#aemond targaryen x fem reader

[xeno1queen]

Growing Strong With The Dragon - Part II

Aemond Targareyen x Tyrell!Reader

Summary: The wedding day has arrived, maybe the princess won't be as lonely anymore.

Warnings: No warnings, just a chill fic. No character description. Afab.

Authors Note: English is not my first language so the grammar might be a bit janked. After a quick search I found out that going from Highgarden to Kings landing by wheelhouse could take more than 2 months, wtf. Part I

After a long and brutal journey, you found yourself in front of the gate of the gods, a magnificent sight that signified the near end of your journey. As you passed through the city, you noticed that it smelled much worse than you imagined; Highgarden had never smelled this bad and was never this dirty. Once you reached the gates of the Red Keep, you sighed with relief; your horrible journey had finally ended. The loyal servants of the crown were quick to bring yours and your family's baggage to your assigned chambers. You had a small bedroom, much smaller than yours at home but comfortable nonetheless. You had arrived late in the day, so your new ladies-in-waiting helped you change into a more comfortable evening gown. You usually read before going to bed, but tonight things felt different. With the next day being your wedding day, you felt the anxiety from the day you met the prince return. Is he also nervous? Could he be thinking about you? Those questions plagued your mind into the late hours of the evening.

The day of the wedding arrived; your dress had been made by the seamstresses of King’s Landing with your exact measurements and it was a perfect fit. Your ladies-in-waiting woke you up early, and you didn't sleep much, but you weren't tired at all. You felt your heartbeat strong, and your palms sweaty as you got dressed and your hair done, it was braided in a lovely way. You wore a beautiful off-the-shoulders white dress with blue floral embroideries, and your favorite piece of jewelry was placed on your neck, a pearled necklace with the biggest sapphire in Westeros. Being pampered this way made you feel like the most beautiful girl in the world. You heard the chime of bells echoing throughout King’s Landing, signifying the wedding was about to begin. The sept was full of lords and ladies that you had never seen but heard much about. Prince Aemond felt nervous but didn't let a bit of that nervousness be shown to those outside his head.

As you entered the sept, everyone got quiet, and you could hear some gasps. It made you feel anxious for being the center of attention, but you also felt powerful. Everyone was there for you and for your prince’s marriage. You were escorted down the aisle by your father, who had a stoic look on his face. Once you reached the end of the aisle and got up the small set of steps, you were given away to your prince with a bow from your father. With you being so close to your soon-to-be husband, he finally noticed the blue stone you had on your neck. It was the same stone that was placed on his missing eye, to him, that felt like a message from the gods that you were meant to be his. Once in front of the Septon, Prince Aemond placed on your shoulders a cloak with the colors of his house and gave you a sincere smile, the first you had seen from him, and you returned his smile with one of your own as you were officially declared husband and wife with a grand applause of all the ladies and lords.

As you arrive in the grand hall for the feasting celebration, you hear drums and your family's name being proclaimed. You move though the filled corridor, everyone has gotten up and looked at you, but the only eye that matters to you is the one from the prince.

Once he saw you enter the throne room, he felt out of breath, almost as if he saw you for the first time again. He never liked the idea of marriage, but seeing you like that made him change his mind. You are going to be his forever.

You climbed the small set of stairs in front of the dining table. Prince Aemond got up and held your hand, softly kissing it as he led you to sit next to him.

As you were eating the appetizers, you felt an immense wave of anxiety as your hand held your dress. "Maybe if I drink more wine, the nervousness will dissipate," you thought to yourself as you emptied your cup. Prince Aemond noticed and he raised his hand asking for more wine for both of you. You looked at him with a soft smile in gratitude and you felt a hand creep under the table to where yours was holding your dress. You felt Prince Aemond's ungloved hand; it was soft, and his fingers were lean. He placed his hand on top of yours as a means to give you comfort in such a stressful moment and you felt your hand ease the pressure on your dress.

After a little while, both of you had to do the bridal dance. You were trained for this dance your whole life and even though you knew you were prepared, you couldn't help but feel nervous. Prince Aemond got up and gave you his hand so you two could go to the middle of the hall and dance. You felt everyone's eyes on you, but dancing made you feel free. You almost felt like you were flying with each spin of your gracious moves. Once the dance was finished, you both bowed, and everyone applauded while joining you in the middle of the room. You both danced together for a while until you were interrupted by another lord asking you for a dance. Seeing you dance with another lord made Aemond's blood boil with rage. Someone else touching what was his by right was not to his liking, so after letting you dance for a while, he swiftly made his return to you with a clenched jaw and grabbed you tightly by the waist. He pressed you against him, you had never experienced such intimacy before, as you were sheltered from men your whole life in means to keep your virtue. This new experience made you feel things you weren't used to; maybe it was the wine doing things to you, but you felt nervous in a different way. Aemond looked into your eyes as you were pressed against him and said, “You look beautiful, my wife.” You felt your whole body get hot. “Thank you, husband.” you answered with a soft smile of gratitude and nervousness on your lips. You couldn't leave each other for the rest of the dance, always making eye contact as if you both were connected. He knew he had made a lasting impression on you.

Taglist: @maddyb-rapps

[multific]

Of Lit Fire and Silk Sheets

Aemond Targaryen x Reader

Summary: Aemond arrives back to his room late at night, when you are already long asleep.

When Aemond came into your shared bedroom it was already very late.

His duties as Prince kept him up almost all day, barely allowing him to take a break or even eat.

Aemond let out a long sigh as he took off his jacket.

The fireplace in his room was lit, illuminating the room.

On his bed, you slept.

You, his beautiful wife.

Aemond stopped by the end of the bed and looked at you. He has seen you sleeping plenty of times, but he was always right next to you, or he was too tired and went to sleep immediately as he got back. 

But now, even if he was tired, he still took a moment to just stop and look at you.

You looked breathtaking, the warm light from the fire illuminated your face and shoulder as you slept on your side, facing his empty side. Your arm reaching towards his side, trying to find him but failing.

Aemond allowed a small smile to form.

Oh, how you both hated the idea of being married, and yet here you both were, completely and undeniably in love. 

Aemond could still recall the moment your eyes turned from hatred to the soft look that you now have for him.

He could also recall the moment he realized he was in love with you when a Lord dared to speak ill of you and as a result, lost his head.

Aemond takes no chances when it comes to you, his wife.

He believes it is his duty to fully protect you from anything. Let that be his own family, a few lords with choice words or even himself.

Aemond takes no chances, much like a predator, he prefers to act first and think next.

He didn't use to be like that.

He was always very calculated, just not when it came to you.

Love, as they say, is a stronger force than anything, greater than fear or even dragons.

You stirred slightly in your sleep and Aemond moved. Removing his clothes and putting on the comfortable pants and shirt he preferred to sleep in, he quickly moved back to you and laid down.

His muscles relaxed against the silk sheets and comfortable pillows.

He wanted to pull you closer, but he was afraid to wake you.

Aemond just laid there, watching you sleep as he contemplated his next move. He knew he would not be able to sleep fully without having you in his arms or have you closer.

But he didn't have to, you instinctively still asleep, moved closer to him, placing your hand on his chest as you continued to sleep. 

Aemond let out a long sigh as he closed his eyes. He felt you moving beside him as you soon placed your head on his chest, got comfortable under the covers and fell right back to sleep.

His hand moved to find yours on his chest as he fell asleep.

Not even the howling wind outside would hurt you, he will make sure of it.

Taglist: @castellandiangelo @imagines-by-a-typical-fangirl @manduse  @jacalineiscomingforyou  @mandoloriancookie @brascaris

~Masterlist~

ˇAO3ˇ

/YOU DO NOT HAVE PERMISSION TO TRANSLATE OR REUPLOAD ANY OF MY WORKS TO THIS OR OTHER PLATFORMS/

[blossomingmoonlight]

⭑ Name day celebrations ⭑

Pairing: Husband!Aemond x Wife!Sister!Reader x King!Aegon

A/N: Finally I finished this filthy piece, it took me a while because for some reason the entire universe was against me in September BUT it's here! And it's fucking dirty...

