing making her feel sick. The mangled bodies she’d seen under the debris of the dragon pit, the bodies of noble Lords hanging lingered in her mind, seemingly putting her off from ever eating again.

She didn’t know how he could be so unaffected by it all.

“When can we expect your father’s return?” Otto’s commanding voice sounded from across the table.

She lifted her gaze, despising the fact that his intense scrutiny was staring right back at her.

“I’m not sure. He didn’t specify his return before he left.”

“Hopefully he will not be gone for too much longer. We cannot be without a Master of coin, especially with what is sure to come. I’m sure he will not want his daughter alone during a war.”

The thinly veiled threat in Otto’s words didn’t go unnoticed and she shifted uncomfortably in her seat. Her gaze briefly shifted to Aemond who looked just as unnerved by the turn of the conversation. Aemond’s look of apprehension was enough to have her own nerves alight with fear.

To think he considered her alone, even with her husband by her side, told her everything about how he viewed her marriage, where he believed his grandson’s loyalties lay.

The thought of those hanging bodies came back to her in an instant and she suddenly felt too sick to hold his gaze.

Her father wouldn’t bend to the whims of Otto Hightower. If he returned, it would only be a matter of time before he was forced to the noose.

The thought made her already frayed nerves twist even further, as if a fist was clenching tighter around her heart.

Dinner passed as tensely as it began, with little words spared amongst the family.

Even Aemond remained quiet as they found themselves back in their chambers. He had taken his usual spot on the couch by the hearth, his expression indecipherable. She sat at his side, her gaze drifting to him occasionally, unease growing within her the longer she was unable to make out what he was feeling.

“I should write to my father.” She finally broke the tense silence between them. “He should know about Viserys.”

“You should write to your father.” Aemond affirmed stiffly, his eyes locked onto the fire. “Tell him not to come back.”

Her head snapped up, her widened eyes looking to her husband in disbelief, fear overtaking every ounce of her senses.

“He will not fight for Rhaenyra’s cause.”

“No, he will not fight for any cause.” Aemond knew of Ixtal’s history and his good father was too great a man to change the laws of his land for a war of succession that had nothing to do with him. “That will be enough for my Grandsire.”

Her breath caught in her throat, tears brimming in her eyes at the insinuation. Despite the terror that flowed through her veins, loneliness crept forward. Without her father, she scarcely had anyone in her corner.

Aemond and Helaena were the only ones she had and she hardly felt as though they were in any state to provide comfort as they approached the brink of a family war.

“Am I in danger here?” She choked out.

The indifferent air around Aemond shattered in an instant. He was on his feet, moving towards her in a second. He kneeled before her, taking her hands in his, his face softer than she had seen it all day.

“I would never let anyone hurt you.”

His words, which should have been comforting, only made more tears fall from her eyes.

As Aemond hugged her tightly, whispering assurances, she couldn’t help but feel the pit of dread in her stomach grow, hating herself for not believing his words.

It wasn’t that she didn’t trust Aemond or his capabilities to protect her, but she knew with the beginning of a war, there would be much out of his control.

As her husband held her, she wondered if she, just a mere lady that by no means matched the power of the family she married into, were to be a casualty in the war of dragons.

She wondered when the next bloody domino would fall.

The days passed as if everyone was holding their breath. Rhaenyra had refused Alicent’s bridge of friendship. The Blacks were not backing down.

War was upon them.

Their first step was to gain allies. Aemond was commanded to fly to Storm’s End to barter with Borros Baratheon to join the fight for Aegon’s cause.

His departure left her feeling exposed, like a lonely sheep out in the herd of dragons that were frothing at the mouth. She spent most of the day secluded in their chambers, anxiously awaiting his return.

She was curled up on the sofa in front of the fire, reading her favorite book from the library, which was unsurprisingly one of the books Aemond had read to her in her first week at King’s Landing, signaling the beginning of their budding friendship.

The rain pounded against the window, her attention caught between the words on the page and the raging storm outside. She unintentionally shivered and rubbed the small swell of her belly, thinking of her husband bearing the wicked weather outside, her worry growing tenfold once again.

It was bad enough to think of her husband out there, gaining allies for a war that could destroy them all, it was even worse to think of her husband’s grandfather who desperately wanted her husband to wed for allyship.

Even after their marriage it was as if she didn’t exist to the cunning man.

She continued to read for a few more minutes, the more she yawned, the closer she became to retiring for the night.

Her peace was disrupted as her chamber doors swung open forcefully, startling her. She dropped her book and abruptly turned in her spot, fearful until she saw her husband stride into the room.

She let out a long breath of relief, standing to her feet to greet him, an involuntary smile growing on her face at his safe return.

The second her gaze met his and she noticed the drenched hair that stuck to his face did her worry begin to grow. But it was the moment she looked into his eye and saw the grief, the regret, the pure terror that radiated from him did her heart drop to her stomach.

“Aemond?” She called out quietly.

“I- I didn’t… it was an accident. I wasn’t-” His voice was quiet, sounding more fragile than she thought she had ever heard him.

She took a tentative step forwards and, realizing he wasn’t flinching away from her approach, continued until she was standing before him, her hands reaching up to cradle his jaw, wincing slightly as she felt his cold skin against her warm palms.

“What happened?”

Her heart was racing, expecting the worst, ready to hear the horrible scenario she’d been anticipating, how his grandfather had manipulated the situation to his benefit, that she’d lose him to a Baratheon girl.

“I didn’t mean to.” He whispered, his gaze bowing to the floor, refusing to meet her eyes.

“Aemond, what happened?” She asked, her voice holding more force, realizing he was trapped in a daze, that she wouldn’t get a straight answer unless she pushed.

“Lucerys was there.”

Her breath caught in her throat, her fears suddenly shifting, jumping to no better conclusions.

“I just wanted to scare him.”

The whispered confession was enough to stop her heart. Her wide eyes watched her husband warily. She knew what he was insinuating but she didn’t want to believe it.

“Aemond…”

“I didn’t mean to hurt him. Vhagar wouldn’t listen.”

