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lola-writes · 1 month

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A Dragon's Lullaby

Pairing: Aemond Targaryen x wife!reader

Word Count: 7.1k

Synopsis: Aemond’s fury is a challenge to contain, but it withers beneath the touch of his wife.

Themes & Warnings: 18+ (MDNI), pov first person (reader), foul language, hotd s2 spoilers, s2x06 inspired, dark/soft Aemond, SMUT, titty sucking, angst, fingering, fluff, feet, p in v, bath sex, oral (fem receiving), orgasms, slight voyeurism

Song: Made of Gold - Ibeyi, Pa Salieu

a/n: Inspired by this. His expression in this scene is everythiiing

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Enjoy the read!

[gif @hoosbandewan]

[divider @targaryen-dynasty]

The chamber doors slammed shut, jarring me from my needlework.

Aemond erupted into the room, his voice a venomous hiss that chilled me to the bone.

“Cravens. Lickspittles.” The words ripped from his throat with a guttural growl, filling the apartment with lethal fury, instilling a deep sense of unease in my gut, as he paced the room like a caged beast, his hands clenching and unclenching at his sides. “A nest of fucking vipers.” His features were warped with hatred, his eye sparking rage and his scar appeared to burn hot red in his skin.

I set my needlework aside, bracing myself for the inevitable storm.

My husband had grown increasingly volatile of late. Temperamental. Volcanic, ever at the brink of eruption. Long convinced that his knowledge of history, swordsmanship, and his ancestral ties to Valyria of old – that was his dragon – destined him for the crown, he chafed under the regency. Yet, with the weight of governance upon him, I’d realized these qualities hardly made for a wise ruler.

Aemond was tyrannical, impulsive, and possessed a relentless thirst for vengeance I’d thought long sated, but now burned fiercer than ever.

I’d learned to tread carefully, supporting him rather than opposing him. Questions were rare, acquiescence plentiful, regardless of my true feelings.

“The Lannisters,” he snarled, hurling a crumpled piece of parchment into the fire. “Balls deep in their lions and their gold that they believe they can command me.” His eye blazed with ire. “Me!” His voice was a startling growl, and I schooled my racing heart.

Adopting my role as the submissive, doting wife, I folded my hands in my lap and eased reverence into my gaze, “That was their first mistake,” I offered, feigning confidence, as though I had the briefest idea of what they had done.

Crossing Aemond was a path none would willingly tread, though the Lannisters were hardly known to be the brightest of the noble houses in the realm.

“They mock me,” he snapped. “My word is law.”

“And they’d be wise to abide by them,” I replied.

“I tire of being compared with my father,” he spat. “The man was weak. Pliable.”

“You are his opposite, Your Grace.”

“Mother believes she can mind me like a puppet, as she did Aegon. She clings to what little power remains to her.” He stilled, his fingers fidgeting at his sides. “I sense her heart still lies with Rhaenyra.” All of his thoughts materialized into words like a surging flood. “I can no longer trust her counsel,” he said. “So, I dismissed her.”

A mistake, I feared. “I’m sure it was a wise decision, Your Grace.”

“Cole addles me,” Aemond proceeded. “The man, once so commanding and fierce, now carved out into a pitiful husk.” He started through the room again. “Aegon was a fool to name him Hand.”

“You are the Prince Regent, Your Grace,” I voiced softly. “You may name a new one as you wish.”

With his rant, his tempest began to subside. The honeyed tone I knew so well sank back into his voice and replaced his rage. His pacing ceased, and his anxious fingers relaxed at his sides, before he sank into his chair beside me.

“The Lannister coward wish me to fly out to the Tooth to secure their safe passage to Harrenhal,” he spat, his fingers twisting together, venom seeping back into his voice, “’With haste’, he says!”

I stood, my voice steady. “Your regency is green, Your Grace, and your subjects forgetful of their places.”

Aemond’s hands gripped the arm rests, his whole body contracting beneath his leathers in readied ambush.

“It is your duty to remind them,” I continued, rounding his chair, my hands settling on his shoulders. He was rigid beneath my touch, his muscles bulging with tension.

He glanced over his shoulder, his eye a mix of softness and lethal intent. “You are correct,” he said, his fingers tightening around the hilt of Blackfyre. “A public execution would persuade them.”

My heart hammered against my ribs, and my grip on his shoulders tightened instinctively.

“Perhaps a less bloodied approach, my love,” I suggested, coating my words in honey. “Escalating the mislike of the smallfolk would be unwise,” I said, willing my touch to send a calming current into his bones. “We cannot risk provoking the hungry masses.”

“I do not wish to be liked,” he hissed, his voice laced with malice. “I wish to be feared.”

Yet, when I leaned down over him, wrapping my arms over his chest, nuzzling my face into his cheek, he unraveled in my embrace, melting like wax exposed to flame.

A deep exhale of relief escaped his lips, as though my touch pulled the string of tension from his muscles like cloth, a deep satisfied hum reverberating in his chest. All of his anger disintegrated into dust, and he leaned into me, closing his eye, his face pressing against mine, his delicious heat seeping into my skin.

I breathed in the scent of him.

Musk and leather.

I filled my senses with it, a heady intoxication.

“Husband…?” I whispered against his skin.

“Wife,” he sighed with rapture, his arm reaching up, his fingers tangling into my hair, pulling me closer. He buried his nose in my neck and inhaled. He sighed once more with entrance, his breath warm against my ear. “You smell divine,” he whispered.

His fury was a tempest, his tenderness a balm. Once crossed, he was a force to be reckoned with.

But when he was soft… he was so very soft.

“Thank you, husband,” I smiled. The matter of the Lannister’s defiance was as good as wind. “My maids put lavender and rose in my bath earlier.”

“Hmm,” he hummed appreciatively. “I commend them.”

My heart swelled in my chest. In these moments, I felt a love that transcended fear. I could endure his tirades for hours if they always ended like this, with him so vulnerable, and soft, his fury crumbling under my touch, like a fortress breached.

His complexity was a bottomless well, an endless enigma, each layer revealing a new facet of his being. A mystery I could not begin to fathom, only sit back and enjoy. I was utterly captivated, desperate to remain in his favor. His trust in me was profound, and I knew the weight of my words carried uncommon power. My devotion and loyalty were absolute. Anything he’d ask of me would be his, a fact he understood completely.

My hair cascaded down his chest, mingling with his silver, a cosmic tapestry against the leather. I burrowed deeper into his skin, making him softer, my kisses trailing across his cheek until they met his lips, to which he groaned softly, deepening the union, his grip tightening around the back of my neck.