Warning: NSFW, +18 MDNI, making out, grinding, humping, handjob (both f and m receiving), oraljob (both f and m receiving), titty sucking, lactation kink, aegond, f and m vaginal sex, m and m anal sex.

Summary: Your name day could only be a big celebration as your brother the king loved you so much. And both him and your husband made it their mission to give you a night to never forget.

Word count: 4.1k

The sound of wine pouring in your cup snapped you out of your thoughts. You thanked the servant who filled it and went back to focusing on how your handmaiden was adjusting your dress. It was possibly the most beautiful dress you had ever worn, green with a golden embroidered dragon on the corset. The dress was Aegon’s request and Helaena had embroidered it for you. Thankfully the dress was adjusted a bit so as not to squeeze your small growing belly, something that both your brothers were quite eager to show off to the realm.

Before you knew it your handmaiden was helping you with your jewellery and headpiece and your ethereal look was finished. The headpiece matched your dress and a green veil was attached on the back of it, making you look even more royal. A knock could be heard on your door and with your permission it opened, revealing your husband, Aemond. You smiled at him through the reflection of the mirror and your handmaiden left to give you some privacy. The second the door closed behind her, Aemond walked up behind you. His hands already reaching for your small belly. 

Even though you were only 4 months, your breasts had swollen and were filling with milk. He smiled as he glanced down over your shoulder, his sharp chin resting on it. You know he will be a proud father. “You look more beautiful every day. I knew you were meant to be a mother.” You couldn’t help but smile at his compliment, he always knew how to make you blush. Of course he couldn’t take his eyes off of your swollen breasts either. Both him and Aegon were obsessed with your tits, always fondling them, sucking on them and worshipping them when you shared the bed. “Stop staring, we have to get to the throne room soon. They’ll be waiting for us.” You said, even though you wanted nothing more than for your brothers to give your breasts some relief. 

“Hm.” Aemond let go of you reluctantly and took your arm to lead you to the festivities. While walking through the halls, Aegon joined at your other side with a grin. “You look amazing my love, pregnancy looks good on you, as does that dress.” He complimented, linking your free arm with his. While still heading for the throne room Aegon leaned closer to your ear and whispered, “I can’t wait to take it off you tonight.” You bit your lip at the thought. Even before you were with child both your brothers could rarely be satiated but now it was impossible. The three of you were almost near the throne room, and guards, people of court and the hand came near. You tried to pull your arm from Aegon to maintain appearances but he would not budge so you stopped in your tracks.

“Aegon- “ You protested but he cut you off before you could even say another word. “I have told you before and will tell you again about how much I don’t give a fuck. I am the king and you are my sister, I will show you affection however I want. And if anyone has a problem with that they will simply meet Sunfyre.” He ranted. You sighed and Aegon started walking again, pulling you and Aemond with him. The grand doors were already opened so that the invited guests could take their seats at the long tables. The three of you stepped inside, the hand, your mother and sister Helaena following you. 

The moment you were announced, clapping hands loudly filled the room, which put a smile on your face. You were known as the more kind but social sister and the smallfolk adored you for it as did the lords and ladies of Westeros. You walked through the throne room up the steps towards the royal table and took your seats. Aegon was of course in the middle, on his right was you and on his left was Helaena. To your right your husband Aemond and to his right your mother Alicent. Next to Helaena was the hand himself, your grandsire. 

And thus the table was almost complete. The first of the big houses were announced, the first one being your own sister and uncle, Rhaenyra and Daemon, with their children. They greeted and congratulated you and took their seats at the royal table. House Velaryon was announced and they too greeted and congratulated you and took their seat at the table right below. And so did the other big houses until the feast could finally begin.

Aegon of course wasted no time in filling his cup, even though he felt calmer with you at his side and his favourite food in front of him, he still felt unease with all the eyes on him. You noticed the big gulp he took of his wine and you placed your hand on his that was resting in his lap, giving him a soft reassuring squeeze. That made him put his wine down, to focus on his food instead. Which was chicken, your favourite too. Aemond just rested his left hand on your belly, like he had ever since it was confirmed you were with child. 

Ever since that night that broke out in a fight two years ago, you made sure that whenever your nephew’s came to visit there would be no pig served. Especially not at your birthday feast. You wanted nothing more than for everyone to be happy and calm. The night went on peacefully, people danced, came up to congratulate you and after some wine Aegon decided to grab your hand and pull you on the dance floor. He never really loved dancing but he loved dancing with you. All the envious eyes on the two of you and in the corner of your eye was your husband with a small smile. You knew he secretly loved it when Aegon made you laugh, so he didn’t mind sharing at all.

However not everyone could share such cheerful spirit, for the hand already had his piercing gaze on the two of you the second Aegon pulled you from the table in the first place. Even though you tried to somewhat keep up appearances the entire realm knew what was going on between the three of you, of course no one dared to speak of it as Aegon is their king and he is the law. Otto Hightower was the only one to dare speak his mind. Multipile times he tried to convince Aegon it was unseemly and sinful to cheat on his wife like that. 

And every time Aegon told him that he didn’t know what he was talking about and that it was treason to accuse his king of such sins. Even your mother had given up and just decided to ignore it. When you went back to your table Otto’s eyes were still on the pair of you but you decided that you didn’t notice it and sat back next to your husband. The remainder of the night was filled with music, food, wine and cheerfulness. On the morrow there was to be a tourney in your name, even your uncle, Daemon was participating. Speaking of uncle’s, your other uncle, Gwayne Hightower, walked up the steps to congratulate you on not only your name day but of course also the babe.

You thanked him and he informed you that he would also be participating in the tourney tomorrow. Immediately you saw Daemon smirk in the corner of your eye and you knew tomorrow would be interesting. He descended the steps again and returned to the Hightower table. Soon more and more people were retiring and Aegon declared the feast over. Aemond took your hand and you noticed Aegon speaking hurriedly to a serving boy who nodded at his question. Before you could ask Aegon joined you and Aemond and they both led you to yours and Aemond’s shared bedchamber. 

Deciding that it probably wasn’t anything interesting you held your tongue and were led quite hastily through the halls and up the steps. Once you reached the right doors, Aegon opened them and you noticed that there were no guards around, not even servants. Even your handmaiden was nowhere to be found. Once you were all inside, Aegon closed the doors. Your mouth opened slightly as you took in the must’ve been a good three hundred roses around the room, your bed, which was round and was concealed with airy, thin curtains now had candles surrounding it with only a small gap to enter.

Aemond stood behind you, like he had right before the feast, his hands already groping your breasts, his mouth kissing your neck and shoulder. Aegon wasted no time in joining you, his hands around your waist as his gaze fell to your lips. He dipped his head and pressed his forehead against yours, teasing you by grazing his wine stained lips across your soft ones. You gasped when Aemond sucked a lovemark onto your neck, and Aegon finally pressed his lips to yours. 

Your heart pounded in your chest, it didn’t matter how many times Aegon kissed you, it always felt like he took your breath away and set your body on fire. The kiss got heated quickly and Aegon left you no room to breathe. Aemond didn’t budge either, you could feel both of their erections against you, as you were sandwiched between them. As if you weren’t aching and desperate enough, they started to both hump and grind against you, leaving you a panting mess when Aegon finally paused kissing you. Both of their groans and whines filled your ear and your eyes rolled back in ecstasy.

