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venmondiese · 5 months ago

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THE WARM OF BOTH BODIES

masterlist ✧works in procress ✧ AO3

✧Pairing: Aemond Targaryen x Sister!Reader x Aegon II Targaryen

✧Rating: +18 mdni explicit

✧word count: 3.1k

✧gif credit: aegon ✧ aemond

-ˋˏsummary: Dragons are greedy, and both of your brothers have perverted desires that you take no issue on entertaining. ✧Warnings: : MDNI 18+, mummy kink, lactation kink, breastfeeding, threesome (f/m/m), aegond, targcest, polyamory, oral (f and m receiving), masturbation (f and m receiving), aegon is the most submissive to exist, switch!aemond. ✧ this is a part from @targaryen-dynasty 's 3k celebration ! check all the other works too, and as always a pleasure to participate with my silly things and congrats to her ⸜(｡˃ ᵕ ˂ )⸝♡ ✧ note: i added my own spice. it didn't say anything about aegond but i am... weak... #i tried

By no means had you known what being alone was like.

After Aemond, you were the fifth child of king Viserys to survive childhood. Daeron was your youngest by two years, and like your sister, you were dotted and cared for by your mother and father… unlike your brothers.

Your mother had a weird way to demonstrate affection to them, you always thought. With Aegon was non-existent, and Aemond had this burden to be the reliable sibling amongst them all.

When Aegon had to marry Helaena; you married Aemond. It was how the tradition dictates, and it was under your father’s wish, much to your mother’s dislike.

And just like Helaena, you recently had a daughter with Aemond, Rhaelle, who was the apple of his father’s eye. Yet, the only difference between your duty and Helaena’s is that she wasn’t the one who had to take care of Aegon. Instead, you took care of Aegon’s whims, alongside your husband’s.

Aegon was greedy, whiny and clingy. He searched you whenever he wanted, following you around like a puppy for your attention. Whereas Aemond was quiet, reserved and embarrassed, but not less greedy. He often wanted comfort, praise for his action and the reassurance that he was doing no wrong in his desires.

Both of them accepted the other, in a quiet agreement. You were a petulant person, and if you wanted, they knew this, all of it, would be over. So they shut up their differences for the sake of it.

Aegon was curled by your right side, lying on the bed of your chambers. Post coital bliss at its finest, as he was slightly sleepy, and even a bit grumpy when bothered. It had been some cold days, but the fire made it more bearable, and it gave some sense of cosiness to both. He was just resting, a bit sleepy, his head on your stomach as you read some silly book about Valyrian fashion, as his legs were pressed against your shoulder, as you slowly caressed his leg, soothing him like that.

You hear his soft yawn, as the laziness of the evening consumes you both as you are cuddled against the other for the warm. As Aegon draws slowly patterns upon the lower part of your chest, you feel the door of the chambers opening knowing it was your husband

You lower your book, caressing Aegon’s heel and calf, as you look at Aemond, walking closer to the bed as he makes a slight face at seeing Aegon here, as if he wanted you all for himself. He takes his boots quickly, moving to take off his leather jerkin.

“Hi” You say, softly, and he hums. You can see it in the slight frown on his face.

Aegon stirs a hit, not greeting Aemond as he sits on the bed, closer to you. Like a lazy cat, he yawns, and you feel his muscles stretching a bit.

“Did you tuck Rhaelle?” Aemond asks, his shoulders tensed up as he takes off his eye patch and loses up his hair. He was tired, you could see.

“Yes, she is sleeping in the nursery…” You say softly, looking at him. “What is it?” You ask, seeing how Aemond wants something, yet he doesn’t know how to say it, looking at you a bit unsure.

“Mummy” He whines softly, frowning as his tone was a bit sheepishly, sitting closer to you, by your left side.

You press your lips together, looking at him as he seems so vulnerable, and tired, for whatever reason he probably will tell you later. Aegon nuzzles your stomach, his interest piqued on Aemond’s word, because if it involves Aemond, it will involve him as well.

The unspoken words between you and Aemond are no obstacle to knowing what he wants. You know your brothers, surely, but Aemond was different. Aemond was your husband, and you knew him like the palm of your hand.

Aemond nods shyly, as if agreeing with the thought on your mind, and he scoots closer once you sit better on the bed, leaning back properly on the pillows. Your nightgown is easy to untie at the front, more so when you are lactating and need an easy way to open the dress. Rhaelle would fuss and wail her little lungs out, so your clothes were always easy to undo.

Now, if Rhaelle’s father and uncle enjoy the same, is another thing.

You undo the laces in the front of your dress, and you know how Aegon reincorporates to sit, suddenly all woken up and interested in this. The dress is pure cotton, and it is comfortable to wear. You pull the fabric out of the way, and with their gazes following your each movement, you know it is a matter of time for them to hungrily latch onto you.

Aegon curls up to your right side, whereas Aemond does the same on your left. He always preferred your left, since the blind spot faces Aegon, so he doesn’t have to bear seeing him too. Aegon is much more shameless, clinging to you and moving his hips softly against your right side.

You feel both men getting closer, and their breaths hit your nipples as they nuzzle your blossom, in hopes of sucking hungrily.

“Aegon…” you say softly as he was growing impatient, moving a bit as he pressed his face closer to your breast, restless and eager.

Aemond is never restless; he stayed still as he loved, caring. He always pressed faint kisses, around your tits, before suckling calmly. His left arm always found its way to wrap your waist, keeping you close to him as he delighted himself with soothing milk.

Instead, Aegon immediately latched onto your breast, suckling and trying to get all the milk he could, eagerly as he always seemed relentless, always craving more and more. He’d watch you with bright, purple eyes as he craved for your attention.

You comb their hair with your fingers, kiss the top of their heads and rub their back. They were your older brothers, but behaved like hungry little kittens that needed their milk.

Always was a bit strange, as they weren’t always amicable. It took a long time, for Aemond, at least, to join in. It was mainly due to the fact that Aegon rarely left you alone, even if you were Aemond’s wife. Little by little, they learned how to warm up to each other, and sometimes to your request, they’ll kiss.

The suckling sounds are loud, almost obscene, as you feel both swallow each drop from your leaking milk. Aemond had probably been tasting it since the end of your pregnancy, yet it didn’t tire him at all. And Aegon? He was always hungry, and he suckled and his tongue lapped your breast, milking more and more.

You can feel how they swallow the milk, both eager. Aemond has a hand around your waist, as Aegon has his hand around your breast and squeezes it slightly as if to have more.

“Mummy” Aegon murmurs, pulling back as he looks at you, and he has wide purple eyes “are we being good?”

The reassurance is a must, you realise with time. “Yes, baby. You both are my good boys” you murmur, caressing the top of their head “Both of you, my best boys…”

They delight themselves in the praise; you hear Aemond’s faint moans, as you feel his body at ease. You caress the back of his head, feeling the loose hairs on your fingers.

It always made you feel the arousal settle in the lower part of your belly, and feeling so turned on you had to press your thighs together a bit. Aemond loved when your breast grew larger, and full of milk. Aegon was not behind that feeling, as he was the one to propose the idea to ‘help you with the heaviness of them’.

Aegon gulps on the milk like a glutton, and his eyes are closed in the delight of nursing. You feel his cock hardening little by little by your side. Aemond instead, looks at you. His eye is deep and intense, watching your face as his mouth is still working on your nipple, his tongue pressing against the nub getting more milk. His hand on your waist loosens up slightly, slowly moving down all the way to your stomach, and little by little, makes its way to your centre.

Aegon is oblivious to that, as he suckles and slurps loudly, with not a care for the world, nipping and licking all of the sweet milk that your breast can produce. He whines a bit, scooping closer and closer as he tries to get more and more.

“Doing such a good job for mummy, darlings…” You say to both, as you feel Aemond’s hand almost innocently brushing against your womanhood. “So good…” You murmur dreamily, sighing as Aegon nuzzles his face closer to your right breast, his nose brushing the skin as his mouth slightly presses a bit harder, eager for more.

They could feel you moving under their touch, almost possessive as they fed from you, keeping you right there at their mercy. The sound of your praise stirred something in both of them, yearning more of your affections, more of mummy’s affections.

Aemond is the first one to pull away from your breast, beginning to shift as his body moves higher, his mouth kissing all the way up to kiss you in the lips. You hum, feeling the taste of your own milk on his lips.

“Mummy” Aegon protests, not wanting to be left out as always, as he pulls away from your breast, an obscene sound from it as he moves his head to nuzzle your cheek, kissing lazily to keep on worshipping your body.

Aware of how his hand was still between your legs, Aemond pressed it harder against your core, rubbing more firmly. As if wanting to draw more sounds from you, Aegon moves his hand to grope softly, carefully your breast, not wanting to leave a part from you unattended.

“You are such good boys for me, always wanting to please me, hm?” You say, panting a bit from how good your husband's hands on your pussy feels.

“Yes mummy” Aemond murmurs, and Aegon nods in agreement.

It’s as if Aemond knows your thoughts, because he turns to watch Aegon, moving slightly his other hand to place it on the back of his neck, pulling Aegon closer to share a slow, yet passionate kiss between both of them.

They could feel the milky taste in the other’s mouth, and you could see how their tongues crashed against each other, making it as sloppy as possible as they made out for quite some time, as Aemond’s fingers tried to pry into your clit and pussy.

You know that at the beginning it was more to put on a show for you, for your delight that they agreed to do as well. If they enjoyed it, you could never know. But now it’s different, watching how they hungrily seek each other’s mouth, and if one tries to pull away, the other is quick to lean, following their mouth to keep on kissing.

It’s hot, to say the least, and it makes wonders for your arousal to see both of them kiss like this. You think, for a moment, if you could maybe propose the idea for them to follow this lust for each other further. Maybe for another occasion.

As Aemond’s lips move to kiss Aegon’s neck, you see how your baby seems so aroused, you could always see it clearly with Aegon, how his cheeks turned pinker and he had that blissful expression. You feel Aemond’s hand moving away from your core, and before you could ask anything, they both pulled away from each other.

Aemond probably murmured something in Aegon's ear, because they shared a look before the eldest slowly turned to you.

“Mummy, can we please you…? We wanna taste your pussy… please…” he asked, and you see how Aemond looks at you, awaiting your answer, as his hand caresses your thigh softly.