The kiss was a consuming inferno, leaving me breathless and light-headed.

“Hmm,” he hummed with delight. “Your lips alone could end this war.”

He possessed my whole heart in the palm of his hand.

“They are your servants, Your Grace,” I whispered against his cheek.

He chuckled low, a comforting melody, the muscles in his face plumping, his lips pursing to his contented smile.

But the looming threat of Rhaenyra’s forces intruded on my thoughts. Despite my misgivings about the way the succession had been handled, my husband’s victory was paramount. Many believed him consumed by darkness, a prisoner of his own demons. His mother, among others, shared this bleak view. Yet, here in my arms, I held undeniable proof to the contrary. I knew in my heart that he did not need to be feared, when he was capable of such profound love. So much more than he probably knew himself.

“Aemond,” I began, feeling his attention shift to me. “These weeks past I’ve been witnessing the plight of the smallfolk from our window-”

“You should not submit your eyes to such vile scenes,” he interrupted, snarling.

“Nevertheless,” I countered gently. “It has been impossible to turn a blind eye. Famine stalks the city. Sickness is surging. Blame is placed on those who rule over them.” His head rested heavier against me as he listened, his gaze flickering with thought. “Do not underestimate the influence of the common people,” I said.

His jaw clenched.

“Their numbers far outstrip ours. Capable of turning the tide if discontented,” I pressed on.

A silence filled our chambers, and I sent a silent prayer to the Mother that he would be malleable enough to receive my words in the way they were intended.

“What do you suggest?” he said finally.

I exhaled a silent breath.

“Open the gates. Spare them imprisonment,” I replied.

“They will spread their slanders across the Crownlands,” he countered, his voice like liquid.

“But you cannot control them. A good King does not earn the love of his people through fear. Neither does he command loyalty. He must earn it. Fear breeds nothing but resentment.”

He seemed to consider my words, his expression unreadable.

Then, he inhaled deeply, and took my hand, guiding me around his chair, pulling me into his lap.

“My wise counsellor,” he purred, his arms tightening around my waist. “You would make a formidable queen.” His lips brushed against my ear as his fingers began to trail a path down my neck, hooking into the laces of my dress, which he undid with expert grace, his arm pulling with long strokes as the laces fell out, and opened my bosom. A shiver ran down my spine and desire ignited in my blood. My breasts fell heavy, and he caught them in his hands, humming with delight. I shuddered beneath his touch, a pulse starting between my thighs.

“Aemond,” I whispered, my voice barely a breath.

“Hm?” he murmured absently, his fingers already slipping beneath the delicate fabric.

“Did you hear what I said?” I uttered, trembling.

He leaned in, his eye dark with desire. “Yes,” he rasped, his voice husky, his tongue darting out to taste the peak of my breast, softly grazing across my nipple in a hot, wet motion.

Fog infiltrated my mind faster than I dared to acknowledge.

He retreated slightly, and watched as my peak hardened under his subtle provocation. With practiced ease, he repeated the torment on the other breast, his gaze appraising, his eye a dark blue.

“You suggest I please the smallfolk,” he said, his voice low and sultry, lifting my heavy breast in his hand. “Though I’d much rather please my wife,” he groaned, and a sharp intake of breath escaped my lips as he took my nipple into the delicious heat of his mouth, a fierce pleasure igniting within me. I gasped, my hands instinctively cradling his head as I arched into him, keeping him latched. He released me with a wet pop, his eye gleaming with satisfaction at the pink swelling. He captured the other nipple in his mouth. A feverish heat pulsed through me, an insatiable craving consuming me.

This nightly ritual was a torment and a salvation. He could have his hands and mouth on me for hours, days, until I was raw and throbbing, and I would still yearn for his touch, his taste, his complete possession.

He was a poison and a cure, a fire that consumed me entirely. An addictive draught, coursing through my veins, blurring my reason.

His hands, the weapons of a killer, ravaged my body and tore at my dress, twisting it down until my torso was exposed to his predatory gaze. They delved beneath the fabric, their touch a fiery brand igniting my skin. Hungry fingers tore at me, exploring up my thighs, setting my nerves ablaze. With a swift movement, he claimed me, switching me in his lap until my back pressed against his hard chest, my legs propped up on the edge of his seat, cradled on either side of him. His hands swept the inner curve of my thighs, a path of fire, a delicate torment reaching higher, until they found the tender juncture. His face pressed against mine, ragged breaths fanning my face. A shiver coursed through me, a strange blend of warmth and dread from the volatile energy emanating from him. His hands remained right where they were, squeezing softly, tickling gently. My gown bunched around my hips, my exposed core throbbing for his touch, pulsing with eager longing, my body yearning for the release his touch promised.

My mind was immersed in an impossible fog, and I clawed for clarity. “Will you do me this one favor?” I panted, my breath mingling with his.

“What is this favor?” His growl was a low rumble as his tongue wet his fingers, a slow, erotic swipe as he held my gaze, a prelude to torment, setting my blood aflame. They found my clit, dampening it in a circular dance of fire. I whined and shuddered beneath his touch, and his eye sparked with gratification. My body bucked, a helpless rhythm to his masterful control.

Senses blurred. Words tangled. Yet, I clung to the fading remnants of reason, forcing myself while he was still open to receive counsel.

“To open the gates,” I pleaded, my voice trembling. “If we cannot feed them, let them leave.”

“Hmm.” His throaty hum, a low, primal sound, vibrated through me, promising both ecstasy and torment. Goosebumps erupted down my skin. I gasped as his fingers slid downward, parting my slick lips, until they delved into me, the invasion equal agony and pleasure. I gasped, my head tilting back.

He wrapped an arm around my chest, steadying me. “I’ll think on it,” he growled into the flesh of my neck, his teeth a fleeting brushfire on my skin.

“Name a-,” my words dissolved as he curled his fingers up into my sweet spot. “-new Hand.” I gripped the armrests, desperately anchoring myself to reality amidst the tempest of his touch, his fingers pumping me slowly. “He was never suited,” I managed between ragged breaths.

“No more politics, my love,” he groaned, salacious noises of my pleasure filling the room. His focus, a burning intensity, was solely on me, on the spectacle of my pleasure.

And with a ragged, throaty breath, he uttered, “I want to watch you come.”

Water cascaded into the tub, steam licking across the water’s surface. The intoxicating blend of lavender and rose filled the apartment, a scent I’d commissioned for my husband’s return from the morning’s small council meeting. As I inhaled the sweet, warming air, my mind sought tranquility amidst the looming war. Yet, the illusion of peace shattered with the abrupt crash of heavy footsteps and a violent wrenching of the chamber door.