A shaking breath escaped her. As Aemond’s head lowered to rest on her shoulders her mind didn’t even think as she wrapped her arms around his dripping and shaking form, bringing him in close, holding him tightly, not caring as her nightgown became soaked with the rain that clung to him.

She could feel his racing heart thundering against her own chest as she hugged him, his fear causing her own to rise to the surface.

“I’m sorry.” He whispered, the only coherent thought he was able to grab in his turmoil. No matter what satisfaction or revenge he felt he was able to gain from Vhagar’s brutal attack, he knew what it meant, what would transpire because of his rash chase.

A war had started, his family was in danger.

His wife was in danger. Their child that grew within her was in danger.

No amount of revenge would make up for that.

He would never admit it outloud, though he was sure his wife knew him well enough to tell. For the first time he could remember in years, he was scared.

That night, as his wife lay sleeping beside him, he lay wide awake, his heart continuing its racing rhythm. His hand lay on her stomach, the smallest growing bump revealing the sign of life that lay inside.

He let out a shaking breath, his fingers gently caressing the skin that protected their child.

“I’m sorry.” He whispered, the guilt overwhelming him. His child would be born into war, their safety threatened before they could even draw breath and it was because of him.

Rhaenyra wiped her tears, her blank stare remaining on the flames of the hearth as her grief tore her heart inside out.

“We have to act soon.”

Daemon’s voice cut through her haze and she looked over at him with a deep frown.

“What do you mean?”

“You can’t let those Green cunts think they’ve gotten away with this. We need retribution.”

He skirted around what he truly wanted to say. He knew Rhaenyra would never agree to a slaughter but he hoped her grief would be enough to force her hand, to finally take a stand in the war.

“What do you propose we do?”

“We cannot risk going after Aemond. He rides the biggest dragon, he knows the blade well, he could fight off anyone we send to him.”

“So he is untouchable.”

“No.” Daemon countered quickly. “We will strike him in a different manner.”

Rhaenyra looked at her husband incredulously, confused as to what he was planning.

“Who does that one-eyed cunt love more than anything?”

Daemon’s words made her eyes widen as she sat up straighter, her body becoming stiff with dread.

“No.”

“Rhaeny-”

“No, not her.”

“His son is not born yet, there is no other way to get revenge for what he has done.”

“She has been nothing but kind to me and my family. She and her innocent babe don’t deserve to be slaughtered.”

“She married the cunt! She’s knee deep in the pit of vipers, she is not innocent. You think she’ll fight for your cause? You think she’ll be loyal to you over her own husband?” Daemon yelled, getting to his feet angrily.

“It’s war, Rhaenyra. People fall at the hands of its brutality every day. You’ve already lost your son, what more do they need to take from you before you take a stand? Before you show them the dragon you are?”

Rhaenyra wrung her hands anxiously, thoughts of her fallen son causing tears to fall steadily down her cheeks, her grief overtaking the guilt she felt for the Ixtal girl.

“Make sure it is quick. That she does not suffer.”

Aemond could tell she was more reserved than she had ever been. The fallout of Lucerys’ death had both of them fearful. He couldn’t deny the feelings of regret he hid below the surface. He wouldn’t be one to mourn the one who carved his eye out, but the apprehension he faced from the court cut him deeply, the knowledge of what he was now, turned his stomach.

A kinslayer.

He was always either passed over or looked upon hesitantly by the Lords and Ladies of the court, his cold demeanor was enough to have people side stepping out of his way, not to mention the missing eye that still, even years later, made Ladies cower in fear, disgusted by the sight of him.

After news of Storm’s End reached the court, his reputation became that of a ruthless killer. Maids actively scurried away from him, averting their fearful gazes in fear of poking the proverbial dragon, of incurring his seemingly bloodthirsty temper.

The war about to unfold before them paled in comparison to the war raging within him.

He couldn’t very well tell his brother their first move in this war had been a mistake, that he felt turmoil over his actions his own King was praising. He had to put on a front of a stone-cold warrior, an unrelenting soldier that stared into the face of death with no fear.

He couldn’t tell his family, his brother, his grandfather, how wrong he felt it was. They praised his actions and he had to ignore the way he wanted to writhe in discomfort under their accolades, he had to ignore the horror on his mother’s face.

He had to ignore the fear he had instilled in his wife, a feat that always left him feeling sick with guilt.

They knew there would be retribution, but Aegon was refusing to accept the gravity of his actions. He wanted to bask in their triumph, however little it may be, despite the implications it had for their future.

His stomach turned as he told his wife of the feast to be held that night, their allies gathering to celebrate and toast to the death of Lucerys Velaryon.

She had silently turned from him, beginning to ready herself, preparing to be the dutiful wife at his side and hide how disgusted she was to play a part in this senseless conflict.

He hated himself for putting her in this position.

He knew she saw how much he hid his true feelings, how he had to force himself to take the praise for playing the first hand, no matter how much he regretted knocking the first chess piece down that would spark violence across the realm.

She saw right through him and he knew it ate away at her to see him take on this role to sate his family, people who had always taken him for granted, who now saw him as nothing more than a soldier and a dragon rider.

She could not hide her distaste for the celebration around her. She did not hold much love for Lucerys Velaryon, especially not after how he had maimed her husband, but to celebrate his death with such vigor sickened her to her stomach.

He was only a child and it left guilt to fester within her at her participation in such an event. She looked to Aegon who was holding court effortlessly with a crowd of drunken Lords, the sight of his wide smile only deepening her scowl.

He came from a family of dragons, rode his own, yet here he was, celebrating the death of such a magnificent creature.

She stared down at the plate of food in front of her, knowing it was more than her ever-changing pregnancy cravings that left her without desire to touch an ounce of it.

“Darling?” The voice at her side broke her out of her stupor and she turned her attention to her husband who was eyeing her worriedly. “Are you alright?”

“I don’t have much of an appetite.” She explained simply, though she knew Aemond knew her better and would see through such a flimsy excuse. She knew he didn’t believe her as his gaze lingered thoughtfully.

“Love, you should-”

Raucous jeers cut off his concerns, the crowd swarming a jeering Aegon becoming louder and more riotous as more Lords joined in.