You caress Aegon’s thigh softly, as they both almost look at you with puppy eyes.

“Yes, my darlings. Please mummy with your mouths”

It does not take them long to accommodate between your legs, Aemond presses one hand to your left leg, keeping it still. Aegon does not bother to do the same for your left thigh, as he has other priorities.

You feel Aegon’s mouth first, his tongue tracing along her slit. Aemond moves his hand to the back of Aegon’s head, pushing his mouth further into your cunt, as the eldest savours your wetness. And at the sound of your moans, he doubles his efforts.

Then it’s Aegon who pulls your husband’s face down to join his mouth, both of them licking and sucking your wet cunt. You can see both of them, their cheeks pressed together as they pleasure you with their mouths at the same time, licking and slurping in unison.

“Fuck, f-fuck, gods…” you moan, your hips moving closer, grinding against his tongues, grabbing Aegon’s hair, short and easy to grab (unlike Aemond’s)

Aegon seems delighted at that, and you feel his tongue darting out to suck your clit eagerly, and you feel your jaw moving at the motion, and he whimpers with need. Aemond is, as always, focused as he slurps and sucks on her entrance, obscene sounds fill the room as his expert mouth works on you.

They both clearly relish both the taste and the privilege of having their faces buried between your thighs, moving to please you, and their tongues crashing together as they do so.

“Mummy, you taste so good” you don’t even recognise the sound, the sound muffled by the little space between his mouth and your folds.

“Fuck, so good…” the other agrees, and your legs tremble, as your hips try to get more and more of their wicked tongues.

Aegon is the one whining, you know that. As you pull his hair, you see his needy eyes looking at you. You press your heel on his back, as if pushing him closer to your cunt. He moans, closing his eyes as he goes back to feasting on your pussy.

Aemond moved to your clit now, and you can see how the sapphire glints on the dim lights. You imagine that both of their cocks are rock hard, throbbing impatiently.

Maybe it’s Aegon or Aemond (maybe both) the one who drools, while the muffled moans still come and go. You, on your side, are a mess, as you try to keep both of them close to you, feeling Aemond’s hand caressing your breast. Your pussy can’t take longer, and your hips grind against both of their faces, as you roll your eyes back and lean your head back in the pillows, as you feel your orgasm so close.

“Fuck, babies, so good for mummy, fuck…” you mean it, moaning loudly as you feel them whimper.

“Wanna make you cum so hard, mummy…” Aegon’s raspy voice is a bit clearer, as you clench on his hair.

“Hmmmm” Aemond hums, not separating one bit from your cunt.

As you start cumming, both of them press their mouth against your pussy, wanting to taste your cum as they try to be the one to get more. You are cumming hard, and their greedy tongues only fuel your orgasm even more.

Feeling your pussy quivering and pulsing around their tongues it's probably one of their favourite things, along with the rest of you. The feeling of your creamy juices made them greedy, and they share it all

Their faces are shiny with your arousal, and even when you retreat, they lick their lips as if wanting more. You can’t exactly see in the faces of your brother’s what they are thinking, but you feel tired to think about anything but the great orgasm you just had.

You are not exactly sure who started the kiss, but it's messy and sloppy, as you see their tongues sharing the last tastes of your cum, as their hands clenched to the other to keep him close, and keep on the passionate kiss.

It’s Aemond who groans, Aegon pressing his body to his, almost humping his cock to any part of your husband’s skin, who holds him close, one hand on his jaw and the other moving down to the eldest hips.

You move a bit, sitting better on the bed, yet your back still leans on the pillows, body relaxed as you accommodate to watch them devour each other as one does sit to watch men fighting in a tourney. But both of them were involved in different practices, which was a show for you to see and most importantly- enjoy.

You can see their tongues pressing together, their heads moving to not break the sloppy kiss, messy and passionate. They surely are doing this out of passion and lust, rather than rational thought, but you are not complaining.

Aegon’s hand comes to caress the firm abdomen of Aemond, like you enjoy doing. Your husband is a creature of many sides, and he can be as submissive as he can be dominant. He moves the hand on Aegon’s hip to grip his short hair, and keeps him in place to keep on kissing him.

“Aem… mummy” Aegon’s little whines come in a low tone, and a bit slurred, as Aemond does not give his mouth a break.

It takes you a while to notice that Aegon is using his hand to stroke Aemond’s cock, using the side of his thigh to hump and grind his own cock. He was needy, but he was too much of a needy baby to fight for dominance. Aegon relished on being submissive, either with you, or Aemond.

Aemond breaks their kiss, his head falling back to pant, groaning slightly as Aegon uses his hand on his cock. You know Aegon is the most lustful creature since he discovered pleasure, and he was always good with his hands.

“Mummy…” Aegon whines, wanting you to help him with his cock, and you move on your knees closer to where they were having this exchange of pleasure, because both of them wanted to cum very badly.

Your hands on Aegon’s cock make him go weak, whimpering as he leans closer to Aemond, moving his lips down on his body, his abdomen and the tip of his cock.

“Good boys, hm? You both are such good boys for mummy, pleasuring yourselves…” You say, that sweet tone of yours makes Aemond’s arousal explode.

“Fuck-” Aemond mutters, groaning and whimpering as he cums one of his hands moving to grip your shoulder, and as your hands stroke the eldest’s cock, your hand over stimulating movements on his cockhead, as if trying to replicate his tongue movements on Aemond’s tip.

Aegon is greedy, and he whimpers, still pleasuring Aemond, his hips bucking on your hand, as his own orgasm hits hard. Aemond is the one holding him, as your baby’s orgasm hits him hard, trying not to fall on the bed, panting loudly and whimpering.

He makes a little sound when you kiss him, wanting to taste Aemond’s cum on his tongue. It was delightful, and you feel his body melting on your touch. You feel how your other brother moves to caress the back of your head, nuzzling your shoulder and kissing it tenderly.

You could get used to this new dynamic, surely.

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jaenaravelaryon · 1 year ago

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My oc Lady Lysaera Delaegare of Lys, wife to Aerion Targaryen of Sunstone with her cat Meraxes in her chambers at Sunstone

#asoiaf #sims 4 #the sims 4 #ts4 #ts4 screenshots #ts4 edit #house targaryen #game of thrones #asoiaf fanfic #targaryen dynasty #lys asoiaf #house rogare #larra rogare

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thewritetofreespeech · 3 months ago

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Flourish

pairing: Aemond Targaryen x Reader

summary: Aemond had not been joking when he said they would work on another child after their first was born. Aemond never joked. [ part ii of this work ]

tags: heterosexual sex (m/f), fingering, breeding kink, mentions of past pregnancy, use of High Valyrian, Aemond so in love with his wife that he might fall over.

words: 2K Ao3

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The fire was warm as it crackled in the hearth. Staying off the coming chill of the cooler months settling in upon them.

Aemond stared into the hypnotic flames. His wine from dinner at his left while his wife sat in her twin seat at his right, wrestling with the babe in her arms. “Stop fighting little one.” She whispered under her breath at their child. To which Aemond had to scoff quietly as his cheeks raised in a smirk. You might as well tell a bird not to fly, if it was one of his children.

His beloved wife had given him the child he had asked for. A beautiful, strong, silver-haired paragon. With her mother’s eyes instead of his own, but no less the perfect Targaryen jewel. They named her Amena, after much debate of naming her Alyssa or Alysanne after his grandmothers. Truly they had considered it but, in the end, Aemond wanted his children to be their own person for as much as they could. So much of their lives would not be their own; their duties, their battles, their matches. Let them at least have their names.

The princess eventually settled and suckled at her mother’s breast for a time before a nurse came in to take her to the nursery. Though the Keep kept some of the finest wet nurses in all Seven Kingdoms, his wife insisted on giving their child her first & last feedings every day. No exceptions. He knew she would make an excellent mother, even before their child had been born.

The nurse gathered the babe from his wife’s arms, kneeling down to let her kiss Amena’s soft crown, before she came over to Aemond and did the same. “Sleep well, riñītsos.” He whispered to her, before she was carried away and the two of them were left alone.

His wife sighed heavily once the door closed. Slouching and sliding down into her chair in a very relaxed, but undignified, manner. “So, what shall we do for the rest of our night husband?”

“I want another child.”

Understandably, his wife was surprised. It was not the response one would often expect to hear when asking how they should spend the evening before bed. Cards. Reading. Surely not perpetuating a dynasty. “Did I not just give you that one?”

Aemond chuckled as she pointed towards the door where the nurse had disappeared through. “Yes. You did. But I would like us to have another.”

“Really? And what brought on this sudden change in perspective?”

He doesn’t know if he should tell her that it was not a ‘sudden’ change in perspective. Since that night they conceived Amena, Aemond’s goal had been to fill his wife and their wing of the castle with children. He just didn’t realize how persistent the urge would be once they had one.

“I thought you wanted Amena to have siblings.”

“I do,” she agreed, which was a good start, “but I did not think you meant now. Perhaps when they are older. I just got my body back.”

His eye roamed over his wife’s figure. Back nearly to where it had been before and still beautiful, but he would be lying if he said he had not been thoroughly attracted to her those nine months she had been pregnant. Seeing her swell heavy with his child. Watching her body change. Her breasts grow heavy. It almost set Aemond to drool.

“I thought you said you liked being pregnant.” He reminded her, as he stood up and knelt in front of her chair. The heat from the fire on his back almost as hot as his gaze fixed on her.

He knew that pregnancy wasn’t easy. Seeing his mother, his sister, and now his own wife go through it, he was aware it was not the tranquil beauty & reverence people made it out to be. But he did not think his wife despised it. She commented often on how she loved carrying their child, even amidst the complaints.

“Well, it…was an experience…I did not hate it.” He could see her waver as he took her hand in his. Good. Aemond did not think of himself as the clever charmer, full of charisma, like his brother was, but he was not without his own Targaryen silver tongue.

“Do you not want to give Amena a brother?”

“Is that what this is about?” Aemond stopped kissing her fingers at the sharp shift in her tone and looked up at her. “You don’t want another child. You want a son?” His silver tongue might not be as polished as he thought.