Aemond stormed in, a frenzied tempest.

“Fucking eunuch,” he hissed, raging past me, barely acknowledging my presence.

The allure of the bath, once a soothing sanctuary, evaporated.

Once more, his turmoil was a tempest I yearned to calm.

My mind raced as I strained to decipher the subject of his rage.

“That toad, Larys Strong,” he growled.

That was all the confirmation I needed.

“Did he truly believe I would bestow the title of Hand upon a Strong cripple such as himself?” he spat, his eye ablaze with malice. “I didn’t like the way he fucking looked at me. I’ll have his eyes out.”

“Come, Your Grace, join me,” I invited softly, swishing my hand through the water.

Aemond snarled, as if the water was poison. “I have no time for such indulgences,” he said, and with a dismissive gesture, turned to his books, his one eye scanning the pages with fierce concentration.

“It’s still warm,” I coaxed, but he paid me no mind, his focus remaining on the text.

I was not foolish enough to press his boundaries. Even though he was susceptible to my words and counsel, I understood when his wall had grown impenetrable.

I left him to his studies, a certain comfort arising at the thought that perhaps this bath would be mine after all. I loosened my robe, letting it puddle at my feet before stepping into the inviting water. As I submerged myself, the heat seeped into my blood, tranquilizing my tense bones, and a soft sigh of pleasure escaped my lips. I tipped my head back and allowed the water to filter into my hair, prickling my scalp with its alluring fingers. As I straightened, coiling the water out of my hair, I stole a glance at Aemond, who devoured the pages with predatory intensity, my nakedness seeming to hold no allure at present.

I sat up, my breasts rising above the water’s surface. I grabbed the soapy sponge and began painting my body in foam. I moved slowly, the rich lather coating my arms, my collar bones, my neck, my chest, my breasts… They became slick with it, my nipples tightening under the stimulation.

Aemond’s gaze flickered.

As I cradled one breast, kneading and pinching the soft flesh, his nostrils flared and his eye narrowed, a predatory glint darkening its depths as if though I was his next kill, watching my cleansing ritual. Yet, he continued to feign indifference, his fingers turning the pages absently.

A surge of triumph coursed through me and nerves danced beneath my skin. I’d captured his attention, a prize hard won.

“Do you find something of interest?” I asked coyly, nodding towards his books.

His jaw ticked. “More than you can imagine,” he drawled, his gaze burning me, and I knew he was not referring to the histories.

I continued my provocative play, flicking my nipples, lathering them, until they ached with longing for his mouth.

His fingers twitched, a silent confession of his growing need. “Are you in need of assistance, my lady?” His voice, low and husky, was an enticing promise.

“I believe so,” I purred.

He shut the book and sauntered over, his approach slow and deliberate, sending the anticipation boiling within me. Kneeling behind me, he claimed the sponge, his touch a masterful blend of tenderness and command as he assumed his duties of cleansing me. Water beaded on the cloth before he inched it towards me, a cascade of soapy liquid descending upon my breasts at the clench of his delicate fingers. His hand followed, a caress that ignited a wildfire within.

A throaty sigh escaped him, which sent heat lower.

“What of your Hand?” I purred, my voice laced with invitation. “Who will assume the duties?”

“I need someone steadfast to advance my cause,” he murmured, his gaze dark and distant. “Someone unyielding in the face of dragonfire. Someone fiercely loyal,” he drawled, his voice drifting with shifted focus. His hand came up around my throat, squeezing gently, a playful threat that sent shivers prickling my spine. It descended then, down over my collarbones, tracing a fiery trail to my breasts, and a flick of his thumb over my hardened nipple sent me into orbit. A low whimper escaped my lips. His frame loomed over me, his scent, a heady mix of leather and desire, filled my senses, intoxicating me.

“Perhaps the candidate of choice is closer than we think,” he continued, his voice a low rumble.

I perked up through the fog. “Enlighten me,” I murmured, my voice barely a whisper. His lips came down to my ear, his hot breath setting my blood on fire. His hand slipped beneath the water until his leather sleeve was submerged above his elbow.

“You, wife,” he breathed, his voice a charged current that ignited my every nerve, further elevated by the caress of his fingers over my core.

I scoffed, the absurdity of the notion hitting me like a cold wave.

“Why do you laugh?” he asked, his voice velvet and steel.

“A woman as Hand?” I ridiculed. “Unheard of.”

“You are no ordinary woman,” he countered, his words a molten caress. “You are my wife. And you guide me better than anyone.”

His words washed over me, dissolving my resistance in a tide of desire.

“Perhaps in our chambers,” I said, a hint of amusement coloring my voice. “But around a council table? Holding the second most powerful position in the realm? It is laughable.”

A dangerous silence stretched between us as he considered my words. “Nothing about you is laughable,” he finally said, his voice low and intense.

I turned to face him, the water rippling around me. I stacked my arms on the edge of the tub, my head tilting as I studied his sharp features.

His fingers traced patterns along my jaw, his eye filling with shimmering emotion. I smiled, reveling in the raw intensity he displayed only around me.

“Won’t you join me, husband?” I invited.

A dangerous glint sparked in his eye, and without a word, he stood, unclasping his doublet from his center with slow, deliberate motions of his fingers. Heat rose within me with each layer that he shed. His body was a masterpiece of muscle and sinew.

He was all smooth lines and clean edges, that anything remotely carnal felt so much more unchaste with him.

His muscles rippled beneath taut skin, a living sculpture of power. Every part of him was so incredibly hard and defined, shadows playing around each tissue.

He sank into the water opposite me, his silver hair melting in the water like liquid moonlight.

I walked my feet up his taut stomach, up his chest, and wiggled my toes in his face playfully. He retaliated with mock ferocity, snapping at them with his teeth, his predatory gaze fixed on me, his eye alight with rare mischief. I giggled and retreated, but he captured one foot, his lips trailing soft kisses up my sole to my toes, sending a strangely pleasurable feeling through my core.

I scrunched my nose at him. “You’re filthy,” I complained with feigned revolt.

“Indeed,” he drawled, his fingers kneading tension from my foot. A wave of pleasure washed over me, and I leaned back, sighing in contentment. His gaze was intense, his eye a fathomless blue. He knew, as always, how to soothe my soul.

“If I asked it of you,” he began, and my breath grew shallow. “Would you take on the responsibility?”

The responsibility as Hand?

A wave of incredulity washed over me and I wanted to laugh again, though his features were etched with such seriousness that I felt as though I would be lynched if I as much as quirked the corners of my mouth.

Anything he’d ask of me, I would do with pleasure, though a sudden reservation coiled in my gut this time.