Nothing felt better than having your strong king and frightening husband whining and moaning in your ears, while they humped you like pathetic virgins. You gripped Aegon tightly for more support and grabbed the back of his neck to pull him in again. Aemond seemed to get jealous and for the first time joined you and Aegon in the kiss. All three of your lips and tongue clashing together, their hips stilling in concentration. Then an idea popped in your head. You continued to kiss them for a while, vibrations of their whines and moans tingling in your mouth. Slowly you pulled away, and in a haze of heated passion they didn’t even notice they were making out with each other, tongue and all. 

You watched in awe and realised that you had never witnessed such an arousing act. Sadly that only lasted a few moments before they both pulled away in realisation and their eyes met yours, then each other’s again. And to your surprise they both crashed their lips together again, their hips continuing movement once more. They both held you tightly between them as they continued their heated kiss. Aegon couldn’t help but whimper against Aemond’s lips, Aemond gasped in response. When they both felt like they couldn’t breathe, they let go. Both gasping for air, lips swollen and covered in each other's spit. 

It was you who spoke first, breaking the silence. “I feel like we should explore this more, and if you really want to make me happy on my name day, you give me a show like that again.” You smiled, your hands moving to untie your dress. As this was a bit of a struggle, Aemond went to help you while Aegon, surprisingly, helped Aemond take his garments off. Once both you and Aemond were fully undressed, you both shared a look, and started to pull the strings and unclasp Aegon’s clothes. Once he too was undressed, Aemond took both yours and Aegon's hand and led you both over to your bed. You hadn’t even noticed the amount of soft blankets that were spread extra over your bed. It was incredibly cosy to lay on. When the three of you were settled on the bed, only then you noticed their change of demeanour. 

Both their eyes were focused on your breasts and you knew exactly what they needed. Even though it was your name day, it gave you great pleasure to please your handsome brothers. So you laid against the big pile of pillows, inclined so that you didn’t lie flat in the bed. Both Aegon and Aemond were quick to join you on either side, wrapping their arms and legs possessively around you. Even when they were both in a submissive mood they made sure to show you that only they might lay their hands on you. You were theirs and theirs alone.

Aegon was first to impatiently suck on your breasts. Immediate relief flowed through you as Aegon’s mouth was filled with your milk, you could hear his whine on your right. Aemond started to kiss and lick your right breast, always making sure to show you love and attention first, so you would shower him with praise. “So good for me, always making sure that I feel good.” You sighed. Aemond moaned in response around your nipple, but before he too began to fulfil his lust, he swiftly removed his eye patch, loosening the clasp and throwing it next to the bed. His beautiful sapphire eye glistened in the candlelight. Only around you and Aegon did he feel comfortable enough to be this vulnerable. 

“You look so beautiful baby, so pretty for me.” He kissed you in response before moving back to your breast. Meanwhile Aegon was still hungrily sucking on your tit like a starving babe. He was always the most impatient and loud of the two and you loved him for that. Aemond finally got his fill, softly moaning as he suckled at your breast. Both of your men looking up at you with their ethereal purple eyes, begging for praise and attention. You could never deny them, you used your free hands to caress both of their heads, fingers grazing through their silver hair. 

They both shudder at the feeling and Aegon suddenly lets go, a bit of milk still in the corner of his mouth. His head was still resting against your breast as he let out a sigh of bliss. “Does it feel good mommy?” Aegon mumbled. “Very good baby, love you so much.” You said as you leaned in to kiss his head. Aegon smiled at that and tangled his leg closer in yours, his hard on now pressing against your leg. You could feel his pre cum leaking on your soft flesh and you knew he was too pent up not to start humping against you. And so he did, you looked down as his thick uncut cock rutted against you. You couldn’t help the soft fuck escaping your lips, and you gasped when Aemond’s hand had unnoticedly moved down your stomach right to your aching cunt. 

You could feel his two fingers smear the slick around, gathering it so he could easily slip inside. He of course would never forget that it was your name day not theirs. And that you actually should have all the attention tonight. Aemond used his thick fingers to finger fuck you as he never let go of your breast. You could still feel the milk flow from your breast into his mouth. The sounds of Aegon moaning and mumbling added to the pleasure that waved through you. At last Aemond had his fill and now really focused on you.

He moved down towards your pussy and spread your legs a bit and then pushed your legs up against your stomach so he could move his head between them. One of his favourite past times was getting suffocated by your fleshy thighs. You let out a loud moan as his tongue lapped furiously at your clit, his fingers never slowing down inside you. He knew exactly how to make you scream his name and grip the sheets. Your left hand did exactly that, while your right hand was still resting on Aegon’s head who was still rutting against you. But Aegon’s pace started to falter and he became louder and louder which could only mean he was about to cum. But before he could Aemond removed his mouth from your cunt and pulled Aegon to his knees, right before him. Your hand fell at your side. 

Aemond keeps surprising you tonight because before you could say anything, Aemond pulled Aegon in for another kiss and then wrapped his hand around his cock. Jerking him off while still making sure you reached your peak with his fingers. The sight of Aemond jerking Aegon off, his fingers pounding inside you and Aegon moaning and whining his brother’s name in his mouth made you cum, your entire body on fire, you held your breath as Aemond didn’t stop, focused now on getting Aegon off instead. Aegon was soon to follow due to his pent up arousal, cumming in thick ropes all over Aemond’s hand and the sheets below. The control he felt over Aegon made his own cock hurt in anticipation and he wanted nothing more than to feel that again. 

You could almost see the shift in his eyes as he took in a sharp breath. Aegon fell limp against his brother's chest but Aemond gave him no time for a break. You watched as Aemond pulled his fingers out of you, making you wince at the loss of contact. Aemond let you take a breather however and ordered Aegon on his knees. “You’re going to be good for me and suck my cock, so our beautiful sister can watch.” He said calmly but there was an exciting tone behind his words. Aemond moved to lay against your legs, closer to Aegon while Aegon moved in between his brother's legs, licking his lips in anticipation. Clearly Aegon was excited for this too. But no one wanted to watch this more than you.

Aemond weaved his fingers in his brother's short hair, gripping it tightly. He wasn’t going to be as soft with his king as he did his princess. Aegon seemed a bit hesitant when his lips touched the tip of Aemond’s cock, unsure of what to exactly do. “Wrap your lips around it and suck, and as you know, be careful with your teeth.” Aegon seemed more confident now, sucking on Aemond’s tip, making him groan and let his head fall back in satisfaction. Aegon seemed to learn quickly, moving up and down his cock and even using his hand for what he couldn’t fit in his mouth.

You looked at the scene with heavy eyes, your heart still beating fast and cunt still sensitive from your orgasm, but the sight before you revived you quickly. Sucking and gagging noises filled the room, as well as Aemond’s moans. It was so erotic you subconsciously panted along with Aemond. Both Aegon and Aemond were a glistening sweaty mess. Even Aemond’s usual perfectly groomed hair had gotten loose, some hairs getting in his face. Annoyed at the feeling, he pulled the small leather string out of his hair, which now fell loose behind him. Somehow it made him look even more god-like, pretty even. 

Aemond started cursing and his breath hitched in his throat, knowing your husband, he would peak soon. Aegon noticed too from previous fucking sessions between the three of you, but now it was him who was about to get his mouth filled with seed. It only took for Aegon to lick and suck on his slit, which he knew felt insanely good, to make Aemond burst in his mouth. “Fuck, fucking take it, you fucking slut, take my seed, fuck!” Aemond ranted as Aegon gagged around his cock, his mouth overflowing, causing the seed to drip along Aemond’s shaft down to his balls. 

You softly gasped at the scene, pressing your thighs together for some relief. Both Aemond and Aegon panted heavily as they let go of each other. You noticed Aegon was completely hard again and when he had somewhat caught his breath, you pulled him into you. Kissing him hard, tasting the salty cum on his tongue. You made out for a while until you decided you had waited long enough, and pushed Aegon down on the bed. Climbing on top of him, you use one hand on his chest to stabilise yourself and the other to line up his cock with your entrance. Now it was your turn to give Aemond a show.