She watched, barely able to hide her disgust as they cheered for the death of a child, for the beginning of a war that would surely kill thousands. She caught the cheered cries of ‘the bastard is dead’ and knew she would soon reach her breaking point.

She thought of Rhaenyra. She wasn’t overly fond of her as she used to be as a child, but the thought of the torment she was enduring with the loss of her child made her insides twist.

She pushed her chair out, the offending sound of the legs on the floor below her abruptly catching Aemond’s attention, who immediately stood as she did, his hand finding the small of her back.

“Are you alright? Are you feeling unwell?” He asked worriedly, the concern she saw in his eye enough to have the lump that was already growing in her throat threaten to steal her breath.

Her sorrowful eyes met Aemond’s, his breath catching in his throat when he saw the discomfort in her gaze.

“I can’t be here.” She breathed out and quickly removed herself from his hold, quick enough to avoid the gentle hand that moved to caress her barely there bump as he did every time she parted from his side. Her gait was quick as she weaved through the crowds, anxious to leave the hall as quickly as she could.

He watched her leave, the guilt bubbling within him yet again. He had only taken one step before his grandsire’s authoritative voice sounded, the harsh call of his name all the warning Aemond needed.

He grit his teeth, anguish overtaking him as he realized he couldn’t leave.

He was left to stare defeatedly at the doors, long after she had walked through them, until he finally sank into his chair, his gaze lowered to his fingers that traced the intricate designs on the goblet of wine in front of him.

He did this.

He started the war that would put his entire family in danger. His actions were what caused his wife to look at him with apprehension, what caused the dreaded looks of fear his way, what caused this entire celebration he knew revolted her.

He was the reason she had to leave. No one but him caused this.

Back in their chamber, she sat at her vanity, brushing her hair, her stomach twisting and turning. She had dismissed her maid for the night, though she knew with the worried look that crossed the young girl’s face it wouldn’t be long until she was checked on again.

She sighed, the sick feeling lingering as she rose to her feet, the ache in her body leaving her desperate for her bed.

She just hoped she was asleep before Aemond returned. She couldn’t stand to see him look so upset.

A sound from across the room caught her attention and she turned on her heel slowly, exhaustion seeping through her as she pictured her husband following after her, dreading a fight breaking out, but she stilled, fear freezing the blood in her veins as she locked eyes with an unfamiliar man on the other side of her chambers.

He smiled, a wicked sight that made the hairs on the back of her neck stand, the bloodthirsty hatred in his eyes causing dread to settle within her. It all suddenly clicked into place, who this man was, who sent him, why he was there.

She knew.

Her death was to be one of revenge.

As her breath steadily began to quicken, her eyes darted towards the closed door, but before she could make an attempt to run, he was charging forward.

His rough hand grabbed a fistful of her hair, dragging her back into his sturdy form. The breath was knocked out of her as his arms wrapped around her tightly, trapping her arms at her sides.

“Pretty Princess. You know better than to run.” The man crooned in ear, making her wince and flinch away from the brush of his lips against her skin.

Her face creased in pain, a soft whimper leaving her as he tightened his grip around her and she suddenly feared her ribs would soon crack under his force.

“Daemon said to be quick, to spare you the pain, but he didn’t tell me how pretty you’d be.” He taunted. “I think I’ll take my time with you.”

Pure terror had taken over every one of her senses, she thought of the life growing inside of her and it quickly brought tears to her eyes at the dreadful thought that her poor babe was doomed, never to reach the waiting arms of his parents who already loved him deeply.

She squirmed against the man’s grip, struggling against his arms. He growled at her stubbornness and pushed her away from him, turning her to deliver a sturdy slap to her cheek. She lost her footing at the force of his blow, landing heavily on her front on the hard floor.

Her eyes widened, her arms shaking as she pushed herself up, her eyes locked onto the barely there bump where her child grew. Her lip trembled, her happy future with Aemond and their child flashing before her eyes as it crumbled before her in real time.

The man was on her quick and she screamed as she viciously kicked and clawed at him. A hearty kick to his groin was enough to subdue him long enough to allow her to get back to her feet. She moved as quickly as she could in her stunned state, managing to pull the heavy door open.

The man was at her back just as quickly, his heavy hand slamming the door closed and seizing her frame that now seemed smaller than she could have ever conceived under his large hands. He tossed her to the side, a stunted cough forced out of her as she collided with the frame of the bed.

Outside the room, her maid rushed forward, having heard the loud slam of the door from down the hall. Her eyes widened as she heard a crash followed by a cry of pain. She let out a shuddering breath, tears brimming in her eyes as she forced her feet to move, beginning to sprint down the hall to find help.

Another blow to her face disoriented her, the pain unlike anything she had ever felt before. She continued to struggle, realizing her death was imminent, but content to leave this world having made it entirely inconvenient for her assailant.

It was the least she could do for the babe inside her she couldn’t save.

The man threw her to the ground, his hate filled eyes taking her in with a greedy bloodlust she had never seen before. He gave a swift kick to her stomach, her cries fueling his demented thrill as he gave a few more for his own amusement. He kneeled before her, pulling a dagger from his belt. Her eyes widened and in one last ditch effort, thrust her hand out just as he brought the blade down.

She screamed as the blade tore through the palm of her hand. Her entire body shook with the pain that radiated from her hand, the blood pouring out of the gruesome wound, staining the nightgown she wore.

With her other hand, she scratched at the man’s face, her nails finding his eyes, gouging blindly, trying to disarm him anyway she could. He growled in pain, pushing more weight down, the blade still stuck in her hand forcing its way deeper, causing her to cry out, her eyes locked onto the weapon with terror as it loomed closer and closer to her.

He suddenly yanked the dagger back, another scream tearing out of her throat as the blade tore more of her skin. He swung down again and her hands gripped at his arm, stopping the blade just inches before it stuck true.

Across the Keep, the spindly maid raced into the feast, shoving her way through the crowds to get to the head table.

Her disheveled appearance quickly caught the royals’ attention, their brows raising in indignation as she panted for breath, the picture of unseemly behavior.

Alicent was seconds away from scolding her until the mousy girl opened her mouth.