He had meant it in earnest. Dread sought its way around my throat.

I swallowed; my mind unable to even contemplate the weight of this looming task. I opened my mouth to respond, but no words formed.

He hummed with understanding, his eye softening and his mouth drawing up into a tender smile. “You needn’t give an answer now,” he said, placing a kiss to the bottom of my toe. “Consider it.”

Then, he tugged on me until I straddled his lap, the water splashing onto the floors from our shifting bodies. I steadied myself on his firm chest as his hand snaked around my back, the other around my neck, pulling me into him. His desire, already throbbing and insistent, was pressing eagerly against my opening.

“Imagining you,” he whispered against my lips. “Around the council table… At my side.” A shiver ran through me as I felt his dick pulse beneath me, and his breath shuddered on my skin. “It’s making me hard at the mere thought.” His grip tightened around the back of my neck, his fingers delving into my wet hair before he claimed my mouth, forcing my lips onto his in a clash of teeth and mess. I whimpered at the sudden collide, at the urgency of it, my body molding to his, while a heavy blend of lavender, rose, and dragon consumed my senses.

His hands came down and grabbed two handfuls of my ass and guided me onto his length. The water resisted our movements, making the intrusion slow and straining, and I sawed my bottom lip between my teeth. He filled me slowly, a throaty groan rumbling in his chest as I sank onto him, his eye locked onto the union, his lips parted in admiration.

He seized my hips, setting a relentless pace. His muscles rippled with exertion in the most attractive way imaginable, as he forced me to fuck him, the water spraying around us. The apartment echoed with the sounds of our passion, a lascivious ambiance of violent splashes, our breathless moans, and the primal growl in his throat.

The small council had convened hours hence when I was called upon from my chambers by the King’s Guard, my breakfast still steaming on the table.

“The Prince Regent requests an audience, my lady,” they announced.

The lords sat huddled around the council table upon my entry, engrossed in earnest discussion. My gaze flickered briefly over Alicent’s and Cole’s empty seats.

Aemond occupied the head of the table, his gaze distant and hostile, his fingers steepled beneath his chin.

“You called on me, Your Grace?” I inquired.

“Be seated,” he commanded, his voice carrying an unfamiliar chill that sent unease coursing through me.

I moved towards the table’s end with the intention to seat myself opposite him, but halted at his disapproving hum.

“Closer,” he insisted.

I hesitated, confusion washing through me and the rest of the council. A tense air descended, and I swallowed, before smoothing my dress and circumnavigated the table, the empty seats beside Aemond my only two options. His eye fixed me with a venomous intensity, as though I were a mere adversary, and not his good wife whom he was buried deep inside only last night.

Reluctantly, I claimed his mother’s old seat.

His displeasure was palpable, but unvoiced.

A tense silence filled the room before he broke it. “Lord Larys,” he began, with a challenging tilt to his head as his gaze ripped from me and pinned the crippled man at my side. “What has come of the summons of my grandsire back to court?”

Larys Strong shifted uneasily in his chair, the action of a man on the verge of delivering some bad tidings, and I noted that his eyes remained in their sockets.

“My messages have been to no avail, Your Grace,” he mumbled. “Ser Otto seems preoccupied in Old Town for the time being.”

A low, contemplative “hmm,” reverberated in Aemond’s chest. “Well then,” he mused. “It seems I must consider…” His visage softened into a strangely content expression, “…other candidates.” He leaned back, propping his foot up on the edge of his chair, idly turning the king’s marble between his fingers. His gaze flickered to me, carrying a weight of unspoken intent.

“Do you have someone in mind, Your Grace?” Jasper Wylde inquired, his voice laced with curiosity.

A slow, predatory smile crept across Aemond’s features. “As it happens, I do,” he lulled as he observed me.

Dread pulsed through me, and I shook my head at him; a silent plea for him to abandon this reckless idea died unspoken on my lips. Instead, a spark ignited in his eye, a dangerous glint promising a storm, his head nodding gently.

“There is only one here whose counsel I trust implicitly,” he declared, his voice carrying a conviction that both warmed and terrified me in equal measure.

Lord Larys, ever the opportunist, perked up beside me. “And who might that be, Your Grace?”

A flicker of annoyance crossed Aemond’s face. He sat up straight in his chair and pinned Lord Larys with such venom that the cripple must have abandoned all hope before Aemond even spoke. “My wife,” he pronounced, his tone final.

A stunned silence descended upon the council as the weight of his words sunk in, and an ominous shudder coiled up my spine.

“Go on,” Aemond urged, ice in his voice. “Voice your disputes.” He dared them, his fingers resting adroitly atop the hilt of the catspaw dagger at his waist.

“Your Grace is free to choose his Hand as he sees fit,” Maester Orwyle offered, his voice carefully neutral.

“There has never been a female Hand,” Lord Larys ventured, his tone hesitant and laced with poison.

“Then it’s high time there was one,” Aemond countered, leaning closer, his voice a velvet threat.

“In these times of war and turmoil, you need a strong Hand at your side, Your Grace.”

A venomous glint sparked in Aemond’s eye. “Like you?” he sneered. “Lord Strong.”

Larys recoiled. “I would never presume, Your Grace,” he stammered. “But if duty called, I would serve you without question.”

“Lady Y/N,” Aemond’s voice, cold and deliberate, jolted me from my thoughts, sending a gnawing chill up my spine. “Should I make Lord Strong my Hand in your stead?”

The question was a seismic shift, leaving me teetering on the precipice of disaster.

To deny Larys was to accept the mantle of Hand myself, a role I was woefully unprepared for to be sure. To elevate Larys was to gamble the stability of the realm on a man whose loyalty was as fickle as the tide.

The latter choice was a chasm of peril.

I straightened in the chair, meeting my husband’s gaze. “Lord Larys is a man of expedient measures, his loyalty as fleeting as the wind,” I declared, my eyes locking with cripple’s next to me. “To name him Hand would be to plunge the realm deeper into chaos.”

Larys returned my gaze with a venomous glare, and I understood the depth of Aemond’s earlier words.

The way he looked upon you when crossed demanded his eyes out.

A pleased smile curved Aemond’s lips. “Then it is decided,” he said, rising from his seat. He crossed the chamber to a central plinth and selected one of the smooth marbles. Returning to me, he placed it reverently in the hollow before me, his air lingering briefly. When he sat back down, he fixed Lord Larys with an unwavering glare, his eye narrowing and his nostrils flaring with contempt.

“You heard her, Lord Strong,” he hissed. “Off you limp.”