Aegon gripped your fleshy hips tightly, knowing he was still sensitive from his previous orgasm. Slowly you sank down on his cock making the both of you moan at the feeling. Aemond, who had calmed down from his orgasm, now sat next to the both of you. When your cunt fully engulfed his length. You started grinding against him, while Aegon moved his hands to your breasts instead. He loved holding your tits while you fucked him dumb. The feeling of your warm slick cunt clenching around him never got old. He whimpered and groaned at the sensation. 

Aemond now got closer, grabbing your chin he forced his lips on yours. Clearly he was feeling left out, and you wouldn’t want that. It was hard to concentrate on riding Aegon whilst Aemond had his tongue down your throat, thankfully Aegon noticed, his hands going back to your hips. He bent his knees so he could plant his feet on the bed and fuck up into you instead. The feeling of Aemond’s lips on yours, tongues and teeth clashing together and Aegon’s cock stretching you out became too much, with only a couple more pumps and Aemond’s fingers rubbing your clit, you squirted and came hard. “Holy fuck.” You gasped in Aemond’s mouth, who refused to let go of you. 

Continuing to stimulate your clit until you were spasming on Aegon’s cock begging Aemond to stop. So he did. Aegon wasn’t finished however so you went back to riding him. But Aemond wasn’t at your side anymore, he moved behind you instead, and Aegon let out a cry of pleasure. You halted your movement to look back, only to see Aemond had his fingers in Aegon’s tight hole. Your mouth fell agape but Aegon whined and begged for you to continue, as he was close to finishing. Aemond continued to pump his fingers inside and lubed up his cock with spit. 

Aegon winced as Aemond’s tip carefully prodded at his entrance. “Say you want me to fuck you, say you want me to fill you up here too.” Aemond ordered. “Yes- please- please fill me Aem- please-.” Aegon moaned between your bounces. The room was filled with the smell of sex, only driving you on. Aemond slowly stretched out Aegon’s hole, making him groan and Aegon whine at the feeling. “Fuck you’re so tight.” He stilled when he was fully sheathed inside him waiting until Aegon grew accustomed to his size. You stilled as well, making sure Aegon was okay. When Aegon gave permission, Aemond started moving, thrusting inside him with need. You moved along in rhythm with Aemond, leaving Aegon a blabbering mess.

Aemond pounded against him harder, chasing that sweet release. But Aegon couldn’t hold on any longer and cried out as he filled you with his seed. Screaming both of your names while writhing underneath you. Tears filled his eyes at the overstimulation, Aemond did not slow down, his mind fogged from pleasure. Driving his cock deep inside Aegon, he hit Aegon’s prostate just right, making Aegon now actually cry from overstimulation. You moved to lay against Aegon’s chest, his still hard cock remaining inside you. You kissed and caressed his cheek, in effort to calm him a bit but he was still loudly moaning and jerking underneath you. Aemonds thrusts started to falter and with one last pump, he came with a loud “Fuck! Aegon!”, filling him up fully with his seed. The sensation caused Aegon to cum once more, tears falling down his cheeks and a loud cry from his lips as he wrapped his arms tightly against you for support. 

Once both of your men had calmed down, Aemond took it upon himself to get up and search for a rag. Dampening it in a bowl of water and walking over to a fucked out Aegon and you. Carefully he cleaned both of you and the sheets up as much as he could, himself included, and threw the rag in the fire that was crackling in the background. It must have been the middle of the night now, neither of you knew how long you had been going at it but that didn’t matter. Aemond soon joined you again. He pulled you off Aegon and made you lie between them. Both of your boys softly caressing you to sleep.

[agathaswoman]

modern!daemon & aemond hating each other

daemon, to aemond: one universe, nine planets, seven seas, seven continents, and i had the unfortunate luck of meeting you in this life

y/n: hey, that’s not very nice–

aemond: there are only eight planets, you uncultured swine!

y/n: woah! no need to be so damn personal, aemond!

[fl3shm4id3n]

ᴛʜᴇ ᴡᴏʀʟᴅ ɪꜱ ᴄʀᴜᴇʟ

𝐒𝐮𝐦𝐦𝐚𝐫𝐲: 𝐄𝐯𝐞𝐫 𝐬𝐢𝐧𝐜𝐞 𝐭𝐡𝐚𝐭 𝐧𝐢𝐠𝐡𝐭, 𝐭𝐡𝐢𝐧𝐠𝐬 𝐰𝐞𝐫𝐞𝐧'𝐭 𝐭𝐡𝐞 𝐬𝐚𝐦𝐞 𝐚𝐧𝐲𝐦𝐨𝐫𝐞. 𝐓𝐡𝐞 𝐝𝐞𝐚𝐭𝐡 𝐨𝐟 𝐲𝐨𝐮𝐫 𝐧𝐞𝐩𝐡𝐞𝐰 𝐡𝐚𝐝 𝐭𝐚𝐤𝐞𝐧 𝐚 𝐭𝐨𝐥𝐞 𝐨𝐧 𝐞𝐯𝐞𝐫𝐲𝐨𝐧𝐞, 𝐬𝐩𝐞𝐜𝐢𝐚𝐥𝐥𝐲 𝐲𝐨𝐮𝐫 𝐬𝐢𝐬𝐭𝐞𝐫 𝐚𝐧𝐝 𝐛𝐫𝐨𝐭𝐡𝐞𝐫. 𝐁𝐮𝐭 𝐧𝐨 𝐨𝐧𝐞 𝐬𝐞𝐞𝐦𝐞𝐝 𝐭𝐨 𝐜𝐚𝐫𝐞 𝐚𝐛𝐨𝐮𝐭 𝐲𝐨𝐮𝐫 𝐬𝐢𝐬𝐭𝐞𝐫'𝐬 𝐰𝐞𝐥𝐥 𝐛𝐞𝐢𝐧𝐠. 𝐄𝐱𝐜𝐞𝐩𝐭 𝐟𝐨𝐫 𝐲𝐨𝐮. 𝐓𝐡𝐞 𝐟𝐨𝐫𝐠𝐨𝐭𝐭𝐞𝐧 𝐜𝐡𝐢𝐥𝐝.

ᴘᴀɪʀɪɴɢ: ᴀᴇᴍᴏɴᴅ ᴛᴀʀɢᴀʀʏᴇɴ x ꜱɪꜱᴛᴇʀ-ᴡɪꜰᴇ!, ʜᴇʟᴀᴇɴᴀ ᴛᴀʀɢᴀʀʏᴇɴ x ꜱɪꜱᴛᴇʀ! ʀᴇᴀᴅᴇʀ (ᴘʟᴀᴛᴏɴɪᴄ)

Tw: SEASON 2 POILERS!! Targ!cest, death of a child, reader is sobber for once, mentions of infidelities, brothels, poor Helaena, comfort from reader, Alicent being a horrible mother, reader and Alicent slap each other, funeral scene, mentions of nudity (if you know, you know), angst with a bit of comfort towards the end.

A/N: Ima start writing again, but before I wanted to write a HOTD fic before going back to writing for the Human Ape Series. Hope ya'll like it.

Masterlist

Ever since Aemond had killed Lucerys Velaryon things had changed. You and him had become distant. You barely talked or even looked each other in the eye. He began going to the brothels and warming the bed of the woman who had 'made him a man'. You hated it. Since then, you've drink day and night, always drunk. Not wanting to be aware of anything. You envied Helaena at times. Wishing your have that innocent oblivion that she was on twenty four seven. You thought life was good, but no. Ever since your sister declared war, everything was no longer the same.

That night, you had sneaked out as many times as you did. Went to the tavern and got drunk off your ass. Till the point of passing out. Hours later, you went back to the castle. Tired, and a growing headache. When you got to your chamber, you saw that it was empty. Aemond must have gone to that wrinkly old whore. You stumbled over and landed on the bed. As soon as you closed your eyes, you fell asleep.