“My Prince.. It’s… your wife… she’s-” The maid panted for breath, but her measly few words were enough for Aemond to understand and make his blood run cold.

His eye widened with fear before darkening in realization. He stood so quickly his chair fell to the ground and the rest of his family watched, astonished, barely able to comprehend what was happening, before he was sprinting out of the room. His stomach lurched, feeling as though he was going to be sick as he ran out of the hall.

He could hear his heart beat in his ears as he ran, the fear gripping his heart so tightly he thought it would kill him, that he would drop dead any second out of pure terror for what waited for him.

In their shared chambers, her strength was fading, the wound in her hand throbbed, the blood that soaked her arm making her grip slick, her arms shaking as she held onto the man’s wrist, the only thing stopping him from bringing his dagger down into her heart.

Her grip wavered, the dagger inching closer and closer as she began to lose her will to fight, her body aching, screaming at her to just give in and end the torment.

Her chest was heaving, soft sobs leaving her lips as she began to make peace with her fate.

As quickly as her mind had succumbed, resigned to her death, the pressure against her suddenly fell slack.

The feeling of warmth spraying across her face made her flinch. She watched, her eyes wide and filled with terror, as the man atop her grunted in pain. His hate filled expression falling slack, blood pooling out of his mouth.

A shuddering breath escaped her, the sight of the tip of the sword protruding from his chest causing a sob to break out of her chest.

It was over.

The man fell and before she knew it, strong hands were grabbing her, pulling her out from under the man who was now dead at her feet.

She screamed in fright as she was scooped up into strong arms and she began to struggle, feebly pushing at the person holding her.

“Shh, it’s me, my love. It’s Aemond.” His frantic voice met her ears. “It’s me. I have you, you’re safe now.”

Tears streamed down her cheeks steadily, her breathing quick and heavy as she sobbed, her exhausted body giving up its fight as she slumped against her husband.

Aemond let out shaking breaths, his trembling hands holding her tightly, his heart racing wildly. The terror he had felt the moment he stormed into their chambers and saw her under that man, the bloody dagger in his hands so close to her heart was enough to stop his own.

He cradled his wife closely, pressing kisses to her hair as he whispered that she was safe over and over, though it did nothing to soothe her of the violent trembling that had overtaken her body.

He looked down, his face twisting in agony at the sight of the brutal gash in her hand, of the blood that steadily flowed down the length of her arm, feeling sick at the thought of what that bastard had done to her. The sight of her busted lip ignited his anger all over again and he wanted nothing more than to kill that wretch a thousand times over for the hurt he caused his beloved.

She suddenly groaned in pain, her body stiffening against him. He looked over her worriedly as she began to writhe in his arms, her pained whimpers growing louder. He was terrified, his gaze frantically searching for a life threatening wound he had missed and he soon caught sight of the growing pool of blood beneath her thighs, red blooming on the front of her nightgown.

His stomach dropped, his throat tightening as sheer agony lanced him like a whip.

No, not our child.

“Get a Maester!” He screamed to the guards who lingered at the door who had been taking in the scene before them with horror.

His sight soon became blurry as tears brimmed in his eye and swiftly fell down his face. He held her tighter, his face twisting in agony as he began to cry with her.

“I’m sorry, my love. I’m so sorry.” He choked out, his heart cracking as she wailed in his arms. Each of her cries chipping away at another piece of him.

It was all a blur to her.

She gripped onto his tightly as he lifted her into his arms, carrying her to the Maester’s quarters. She kept her eyes shut, as if she could block out her waking nightmare, as if she could convince herself it wasn’t real.

As she was laid on the bed, the only thing she could make sense of was Aemond’s arms that left her, causing her fear to spike again, her cries becoming more forceful as she desperately sought out her only beacon of comfort through her blurry gaze.

“I’m here, issa prūmia. I’m not leaving.” Aemond’s voice sounded throughout the chaos.

A sturdy hand soon gripped hers, making her relax, knowing it was him. It felt like hours, each second passing like an eternity as she was examined and stitched up. She barely felt anything at all.

Nothing compared to the pain in her heart. The only thing she could comprehend were the agonizing cramps that signaled her loss, the end of the life she and her husband had created, the life they already cherished.

Aemond watched his wife intently, swallowing thickly as he noticed she didn’t even flinch as they thread the needle through her palm. He winced and even had to look away as the Maester began working on the other side of her hand, realizing the blade had gone right through.

Once they finished with her hand, he motioned for the Maester to hand over the damp cloth he grabbed, silently telling him he would handle the next step. Thankfully, the old man handed it over without protest and stood to grab some milk of the poppy.

Aemond began to gently dab at her split lip, wiping away the blood as carefully as he could so as to not cause her any more pain. She’d felt enough for a lifetime tonight.

A flurry behind him barely caught his attention, though he stayed looking at his wife, not bothering to acknowledge the presence of another.

“Aemond.” His mother breathed out, horror painting her gaze as she noticed the stark red blood that stained her good daughter’s legs and gown.

She placed a shaking hand over her mouth, realizing what it had meant, realizing what her son had just lost.

She moved forward on weak legs, placing a hand on her son’s shoulder, who still refused to look her way, his attention focused solely on his wife who lay despondent on the bed, her glassy eyed stare vacant and tortured, signaling she was miles away in torment, reliving the attack over and over again.

Alicent felt tears brim in her eyes and when she looked down at her son and noticed the tear tracks down his cheeks she was powerless to stop her own from falling.

Aemond watched as the Maester brought a hearty dose of milk of the poppy. His gaze stayed locked onto his wife, his hand still holding hers, his fingers caressing gentle patterns over her knuckles, his whispered reassurances the last thing she heard as her eyes fluttered closed, the medicine quickly dulling her senses.

He watched her breathe deeply in sleep for a long moment, as if needing to watch the steady rise and fall of her chest to assure himself that she was truly here, that despite the attempt, she still lived.

He was left in a daze, the sounds around him dimming to nothing but an unnoticeable thrum in his ears. The sound of her cries was the only thing he heard, over and over again, the memory of them haunting him, causing him to feel as though he was seconds from losing the food in his stomach.