When she had been pregnant, she had asked him what he was hoping for and Aemond said he did not care. Which had been true. Sons carry a man’s name, but when you have the name ‘Targaryen’ the point was moot. And, as an avid learner of history, he knew that there were some Targaryen women that carried the name higher & finer than some of the men. If Amena had been male, he would have rejoiced all the same. But clearly now his wife was thinking that maybe he had hoped for a son and been disappointed. That they could try again and ‘get it right’. That was not what he meant.

“No. I have no more of a wish for a son than daughter. We could have 15 princesses, it would not bother me.”

“15??” His wife repeated with a laugh. Her concern and ire waning quickly. “I am not giving you 15 children, of any variety.”

“But you’ll give me another one, eh?”

Aemond lifted up on his knees. Back to seducing his wife as he leaned in close to her. His lips brushed against hers softly, before they traveled down her jaw to her neck. His wife sighed in his ear. Sinking further into her chair as she tilted her head back. Relaxed and pliable under his touch.

He continued to kiss her while his hands moved to undo the lacings in the front of her evening gown. A sharp gasp came to his ear, followed by a moan, as his cool hands slithered in to touch her breast. They were sensitive and tender. She had told him as much. The newfound weight of them in his hands from what they had been before made him moan as well and a shiver raced down her spine when he pulled the gown down to expose them fully.

“Aemond….” She sighed out as he kissed along the edge of her breast. Imagining another babe of silver at her left since Amena seemed to favor her right.

“Let us to bed, issa jorrāelagon.”

His wife nodded eagerly and Aemond rolled up to his feet with all the grace his training allowed him, before he offered her his hand. She of course took it, and he pulled her to her feet and against him. Holding her there for a moment to look down at her before he gave her another kiss on the lips and led them to bed.

As they were already in their evening clothes, the matter of getting undressed was easy. Aemond laid his wife on the bed and was quick to catch her arm before it moved to cover herself. She had become shy about her body and being naked in front of him since giving birth. A trend he hoped would pass. He certainly had not given her any indication that he did not still find her desirable. His hard cock stroked against the interior of her thigh, just in case she needed further encouragement.

She moaned quietly as his member brushed against her soft skin, then leaned up to kiss him. Aemond is happy to meet her. Her lips are soft as well. He always thought that. Everything about her was soft in comparison to his hard lines and, well, everything. It was why they were perfect together. Why the world needed more of their two halves in one whole, to make it better & perfect as well.

“Open for me.” He told his wife as his fingers brushed against her thigh as well to spread them that little bit further to give him entry.

She does, and his fingers slid in to toy with her already damp sex. “See. You may lie, issa jorrāelagon, but this part of you cannot. You want me to put another babe in you, don’t you?”

“Aemond…” Her voice sighed out his name as her head tipped back whilst his fingers pressed in.

“You want another Targaryen fire in your belly, yes?”

“I just want you inside me, Aemond.” She insisted and he smirked.

“I will be. And I will be every night until we make a new scion, if you’ll have me.” His thumb brushed over her clit. Swollen and beaded out as his fingers continue to thrust inside her. His pretty wife bowed her back. Called his name and begged him to enter her. “Tell me true, wife.” He whispered in her ear as she was nearly close to crying with want. “Do you want me to fill you up with my seed and plant a new babe in your womb?”

“Yes!” She finally admitted. “Yes Aemond, I do! I want another babe. To give that to you. I want you to fuck another child into me like you did before! Please, please, give it to me Aemond!”

The prince gripped his wife’s hair and pulled her in for a hard kiss. A reward for her honesty. As he was doing that, he pulled his fingers from her cunt and lined his cock up to refill it. Sheathing all of him in her warmth in just a single thrust. “Hells Aemond!”

He gave her but a moment to adjust before he started thrusting into her. Those beautiful, full breasts of hers bouncing obscenely in front of him. His eye roaming down to her again flat stomach and imagining it full again, before traveling lower to where there sexes meet and watched his cock thrust hard to put a child into her.

“A-A-Aemond!” His wife cried out. Voice stammered by his thrusts. Hands clinging to the bedding as her legs wrapped around him.

“Not going to let me go, are you issa jorrāelagon.”

“Never.” She told him. With this look in her eyes that shot Aemond right to his soul.

He grabbed hold of her arm and flipped them up while they kissed. Her legs still wrapped around him as she was now seated neatly in his lap as he thrust up. “I love you.”

“I love you too.” The sweet words somehow tainted a little with all the wanton, animal panting between them, but no less meaningful. “Now give me our son.”

Aemond groaned. His back teeth grinding while his wife’s hips were grinding into his lap. He held her still and flush against him as his cock burst forth deep inside. She moaned sweetly against his ear as he filled her. Not letting go until he was sure every drop was inside his wife, then laid her down on the mattress. “Just the once, husband?”

“Do not tempt me, wife.” Aemond warned her. Both remembering the mad frenzy that had been their first bout to conceive. “Did you really mean it?” He asked when they were settled in bed for just sleep now. “Would you really want a son?”

The conversation earlier had led him to believe that she was not interested in one, but then her remark a moment ago made him question. Although Aemond was not fool enough to believe what a person said in the throws of passion anymore than what a person said when they had imbibed.

“Hmm…I have no opinion really.” She confessed. Settling into her spot on the bed between her pillow and his chest. “I know that is what everyone hopes for us. More Targaryen sons.” Aemond hummed once. He wouldn’t patronize his wife by telling her that that wasn’t true. “But, having one of each wouldn’t be so bad.” Aemond looked down at his wife just as she looked up at him. A shared moment between them. “I am not giving you 15 children though.”

Aemond smirked at her quip. “We shall see, now won’t we.”

*****

riñītsos: little one, little child

issa jorrāelagon: my love

Amena (origin, Arabic): meaning trustworthy, loyal, protected. [Not a Targaryen name but sounded pretty close, in my opinion]

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kiwichaeng · 2 years ago

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I forgot how much everyone was lying to each other in season 1. Which relationship wasn't based on lies lmao

#everyone is lying to everyone #evie's random shit #dynasty

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eggtargaryenii · 2 months ago

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EAST OF THE SUN | PART I

You were a disgrace to House Targaryen, the product of an impulsive wedding between a lost prince and some Essosi whore. You had little social capital within the Red Keep and few prospects for marriage, but that was alright. You were perfectly happy to stay out of the game of thrones, wed some politically relevant lord of Alicent Hightower’s choosing, and die in peaceful obscurity. Unfortunately for you, Prince Aemond had other designs for your future.

5.8k words, aemond x fem!reader x jacaerys (though sadly, jace is not in this chapter). romance, childhood friends to lovers (except it's cousins), political drama. warnings for targaryen incest (between cousins), xenophobia/racism (depending on how you interpret the reader's racial coding), teenagers discussing sex, and a reference to underage sex in canon. the reader is half-valyrian and half-essosi, ethnically undefined. features are not described but she is considered conventionally attractive. dividers from @/cafekitsune.

I. THE HERMIT, REVERSED

You were a child when you learned that your mother was a whore.

Your father—a cousin to King Viserys—found your mother in one of the famed pillowhouses of Lys and brought her home as a souvenir. She was already heavy with you when they landed in Blackwater Bay, singing to you as your father cradled her belly every night. Though they had already been wedded in the Red Temple of Volantis, their union blessed by the light of R’hllor, it was your father’s wish that their love was also witnessed by the gods of Westeros. They were wedded once more in the Great Sept of Baelor, in a ceremony that was an affront to your grandsire, Prince Velarion. So wroth was he that everyone anticipated a terrible fate for your little family: the marriage annulled, your father forced into penance, and your mother killed.

But to the displeasure of Prince Velarion, one of the dragons chose you for a bond. (You were still in the womb when Wildfyre started clicking and squawking at you, and snarling at any man who came near your mother; he did not stop until you claimed him at ten-and-two, soaring upon his back through the skies of Myr.) The dragon keepers insisted that this was a sign that you were chosen by the gods of Old Valyria, so the lives of you and your mother were spared.

Still—your mother was eventually exiled, and your lord father wished to see her back to Lys. You had cried bitterly and begged to go with them, but your father said that the journey through the Stepstones would be too dangerous. He entrusted you to Viserys until his return, and then embarked on a journey that should not have taken more than one hundred days.

Ten years later, you still waited for him.

It was hard to recall when it was concluded that your father was unlikely to return; you only remembered that you did not accept it. The mornings and evenings of your early childhood were spent watching all the ships that passed through Blackwater Bay, waiting for red-and-black sails and a man you could now hardly remember. You only stopped once you flew through the skies of the Free Cities on dragonback, and not a single lost prince waved to you from among the crowds.

Your father’s disappearance left your position in jeopardy. The King could have easily taken control of his wealth and disinherited you if he so wished—as your grandsire was inclined—but His Grace instead decided that you should stay in the Red Keep and be treated like any other trueborn Targaryen. You were told as a child that this was an act of magnanimity, a gesture born out of love for his lost cousin, but you later came to realise that it was likely a self-serving move conjured up by Otto Hightower. Marriages were the easiest way to form political alliances; having an extra Targaryen lady to marry off was good leverage.

But despite your utility, you were still a stain within the Red Keep—a disgrace for the histories of the Targaryen dynasty. Nearly as great of one as Princess Saera herself, though perhaps still not quite as embarrassing as the three bastards sired by Lord Strong unto Princess Rhaenyra. Nevertheless, you were still a pariah. After all, children inherit the sins of their parents in the eyes of the Seven, meaning that your mother’s sin was also yours.

And so—when you were a child, you learned that if your mother was a foreign whore, then so too were you.

II. JUSTICE, REVERSED

Aemond was a child when he learned that people mistook you for a whore.

He learned this by listening to his queen mother, eavesdropping on a hushed conversation between her and his father. They were at a tourney, the crowd abuzz with chatter, which was perhaps why they were speaking so openly. The Queen stared at you as you sat next to Helaena, frowning at the closeness between the two of you. Being close in age, it was natural that the two of you spoke to each other frequently. You were a little older than all three of Alicent’s children and, as was common of a girl your age, you had prepared a favour: a ring of forget-me-nots interwoven with a ribbon you often wore. It was simple, but pretty, and it gave Aemond a feeling of deep distaste for some reason he couldn't identify.