The cripple offered no further protest, rising with evident reluctance despite the provocation. He leaned heavily on his cane and hobbled from the room, as commanded.

“Now,” said Aemond, splaying his hands on top of the table. “Where were we?”

Remaining to Aemond’s small council were now Jasper Wylde, Maester Orwyle, and myself. This apparent oversight did not seem to trouble my husband. If given the choice, he would likely rule alone, with me as his sole companion, a prospect I would swiftly dispute.

Lord Wylde reported that Ser Criston had finally departed for Harrenhal with the Hightower army. Intelligence suggested Daemon’s position at Harrenhal appeared weakened, presenting a prime opportunity to strike. Moreover, Daeron, along with his dragon, was expected to join the fighting soon, and the Lannister fleet was closing in.

“King Aegon makes slow but steady progress, Your Grace,” Maester Orwyle reported. “He grows stronger each day. He even managed to stand up for a shirt time this morn’.”

Aemond hummed thoughtfully. “A long recovery lies ahead, Grand Maester.”

Maester Orwyle dipped his head in agreement.

“If there is nothing further, we will reconvene on the morrow, my Lords,” Aemond declared. “You are dismissed.”

We rose from our seats.

“Not you,” he said, halting me, knowing he was addressing me without having to look at him. Maester Orwyle and Lord Wylde placed their marbles back onto the platform before filing out, the heavy doors closing behind them.

I turned to him, his air exuding incontrovertible autocracy. There was something so unfamiliar about this man. He wasn’t my husband, but someone else entirely. A stranger inhabited his body, a man of iron will and cold fury. Someone that would let the world burn beneath the rage of his dragon and find it a triviality.

I wished to pacify him. To quell the fire and take my soft husband from the ashes. If this man in black leather and silver edges would deign to let me near him.

“I understand now the burdens you carry,” I said cautiously, making my careful approach. “Surrounded as you are by a council of deceitful lords with a reluctance to serve you fully.”

His jaw ticked, a tempest of emotions raging within his eye, fury and vulnerability warring with each other.

His father was dead, his mother ridden with guilt and misplaced allegiances, his brother burnt and broken, and his sister consumed by grief.

He was a Targaryen, left to face the horrors of this war alone. A most terrible fate. The weight of his house rested solely on his shoulders, and violence had become his banner.

“I have it under control,” he growled, though his dancing fingers upon the stone betrayed his words. The burden upon him was a festering wound, threatening to consume him.

“I’m sure you do,” I replied, looming over him. “But that does not mean you must stand alone.”

His eye pinned me with pure venom, sending a sharp chill coursing through my veins. But I willed myself to touch him, as I had so many times before to quiet his rage. My hand instinctively came up to his cheek, my thumb tracing the familiar scar on his cheek, and as I’d thought – this time were no different. He surrendered to my touch like a storm subsiding, his eye a deep pool, welling with the shimmer of unspoken emotion.

“I’m always at your side,” I promised, and his hand came up to cup mine, squeezing lightly with subtle desperation, a silent acceptance of my solace. “Whatever happens,” I assured him.

He averted his gaze, as if holding mine would cause the pool to flood.

“Sometimes,” he began, pursing his lips to the side, considering his next words for a moment. “It feels like you’re the only one who is.”

“I don’t believe that’s true,” I said.

“Even so,” he said. “It would be enough for me.”

A smile crept up the corners of my lips

My sweet Aemond.

I straddled him in his chair, and he took me into his arms, burying his chin in the crook of my neck. Once weapons of war, his hands now cradled me with a desperate tenderness. That’s how we remained for a while, his hands splaying across my back, gripping me with a possessive ferocity, as if he’d never known touch.

He yearned to be seen, accepted, loved, flaws and all.

I returned his embrace with equal fervor, our bodies igniting in a conflagration of warmth and desire. I held him so tightly that my arms began to ache, and the heat radiating from our fusion made me perspire.

But it was more than his body which heated me. A potent warmth radiated from him, igniting a fire deep within me. The desperation in his embrace had softened into something gentler. His hands rubbed me tenderly, his breath grew shallower, and his lips began to place soft kisses along my neck, which sent want pulsing through me.

He had solidified beneath me, his arousal pressing against my groin, demanding adjustment. Meeting his gaze, his features were no longer etched with heartbreaking peril, but had instead darkened with lust.

I pressed myself against his erection, and he let out a rough breath, watching me with languid appreciation as my hands roamed his chest, ran up his neck, into his thick hair, and then delved into the rich fabric of his doublet. I was infatuated with every inch of him. A heady warmth emanated from him, and I was utterly consumed.

A slick heat pooled between my thighs. The insistent pressure of his arousal against my dampened undergarment, a wave of lust blurring my vision. I couldn’t resist the urge to grind against him. Our eyes met, hazy, heavy-lidded, urgent. His thumb traced my lower lip, and I didn’t hesitate to press my mouth to his. I surrendered to him, his kiss, sweet and lazy at first, then deepened into a demanding exploration of my mouth. His hand searched beneath the pool of my dress. It fisted the fabric of my undergarment and I gasped as he tore it from my hip, revealing my wetness. A low growl rumbled in his chest as he deepened the kiss, his tongue plundering my mouth.

My palm caressed his arousal, a reckless abandon consumed me as I stroked him. He drew in a sharp breath, his gaze fixed on my ministrations as I moved my hand up and down his length. His body throbbed beneath my hand, his breathing growing shallow and ragged.

“Perhaps we should retire to our chambers?” I whispered, a shiver of apprehension running through me as the precariousness of our position struck me with a chilling clarity.

I was sitting astride him in the council chambers where anyone could enter.

“What for?” he demanded, his voice a rough growl. His hands claimed my body, swiping up my abdomen, kneading and bruising with a primal force. They squeezed my breasts, his eye admiring them nearly bulging out of my dress. His mouth devoured the valley between them, his tongue and teeth an exhilarating assault.

My breath shuddered as I watched him devour my skin with hungry kisses. Words suddenly failed me, and I was unable to articulate a reason.

“I am the prince regent,” he growled, his words muffled against my skin. “I will fuck my wife wherever I please.” With that, he rose, sweeping his hands beneath my thighs to place me on top of the council table.

“Spread your legs,” he commanded, his tone icy and menacing.

Lust constricted my breath as I obeyed.

His palms caressed my legs upward, his thumbs pressing into my inner thighs with a brutal intensity that unraveled me. As my legs parted, a cold draft swept across my core, and I became acutely aware of my dampness. His gaze lingered there, a mix of heat and corruption that electrified me.

He yanked me closer, his grip on the back of my neck forcing my breasts against his chest as his lips grazed my ear.