His mother’s words didn’t reach his ears, he was numb to her comforting hand on his shoulder. He was numb to everything but his pain.

Someone had tried to take the greatest thing from him, they had almost taken his love from him. He couldn’t even rejoice in the fact that she was still there with him, not with the despair of the loss of their child weighing so heavily on him.

Relief wasn’t a feeling he could allow himself to reach.

Soon, his mother gave up trying to get through to him, leaving the room with one last tearful glance to her son whose world had just crumbled before him. Just minutes later, the Maester stood, giving a polite bow as he moved to the door, leaving the couple for the night to heal the wounds he couldn’t bandage, his parting words sending a shiver down Aemond’s spine.

I’m sorry for your loss.

Aemond’s jaw clenched. Those words made it real.

There was now no denying the truth. Their child was gone. They wouldn’t soon have a little babe to hold and spoil.

Aemond thought of the little boy he had pictured since she had told him she was pregnant. To think of him gone, to never grow, to never say a word, to never be held in his arms, was too much to bear.

His chest felt tight, his throat suddenly feeling like it was closing in on itself, preventing him from taking in a breath. His eye burned, the tears stinging like acid. His face creased in despair, bringing his hand, that was still clutched to his wife’s hand, to his lips, pressing a kiss to her knuckles as the tears began to fall again.

A choked sob escaped him, the loss leaving him feeling as though the weight of the world was crushing him.

He let himself cry, expelling everything he needed to, thankful his wife remained sleeping. He knew his tears would only hurt her further. She was the one whose life had been threatened, he needed to be strong for her, he needed to be the one to hold her as she broke.

Aemond forced himself to watch over her as long as he could, eyeing her steady breaths, every one of them a salve for the horror he had witnessed while that blood soaked dagger was pointed at her.

He wasn’t sure when it happened, but he had let his eye fall closed and drifted off to a fitful sleep as the sun began to rise.

What seemed like only seconds later, he jerked awake, at first forgetting where he was, but the moment he felt the ache in his back, he was reminded that he was in the chair in the Maester’s solar. He remembered the attack, he remembered the blood, he remembered her cries, and he remembered their child.

I’m sorry for your loss.

The words burned him like fire and he breathed deeply, pinching the bridge of his nose in an attempt to stave off the pounding in his head. He shifted in the chair, wincing as his joints popped painfully from the uncomfortable position he had taken for the night.

He rubbed his tired eye, blindly reaching out to the bed to take his wife’s hand in his yet again, but as his touch met the barren sheets of the bed, he sat up straighter, suddenly alert as he stared down at the empty bed before him with fear.

The sight of the blood that stained sheets a lance through his heart, only propelling him deeper into fear.

Shooting up from his chair, he raced out of the room, his bewildered gaze meeting the startled expression of the guard at the door.

“Where’s my wife?” He asked frantically.

“She left the room just a few minutes ago.”

Aemond fumed silently, his hands clenching into fists as he fought the urge to pummel the man before him.

“And you didn’t think to follow her?” He seethed, the guard before him taking a cautious step backwards in fear of the flaming temper exploding before him.

“The Princess seemed upset, I did not want to intrude-”

Aemond did not spare him a second look as he took off down the hall, pushing servants out of his way as he raced out of the Keep.

He knew after last night, no one who had gone through what his wife had endured would be in their right mind. He feared what she would do, what her grieving mind would offer as solace that he was sure she so desperately was seeking.

He slowed his pace in the middle of the courtyard, looking around frantically at the many stairs and exits she could have taken.

He squeezed his eye shut, breathing heavily, his mind racing, the terror he was feeling yet again in such a short amount of time not allowing him to think clearly.

Where would she go?

He wracked his mind, thinking of all their years together. He knew her better than anyone. If he couldn’t figure out where she would seek solace, then he didn’t deserve to be her husband.

The sound of seabirds reached him through his daze and he spun on his heel, his gaze locking onto the birds that flew over the water.

She loved the sea, she loved the waves of Ixtal. She always said they were healing. He remembered memories from his childhood, of her hand in his as they ran through the waves at the shore.

He was running again before he could even comprehend it.

Aemond’s chest was heaving from sprinting the entire way, his heart beat pounding in his ears as he stumbled over the rocks to get to the sandy shore.

He almost stumbled over his own feet as his gaze fell on her figure down the coast line.

He let out a shaking breath, muttering a breathless thank you to the Gods to see her sitting there and not floating face down in the water as his tortured mind had conjured.

He approached her slowly, his face drawn tightly with concern as he noticed the dried tears that stained her cheeks once he was close enough.

He said nothing as he sat himself down beside her, ignoring the feeling of the damp sand beneath him. He extended his legs, letting the waves crash against his feet, mirroring her stance.

She didn’t make any move to acknowledge him, her gaze lingering on the horizon, the despair in her eyes never wavering.

It broke his heart to see her in this state. The woman he loved was vibrant, she had a lust for life he always found impossible to grab yet infectious. He had never seen her light so dim and it broke something in him.

He reached out, taking her hand in his, his silent assurance to her that he was there for her as he knew no words could ever reach what either of them felt or needed to handle their loss.

“I want to go home.” Her weak voice choked out after a long silence.

Aemond’s breath hitched at the sound of her so broken. He didn’t have any words, nothing he could say to comfort her. He couldn’t very well let her leave where he couldn’t follow, leaving her unprotected.

He would die before he left her side.

To deny her anything crushed him, but he couldn’t help but revert to selfishness. He couldn’t leave King’s Landing, not in the midst of a war and the thought of letting her leave his side wasn’t even a thought in his head.

He wrapped his arm around her, his concern growing when he felt the chill of her skin.

“Let’s go back to our chambers.” He spoke softly, using what little strength his drained body had left as he lifted her up to her feet, his arms holding her tightly, her guiding force to help her back in her daze.

As they walked along the beach, beginning to make their way back to the Keep that now only held dreaded memories, he felt his eye sting again, his vision quickly becoming blurry.

He breathed deeply, holding tighter to his wife in his arms, blinking rapidly to stave off the tears that threatened to fall.

He pushed past the feelings of grief that felt like they could drown him and put on a mask, pretending he wasn’t dying inside.