His mother seemed to find it distasteful too. “Hard to believe she prepared a favour,” she said. She used the tone with which she often spoke of Princess Rhaenyra, the one that suggested derision. Aemond listened carefully, as he tended to whenever you came up in the conversation.

“And why would that be?” his lord father asked. He sounded defensive, also similar to the way he always did when his firstborn daughter came up. And as with Rhaenyra, Alicent seemed not to care for his sentimentality toward you.

“Well, what man would think to ask for it,” she asked, not delicately, “given her parentage?”

“Whatever you may think of her mother,” the King replied, “the girl is still a trueborn Targaryen. It is natural that she may catch the attention of some lordling or knight.”

“Surely not one with any faith, nor any serious ambitions in the court,” Alicent remarked. “Because she is—”

She paused then, hesitating. When Aemond snuck a glance at his father, he saw a stiff smile on his face.

“She is?” he questioned.

“...she resembles her mother more and more with each passing day,” Alicent remarked. “And one would think that she is similar. Foreign and improper in nature. A daughter of sin.”

Aemond’s brow furrowed. His mother spoke often of sin, of those who should beg for the grace of the Seven lest they be condemned to hell. She often reminded Aegon not to commit any such transgressions lest he disgrace the family, which he seemed to often do anyway. Aemond did not think you were particularly like his older brother, who stank constantly of wine and snuck off to Flea Bottom on every possible occasion. On the contrary, you were mostly well-behaved—except when you were quarrelling with Aegon—hardly ever indulged in any vices, and you only ever snuck out of your room to make miserable, wistful faces at the waters of Blackwater Bay.

And unlike Aegon, you were also kind.

Aemond did not know why exactly you had always been so nice to him; he just knew that you were unwaveringly so. Perhaps you felt a kind of kinship with him because he was frequently as miserable as you. For as long as the two of you had known each other, you had never once teased Aemond, and you in fact defended him. Just a few moons ago, you’d shouted at Aegon after the incident with the pig in the dragonpit, comforted Aemond after the fact, and encouraged him to claim Vhagar thereafter. To show up your ass of a brother, you’d suggested. And when Lucerys slashed his face open in the aftermath, you kept Aemond company for the entire duration of the recovery—watching them remove his ruined eye despite your disgust, keeping him company at his bedside when a fever took him, glowering at the Strong bastards whenever they came near him. Only his mother cared for him more deeply.

Aemond did not know what kind of sin such a kind person could have committed—what his queen mother should be referring to. So he turned to his brother and asked, “What does Mother mean by that?”

“Mean by what?” Aegon asked, eyes on the knights before the crowd. Clearly distracted.

“She called our cousin a daughter of sin. What does she mean?”

“Oh.” His brother glanced briefly at you, eyes considering. They travelled down your silhouette in a way that Aemond misliked for some reason he couldn't identify. “She means our cousin is a whore.”

“A whore?” Aemond asked, questioning. He’d heard the word many times, of course—sometimes uttered by his brother, and once lobbed at Princess Rhaenyra—and understood it as an insult. But no one had ever explained its specific meaning to him.

Aegon gave him an incredulous look. “You don't know what a whore is?” At Aemond's blank expression, Aegon explained, “It means she spreads her legs for money and is destined to go to hell. You know, like the women on the Street of Silk.” He paused, sizing up Aemond. “I should take you there someday, give you a proper education—then you’ll know exactly what mother means when she says ‘daughter of sin’.”

“I know what sex is,” Aemond replied defensively, though he didn't entirely know the details. “I'm not stupid.” He frowned then. “She doesn't work on the Street of Silk, though.”

“No, but her mother worked in a Lysene pillow house—much the same as the Street of Silk, though I hear the establishments of Lys are nicer, and filled with the most beautiful slaves from all over Essos.” Aegon looked at you again in a way that Aemond did not like. “I wonder if she inherited any of her mother’s talents. Maybe she’ll let me fuck her someday and I'll find out.”

Aemond felt a sense of disgust at the thought, even without fully knowing what his brother was imagining. All he knew was that he hated the thought of his brother putting his hands on you. “She wouldn't.”

“She would.”

“Would not.”

“Would too.”

“Would not! Who’d want to lay with you?”

Aegon scoffed. “Every woman from the Wall to Yi Ti, of course. Who wouldn't want to fuck a Targaryen prince?” He elbowed Aemond. “That includes you too, you know. Maybe if you pay her, she’ll let you have a turn as well. Then I wouldn't even need to take you to the Street of Silk to become a man.”

The feeling of disgust intensified. Not knowing what to do with it, Aemond kicked Aegon in the shin, making the young man yelp.

“Ow! What was that for?”

“For being an ass.”

“An ass? I'm giving you advice, man to man! Guiding you toward adulthood and a glorious night with our Lysene beauty of a cousin!”

“I don't want a glorious night with her.”

“Fine, then—I alone will enjoy her.”

Aemond kicked him again, and Aegon cursed. “Little shit!” he hissed, which—as Aemond had planned—earned him a violent shush and a glare from their mother. His brother gave him a dirty look for the manipulation.

“I don't know why you're getting all sensitive about this,” Aegon said. He squinted at Aemond then, discerning. “Say—is this jealousy? Insecurity? Are you worried that you aren’t man enough to bed her?”

Aemond glowered at him, which made Aegon laugh and clap his back.

“No need to worry if she rejects you, little brother. I know a number of skilled women on the Street of Silk, any one of them as good in bed as our cousin should be. After all, one whore’s as good as another.”

Aegon scowled. “Stop calling her that. She’s a lady of House Targaryen, not a whore.”

“Who says a lady can't be a whore? Just think of our Great-aunt Saera! I guess you wouldn’t know, but she ended up in a pleasure house, first in Flea Bottom, and now somewhere in Lys. And look at our half-sister—mother to three bastards. I'm sure our dear cousin will follow in their footsteps. It's in her blood.”

“She wouldn't do that,” Aemond replied sharply. “She's nothing like those two.”

How could you be? Princess Saera had been a vile person and Rhaenyra was a self-serving liar. Both Aegon and his mother had to be wrong about you—Aemond was sure of it. His mother treated you with such judgement, but he was certain you were undeserving of it.

He was sure of it too when his brother finally took him to the Street of Silk years later, and he bedded a woman for the first time. Sylvi was her name. She was indeed very skilled, and she was kind as well—stroking his hair afterwards and praising him for doing such a good job. It reminded him somewhat of his mother’s touch upon his head after Lucerys took out his eye, and the way you held his hand as his fever set in. But that was the end of any similarity between you and Sylvi; and in that respect, you were much more like his mother than this strange woman anyway. Aemond knew then that you were neither a whore nor a sinner. He couldn’t imagine you disgracing yourself like the girls who sold themselves at the brothel, let alone selling yourself to someone like his brother.

But his mother had been right about one thing: no one asked for your favour that day during the tourney. You’d sighed at the ring of flowers, looking a little forlorn, and tossed it later onto the floor of the godswood—an offering for the old gods, you'd said to the weirwood, because the new ones were shit. Aemond watched you from behind an ancient oak, waiting for you to leave. Once he was certain you were gone, he snatched your favour from the ground. He studied it carefully, eyes tracing the ribbon woven deftly between the flowers. He remembered that you wore it when you stayed by his bedside.

He untangled it from the ring of forget-me-nots, and he decided to take it back to his room.

III. THE MAGICIAN

Alicent Hightower was eager to marry you off.

The Small Council had spent the past several weeks discussing the prospects of your marriage. Without any parents to oversee your betrothal, the decision of your match laid entirely in the hands of King Viserys—which was to say, in the hands of Otto Hightower and his daughter. Alicent had very little love for you—no pious woman in her right mind would love a daughter of sin—but you were glad for her influence in some ways. Rhaenyra, before she left King’s Landing, relayed to you that Otto had brought up your future betrothal when you were as young as ten, but Alicent cautioned him against premature decisions. Let us not waste the opportunity given to us by her marriage, she always chided, but Rhaenyra had the sense that it had less to do with politics and more to do with wanting to spare you from the fate of a child bride.

But now you were a woman grown, and you were quickly becoming a nuisance for the Queen. She had been willing to tolerate your presence near her children when you were all young and she was charged with raising you, but she had recently begun imagining that you had corruptive influence over her sons. Aegon regularly talked of how much he'd love to bed you, which made her furious with him; and Aemond always insisted on having your company, which made her furious with you. Ever since your first blood, the Red Keep had regularly been plagued by rumours of your indiscretions with whichever knight or lord with whom you were most seen. Most recently, the most popular whisper was that Prince Aemond was your lover and you were secretly carrying his child. Why else would such an adroit and honourable young man regularly associate with the daughter of a whore?

Alicent had been apoplectic when she heard the rumours. They were, you supposed, believable. Her second son had always been strangely attached to you, nearly to the exclusion of all others. He didn't even treat his own sister with such affection—and he certainly held no such love for his brother—so a carnal relationship was a somewhat natural conclusion for an outsider. You, however, withered at the thought. Aemond may now be as comely as the Maiden herself, but you still saw him as the awkward little boy whom you grew up alongside and whom you constantly defended from his bullies.

Of course, his mother had no way of knowing any of this; she could only see the signs of a sordid affair between the two of you. That Alicent Hightower had raised you out of the goodness of her heart and you chose to return this favour by corrupting her son and engaging in the great sin of fornication was a huge upset. Not only did she chew you out in the throne room in front of King Viserys, utterly humiliating you—she also designed to send you to the Silent Sisters.

You could have easily ingratiated yourself to her with the correct penance. You could have distanced yourself from Aemond, as well as every other man in the Red Keep. You could have dedicated yourself to studying the Seven, immersing yourself in their grace. And most of all, you could have fervently denounced your mother and fervently renounced all sin. You could have made it clear that you were not a sinner, and especially not a harlot.

But you would lose respect for yourself if you did any of those things. You loved your mother too much to disavow her; you refused to practise a faith that would condemn her to hell simply for her profession; and most importantly, you did not want to distance yourself from Aemond. You had only three friends in this world, and that was only if you were allowed to include your dragon in the count. Your cousin Jacaerys got along well with you, but he'd long since left the capital, making Aemond your only companion in King’s Landing who was capable of human speech. (Wildfyre, though loyal, was not exactly a good conversationalist.)