“The Hand is dripping all over the council table,” he growled and nipped my neck.

The sharp pain lanced my neck as his teeth grazed it. I gasped, but the discomfort transformed into a moan when his thumb found my clit. His hold tightened in my hair, pulling my head back as he lowered my dress, exposing my breasts. His mouth closed over my nipple, sucking on it, igniting a wildfire of desire that consumed me.

His thumb traced delicate patterns over my clit, a cadent dance that sent shivers through me. His grip on my hair tightened. A deep groan reverberated in his chest and his attention shifted to my other breast, his tongue and teeth teasing and tormenting me.

I leaned back on my hands and arched into his touch, my hips involuntarily bucking under the dance of his fingers. His mouth was a fiery brand on my skin, and I felt as though I were drowning in sensation.

When his hands left me, I was left aching for their return.

His gaze, dark and intense, held me captive as he grabbed my hips and jerked me to the edge of the table. My legs parted instinctively, and I was lost in a world of heightened senses. His eye followed the curve of my body, falling between my thighs, my core completely exposed to him, and he shook his head in disbelief, running his hands down my calves.

“Fuck,” the single word, uttered with raw desire, escaped his lips. His strong arms cradled my thighs, before his mouth descended between them.

The first hot, wet swipe of his tongue sent a violent shiver through me. A storm of sensation erupted within me as his tongue explored every inch of my damp folds. I was consumed by a primal urge, a reckless abandon that clouded my judgement. A rush of pleasure flooded me, the waves rolling stronger and stronger at every slow lap of his tongue.

My fingers tangled in his thick hair as he licked me from entrance to clit. “Oh, Gods,” I moaned, digging my hands into his silver, my blunt nails tugging at his scalp.

My gaze skittered toward the chamber doors and my mind surged with anxiety at the prospect of someone coming through them, but I found the thought slipping from my mind when Aemond swirled his tongue over my clit before sucking gently. My eyes rolled back in my head and my hips wound beneath his mouth.

The introduction of his fingers was a spark that ignited a conflagration, a feeling of fullness descending a hazy veil over my mind and body, oil torching through my bloodstream.

A tremor convulsed and a shuddering gasp escaped me as his tongue flicked my clit, a cadenced dance foregrounded by the insistent thrust of his fingers. Each of his strokes were a calculated torment, deep, guttural noises of satisfaction escaping him as the sweet nectar of my pleasure ran down his chin. He teased the precipice, slowing when the pressure built, igniting a desperate plea within me.

“Please,” I breathed desperately. His fingers deepened their invasion, intensifying the fire within me. When he slowed again, panic seized me, and I clawed at his hair. Words failed me, reduced to a desperate repetition of a single syllable. “Please, please, please,” I begged.

Finally, he answered my silent demands. His digits quickened and curled, his laps ran steady and drenched my core, until a relentless, hot pressure built.

His gaze locked onto mine, his blue eye transformed into a storm-laden ocean. As the world narrowed to a blinding white, I cried out my final plea, his name, obscenities; before the tempest of release engulfed me, my whole body clenching and shuddering beneath him.

In its aftermath, a languorous warmth spread through me. I trembled against the table, a puppet on invisible strings as his fingers continued their soothing rhythm.

My body, spent and quivering, collapsed onto the cold table, my chest heaving, my eyes closing as the last waves of ecstasy rolled through me.

As the fog began to lift, I opened my eyes to find Aemond reclined in his chair, his face flushed, his lips parted from exertion, his chin glistening from my slick desire.

He was a sight, to be sure.

His gaze, dark and rapacious, held me captive. A flicker of hunger danced in his eye, as though he was ready to eat me whole.

“Welcome to the small council, my love,” he smirked.

Tag list: @plovas69 @quinquinwuincy @lumerstar

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1800-fight-me · 1 month

Text

Devout Worshiper

Aemond Targaryen x Female!Reader

Rating: E (EXPLICIT - MINORS DO NOT INTERACT)

Warnings: Explicit sex! This is literally pure smut.

Word count: About 3.3k

Synopsis: The Prince Regent expresses his carnal desire and devotion to you atop the Iron Throne.

Author’s note: We were robbed! I can't believe they never showed us Aemond sitting on the Iron Throne or wearing a crown! So anyway I tried to fix it with this fic- please accept my humble offering.

I do not have a taglist! Instead if you would like to be notified when I post new fics follow my side blog @jo-writes-fanfic and turn your post notifications on! Here's the link to my Aemond Masterlist if you want to check out my other stories! Also my requests are open, please send me some more!!

It was long after the moon rose and the knocking on your chamber door was loud and insistent. It made you nervous, and as you opened the door your confusion only grew.

A kingsguard stood in your doorway.

“My lady, the Prince Regent requests your presence in the throne room.” He said sternly, making it clear it was more of a demand than a request.

Prince Regent?

Trepidation filled you, but you only nodded demurely and followed his lead.

You flinched as thunder cracked loud enough to hurt your ears. Flashes of lightning lit your way through the halls of the Red Keep as rain poured.

The kingsguard opened the door to the throne room and gestured for you to enter. He did not follow you, only closed the door behind you, sealing you in.

Lightning flashed again and you saw the Prince Regent where he lounged on the iron throne. His long silver hair practically shimmered in the low light, his legs were spread, and his gaze was heart stoppingly intimidating.

Your heart skipped a beat, but for a completely different reason.

“Aemond,” you breathed out, walking forward again so eagerly you nearly tripped over your own feet.

You heard that he and Vhagar had returned to King’s Landing after the battle, but hadn't seen him yet. He looked good, completely himself, not a scratch on him and not a hair out of place. You were so relieved.

He murmured your name too, strong unidentified

emotion behind the syllables.

As you beheld your childhood best friend, he looked the same, but something about him was completely changed. Perhaps it had something to do with the conqueror’s crown that rested upon his brow.

You stopped walking as you reached the bottom of the stairs of the throne.

“What-“

”Aegon was grievously harmed in the battle, I have been named Prince Regent while he heals,” he explained.

You nodded, you had heard the King was hurt.

“And you, are you alright?”

He smiled crookedly and nodded.

You stared up at him, for the first time in your life uncertain about what to say to your childhood companion. The circumstances of this conversation were far different than any other time you spoke to him.

He beckoned you forward, and feeling jittery you

tentatively made your way up the steps of the iron throne.

As you reached him, relief overcame you and you laid your hand on his cheek.

“I’m so glad you’ve returned unharmed. I was so worried for you. I don’t know what I would do if-“

He shushed you gently as he placed a large hand on your waist and pulled you closer to him, leading you to stand between his spread legs.