I'm sorry... the angst is only going to continue

Tag List:

@jacaeryslover @allsouls-emma @lianna75 @emoxio @noneedtosearch @watashiwasun @guacam011y @darlingisntit @trickycarrot89-blog @stcrrjoon @knyam @bettysexile @marysucks-blog @lovelyteenagebeard @darktrashsouldbear @violetiss3lfish @hueanhdang @mamawiggers1980 @azaleapotterblack @littlestarfighter03 @discofairysworld @ner-dee @kananenmus @summer-and-sunflowers @booksandbud4me @blackravena @pinkautismjournal

#aemond targaryen #aemond targaryen x reader #aemond targaryen fic #house of the dragon #house of the dragon fic

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childrenofslumber · 1 year ago

Text

☾✧.° ( OPEN; EITHER TWIN ) °.✧☼

"The crown resides within me. Embedded like a knife."

#( dragons may have claws but roses have thorns ‣ v. fairytale )#( everybody wants to rule the world ‣ au. tudors!descendants )

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chibsandchill · 3 months ago

Text

Stolen moments under silk sheets (18+)

Fandom: HOTD (House of the dragon)

Pairing: Aemond x AFAB!reader

Summary: Aemond is touch starved. That’s it. That’s the whole story. Kind of.

Masterlist

My requests are open!

MDNI NSFW (warnings under the page break). SFW version here!

Warnings: Including but not exclusively slivers of angst sprinkled here and there, fluff, oral sex (m & f receiving), p in v sex, creampie, obsessive behavior, obsessive thoughts, descriptions of metaphorical self-harm, very brief mentions of the dance and the events that happened (some canon divergence), Aemond is his own warning, canon typical themes, the beginning is a bit slow, grammatical and spelling errors (English is not my first language)

I am not responsible for your media consumption

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The roses in your garden have begun to wilt. Summer is leaving, and winter claims all, but you remain untouched by the darkness that crept ever closer with each passing cycle. Your roses may have lost their vibrant colors but your face remained as bright and beautiful as ever. You thrive even in desolation – the harsh winds cannot steal the warmth from your cheeks or the spark from your eyes.

“And you say you do not care for gardening, my love.”

He’s almost startled by your presence, but since the war very little caught him off guard. But that look in your eyes? The overwhelming affection? That was something Aemond reckoned he would never get used to. And yet he could not get enough, you had awakened a beast inside him that fed and craved all things you. A smile did not satiate him like it used to, a night spent together felt like a fleeting moment spirited away by vengeful gods.

Aemond hums. “Your passions are my passions.”

You wrap your arms around his waist, resting your face on his shoulder. He felt, in that moment, as if he was standing on jelly, his knees threatening to buckle and his spine like liquid. There was not enough of you pressed against him. He felt burning hot and freezing cold at the same time, his skin crawling with want and desire, his cock half-hard already and his mind buzzing.

“Clever.” You chuckle into the crook of his neck. Aemond shivers as your warm breath hits the sensitive skin there.

“Did I wake you?”

His words are a whisper. Soft and with underlying guilt. You do not sleep well anymore, not without him. Too much has happened. The death of Jaehaerys proved that there is no sanctuary that cannot be breached, not a lock that cannot be broken, and not a part of you that will not suffer.

You shake your head.

“Liar.”

“I was already awake. I like to…”

“Hm? There is no judgment here.”

There was not an inch of you that he would part from – not a sliver of you he would not take, and not a piece of you he did not dream of devouring. The opposite was also true, for he craved to be taken, to be devoured and kept more than he ever dreamt of possessing. Aemond would have all of you, had woven that promise into the very fabrics of your marriage, embedded the words as if they were a spell into his vows, and oh, how sweetly you had smiled upon hearing them. He doubted you heard them for what they truly were. Are.

“I watch you,” you confess, “when you sleep. You look so… so peaceful. The war has yet to poison that.”

He blinks. Seconds tick by, but Aemond is too busy staving off the greedy blush from turning him red to respond. He is unable to respond, truly, even were he not practically glowing at your words. Words clump together on his tongue.

“I should speak to the Housekeeper then,” Aemond clears his throat, “ if the room is so lacking you need to resort to staring at me. Though, perhaps I should thank her for her oversight that surely allows you to fall asleep quickly.”

The corners of your lips fall, barely, but there is nothing about you he does not notice. There is nothing you can hide from his greedy eyes.

“Twas a compliment, husband.”

“Perhaps a visit to the Maester is needed-”

You press a hand flat against his cheek and he falls silent. Your thumb brushes across his cheekbone to the apple of his cheek, to under his eye. There it rests, caressing him. He wants more. Your touch is only skin-deep, and it is not enough. If he could, he would press himself against your skin until all that remained of him was fading heat. Until he was but a faint whisper on the wind and his memory lived on only in you, for there was not a part of him he did not wish to give you. He would carve a place for him in you – in your heart, so that he would be close always. You would beat as one, breathe as one.

“Yours is a beauty that the gods go to war for.”

“Perhaps once.” Aemond looks away.

“Scars are stories of hardships overcome. They are marks of victory, do not think they make you less. They never will. Not to me.”

“Perhaps so, but I am not whole. There is a piece of me that was stolen and I can never get it back. The gods would not even glance at a man such as I for anything other than a feat of greatness.”

“And you have shown them many,” you press a short kiss against his neck. “You claimed the Queen of all Dragons,” another kiss, “you won many battles on dragonback,” another kiss, “you showed mercy to your enemies,” a series of kisses follow that claim, all inching up his neck. “You saved your brother and Sunfyre,” a kiss on his cheek, “you were crowned King by the smallfolk”, this kiss fell on the corner of his lips, “and you have been a most attentive husband.”

A kiss straight on his lips. Aemond melts into it, pressing himself into you. You pull away too soon and he finds himself chasing after you, desperate for one more touch.

“The gods give the toughest battles to their strongest soldiers.” You thumb the skin under his eye, “and you have won them all. Take pride in that. Gods know I do.”

“You do?” He asks.

He did not think himself strong, or a champion of god given battles. His weaknesses tower over the oasis of strength, and so they are hidden to him. But he is not a vain man, that is not why he hates Luke for stealing his eye.