All this to say, you simply did not want to let Aemond go.

In the end, you placated Alicent by making the somewhat extreme decision to invite her most trusted septa to inspect your maidenhead. When it was revealed that you were not, in fact, fucking Aemond, Alicent had no choice but to recant her allegations. Mollified, the Queen afterward extended an olive branch by meeting with you at least once a week. Repairing our relationship, she called it. By this she meant that she would spend an hour proselytising to you in an attempt to save your heathen Lysene soul, and then another hour discussing your marriage prospects. Better to be rid of you before her second son could actually be seduced by your sinful nature.

Right now you were both sitting in the garden, enjoying a pot of chrysanthemum tea in the sun. Alicent had just wrapped up an impromptu sermon about the Seven; now she was speaking to you about marriage. She kept talking about a Lord Stokeworth and a Lordling from House Tully. The former was nearly thirty years your senior and the younger was almost ten years your junior, but they were both willing to overlook the fact that people knew you as the daughter of a Lysene whore. It was more important to them that you were the blood of the dragon.

“Rivermen are especially difficult to make alliances with,” Alicent told you, “but they are bound by oaths and loyal to their kin. And I'm sure the lordling would treat you well. A marriage with a Tully would do well for all of us.”

“Rivermen are bound by oaths,” you said, “but they have already sworn loyalty toward us. They have never once expressed unrest during King Viserys’ reign, have they?”

Alicent stopped. She regarded you carefully, her fingers twitching—nails scraping against one another. She clearly wanted to use you to assure the loyalty of the Riverlands to the Hightowers, but you were unwilling to openly commit yourself to her cause. For the past several years, you'd been careful to wear neither black nor green, and this was perhaps both her greatest reason for not loving you and for not banishing you.

“That is true,” she said, “but Lord Tully has been sick a long while now, and his hold on his bannermen has loosened. Their allegiances are unclear. It would do well for the Crown to have more influence in the Riverlands, in case of any trouble during our succession.”

“I am still confused, my Queen. I do not think the Riverlands have ever been inclined to defy either their liege or the Iron Throne. They have all bent the knee to Princess Rhaenyra.” With this, you paralyzed the Queen: the only reason they would have to protest the Iron Throne was if it were ever usurped. She had just implied treason, and you would not let it go unnoticed.

You supposed it was a bold thing to point this out, but you really did not want to marry a ten year old. Ideally you'd wed a handsome lord with reasonable political standing, as far away from the Red Keep and the new gods as possible. The Riverlands were too close, and the Faith of the Seven was too strong there. On the other hand, Dorne, Winterfell, and the Iron Islands were incredibly far, and the peoples of the latter two followed entirely different faiths. Most importantly, the men of their respective noble families were quite handsome. You would happily live up to your reputation and debase yourself for Cregan Stark if the opportunity ever arose.

“If oaths were the problem,” you said delicately. “I'm sure the North could use attention. The Ironborn have always wanted for independence, and we have relied greatly on the Starks to suppress them. Or perhaps we could consider the problem of Dorne.”

“Dorne,” she repeated, her stare hard.

“King Viserys has always wanted to bring them into the kingdom, has he not?” She breathed deeply, and you added, “These are not suggestions, of course. Merely questions. I am eager to learn the wisdom of the only woman to sit on the Small Council.”

Let it not be said that you did not know how to play to people’s emotions. Alicent’s shoulders relaxed, and she took a sip of her tea. “These are good questions,” she admitted. “The problem of Dorne is too complex to manage with a simple marriage to House Targaryen, but the Greyjoy suggestion is intriguing. I might be inclined to caution the King against it, if he were to propose it. The Ironborn are a proud people. I do not think a marriage to a Targaryen lady would be enough to placate them, and a marriage to you specifically may present… a danger to the North.”

“You would worry about giving them a dragon.”

“Yes. But Winterfell…”

The Queen paused. You tried not to smile.

“Winterfell always honours their oaths,” you said, “but given what the realm asks of them, it never hurts to reward them for their loyalty. Who knows what may happen in the future?” Who knows what may happen if Prince Aegon were to ascend the Throne? “If a struggle were ever to happen at the Wall, I am sure Lord Stark and his bannermen would remember which queen sent him a Targaryen wife and a dragon in support of their struggle.”

Alicent nodded. She looked at you as if seeing you in a new light—a better one.

“I will speak to the Hand about this matter,” she determined. “I shall get his thoughts before the tourney in a fortnight, and see which families we should introduce you to then.”

“I shall prepare myself for it.”

“Good.” She smiled at you. “See to it that you are dressed well for the occasion. I feel that green would be a lovely colour on you—don’t you?”

IV. DEATH, REVERSED

“Hello, father of my bastard child!”

Your voice rang through the dragonpit, a cheerful echo in its near pitch-black depths. By the light of the torches, Aemond could barely make out your silhouette, but he could hear the lightness of your footsteps nevertheless.

For someone who had been the subject of vile accusations for the past month, you seemed awfully happy. You weren't always so thick-skinned, Aemond mused: when you were younger, he often caught you brooding in the dragonpit, sniffling at the way women talked about you and the way men leered at you. Any other child—himself included—would have been terrified to stay here, alone in darkness and brimstone, but your only friend for a long time was your dragon, so naturally his home was where you went when you were miserable. And you were very often miserable.

But you were now well-adjusted in your adulthood, apparently impervious to most insults and whispers about you. (What are they going to do? you often said dryly. Call me a tart? A temptress? That I belong in Flea Bottom? They’ve been saying that for years!) You had just taken the past month of scandal in stride, and now you seemed irreverent of it. It made Aemond tense: although he did not terribly mind that people mistook you for his lover, he still had appearances to manage. And he disliked it when people spoke ill of you. Ever since he had built a reputation as a respected prince, he made it clear that no one was to speak poorly of you before him. The only exception was his idiot brother, with whom he was meant to maintain the appearance of unity. The other day, he caught him monologuing about the ways in which he imagined Aemond was debasing you (“I hardly knew my brother had it in him! It surely had to be my cousin’s work—seducing the fierce Aemond One-Eye!”), and Aemond could scarcely hold himself back from maiming him. Still, his sword stayed within its sheath, his knuckles white and tense around its hilt.

He could not solve the issue of his brother with intimidation. Aemond could only caution you against fueling him: “If you keep talking like that, the whole of the Red Keep will start whispering about you again.”

You laughed. “Who’s going to overhear us? Will Vhagar be gossiping with Dreamfyre about our scandalous relationship?” You craned your neck, looking behind him. “Where is your old lady, anyhow? Can I give her a treat today?”

“Vhagar awaits us outside. You are always welcome to feed her, but the dragon keepers said there is a scarcity of lamb at the moment.”

“Ah, well. Let’s go find Wildfyre, then—I called for him earlier, but he didn't come. I bet he’s napping somewhere.” The two of you began walking, cutting a path through ash and crumbling bone. Aemond guided you around what looked like the fresh remains of cattle, and you thanked him, wrinkling your nose at the familiar stench of charcoal and rotting flesh.

“What you said about the lamb,” you started, “concerns me. Are the smallfolk short of livestock?”

“I have heard from the Hand that there is a sickness among the animals of the Reach, so the yield has been worse this year than most others.”

“How sad! I hope they’ll be alright.”

“The dragons are well-fed—the Hand has assured it.”

You gave Aemond a curious look. “I was speaking of the smallfolk, not the dragons.”

Aemond paused. “Of course,” he said, “the Hand will also ensure their well-being. I did not even think to question that.”

Truthfully, Aemond had not thought of the smallfolk at all, but he should have. Whenever he or Aegon spoke of the issues of the Realm, they were always your first concern—the farmers and the craftsmen and even the whores of Flea Bottom. Aegon said it was evidence of your commoner blood, but Aemond thought it was discerning of you. Were you born his eldest sister and not his eldest cousin, it would be evidence of your good judgement as a future ruler.

Though of course, if you had been his eldest sister, then you would have been wedded to Aegon—a thought that Aemond found exceptionally distasteful. In fact, the thought of any man touching you made his knuckles tighten around his sword, yet it was a reality that his mother had told him to make peace with many times.

Aemond, she told him the other day, looking at his tightly controlled expression, I know you have a great… fondness of your cousin. But the two of you are no longer children. It is improper for you to spend so much time around her. You would not want to compromise any future prospects for yourself, nor disgrace yourself in the eyes of the Seven. And god forbid you ruin her prospects. Your grandfather and I have been working hard to secure a good match for her—a difficult feat, given her parentage.

Unfortunately for Alicent, Aemond felt that the Seven could fuck themselves. And his prospects had always been lacking as the second son, but he would eventually overcome the circumstance of his birth. Aemond considered himself a loyal son, but he would not succumb to whatever mediocre designs his mother had for his future.

He would make sure that you would not, either.

“You seem happy,” he observed. “I take it your afternoon with Alicent went well?”

“Very well. I avoided a marriage to that Tully boy, and I think I may have even charmed your mother.” You flashed him a smile—one he'd been seeing since childhood, but of which he never tired. “She is now considering potential matches in the North for me. I'll likely be meeting potential suitors in the upcoming banquet—I do hope they’ll be handsome. And wealthy.”

Aemond did not bother trying to smile. “The North is very far.” He slipped into Valyrian: “You belong in the South, near skies filled with dragons and the waters of the old Freehold. You are a Targaryen, are you not?”

“I may be a Targaryen, but I am unwanted here,” you dismissed. Even after all these years, you spoke Valyrian with a Lysene accent, and—as often happened in private speech—you reverted to a vocabulary that was closer to the Low Valyrian of your mother rather than the High Valyrian taught by the maesters. Still, you were the only person in the whole of the capital more fluent in the language than Aemond; he only spoke as well as he did because he’d grown up practising with you. “The further I get away from the Red Keep, the less hated I will be.”

“But you will be alone.”

“I will have Wildfyre, my lord husband, and an entire castle of people to make friends with.”

“Or enemies of.”

“If I can charm Alicent Hightower, I do believe I can also charm anyone else in the Realm.” You grinned at him—though Aemond did not miss the careful look you gave him. “But if you're worried about being lonely, I can always fly back on Wildfyre and visit you.”