You didn't know how long you've been asleep. You were startled awake by the door being opened. You groaned, sitting up to see who it was. You thought it was your mother, but you saw that it was Helaena. With your niece in her arms. She seemed panicked and confused. You quickly went over and in a corner, holding her child close to her. "Helaena? What's wrong?" You asked, sitting up still trying to wake up. "They killed the boy.." She said, calmly. But you could hear the panic in her voice. You were confused. Not sure on what to do. Despite that, you got up and walked towards her. Getting on your knees, seen the tears threatening to spill from her eyes and the look of her horror in them.

As much as Helaena wasn't a fan of being touched, you couldn't help but wrap your arms around her and your niece. Hugging them close to you. You could feel her panicked breathing against you, as you hugged her. You softly held her and stroked her hair as form of comfort. "It's okay, It'll be okay." You tried to comfort both her and her niece.

The next day, you found out what happened. The rat catcher and his partner had killed her son. Right in front of her. You learned from Helaena that she was the one who told them who the boy was. It must have been horrible for her, specially for her. Everyone believed that Rhaenyra was responsible. They believed that she must have sent someone to kill a child. It made no sense to you. You doubted it was her who'd ask for such horrible act to be done to a child. Specially since she's lost not one but two of her children.

That morning, you had not touched a goblet of wine at all. Just smelling made you sick to your stomach for some odd reason. You resorted into just drinking water that whole time. You were conflicted, not sure on what to say or do. Helaena was devastated and so was your brother Aegon. When Aemond heard of the news, he left. Most likely back to the brothel. To search for his comfort.

You went to check on Helaena, to see how she was doing. When you got close to her room, you couldn't help but hear what Alicent was telling Helaena. "Heleana, what you saw last night when you came into my room-" Alicent was cut off by Helaena who shoved something into her arms. 'This is for my boy." She said, turning away from her and walking away. You stepped, locking eyes with Alicent. You could see the guilt in her eyes. She wasn't trying to comfort her daughter, she was trying to explain to her of something she saw in her room.

You then snatched the bundle of fabrics from Alicent in an aggressive manner. "Get out." You hissed at Alicent, before she could protest you shouted at her. "Out!" You shouted, making Helaena cover hear ears in discomfort. Finally, Alicent had left. Leaving you and your sister alone in her room. "Sorry for yelling." You apologized to her, walking up to her. As she picked up the small toys that belonged to her son in her hands. You couldn't help but look at the bundle of green in your hands. Seen that it was a blanket She had made for her son. It was beautiful.

When you got closer, you didn't know what to say or do. You noticed her Helaena's head was filled with many thoughts. Many stressful thoughts and had no idea what to say or do. You wrapped your arm around her waist and pulled her into a hug. "I'm sorry.." You whispered to her. She then turned to face and hugged you tightly. This was something that surprised you. Helaena was not a fan of hugging or being touched, until now. You didn't hesitate in hugging her back. Softly stroking her back, you could feel how her tears began to pour into your shoulder.

She'd began to cry hard against your shoulder. All you did was hold her and allow her to cry onto you hard. Your poor sister, the one who never anything wrong, was the one to pay for your husband's doing.

After a while, you had left Helaena with one of the maid, to make surer she didn't do anything to harm herself in any way. You went to find your mother, who was in her chambers with Sir Criston Cole. When you stepped in, you noticed how he stood up straight as your mother remained seated on her bed, in tears. "Leave us." You told him, he looked at Alicent, which gave him the nod to leave.

Now it was just you and the woman you called mother. "So what happened." You asked her. "Your nephew-" She tried to explain, but you cut her off. "I already know that, what I am asking is. What happened in your room that Helaena wasn't suppose to see?" You asked her again. Alicent had a look of guilt on her face. The same one she had when she was talking to your sister. "It was... It was nothing." She said, making you grow even more suspecious.

"Nothing happened. Yet, instead of consoling your daughter who had witnessed her son getting killed. You were trying to tell her something that happened in your room." You said, making Alicent even more nervous. It got quiet, but you added another sentence. "You know, what I find odd?" You asked, making Alicent look at you. "How there was no guards in the halls, not even Sir Criston Cole was in the halls, guarding like he is suppose to." You said. The guilt was eating Alicent up, you knew you had struck something inside her.

"So, what's that 'nothing' that happened?" you asked her again, you had gone close to her, face to face. You looked down at her, seen her look of horror in her eyes. "Me and Sir Criston.. were. Doing things." She choked up. "Things? What kind of things? Where they that important that you had to do at night?" You asked, clearly pressuring her into telling you more. "We were fucking!" she finally said, almost in fear. All you did was nodded and backed away from her. "You and your sworn sword, were fucking. While your grandson was getting-" Before you could finish, you were cut off.

"Stop it!" She demanded, getting up from her bed and getting close to you. "You don't get to say anything or judge me, while you sneak out into the night and get drunk!" She hissed, making you laugh. "Well, I'm not the one hiding any secrets. Everyone knows that I'm a fucking drunk. Unlike you, I don't have anything you fucking hide." You hissed at her. "Unlike you. Who wants to keep an image and show everyone how perfect you are. You're nothing but a whore, a horrible mother!" You accused, then you felt a sting on your cheek. Alicent had hit right on the cheek. You touched your now red cheek and looked at her. She was breathing heavily, shocked that she had put her hands on you.

Without hesitation, you slapped her right back. You watched as she stumbled back. Giving you a look of shock, as she held her cheek trying to sooth the pain on her cheek. "You really are the worst." You simply said, then you stomped out of her room.

Later that day, things only got worse. Alicent insisted in Helaena and Aegon's son to be dragged down a cart in the city, with you her and poor Helaena. Even though the grieving mother had insisted that she didn't want the citizens close to her. She didn't know them, she didn't care about keeping an image. She only wanted to be alone and grieve in her own way. But no, like always. It had to go Alicent's way.

You wore an all black dress, with a small crown on your head, which had a thin black veil that covered your whole head and face. You sat on Helaena's right and Alicent on her left. While she sat in the middle. The sky was covered with grey clouds, as if. The gods knew about the death of your nephew. The streets and building were crowded with the citizens. They felt for the queen's pain, they chanted their condolences and threw seeds towards the three of you and onto Jaehaerys's body.

Everything felt overwhelming. All eyes were on you three, specially on Helaena. It made her uneasy, you could feel her shifting on her seat. You reached down to hold her hand, as a way to ease her nerves a bit, but that didn't help. She attempted to get up, but she was stopped by Alicent, only making her even more anxious. Helaena's breathing quickened and her movements became more frantic. It didn't help that the wagon which held Jaehaerys seemed to have got stuck. The guards attempted to move the cart, but it was too difficult. The pushing and shaking caused Jaehaerys to move violently. That was what did it for Helaena. She needed and wanted to get out of there.

You quickly got up from the wagon and took Helaena's hand, without hesitation she followed you. Alicent was right behind us, trying to get us to stop by trying to grab Helaena, but she couldn't since you and her were both running away from all that chaos happening in the street.

Finally, you and your sister had got to the castle, you both slightly calmer, but you could still see Helaena's panicked state. you continued to hold her hand, as you walked up the stairs. As you walked up the steps, you saw Aegon, coming out of hall with a few men behind him. You, him and you sister locked eyes with each other. But didn't say a word, Aegon went on his way. So did you and Helaena, quickly, you both walked back up the stairs, into Helaena's room.

That night, you were finally in your private chambers. You were with Helaena all evening until she fell asleep. You wanted stay with her, but you also gave her space. You were still wearing the black dress and the small crown on your head. You sat in your bed, trying to process what happened today. It was complete chaos, specially for your poor sister. Who had suffered enough, yet, your mother still pushed for your sister to make a public appearance. Despite he protest.