You knew that none of this was proper.

“I am here,” he murmured and nuzzled his face into your hand.

Your heart thumped harder as you tried to pull your hand away, but he intertwined his fingers with yours and prevented you, instead running his nose gently across your skin, invoking goosebumps.

He took a deep breath as his nose reached your wrist and let out a soft groan.

Your knees threatened to buckle.

You should pull away. Walk away. This was wrong, wrong, wrong. You were betrothed to another man. He was betrothed to a woman who was not you.

“I thought of nothing but your scent throughout the battle, of returning home to you and smelling you once more,” he said, his voice low and deep, before he pressed his lips to your wrist.

“Aemond,” you protested weakly.

“Claiming you as mine,” he continued, trailing his lips further up your arm, pushing away the fabric in search of your skin.

“It is a sin,” you protested.

About a year ago Queen Alicent caught you and Aemond in a passionate kiss, it was not the first kiss between the two of you, and reprimanded you both sharply. Reminded you both that your maidenhood must remain intact and that developing feelings for one another was folly as it was highly likely you would both be betrothed to others.

Her words were sharp and you took them to heart. You did your best to squash your feelings for Aemond and treat him only as a friend.

But feelings that strong don’t merely disappear… and it seemed Aemond’s desire for you remained as fiery as ever.

“Nothing between you and I could ever be a sin. We were made for each other,” he said urgently, his lips now reaching the skin revealed by your collar as he pulled you even closer.

Your breath hitched in your throat.

“We are betrothed to marry others,” you said even as you whined at the feel of his lips against your throat.

“Fuck that,” he said as he bit down on the most sensitive part of your neck.

Your grip on his shoulder tightened even as you plunged your other hand in his hair at the back of his head and held him closer, tighter, never wanting to be apart from him again.

He chuckled darkly and licked up your throat to your jaw.

“Aemond,” you panted and he pulled back enough to look you in the eye, one hand slipping to caress the side of your face.

“You are mine,” he growled.

You whimpered.

“Say it,” he ordered.

“I’m yours,” you breathed out.

You stared into his violet gaze, overwhelmed by the emotion you beheld.

“And I am yours,” he said.

“And you are mine,” you repeated.

You weren’t sure who moved first, but his lips crashed into yours, and it was like coming up for air. You couldn’t breathe without him, hadn’t been able to breathe properly in a year, and now in his arms with his lips covering yours, your breaths came properly.

He pulled back all too soon, and said, “We will say our vows again on the morrow in the sept. I am Prince Regent now, I sit upon the Iron Throne, no one can deny us. You will be mine for the rest of our lives.”

The crack in your heart that has festered over the last year healed over instantly and you scrambled upon his lap as you kissed him once more.

As your tongue tangled with his and you both gripped one another tighter, as he held you closer than you’d ever been held.

‘Finally, finally, finally’ your heart and soul sang. He let out a cocky chuckle and you realized you’d said the words out loud.

He pulled your legs apart, spreading them as you settled more comfortably on his lap, your dress no longer a barrier between the two of you as his tongue flicked against yours.

Heat ran up your spine as the taste of him filled your mouth, as your blood pounded through your veins, as he somehow managed to pull you even closer- practically crushing you against him.

His hand ran up from your waist, his palm enveloping and gently squeezing your breast, and an erotic moan escaped from your lips, spilling into his mouth.

He pulled your mouth closer, tangling his tongue with yours as he moaned back. His fingers began to tug at the laces of your bodice, and you pulled back with a small gasp.

“Aemond,” you whispered in concern, looking back to make sure you were well and truly alone.

“I ordered them to leave us be and guard the doors. No one will interrupt us,” he reassured as he tugged again at the tie covering your heaving bosom.

Your breasts spilled from your dress as you stared into his eye. You reached around his head and unbuckled the eyepatch, letting it fall to the side, rendering him bare too as the sapphire eye glittered- a reflection of the flashing lightning.

His gaze dropped to your chest, and with hands on your waist he led you to move your hips, grinding down on his hardened length.

Your whimper turned into a gasp as his lips left hot opened mouthed kisses that trailed from the hollow of your throat to your breasts.

As his mouth enveloped your nipple, his tongue swirled on the sensitive bud and you let out a breathy, “Oh!”. You continued to grind down on him, your breaths quickening as heat filled your core.

His thumb flicked your other nipple as he suckled and moaned. The crown on his head slid down on his forehead for the third time, getting in his way and irritating him. He yanked it off his brow and placed it on your head before returning his attention to your breasts.

Your head fell back and you moaned wantonly at the eroticism of the action. His hands yanked at your skirts, rucking them up enough that his long warm fingers met the sensitive skin of your upper thighs.

You shivered at his touch even as a bead of sweat dripped down your spine in the cold throne room.

Never, you’d never been touched in such a way, never been worshiped in such a way, never had the love of your life fully expressed his devotion to you. And when his fingers slipped into your slick and lust swollen cunt, you knew you’d be his until the day you died.

Those fingers teased and rubbed, finding their way to the pinpoint of your pleasure and you gasped so loud it echoed throughout the room.

He hummed in approval, his lips quirking into a smirk as he looked up at you and you yanked on his hair pulling him into another heated kiss.

His finger, that damned finger, swirled around your clit and you bit his lip.

He hissed your name and sunk a finger inside your desperate cunt. This, this was heaven. Fuck the gods and religion, you were his and he was yours and nothing else mattered.

He slipped another finger inside you, pumping them in and out gently and you moaned as you clenched around those perfect fingers.

“You’re perfect like this,” he groaned and you whined once more at the praise and with the flick of his thumb against your clit you gasped his name.

His breaths came heavier as he watched you near your peak, the pupil in his eye lust blown, and the type of adoration in his gaze you’d always yearned for from him.

Heat coiled in your core, your heartbeat pounded throughout your whole body, and with a moan of his name you came harder than your own fingers had ever brought you.

His lips were on yours, consuming and devouring you hungrily, swallowing the sounds of pleasure from your lips that only he could elicit.

Your desire for him did not diminish, no you needed him somehow even more now. You wiggled your hand between the two of you and ran your hand across his hardened cock.

He moaned into your mouth, and feeling emboldened, you began to attempt to free it from his tight pants. He chuckled, placed a kiss on your jaw and took mercy on you, and assisted you.

You wrapped your hand around his hardened length, trepidation filling you at the size of him, and you looked back up at his face with a shaky breath, suddenly feeling bashful at your lack of experience.

Doubt flickered in your mind, what if you couldn’t please him? What if-

His lips were on yours once again, he kissed you with a steadfastness that reminded you that this was in no way meaningless, this was Aemond - your best friend- expressing his love for you.