“You need not be concerned. I have many allies within the Red Keep.”

You stopped then, openly studying him. “It is—difficult,” you replied in the Common Tongue, “for me not to worry about you.”

His brow arched. Aemond could not help but stare, puzzled: you watched him enough on the training grounds to know that not only could he easily kill most men, but also that most men feared him for it.

“There are few people in this world who would worry about me,” he said neatly, and your look grew embarrassed.

“Yes, I know it’s silly of me. Why would I worry about the famed Aemond One-Eye, Prince of the Seven Kingdoms, Rider of Vhagar, and winner of countless tourneys?”

“Two. I've won two tourneys.”

“Well, that’s more tourneys than most will win in their lifetime. And I’m sure you'll win the one in the fortnight as well.”

Aemond did not see the point in denying it. “Perhaps. What of it?”

You breathed deeply, and Aemond could see on your face how much you were trying to be diplomatic. “What I mean to say is—you are a respected warrior with many allies. But an ally is not the same thing as a friend, and a sword cannot offer its wielder any reprieve. Sometimes I fear whom you will rely on if I leave.”

“You think I have no friends,” he said plainly, and you gave him a sheepish look. He did not smile.

“I’m just worried you don't have anyone you can actually trust here,” you explained.

Aemond would spurn the words coming from anyone else. He might even be inclined to intimidate them, simply to remind them of his position. A prince should not be so patronised.

But looking at you, with your worried eyes and furrowed brow, he thought of the two weeks you spent by his bedside as healed, and all those times you checked on him after chasing away Aegon, and how you took him dragon riding until he was as comfortable at it as you. You likely still saw the weak child he once was—a habit he could not fault you for, but which aggrieved him nevertheless.

He did not let his irritation show on his face.

“You need not worry, cousin. I do not need trust from anyone—only respect.” And respect was something he had in spades.

You gave him a dubious look, but relented. “Alright. Just know that you can always write to me, no matter how far away I am.”

Aemond hummed. He'd nearly forgotten your initial concern: the looming distance from him, the gap and loneliness that your marriage would supposedly create.

His mouth curled.

“I appreciate it, but I have the sense that you’ll end up closer to home than you think.”

“Oh? What do you mean?” Your brow knotted. “Has your mother said something to you?”

“Nothing concrete,” he replied smoothly. “But nevermind—let us fetch Wildfyre. We should fly out before the day grows any older.”

The thought of flying distracted you from all others. “Yes, it would be troublesome if we stayed out too long.”

“Where would you like to go?”

You grinned. “I'll race you to Spicetown? We can go to the market and be back by midnight.”

“Midnight?” Aemond sounded—was—amused. What a free-spirited thing you were, to be careless enough to return to the Red Keep with him after curfew. “This is why those rumours started in the first place, you know.”

“It was worth the trouble, don’t you think? Or are you going to deny me now?”

He could not. Aemond was a disciplined man—his goals could not allow for much error in his life—but he also found it impossible not to humour any request from you. He did not have many joys in his childhood, and he had never outgrown his habit of wishing for the joy you brought with your happiness. It was hard for him not to indulge you.

In fact, this wish you had for your future—to marry some trifling lord beneath you and move far away from King’s Landing, the place in which you belonged—would be the first thing he would ever deny you.

END PART I

thanks for reading! if you enjoyed this, please do reblog and let me know what you think - I would mega appreciate it <3

#aemond targaryen x reader #jacaerys velaryon x reader #hotd x reader #house of the dragon x reader #egg.fics #it is very quiet on ao3 so im testing on waters on tumblr dot com now...

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endless-ineffabilities · 2 months ago

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Say Yes To Heaven

chapter 1 of the National Anthem series

President Aemond Targaryen x f!reporter reader

synopsis: a reporter finds herself entangled in an affair with Aemond Targaryen, the President of Westeros.

in this chapter: the President has a proposition for the reader, one which she finds almost impossible to refuse. Will she say yes to entering the enticing world that he so offers? Will she yes to him?

word count: 5.2k

themes/warnings: mild smut (18+), tension that can cut like a damn knife, language, mutual pining, use of power for the purposes of pursuing the reader (obviously, he IS the President)

series masterlist ▪︎ main masterlist

best to read the intro chapter before this one!

President Aemond Targaryen is in the second half of his tenure, and his presidency has already left an indelible mark on the political and historical landscape of Westeros.

From the start, Aemond's detractors were convinced he couldn’t do it. At just 28, they saw him as too young and too much a product of the Targaryen political dynasty. His election, they claimed, was less about his abilities and more about his family’s influence. Who’s to say he wasn’t just a puppet, with the real power lying in the hands of his powerful relatives?

Now, two and a half years later, the country has seen what Aemond Targaryen can do. King’s Landing, once a cesspool of crime and poverty, has undergone a staggering transformation under his leadership. The capital’s streets now gleam with prosperity, lined with new businesses, cultural centres, and bustling markets. Even his detractors begrudgingly admit that his efficiency is something to marvel at.

You’re aware of all this, of course. It’s part of the reason you were chosen to report on his presidency, giving the public a closer look at the enigmatic leader steering the nation. But lately, you can’t help but feel that your perspective on him has shifted, especially after that night in his private suite.

Something lingers. You’ve started researching him more intensely, not because you have to, but because you want to. You pore over old interviews, articles, any scrap of information you can find. You’re supposed to be impartial, and you try to be. But you can’t deny that he fascinates you.

Whatever it is, you’re determined to ignore it. You enjoy your work as a journalist, and you know you were extremely lucky to have landed a position at Highgarden News. Sure, you are still assigned to the team that reports on governmental affairs, but who’s to say that you can’t do your job from a distance? There is no need to get in deep into the thick of it all. The next time you see him, it can be as if that night in his suite at the Highgarden Hotel never happened.

You are a professional.

You know you are also a fool for thinking you can ever resist the attraction, but that does not matter.

Aemond, he asked you to call him, but that must only be reserved for his friends. Those close to him. As far as you’re concerned, you’re just a field reporter doing her job while he is the most powerful man in the country. He must remain President Aemond Targaryen to you. Mister President.

Never mind that he calls you angel, and that it might be the most beautiful name anyone has ever given you.

Angel – it had sounded like prayer on his lips.

What must his wife call him behind closed doors? My dear? My love?

Sitting in the fluorescent-lit office of Highgarden News, the weight of your attraction feels overwhelming. Your eyes linger too long on articles about Aemond, replaying clips of his speeches, watching the way his mouth moves when he talks. It’s pathetic. You close all the tabs, scolding yourself for letting it get this far.

“Still obsessing over him, huh?”

Theon’s voice snaps you back to reality. He’s leaning over your cubicle wall, grinning ear to ear.

Heat rises to your cheeks. “I’m not obsessing,” you mutter, though you can tell from the smirk on Theon’s face that he isn’t buying it.

“Sure,” he teases, nodding mockingly. “You’ve had tabs on Mister President open all morning. Don't think I haven't noticed.”

“I’m doing research. It’s my job, you know. Presidential affairs, national policy, all that fun stuff.”

“Uh-huh.” Theon crosses his arms, his grin widening. “Because staring at his pictures is totally related to national policy.”

You throw a pen at him, laughing despite yourself. “I’m not staring at him! He’s the President of Westeros, and I’m just doing my job.”

Theon raises a brow and leans in, lowering his voice. “Come on, just admit it. You’ve got this crush on him. I won’t tell anyone. Well… not a lot of anyones, at least.”

“He’s married, Theon,” you groan. "That means I can’t be interested.”

“Yeah, and I bet that’s half the appeal,” Theon says, unfazed. “Forbidden fruit, baby. Besides, have you seen the guy? If he looked at me the way he looks at you, I won’t even think twice.”

You bury your face in your hands. The worst part is that he’s not entirely wrong. “Theon, please. I’m trying to work here.”

“You’re trying not to think about how good he probably looks out of that suit.” He winks at you, not missing a beat.

You laugh, shaking your head. “Why are you like this?”

“Because I’m your best friend, and it’s my job to remind you that you need to get laid.” He taps your desk, his grin softening into something more genuine. “Seriously, though. Be careful. I’ve seen the way he looks at you in those press conferences. That man is starved.”

You roll your eyes, but your heart is pounding in your chest. If only he knew the truth of what happened that night. “I’m sure it’s nothing,” you lie, trying to sound casual.

Theon raises an eyebrow, giving you a knowing look. “Whatever you say. By the way, Loras is looking for you.”

You freeze, the mention of your supervisor snapping you back into focus. “Loras? What for?”

Theon shrugs. “No idea. But he’s in his office, waiting for you. Sounds urgent.”

Your stomach flips. Anxiety builds up in your chest as you make your way down the hall to Loras’s office.

Please don’t let this be about Aemond.

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Loras is seated behind his desk when you walk in, flipping through a stack of papers. His sharp eyes flick up to meet yours as he gestures for you to sit.

“Thanks for coming,” he says, getting straight to the point. “I’ve got a pretty major opportunity for you.”

You nod, trying to keep your nerves in check. “What’s the assignment?”

“As you know, President Targaryen’s re-election campaign is kicking off soon,” Loras begins, his tone brisk and no-nonsense. “It’s one of the biggest political stories of the year. We need someone embedded with his team – full access to the President, travelling with him, covering every move.”

Your heart drops into your stomach. Oh no.

“And I want you to be that reporter,” Loras says, folding his hands as he looks at you expectantly. “You’re one of the few reporters we’ve got that are already pre-approved, and the best one for the task.”

You stare at him, your mind racing. “Me?”

“Yes, you.” Loras leans back in his chair, his gaze sharp. “You’ve been covering his administration ever since he got elected. You know him better than anyone else here.”

You swallow hard, trying to process what he’s saying. “That’s… a lot of responsibility.”

“It is,” Loras agrees. “But it’s also the kind of assignment that can make a career. Think of the exposure, the access. This is a once-in-a-lifetime opportunity.”

Your thoughts are spiralling. Travelling with Aemond? Watching him up close, day in and day out? You can barely keep it together after one night in his suite – how are you supposed to maintain professionalism while being that close to him for months?

“I don’t know if I’m the right person for this,” you say quietly, your voice barely above a whisper.