You reached up and took off the crown from your head, placing it on the bed. You had no idea what to do, or say. A lot had happened the last few weeks. If only you could do something, but what could you do? Nothing, you couldn't do anything. You felt helpless, if only youo haven't left that night, maybe things would have been different. Maybe Jaehaerys would be alive or the men responsible would serve justice.

While you remained in your train of thought, you heard your door open. Having you snap back into reality. You turned to see who it was. Your husband, except. He was naked, the only thing that covered him was a black cloak. Without warning, he had the rob fall down and pull at his feet, revealing himself to you. You didn't say anything, you simply stared then looked away. "So, you remembered you had a home?" You asked, while looking at the fire burning in the fire place. You felt him sitting behind you on the bed, you could feel his body heat near you.

"I'm surprised to see you here. You must have also remembered you had a home too." He said, implying about you'd spent endless nights back at the tavern. It made you roll your eyes but it was true. It was silent for a whole minute, silence felt like an eternity. Until Aemond finally broke the silence. "I'm sorry." He simply said, it sounded genuine. This had been the first time, in a few weeks that you had spoken to him. You as much as you wanted to be mad at him for being gone and being in the arms of his abuser, you couldn't. You understood why he'd had gone to find comfort in her arms and not yours. It was part of his trauma.

Just like you, you'd find comfort in drinking until you dropped, Aegon would find his comfort in sex and drinking. As for Helaena. She found her comfort in the many bugs that she'd collect and keep. Daeron? You wouldn't know, it's been years since you've seen him. He must have his own form comfort. You were all damaged, ever since you were kids.

You turned and looked at Aemond. Seen that he did not have his eyepatch on like he usually did. You both just stared at each other for a moment. Until you finally spoke. "I forgive you." You responded, while you and him still kept your gazes looked. It gone silent again, then you watched as Aemond leaned close to you, wrapping his strong arms around your waist, pulling you into a hug. You then wrapped your arms around his naked waist, also hugging him close to you. It felt like a decade being this close to him. It felt nice, having him back, even if it was for a little while.

[vermithorn]

* DITTO

pairing: aemond targaryen, aegon ii targaryen x betrothed!fem!reader

summary: aegon is planning something, aemond will get to the end of it.

contains: 18+, oral (f!receiving), voyeurism, exhibitionism, cursing.

author’s note: okay this was going to be a timestamp thingy but i had a little trouble keeping it short. enjoy!

aemond pants, but his hand quickly flies to his mouth stopping him from making any more sounds that can expose him.

his older brother, that little shit, had left his door open, sending all the kingsguards away for some unknown reason. but aemond knew what aegon was planning, it was in plain sight when he gave aemond a knowing smirk at dinner, winking slightly at him while retiring to his chambers with his betrothed, you.

aemond was fuming inside, and something inside him snapped, following you both to aegon’s chambers. aemond saw how his brother commanded all the guards to leave, leaving his hall empty and how he smirked at you, grabbing your hand and entering his chambers, leaving the door slightly open. 

aemond waited for a few minutes before approaching the door, he didn’t wanted to get caught snooping around so he slowly walked towards it, and the first thing he heard was a loud groan, not from aegon. 

“fuck, just like that baby.”

it was the first time aemond heard you curse, it wasn’t proper of a highborn lady like you, but it got his mind running fast, and wanted to see what made you say it. he peeked through the open door and what he saw made his knees buckle. 

you were sprawled on aegon’s (king-sized) bed, a few pillows on your back while totally undressed, your hands on aegon’s white curls grabbing him tightly while he ate you out frantically, his hands on your thighs keeping you still against the bed mattress. 

aemond had to grab the door to keep himself from falling, keeping out of sight as best as he could. one of his hands wandered to his pants, stroking his bulge softly as it got harder with each second, straining against his briefs. 

the sight of you being harsh with aegon, pulling his hair tightly keeping him in place to continue the work was better than aemond could have ever imagined, your ragged breaths and the curses leaving your mouth were enough to make him slide his hand under his briefs and tug his cock equally as harsh as your hand on aegon’s hair, just to feel something. 

aegon seemed to doing a good job eating your cunt, because your breaths became erratic and his hands on your thighs were working overtime to keep you still.  

“yes baby, don’t stop.”

aemond stroked himself quick and hard, already wet enough from precum, trying to match the pace of aegon’s movements on your pussy, and how your body reacted to his licks and the very eager sucking he was doing on your clit, making you whine. 

you were close, that was clear. his hand working on himself inside his briefs was becoming sore, but he couldn’t stop, not when you were about to cum thanks to aegon’s mouth, that fucking mouth. 

aemond wanted to wait for you, he wanted to reach his peak with you, as if it was him giving you the pleasure you were experiencing, but not every plan worked for him as he came with a low groan, spilling his seed on his hand staining his briefs. 

you came with a loud moan a few seconds after, closing your eyes while your whole body shook from the orgasm, specially your thighs that were being hold down by aegon. aemond heard his brother giggle, still licking your sweet juices not wasting any of them as you slapped his head softly, playfully almost. 

aemond spent a few seconds catching his own breath, panting softly still in shock after watching you orgasm in front of him. he couldn’t move from the door, watching you laying on the bed while aegon cleaned you up. 

“enjoying the show?” he heard you say, aemond gulped. 

aemond’s heart rate increased instantly, his gaze coming back to the bed as you were watching him with a smirk, an eyebrow raised. 

aegon turned back to the door, also wearing a knowing smirk. “you should answer my betrothed, little brother.”

aemond’s jaw dropped, briefs cum-stained and heart running away from his own rib cage. 

“yes.”

vermithorn © do not copy, repost or translate my works

[frost-queen]

Dance of the dragons

.˳·˖✶𓆩𓁺𓆪✶˖·˳..˳·˖✶𓆩𓁺𓆪✶˖·˳..˳·˖✶𓆩𓁺𓆪✶˖·˳..˳·˖✶𓆩𓁺𓆪✶˖·˳..˳·˖✶𓆩𓁺𓆪✶˖·˳.

Aemond Targaryen x Assasin!reader

🐉 Revenge tastes sweet

🐉 Remember the oath

🐉 part 3 (to be named)

[athanza]

"Snowfall" - Part I

Fem!reader (from a non-canon, lesser known house) + Aemond Targaryen (romantic) + Rhaenyra Targaryen (platonic) + Damon Targaryen (platonic) + Helaena Targaryen (platonic)

Tags: Family drama, royal politics, romance, platonic fluff, angst, lots of tention (good and bad), protective Aemond, protective Rhaenyra, found family

Warnings: An attempted SA in part III, mentions of parent death during childbirth, parental abuse, canon violence, Aegon being a creep, a little bit of light smut later down the line but nothing too nsfw.

Summary: Elisana's father brings her with him to King's Landing when he's summoned by the Queen to discuss a rebellion in his territories. Her and Prince Aemond begin to fall for each other but family secrets begin to surface and it creates a tense situation between her house and house Targaryen.

I'm not super knowledgeable about the lore etc so bare with me on this one. Written in 3rd person. Enjoy! ♡

Part II | Part III | Part IV

When your father, Eris Denaron, told you that you were to accompany him to King's Landing you were excited at first, until you remembered what the princes were like when you were little; obnoxious and sometimes unbearable to be be around. You hoped they had matured since you saw them last, but one thing can be said about boys is that they take far too long to grow up.

"I need you to be on your best behaviour while we're in their company, Elisa." Said her father. "These are sensitive talks, and the last thing we need is another incident like the last time you were there."

"That was 9 years ago, father. I choose my battles far more carefully now than you give me credit for."

"That doesn't mean your temper has calmed." He sighed. "You are too much like your mother."

"I won't cause any trouble, you have my word."