You smile. “Of course. And I think all the beauty in the world fades compared to yours. Scars and all.”

Aemond is not sure he believes your words, but he believes you. It is a conflicting mess of jumbled thoughts mingling with the words of others. He was never the beauty of the family, his dragon was not the beauty of her kin. His life was one of hiding, of pride hidden beneath compliance, of hatred festering under blushing skin.

“You flatter me, my love.” He says before his eyes wander back to your roses. “Yours is the only opinion worth hearing. The only one that matters.”

You hum. “Come back to bed, Aemond.”

“As my Queen commands.”

The draping curtains flutter in the soft autumn wind, and from Aemond’s side of the bed he could see out across the Blackwater Bay. Sometimes when the wind is harsh and the rain plenty, Aemond is back in the skies above Storm’s End. He dreams of thousands of ways he could have saved Luke, though he does not wish he lived, not truly. In some dreams he thought of ways he could harm him further – truly punish him for what he took from Aemond that night.

You can never have all of him. Not anymore. Though he dares not tell you that is why he cannot look at himself in mirrors. He would not show you the twisted being that hid under his skin. The one that would gouge out his other eye without hesitation were you to ask and smile as he did so.

He could never, would never forgive Luke for what he stole from you. It is a hatred so woven into his very being that he would carry that with him even in all Seven Hells.

“Come,” you beckon, kneeling on the bed. “If my words alone are not enough, I will prove it to you.”

“Prove what?”

His voice is low, filled with desires transcending earthly flesh. His is one of hunger for your very soul.

“Come here and I will show you.” Your smile is coy, playful even. There are half-wilted petals from your roses on the bed behind you. They form no pattern, haphazardly thrown across the sheets.

He wonders when you put them there.

Aemond comes to a stop in front of you, hands clasped behind his back, posture ramrod straight. He feels as though he is standing in front of the gods themselves, awaiting judgment. He hopes that he is enough, even if he cannot offer you all of him. There will always be a piece of him enduring the times alone.

He does not feel worthy of you. No amount of petals carefully gathered off prickly stems will soften the harsh edges of his being. The love he grew up around was conditional, and though he was rarely struck, their words were as sharp as daggers, and left deep scars that will never heal. It left him jagged, bleeding, tearing at the seams with a beast untamed. In the image of you he tried to mend himself, with your love he patched the holes left by cruel words. He tore the flames from his breath so that his wrath could never burn you, the claws from his hands so that his touch would always be gentle. Not a piece of him was worth suffering in the absence of anything you.

He was a dragon playing at being a lover.

But he broke his wings for just a glimpse of you, then forced himself to fly when you desired to feel the wind against your face. You could not see the darkness oozing from the cracks of him, of your husband as you knew him.

If it meant losing you, he would be a dragon no longer.

He could simply be him.

Aemond.

But Aemond knew not who he was anymore. He knew who he was forced to become, and who war made him. But war was no longer, and yet the man rising from the ashes of his kin’s pyres remained.

“Aemond?”

“Yes?”

“Where do you go when you get so lost in your head?”

He does not wish to reveal to you how deep his longing for you goes. It is etched into the walls of his heart, it is a bottomless pit that calls only your name. He can never fill it. It aches and aches, and he longs and longs. His envy knows no bound, it is endless in its hunger for you. He would have all of you if he could, just as he wants you to have all of him. Every thought in your head, every feeling, every sensation.

“Lost. I get… lost.” He confesses. The words are raw and a piece of his armor is cracked open to reveal mangled flesh of all Aemond’s that has been and will be. His recreation of himself in your image is as endless as his need to please.

“Oh, my love,” you whisper. “Let me take care of you.”

You reach for the strings on his trousers before you pull them down. He steps out of them easy enough, though he feels awkward standing there with his tunic on. Though you did not leave him to suffer for long before you pulled his shirt off as well. You palm at his chest, touching every divot and lean muscle on his chest. It is overwhelming. He almost feels like crying.

Your fingers massage, they scratch, they soothe and they burn his feverish skin. Your touch sets him alight. He can feel your love through every pass of your fingers over his skin. You press against the lean muscle, caress the slopes and divots of his flesh. Though you have long since memorized each other’s bodies, you touch him as if it is your first. His mind is dizzy with you, he feels as if he’s falling and drowning at the same time. The pleasure fills his throat, his lungs, and yet it also sweeps him off his feet, knocks the breath out of his chest. He wants more. He wants you to press harder, to mark him. You could press through his skin, through his muscles and ribs, and grasp his very heart, and you would still be so far away he wanted to weep.

His cock stiffens, though you keep touching him. You brush over his right nipple, then the left, then both. It is a strange sensation – one he’s not wholly against.

Then,

your fingers brush against his abdomen, trace the outline of his abs, then dips below. You grasp him firm in hand, and Aemond thinks he sees stars. You are so very soft, and he is so very very hard.

The whore Aegon forced on him at his thirteenth name-day held him tightly, too tightly, then rubbed his skin raw, and still he could not force himself to come. He remained flaccid and cold in her calloused hands, even as Aegon jeered and leered from his place on the dais.

But you showed none of her cruelty, none of the cold indifference. Just your presence took him halfway to completion, and he doubted it would take much more. Your other hand reaches below to cup his balls. That touch is less gentle, more firm. You start to twist the hand holding his cock, bringing it back and then forth in long, slow movements. You switch between firm, soft, fast, and then slower. But it is never not gentle. And you never look away from his eyes.

Though half-lidded, jaw slack and chest heavy, he stares at you. Pleasure of the flesh is second to the connection he finds in your eyes.

His eye blinks wide open at the new sensation. Your mouth is warm and soft like silk. It is heaven made flesh, and it makes his knees tremble. You envelop him, tongue hot on his cock. You pay special attention to his head; trace the veins and the weeping slit with extra care. And, oh, is he weeping.

Aemond needs more.