Loras raises an eyebrow, clearly surprised by your hesitation. "Why not? You’ve handled plenty of high-pressure situations before."

“It’s just… surely someone else is better qualified. What about Theon? He did a great job at covering the Lannister scandal last year,” you say, searching for the right words. How do you explain that the mere sight of Aemond makes your pulse race?

“That was gossip fodder. The President’s affairs are a completely different territory than what you’re going to cover here. This is serious news. A definitive political profile if you do it well, and I know you will.” Loras watches you for a moment, then leans forward, his voice lowering. “And I’ll be honest with you. The President specifically asked for you to cover the campaign.”

Your heart stops. “What?”

“He requested you by name,” Loras says, a small, knowing smile playing on his lips. “I don’t know what’s going on between you two, and frankly, I don’t care. But if the President wants you on this assignment, I suggest you take it. For your sake – and for the sake of the agency.”

He asked for me? The words send a thrill through you, even as you try to tamp it down.

“I’ll think about it,” you say, trying to keep your voice steady.

“Don’t take too long,” Loras says. “The campaign starts next week. I need your answer as soon as possible.”

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Hours later, you sit alone at your kitchen table, the contract in front of you. The paper feels heavy, like it’s mocking you. The more you think about it, the more your resolve weakens. This is an opportunity like no other. The benefits are staggering – the access, the prestige, the career-defining stories you could write. But then there’s him.

You know you should sign it and get it over with, but something inside you hesitates. A voice, small but insistent, telling you this is a bad idea. That if you do this, you’ll fall deeper into the pull of him, into something you can’t control.

But then your phone buzzes, and you glance down to see a message that sends your heart into overdrive.

Dinner tomorrow. 8 PM. I’ll have someone pick you up. - Aemond

You swallow hard, a mix of surprise and dread washing over you. How does he even have my number? But then again, he’s the President – of course he has access to everything. This isn’t a question; it’s a command, and he knows exactly how to get you. He must sense your wavering resolve.

Your fingers tremble as you type out a reply.

- Why? What for?

His response is immediate. I just want to discuss something with you, angel.

- The assignment. Did you really ask for me?

Yes. I did.

You hesitate, your mind racing through the implications.

- I’m considering it.

Allow me to convince you. Come see me tomorrow.

- Nothing can happen between us.

Understood.

But I can’t pretend that I’m not curious about what could.

- You know what they say about curiosity.

So, what do you say? You take a moment, biting your lip, the playful banter igniting something inside you.

- Fine, I can agree to dinner. But we’ll keep it completely professional.

Deal. Looking forward to it, angel.

Good night.

- Good night to you too, Mister President.

Don’t test me, angel.

A shiver runs down your spine the moment you read those words. His response feels like both a promise and a threat – the kind that ignites something deep inside you. The kind that sends images flashing through your mind, unbidden, making your legs clench together despite your hesitation.

The three little dots disappear as you lock your phone and drop it onto the cushion beside you, as if cutting off the connection to Aemond will somehow help you regain control over your own thoughts.

Tomorrow, you swear to use every ounce of willpower you have to keep things professional. You just hope it’s enough.

A fool, indeed.

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The next night, you're standing in front of the mirror, smoothing down the fabric of your blouse for what feels like the hundredth time. It’s appropriate – a crisp white blouse tucked into a knee-length skirt, modest enough for any work setting, but there’s something about the way you’ve put it together tonight. The way the blouse hugs your figure just right, the slight sheen of the fabric catching the light, the way the skirt fits snugly at your waist.

It’s nothing special, you tell yourself. Perfect for the occasion, suited for the upscale location you’ll likely be heading to. But deep down, you know better. You want to look good for him. And that very thought makes your stomach twist.

You adjust your hair one more time, glancing at the clock. It's almost time. You can handle this, you remind yourself. It’s just dinner. Just a business conversation. You’ve done this a hundred times before.

But you’ve never done this with him. And no matter how hard you try to ignore it, the anticipation buzzing through your veins is impossible to shake.

Suddenly, there’s a knock at the door. You smooth your skirt one more time and walk over, taking a deep breath before opening it.

You’re greeted by the sight of two familiar faces: the same two members of Aemond’s security detail who escorted you to his penthouse that night.

They’re as imposing as you remember – tall, sharp in their tailored suits, one blonde and one brunette, with eyes that give nothing away. The only difference tonight is the extravagant bouquet of flowers in the hands of one of them.

The flowers are breathtaking, an arrangement of deep red roses intertwined with white lilies that feel far too intimate for something as innocent as dinner. But then again, they could very well be a reflection of Aemond’s intentions.

“Good evening, ma’am,” the blonde says, his voice low and composed. “These are for you. From the President.”

Your heart skips a beat. Of course they are. You swallow, glancing at the flowers as if they could explain everything.

The fragrance wafts up to you, rich and intoxicating. You can’t help but wonder if this is just the beginning of the night’s games. Your fingers tremble slightly as you take the bouquet, its weight heavy in your arms, both literally and metaphorically.

“For me?” you murmur, as if the answer isn’t obvious.

“Yes, ma’am,” the man confirms. “The car is ready when you are.”

You leave the flowers on the kitchen counter, stealing one last glance at them before closing the door to your apartment. They feel like a message – a reminder of who you’re dealing with tonight. Aemond Targaryen does not do things subtly.

Soon enough, you’re sitting in the back of a sleek black car, your hands nervously twisting in your lap. The city lights blur past the window, but all you can think about is the man waiting for you inside the restaurant.

After a few moments of silence, curiosity nudges at you. “I suppose you both already know who I am,” you say lightly, your voice cutting through the quiet hum of the car. “Probably more than I’d wish for you to know. So, would you care to tell me your names?”

The man in the passenger seat – the blonde – turns slightly, a smile playing on his lips. “I’m Steve, ma’am,” he says, his tone friendly and warm, a stark contrast to the serious atmosphere.

“James,” the other one says from behind the wheel, his voice low and gruff, eyes fixed on the road ahead. There’s a certain sternness about him, like he’s perpetually on duty.

“Steve and James,” you repeat, letting the names settle into your mind, humanising them. You glance at Steve. “So, James doesn't talk much?”

Steve chuckles, casting a quick glance at his partner. “That's just how he is,” he says. “You’ll get used to him. We all have.”

James doesn’t react, his focus still entirely on driving. You smirk softly to yourself, feeling some of the tension in the car ease with Steve’s casual demeanour.

But the thought of their boss – the boss of the entire damn country, one could say – lingers heavy in the back of your mind.

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The car pulls up to the restaurant, a lavish affair located on the grounds of an exclusive country club just outside the city. As you step out, you recognize the place instantly – The Old Valyria, a restaurant housed in a grand, ornate building that looks more like a palace than a dining establishment. The stone facade is intricately carved, its old-world charm unmistakable.

You’d covered an event here earlier in the year, reporting on one of the prestigious galas held by the Highgarden elite. But tonight, even as a familiar face in the city, you feel like an outsider in this world. The guests you spot entering and leaving are dressed in the finest attire, their movements confident, as if they were born into this luxury.

But then you see him.

Aemond stands just outside the grand entrance, his tall frame unmistakable even from a distance. He’s dressed in a sleek black suit, but what catches you off guard is how casual it seems on him, especially with the black shirt underneath, its top buttons undone. It’s a departure from the rigid, formal image you’re used to seeing in the media. His silver hair is tousled, looser tonight, giving him a youthful, almost rebellious edge.

Your breath catches in your throat as he spots you and strides forward with purpose. His presence, as always, commands attention, but tonight you notice something softer in his expression.

He reaches for you the moment you’re close enough, his fingers brushing over yours before lifting your hand to his lips. The kiss on the back of your hand is slow, deliberate. His eyes stay locked on yours the entire time, and you can’t control the heat that flushes through your body.

“That gesture doesn’t seem very professional,” you manage, your voice a bit shakier than you intended.

Aemond smirks, a spark of amusement flickering in his eyes. He straightens but doesn’t let go of your hand right away. “Sometimes certain gestures are worth bending the rules for, angel.”

You bite the inside of your cheek to keep from smiling. He’s already playing with boundaries, the charming bastard, making it harder for you to maintain your resolve. And you haven’t even made it to the table yet.

“Shall we?” he says smoothly, gesturing toward the entrance.

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The restaurant is even more breathtaking from within. Crystal chandeliers hang from a vaulted ceiling adorned with intricate frescoes, and the soft glow of candlelight reflects off the polished marble floors.

You’re guided to a secluded table near the back, tucked away from prying eyes. Aemond holds your seat out for you, and you thank him, smoothing your skirt as you settle in and try to compose yourself.

He sits across from you, his gaze never leaving yours. He appears at ease, but there’s a sharpness in his eyes, a sense that he’s in control of every detail – of the night, of the atmosphere. Of you.

“Thank you for coming,” he says, his lips curving into a small, satisfied smile. “I wasn’t sure if you would.”

“It was kind of hard to refuse the President,” you reply, trying to sound casual.

He chuckles softly. “Be that as it may, you could have, and yet here you are.”

The waiter appears, setting down wine glasses and pouring a deep, red vintage. You take a sip, hoping it’ll steady your nerves. Aemond watches you over the rim of his glass, his gaze glinting with something that you desperately wish to ignore.

“I know you’ve been thinking about that night,” Aemond says, his voice low and smooth, cutting through the quiet like a blade.

You almost choke on your wine. Leave it to him to cut to the chase. “I… I don’t –” you stammer, but he doesn’t let you finish.

“I’ve been thinking about it too,” he continues, leaning forward slightly, his gaze piercing. “It’s not something I think I can ever forget, angel.”

Your throat feels dry, and you struggle to keep your composure. “It was a mistake.”

Aemond’s lips twitch, amusement flickering in his eyes. “A mistake?” He leans back, swirling the wine in his glass. “If that’s what you want to call it.”

“I came here because you said you have something you want to discuss, sir,” you say, more firmly this time. “My supervisor informed me that – ”

“Sir.” Aemond clicks his tongue, the word dripping with distaste as his expression shifts into something darker. His brow furrows briefly, and you think you’ve hit a nerve, but then his lips twitch into a smirk, his amusement unmistakable.