His stern face gave away very little, but you could tell your words gave him some reassurance.

"I must make my way to the council chambers. Pay a visit to your cousins, make small talk. With any luck, by the end of this, I will have organised a betrothal."

He left swiftly, his navy velvet cloak trailing behind him.

She walked to the window and took a deep breath as she stared out over King's Landing, her long white-blonde locks dancing gently in the warm breeze. She considered wondering the castle she hadn't seen in nearly a decade, but then her eye fell on the training yard, and they gleamed with intrigue.

A small crowd had gathered around the centre of the yard, and two men fought swiftly with each other. One of the men she recognised as Ser Criston, head of the King's guard, and the other had long silver locks but she was unsure if it was Aegon or Aemond as she hadn't seen either since they were children.

The fighting lasted a while and Elisa weaved her way through the crowd until she came to the front. When she saw the eyepatch she immediately recognised the silver haired man as Prince Aemond. She was surprised, he seemed different from when they were children, he used to be far more quiet, shy almost, but now he fought with such confidence and grace he almost seemed like a different person.

He had grown quite handsome since last they met, tall too. A far cry from the little prince she remembered.

With only one more swift motion Aemond had Ser Criston defeated, sword to his throat as he stood tall and proud, barely out of breath. The crowd applauded and muttered amongst themselves as they began to slowly disperse.

He had spotted Elisa from across the yard and walked over.

"Lady Denaron." He acknowledged.

"Prince Aemond." She curtsied. "Are you up for another challenger?"

His eyes narrowed slightly in intrigue and he smirked as he gestured for ser Criston to give her his sword.

"I never refuse a challenge."

Ser Criston hesitated but obliged and handed you his broadsword, stepping back to give you enough room to fight.

She had learned the skill of the sword against her father's wishes but with her 3 elder brothers, she was damned if she had to sit out and instead learn some nonsense such as embroidery. She needed to fight and had become quite good at it. She was confident.

She held fast, she saw the prince's agility in his fight with ser Criston and knew he would be quick, and just as that thought entered her mind, he swung his blade.

She parried, gauging the force of the blow to figure out his strength. He was holding back, and that insulted her.

She returned with four forceful strikes, one high, two mid and one hard hit from the side, Aemond dodging or parrying every single one.

They circled each other for a moment and she touched her blade to his, staring him down.

"If you hold back any longer I'll cut off your hands."

"I would gain much enjoyment in seeing you try."

In a swift, fluid motion she flicked her sword and caught his jacket, leaving a long cut horizontally across the sleeve and she saw his eye flicker with flame.

Some of the crowd had returned and gathered around once again, watching intently as they had never seen the prince fight a woman skilled with the sword before.

He brought his sword down on her from above, then the side and she dodged, almost not fast enough for the second blow. He wasn't holding back anymore.

He came at her again and again and she jabbed, almost getting him but he still managed to block it.

This dance continued for only a few more minutes before Aemond sent her sword flying and placed his blade to her throat.

The crowd applauded once again.

He was trying to hide it but he was out of breath a little and she smiled knowingly, briefly glancing down at his blade.

"You've grown quite skilled."

"As have you." He replied.

His eye lingered on her for an extra moment before lowering his sword. She had grown quite beautiful since last they met and he couldn't help but notice, but he turned away and sheathed his blade as the last of the crowd left.

"I will see you tomorrow for more training." Said Ser Criston, taking his sword back from Elisa as she held it out for him, nodding politely to her.

"I believe you mean another defeat." Aemond retorted with a smirk.

Sir Criston scoffed as he sheathed his blade and walked away, leaving Elisa and the prince alone in the training yard.

"Where did you learn the blade?" He asked, reaching for a chalice from a servant boy who arrived with a small decanter filled with wine.

"My teacher is head of our guard, much like yours. He's taught me since I was nine."

"You were lucky to find a teacher willing to instruct a woman."

"Maybe so." She replied, then smiled. "I kept you on your toes though."

He looked at you sideways as he sipped his wine, and you saw the corner of his mouth curl.

"Maybe so." He replied.

"Elisana!" Came her father's voice from the top of the stairs.

Aemond noticed her smile twist into contempt as Lord Eris walked down and stopped in front of his daughter.

"I told you to behave yourself and the first thing you do is pick up a sword?"

"I wasn't aware having fun counted as misbehaving."

"I apologise for my daughter Prince Aemond, she has an untamable fire, not unlike her mother's." There was a condescending tone in his words that made her want to take the prince's sword and show him what a true opponent really was but restrained herself.

"There is no apology necessary Lord Denaron, I always welcome new apponants."

"I appreciate your understanding my Prince but there are better opponents than a woman."

Those words began to grow the same contempt from Elisana within Aemond and he took another sip of wine.

"Come Elisana."

She bit the inside of her lip to stop herself from arguing with her father in front of the prince and curtsied politely. Aemond bowed his head in return before she was ushered away.

When they were out of sight and earshot of the the prince, her father turned and struck her across the face.

"How many times must I remind you of your place!" He hissed. "If I see a sword in your hand again I will use it on you, do you understand!"

She looked up at her father with a hatred that could not be measured as she held a hand to her face. "You have my word." She growled and her father stormed down the hallway, leaving her to hold back tears and try to gather herself before anyone could see her.

That night at dinner she was seated next to Helaena who was a pleasant change of company from her husband Aegon who was drunkenly speaking obscenities on her opposite side.

"Are you really a Denaron Lady Elisana?" He asked. "You don't have the colourings of one."

Aemond noticed her tense at the question as he had been watching her.

"My mother was blonde." She replied. "I take after her."

"Is that so?" Aegon swirled the wine in his cup as he looked her over. "Anyone would think you were a Targaryen with that hair."

"I wouldn't be so bold as to say so your highness."

"I like it!" Beamed Helaena. "It makes us look like sisters."

Elisa smiled at her, she had always gotten along with Helaena and had occasionally sent letters by raven since they were children. She was the only one who she had kept in contact with in the nine years since she was last in King's Landing.

"That is true." Said Alicent with a soft smile.

"Is it also true that you were caught fighting my brother in the training yard?" Helaena excitedly asked, a little tipsy from the wine she had been drinking.

"I had him on his toes the whole time." She whispered cheekily in reply.

Helaena giggled and Elisa smiled, she had always loved Helaena's strangeness. She was one of the few friends she had and she loved her dearly.

She didn't see Aemond's fond gaze from across the table as she laughed with his sister. He rarely saw her laughing like that, she was mostly quiet and a little withdrawn, especially when she was around Aegon.

Alicent also noticed her daughter laughing and smiled at seeing her so happy.

"Tell me, Lady Elisana, is it true you managed to give Aemond a challenge this afternoon in the training yard?" Asked Jacerys, gleefully leaping at the chance to mock his uncle.

"Is that how your shirt got damaged?" Lucerys snickered.

Elisa pursed her lips to attempt to hide her smile, knowing her father was glaring at her from the other end of the table.

"Perhaps one day you may give even a fraction of a challenge." Aemond retorted, retaining his usual expression, but she could see him clench his jaw, his eyes fixed despisingly on the brothers.

"Aemond." Said Alicent, giving a warning look from her place beside Rhaenyra, who gave the same look to her sons.

Jace and Luke cut it out but still exchanged glances at each other with stifled laughs.

"It is refreshing to see a woman with such skill with a blade." Said Rhaenyra. "I would like to see you fight while you're here."

"Perhaps not." Said Lord Eris, attempting to remain civil in the company of the Queen. "I'm sure there are more productive things for a woman to do than fight."

The air in the room immediately changed and the distain for Eris' comment was felt my most of the people in the room. Rhaenyra's expression said all it needed to as she shot a spiteful glance in his direction.

"If a woman can birth a child she can wield a sword." She said. "A wound from a blade is nothing compared to the pain of labors."