“I’ve got you,” he murmured in your ear as he trailed his lips across your throat. His large hand wrapped around your much smaller one and guided you to wrap your hand around his cock.

You whimpered in desire as he continued to guide you to stroke his throbbing length. He led you to twist your wrist, showed you where to grip tighter, guided you to pump his cock up and down until he was groaning.

He let go of your hand, and you continued to pleasure him, feeling more powerful than ever before as you held the cock of the Ruler of the Seven Kingdoms, as he again dipped his head and encapsulated your nipple in his warm wet mouth.

You both whimpered in pleasure, and as you ran your other hand through his silver tresses, pulling his head closer into your chest, you felt that there was nothing better in this life than this.

Until he lifted his head once more, his eye wide and filled with love, and you crushed your lips into his.

His hand met yours once more, brushing yours away, and he guided his cock to the entrance of your sopping cunt as you settled your hips over his once more.

Your breaths came heavier as he said, “You are mine.”

“I’m yours,” you responded, nodding and following his guidance as you began to sink your hips down on his throbbing cock.

You winced slightly at the stretch, but he ran a hand up and down your back, pulled you closer to him- your chest crushing against his, and dripped honeyed reassurances in your ear.

”You can fit me, my love. You were made for me,” he said.

Your heart burned for him, and with his grip on your hip you managed to take him completely inside your soaked cunt.

The frantic feeling in both of you eased as you sat on his lap, stuffed full of him, and felt complete in a way you never had before.

Your hands ran across his chest, up his shoulders and down to his biceps, gripping the corded muscle you found everywhere. In tandem, he ran his hands up and down your curves, gripping the flesh he found, until his hands enveloped your ass.

He gripped your ass and led you to shift your hips, grinding down on him in a circular motion. You let out a breathy, “oh!” The feel of him inside of you as you shifted, moving in an erotic way you’d never moved before, threatened to overcome you.

“You are perfect,” he reassured and you clenched down on him, causing you both to moan.

When you were ready, he then guided you to lift your hips up until his cock was almost completely out of your cunt, then you sunk back all the way down, sucking him inside your desperate hole, becoming his in a way that was irreversible.

“Aemond,” you gasped as you repeated the action, continuing to let him guide you. You finally learned how good it felt to be full, to be so full of him you realized how empty and aching for him you’d felt for years.

His grip tight on you, stuffed full of his cock, as his teeth bit down on your neck, you’d never felt so alive- so free.

And so you found a rhythm, bounding up and down on his cock, bringing you both pleasure unlike any other.

With his hands on your hips, your pace quickened, and one of your hands slipped from his shoulder, looking for more leverage and you cut yourself on a blade of the throne.

You yanked your hand back with a gasp, ceasing your motions atop him, and he looked at you wide eyed.

“What is it?” He asked and you placed your hand in his. He surveyed the small cut on your finger, you both realized it was small, barely more than a papercut really, you were lucky, and then he brought your hand to his lips.

You blinked in surprise as he enveloped your finger in his mouth, lips parting and tongue licking the blood off it.

You stared at him in shock for one moment, two, then three…. long enough that his expression became bashful, before you crushed your lips into his, pillaging his mouth with your tongue, desperate to taste yourself inside his mouth.

He moaned as his hand on the back of your neck pulled you closer, and then you were both moving again.

You felt blissful, stretched out in such a wonderful way, and desperate for anything he threw at you.

“Made for me,” he breathed out once again against your lips.

“You’re mine,” you replied as you ground down on him.

He huffed out something between a chuckle and a moan, and with a tight grip of your hips, he said, “I am yours until the day I die.”

He punctuated every word with a sharp thrust inside you, and with that he took control from you. You gave it to him gladly, and held onto his shoulders, tangled your fingers in his hair as he thrust up inside you at a pace that kept you from breathing properly.

There was a spot inside you, that you’d explored before with your fingers, but never once had you felt like this as his cock hit that spot repeatedly. Your toes curled and you whined his name in a high pitched voice you didn’t even recognize as your own.

“For so long I dreamed of what noises I could pull from your lips. Mmmm… the real thing is so much better than anything I could have imagined,” he purred in your ear.

Your only possible response was a gasp and clenching on his thick length as your mind had separated from your body, there was only him and the pleasure his body provided yours.

His muttered words in high valyrian, sweet promises of devotion as he continued to fill you. He filled your body, your heart, your soul, and the only expression of devotion you could return was to come on his cock.

With a moan and a squelch you gushed around him and he gasped, holding you tighter, somehow increasing his pace- the intensity of his thrusts as he followed you over the edge.

With one final push inside your cunt, he climaxed inside you, filling you with his come, and it was all you could do to kiss him, sloppily and desperate, as he marked you as his.

You rested your head in his shoulder, breathing him in as you both came down and attempted to slow your heart rates.

He tattooed his name against your being as he pressed his lips to any bare skin he could reach.

“I love you,” you whispered, completely baring yourself to him, feeling more vulnerable than ever before, despite your state of undress, despite the fact that he was still inside you.

“I have loved you for as long as I have known what love is, and I will continue to do so until I am ashes in the wind,” he swore, pulling back to meet your gaze.

You could only wrap your arms tighter around him and hold him.

Eventually, he disentangled the two of you, but swatted your hands away as you attempted to retie your bodice.

“I never said I was done with you,” he growled.

A shiver ran down your sweat slicked spine.

You merely let him lead you to stand, watched as he tucked himself back into his pants, then he led you to sit on the iron throne.

“Aemond,” you protested, but he merely shook his head at you, took a step back, and stared at you.

There was desire, possessiveness, and feral satisfaction in his eye as he looked you up and down in your disheveled state that he caused.

You could only imagine how you looked, sprawled on a throne you had no right to sit on, your breasts spilling from your dress, your hair disheveled, and a Targaryen crown crooked utop your head.

But the Prince Regent only kneeled before you.

Any doubts of his allegiance, any doubts in him flew away like feathers in the wind as Aemond Targaryen knelt before you, bowed his silver head, then lifted your skirts and spread your legs.

His groan was drowned out by your loud gasp as he began to feast on you.

Aemond ruined you and made you anew in the throne room that night, and at dawn the next morning he brought you to the sept and made good on his promise to marry you.

Damn the consequences and opinions of others, before all the gods Aemond Targaryen declared his devotion to you above all.

#aemond targaryen #house of the dragon #hotd #aemond targaryen x reader #aemond targaryen smut #aemond targaryen x you #aemond targaryen x y/n #aemond x reader

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