His posture is relaxed yet deliberate, his eyes gleaming with mischief. “I have to admit, I was about to protest. To tell you I never want you to call me something so impersonal as that.” His smirk widens, and there’s a spark of playful danger in his gaze. “But then… a scenario came to mind.”

“What scenario?” you ask, the words slipping out before you can stop them.

His smile turns devilish as he leans forward slightly, elbows resting on the table, his fingers lacing together. “One where you do call me sir,” he says, his voice dropping lower, more intimate now. “But not in the way you just did. Not with that sharp, cold professionalism. No…” He lets the sentence hang in the air for a moment, drawing it out, savouring it. “In a different setting. One where it’s… earned.”

Your heart stutters, your breath catching as the meaning behind his words sinks in. Heat blooms in your cheeks, and you quickly break eye contact, staring down at the table as you try to collect yourself.

“That’s… not what I meant,” you say, your voice unsteady, trying to bring the conversation back to safer ground. But it’s too late.

Aemond doesn’t seem fazed by your attempt to regain control. If anything, the flicker of a grin on his lips tells you he’s pleased with how easily you’ve been disarmed.

“Of course,” he says smoothly. “You’re here for a discussion.”

“I’m here for the assignment,” you manage to say. “To discuss my role. Professionally.”

His smirk fades into something more thoughtful, though the tension between you continues to coil tighter with every second that passes. “Is that how you really want to play this?”

“It’s the only way to play this,” you reply.

“Oh, is it?” Aemond’s voice is low, almost a whisper. “You always have a choice. You could walk out of here right now, tell your supervisor you’ve changed your mind, that you’re not up for the assignment.” He pauses, his eyes narrowing slightly as he studies you. “But you won’t.”

You swallow hard, his words hitting you squarely. He’s right, isn’t he?

“You need this job,” Aemond continues, his voice smooth as silk. “But I think it’s more than that. I think you want to be here. In my orbit.”

Of course he’s right, but admitting that would be walking into a trap. One that you might not be able to escape.

“You’re wrong,” you say quietly, though the words sound weak, even to your own ears.

“Angel… I don’t think I am.”

For a moment, everything hangs in the balance, the tension thrumming in the air. It would be so easy to let go. To give in to whatever this is. But you can’t. Not yet.

You sit up straighter, forcing yourself to meet his eyes again. “As I mentioned, I came here for the assignment,” you say, more firmly this time, regaining some of your composure. “So, if there’s something you need to discuss, let’s talk about that.”

Aemond watches you for a moment, his gaze lingering on your face, searching for something. Then, finally, he sits back, exhaling softly as if deciding to play along – for now.

“Very well,” he says, his tone shifting back to something more neutral, though you can tell he’s not finished with you yet. “We’ll have dinner, and then discuss.”

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The dinner goes better than you expected. Aemond is calm, composed, and – surprisingly – reigning himself in. He makes casual conversation, steering the discussion toward neutral topics. Politics, the upcoming campaign, even light-hearted comments about the restaurant. Every word is measured, delivered with that cool confidence you know so well.

But no matter how carefully he plays it, the tension simmers just beneath the surface, a constant pulse between you. Every glance he steals in your direction, every time his hand brushes yours as he reaches for his glass, it sends a jolt through your body. You feel it, deep in your core, the magnetic energy that makes it impossible to stay unaffected. Like the way his eyes linger on your lips when you smile… it’s all so subtle, but dripping with intention.

By the time dessert arrives, your heart is racing, and you’re almost grateful when the dinner ends. Because while Aemond has kept it together, you’re not sure how much longer you can.

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The ride back is a different story.

You sit on one side of the sleek, leather seat, your body tense, trying to create as much distance between you and Aemond as possible. He’s stoic, seemingly focused on something else entirely, his eyes fixed on the window as the city lights flash by. But the air inside the car is practically electric.

It’s only when you glance forward that you notice the screen divider has been put up. Steve, or maybe James – you’re not sure who did it – must have done it without you noticing. The realisation sinks in, laden with meaning. What did they think would happen? What did they expect?

Your pulse quickens. You cross your legs, a nervous habit, but when you do, your skirt rides up just a little too high, exposing more of your thigh than you intended.

That’s when you notice Aemond’s gaze shift. His eyes, dark and intense, flick down to your leg. The moment hangs in the air, thick and heavy. His face, calm and controlled just a second ago, hardens with something primal. And that look – it’s all it takes to flick a switch inside you.

In a flash, he’s on you.

The restraint he held so carefully through dinner shatters. His hands are on you, gripping your thighs, pulling you toward him, and his mouth crashes against yours, hungry, desperate, ravaging. You let out a gasp, but it’s swallowed by the intensity of his kiss, his tongue sliding against yours with a raw urgency that leaves you breathless.

You meet him in the middle of the seat, your bodies colliding with a heat you’ve tried so hard to ignore. His hands are everywhere, sliding under your now untucked blouse, searching, gripping, pulling you closer. The feel of him against you, the strength in his hands, the way he kisses you like he’s starving – it sends a rush of warmth straight through your core.

Your head spins, your breath coming in shallow gasps between kisses as you manage to push back, if only for a second. “We can’t,” you whisper, your voice shaky, weak. But you’re not pulling away. Your hands are still tangled in his hair, your body still pressed against his.

“Fuck, I know, angel,” Aemond growls, his mouth moving to your neck, his breath hot against your skin. “But I want you…” His words trail off, full of frustration.

You should stop this. Every logical part of your mind screams at you to pull away, to remember who he is, who you are. This can’t happen. Not with him. Not like this. But the other part of you – the part that’s burning, aching for him – doesn’t care. That part wants him more than anything.

His lips find yours again, and this time, it’s slower. His hand pushes your skirt higher, his fingers grazing your bare skin. You kiss him back, your hands sliding down his chest, gripping his shirt as if it’s the only thing keeping you grounded.

Between kisses, you manage to pull back, your lips barely an inch from his. “We can't do this... sir,” you whisper, your voice trembling, the word sir meant to ground you, to remind yourself that he’s your superior, that this is wrong. But even as you say it, the way your body reacts to him betrays the word’s other meaning.

It shifts something inside him. You see it. His eyes darken, his breathing quickens, and for a moment, it’s like a switch has been flipped.

Aemond growls low in his throat, the sound vibrating between your bodies as his hand grips your thigh even harder, pulling you flush against him. “Say that again,” he murmurs, his voice rough, his lips brushing against your jaw as he speaks. “Call me that again.”

Your breath hitches, a dizzying mixture of fear and desire coursing through you. “Sir,” you whisper, and the way his body responds – the way his fingers dig in the soft flesh of your thighs – it’s overwhelming.

He kisses you, sucking on your bottom lip. He moves his hand higher, fingers grazing the inside of your thigh, teasing the heat pooling between your legs, and you let out a gasp, your body trembling against him.

“This is wrong,” you whisper, but your legs clench around his hand, trapping it within, pressed against the material of your panties.

“We can’t… sir,” you repeat, but the word sir falls from your lips like a plea, and it’s the final straw.

“Fuck,” he growls, his mouth hot against your neck, his words slurred with need. “You keep saying that we can’t, but I don’t think you mean it.”

He’s right. You don’t.

But just as his fingers nudge the material of your panties to the side, his thumb teasing your clit, the car slows, the outside lights shifting. Reality crashes back in – suddenly, you’re aware of the sound of the tires on gravel, of the car pulling up to the curb. You blink, the haze of heat between you shattering as the car stops.

“We’re here,” you whisper, breathless, your body still pressed against his.

For a moment, Aemond’s hand freezes on your thigh, his breath hot against your neck as he pulls away just slightly. He looks at you, his gaze still dark, filled with that same intensity, but there’s a flicker of something else now. Frustration.

You take a deep, shaky breath and pull yourself back, your lips swollen, your body still burning. “This can’t happen again,” you say, your voice unsteady, though you don’t even believe your own words.

Aemond doesn’t respond at first. His eyes stay locked on yours, and for a second, you wonder if he’s going to drag you back into him, consequences be damned. But then, slowly, torturously, his hand slides higher again, fingers curling under the waistband of your panties.

Your breath catches in your throat, the world narrowing to the sensation of his touch. Then, with steady precision, he pulls the delicate fabric down, his fingertips grazing over the slick, sensitive lips of your cunt. The touch sends a shockwave through your body, a shiver of need that leaves you breathless.

Aemond slips your panties off in one smooth motion, and with a smirk that’s maddening, tucks them into the pocket of his trousers, his eyes never leaving yours. The gesture is possessive, unhinged, filled with a promise that you know you can’t outrun.

“See you soon,” he murmurs, his voice low. His lips curl into that same wicked smirk, but this time it’s softer, almost reverent as he adds, "Angel."

The word hangs in the air as you step out of the car.

You’re his angel, and there is no turning back now.

Series only taglist (comment to be added) - @aemond-lover98 @pinkpeachbloom @whencokewascasual @salinaiacono6 @mycheersricochet @bloodstained-porcelain-doll @chattylurker

General HotD taglists (refer here)

Vhagar taglist 1 - @kravitzwhore @litchifaerie @g-cf2020 @noxytopy @fan-goddess @m00n5t0n3 @diannnnsss @nsr-15 @the-awkward-barbie @rockstwrsz @yellowstonebaby @urdeftonesgrrrl @eddieslut69 @callsigncrushx @starwarsdinosaur @qweq-6802 @tulips2715 @hotdismylife @joyismm @itseunaimonia @just-mj-or-not @crystal-siren @zaldrizzes @all-for-aemond @ajantanijhum @darylandbethfanforever9 @vhwyrm @purpleskiesandroses @technicallystrangereview @jjkysnk @anukulee (continued...)

Some notes in the margins...

Well... that sure escalated quickly. How could you have ever resisted? Good luck keeping it professional on the campaign trail, angel. 😇

Some new characters are introduced: Loras and Theon. Steve and James (*wink*). Soon we'll meet the Vice President, the campaign manager. etc. etc.... the wife (!!!)

Let me know how you're faring! It's only just begun 🤍

#aemond targaryen #aemond targaryen x reader #aemond targaryen imagine #aemond targaryen smut #aemond targaryen fanfiction #modern!aemond targaryen x reader #hotd #house of the dragon #ewan mitchell #national anthem #president!aemond

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