He wraps his fingers around your hair, then gently guides you back and forth. A single shake of your head would free you from him, should you wish, but you don’t. Your tear-filled eyes plead with him for a tighter hold, and he complies. A bit. But he is soon lost to the pleasure of your mouth, and so as his eye flutter shut and he shudders, he finds himself guiding you all the way down so that your nose meets the short hairs at his base, and then back up just far enough that your lips wrap around his head.

The reverence of a septon to the gods are nothing compared to that which he whispers your name.

Though if he finds the most pleasure from your sucking his cock or from knowing that a piece of him was inside you, he would never know. You swallow him down so easily, and with so much enthusiasm he is mournful that there is not more he can give.

There is a knife on the chest by his feet. He wonders, would you swallow all of him as easily as his seed? If he cut himself would you lap at his wounds?

Then, you pull away. You crawl up the bed until you fall down on the many pillows at the top of the bed. He follows without thought, kicking off his shoes and socks. His hair tie is next and his pale hair falls down his back. You are not prey, and he is not a predator, but he feels a thrill chasing after you into your marital bed. It sets his blood alight with desire.

“That was cruel.” He says. “I was close.”

He wasn’t. Your passions are his passion, your pleasure his pleasure.

“Then I suppose you should get revenge.” You bite your lip.

Your nightwear is thin. It is easily swept away from your body and thrown on the floor.

“Yours is the beauty gods would die for.”

“It is all for you.” You tell him as you lean back against the pillows.

His eye rove over you. Not an inch of you is not perfect, not an inch he did not love. All of you on display for him; an offering for a vengeful man. You are not unmarred by the war, and there is not a scar he does not kiss. He feels your pain as if it was his, and each wound on your body is his failure.

“We match,” you told him once.

He did not have the heart to tell you that this was done in your honor, to take the pain from you and deliver it upon him. He cut himself open for all the gods to see, then demanded they scar him as they did you.

Aemond runs his hands along your form with the same careful love as you did him. His hands caress the skin on your ribs, dance around your sensitive nipples to lay flat over your heart. It pounds against your skin, calling out to him. His beats in turn. Then, he turns his attention to your breasts. You are most sensitive there. His lips wrap around a nipple, and you gasp. His hand wanders down your stomach, through the hair covering your cunt, and then he presses down on your clit. You jump into his touch, eyes widening at the sudden pleasure.

“Aemond.” You moan.

His mouth comes off your nipple with a wet ‘pop’ before he leans down and claims the other. He presses tight circles into your clit, alternating directions, then he moves his index finger to nudge at your entrance. His thumb stays on your clit, but the motions are lazy. He spells his name, then yours, then he stops.

Aemond pulls away, but not for long.

He moves down your body, about to put his lips against your cunt, when you pull at his hair. Aemond groans into your flesh. His desire for you is akin to drunkenness. He is dizzy with it, crazed with a need that can never be satisfied. Still, he presses himself against your folds, tongue darting out to lap at the wetness there.

It trickles down the abyss of his desire, and in turn it grows. The hunger deepens, hollows out his chest.

His thumb stays on your clit, but only for a moment before his nose replaces it. He grabs your hips and brings you closer to him. His face is all but buried in you, and yet it is not enough. Your wetness covers his lips, his chin, his cheeks. His tongue digs inside you for more, tip of his nose pressing against your clit in that way that makes your head spin.

Time seems to stop, your pleasure endless, his chase bringing him closer and closer, and deeper. He presses a finger inside your entrance, before you give way and he thrusts it inside. He pumps it when his tongue darts away, so that you are never empty of him.

Then, just as your hips start to shake, and your moans grow louder, you pull him away. He protests, loudly, but it falls on deaf ears. You pull him up to you, and he is reluctant to follow. Aemond feels cold and lost, but is then altogether found and warm when your hands wrap around his cock again.

And the next moment he’s burning.

You guide his cock inside you, and he sputters to life. His lips press down on yours, uncaring of the taste of him inside your mouth. He needs the connection, needs you. Aemond thrusts wildly against you for a few moments, his cock driving in and out of you with filthy wet sounds.

You hold his face in your hands as you kiss, and his thrusts grow more controlled. Aemond wants it to last. Wants to drag out your connection for as long as he can, but he can feel his orgasm building already. His lower back aches with it, his toes curling against the bedsheets. He moves to slow down but the second he tries, you wrap your legs around his hips, pressing your feet against his buttocks to slam him into you. It is the same when he tries again, until he drives back with the same force as you drive him back in.

The pace is maddening, your sounds so sweet he feels like he’s drowning. He knows not where he ends and you start, but he would have it no other way. If he pushes into you hard enough would you truly become one? In body as you are in soul?

“Gods, Aemond,” you gasp at a particularly hard thrust.

Aemond brings his finger back down to thumb at your clit as apology, and you sing even sweeter for it.

Time means nothing, there is only you and him. And then you’re falling over the cliff of pleasure, and he dives after you, clinging to you with bleeding fingers. Your pleasure is his pleasure, two halves of a whole finally forcing themselves together. There is not a crack in your connection, and Aemond thinks he sees stars as his vision goes white. He gasps and moans into your mouth, your pants and sounds of pleasure drowned by his need to bring himself closer to you.

He lets himself fall upon you, cock softening inside you. His head spins still, but his heart beats like a drum in his chest at knowing that he’s once again been claimed by you. Even when he pulls himself free (reluctantly) there is still a piece of him in you. A piece that would never blossom into something more, for Aemond would not part with a single part of you, not even for himself.

“I love you,” you pant into his ear.

“Not as much as I love you,” he says in return.

You laugh. “‘Tis not a competition, husband.”

“No.” He agrees, with an easy smile. It is the truth.

Aemond had won the war, and he had proven himself. And so he would never part from you again, even were the gods to try and force him from your side. The threads of your destiny are weaved together into one singular past, present, future.

His beauty may be what gods fought for,

but Aemond?

Aemond would fight all the Gods, both old and new,

for just one more stolen moment under silk sheets.

#house of the dragon #hotd imagine #house of the dragon imagines #hotd #aemond imagine #aemond targaryen #aemond targaryen imagine #aemond targaryen x reader #hotd aemond #aemond x you #aemond smut #aemond x reader #aemond x reader smut #hotd x reader #hotd smut

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