Elisana glanced nervously at Rhaenyra and then her father. She could feel his anger begin to rise and although she revelled in Rhaenyra's comment she knew she would be the one to take the repercussions of it later.

"Then why bother with it?" He replied.

"Father, please." Elisana pleaded quietly.

Aemond saw her face during this interaction and saw her anger towards her father and also her fear.

"Would you rather a woman die than be able to protect herself and her children?" Rhaenyra continued, snapping at him once again.

Elisa sat forward, a hand on the table. "Princess, let us change the subject."

Rhaenyra turned her head to her and saw her fear of her father and became even more enraged but stayed her comments.

"I think that's enough talk of this for one night." Said Alicent, standing up and smoothing out her skirts. "I shall retire to my chambers and I suggest you do the same, tomorrow's talks will be of great length."

"Of course, my Queen." Said Lord Eris almost behind gritted teeth.

A look of laboured relief appeared on Elisa's face and once the Queen had left she stood up and curtsied. "Excuse me." She said before leaving.

That night, Elisa sat in her chambers, worried that her father would burst in and set another 'example' and she was therefore unable to fully rest. She hadn't even yet changed into her night gown.

Her father always hated her for being a girl. He got his three heirs and had no need for her other than to wed her off in exchange for powerful connections.

Anger swelled in her gut day by day as she lived with him and she kept it down as best she could but one day she knew she would not be able to hold back and may kill the man without a thought of hesitation.

As she sat beside the fire, swirling a strand of silver hair around her finger there was a knock at the door and every muscle in her tensed. Though she realised her father wouldn't bother to knock and she turned to the door before getting up.

She opened it to reveal Aemond wearing a long black cloak with the hood up to hide his hair.

"Would you like an adventure?" He asked quietly, giving her playful smirk, one she hadn't seen since they were children.

He held up another cloak and Elisa smiled and put it on, looking both ways down the hall before they snuck out of the castle.

This is turning out to be way longer than I intended 😅😅 I hope you enjoyed part 1! Please like, comment and reblog! ♡

[asa-writes]

Dichotomy 04

“Anguish”

Aemond x F! OC / Jacaerys x F! OC - 18+ MINORS DNI

Word Count: 2.6k

Warnings: period accurate gender stereotypes

It had been around two weeks since Maellys's and Maena's arrival at King's Landing. They had spent most of their time embroidering and reading - exactly what had been expected of them. Dinners had been a relatively boring affair. They had conversed with Princess Helaena and danced a bit, closely supervised by their guards, who followed them around.

The Queen - their patron and benefactor - had been busy with courtly duties, leaving them alone for the most part. Maellys had found herself spending more and more time praying in the sept, seeking comfort in her faith. Maena had tried to keep up her spirits, but she too was beginning to feel the weight of their situation, quietly watching the weather changing from a comfortable warmth that came from spring to the searing heat of summer.

One day, as they sat in the Great Hall at dinner, they overheard a group of young nobles talking amongst themselves. "Did you hear about Prince Aemond's betrothal?" one exclaimed. "He's going to be wed to Lady Maena Rivers!"

Maellys felt a flicker of panic in her chest, but she kept her expression neutral. She looked over at Maena, who was staring ahead with a blank expression on her face, her pale lips twitching slightly.

"I thought it was supposed to be Maellys," another noble said. "Although I wouldn't mind taking any of them. I mean, have you seen their hips and their breasts? Each could provide me with at least ten heirs." The group broke out in rowdy laughter.

"Well, it seems that Queen Alicent changed her mind," the first noble replied with a shrug. "I heard that Maena has been spending a lot of time with Aemond lately."

Maellys felt sick to her stomach as she listened to their gossiping. It was clear that they knew more about their fates than they did themselves. She could feel her sister's hand trembling slightly and placed her own comfortingly on top of it.

As soon as the nobles had left, Maena let out a shaky breath. "I don't want to marry him," she whispered. Tears had formed in her black eyes as she looked up at Maellys. "And you know that what they said isn't true, I just saw him a few times while practicing archery or in the library, I promise you, I'm not a whore... He hasn't even shown an ounce of interest in me...", she rambled, trying her best to keep her voice steady, quickly dabbing away the tears which flowed down her face.

Maellys squeezed her hand gently. "I know, calm down," she said softly. "But we have no choice."

Maena turned to look at her, tears glistening in her eyes. "But how can I accept this? To be married to a man just because our Queen decided it?" she asked, her voice breaking with emotion.

Maellys swallowed hard, feeling a lump form in her throat. "I couldn't accept it," she said firmly. "But what choice do we have? We are not powerful enough to defy the Queen or her son. And we cannot stay here forever."

Maena looked down at her lap, her tears still falling, creating miserable spots on her simple gown. "I don't want to stay," she whispered. "And more importantly, I don't want you to go."

Maellys reached over and took her sister's hand, giving it a gentle squeeze. "I know," she said softly. "But we must be strong. We have each other and our faith to keep us going. The Seven shall guide us wisely."

Maena nodded slowly, wiping away her tears with the back of her hand. "You're right," she said quietly. "We must be strong."

Maellys gave her a small smile, feeling a sense of determination settle in her chest. She knew that she couldn't abandon Maena at a time like this. She gave her a reassuring smile. "Listen, Maena, all will be well. I shall try to arrange something. Do you want to take a bath to calm your nerves?"

Maena nodded gratefully, her eyes still red from tears. "Yes, that sounds wonderful."

Maellys stood up and offered her hand to Maena, helping her up. They walked towards their chambers, Maena leaning heavily on her sister for support.

As soon as they entered their chambers, Maellys instructed their handmaidens to prepare a bath for Maena. She helped Maena undress and stepped out of the room to give her sister some privacy.

Once she was alone, Maellys sat on the edge of her bed with her head in her hands. The weight of their situation felt crushing, suffocating. She hated feeling so helpless, so powerless. But she knew that she had to keep a level head and find a way out of this mess.

After a few moments, she stood up and told her guard that she would want to take some fresh air on the castle's ramparts. He nodded, grabbed a torch and guided her up. The air was warm and she could see a thunderstorm brewing in the distance. She sat down, looking up into the sky.

Her Guard cleared his throat. "Milady, Prince Aemond is coming." She glanced over at him, seeing his long silver hair swaying in the wind. She gave him a pained smile. "Maena?", he asked quietly, looking at the guard.

Maellys slowly shook her head and wrapped her shawl tighter over her dress. "No, your Highness, I'm Maellys." Prince Aemond approached her, his expression unreadable. "My apologies, Lady Maellys," he said, inclining his head. "I assumed you were Lady Maena."

Maellys forced a smile. "No need to apologize, Your Highness. I understand that we may look similar." She couldn't help but laugh. 'Indeed you cannot even seperate your betrothed from her sister', she thought bitterly.

"May I join you?" Aemond asked, gesturing towards the wall.

"Of course, Your Highness," Maellys replied, standing up and stepping away to make room for him.

They stood in silence for a few moments, looking out at the night sky, listening to the rumbling thunder. Finally, Aemond spoke. "I heard about the rumors circulating about me and your sister," he said quietly, pursing his lips.

Maellys felt her heart race in her chest, but she kept her expression neutral. "Yes, I overheard some nobles discussing it at dinner," she replied curtly.

Aemond sighed. "I had hoped to spare Lady Maena from this kind of speculation, but I suppose there is no avoiding it."

Maellys looked at him curiously, frowning. "Your Highness, if I may ask... why did you choose Lady Maena as your betrothed?"

Aemond shifted uncomfortably. "It was not entirely my choice," he admitted. "But I must admit that I have come to admire her spirit and her intelligence."

Maellys nodded thoughtfully. "Lady Maena is a remarkable person," she said softly. "I just hope that you will treat her with the respect that she deserves."

Aemond turned to look at her, his violet eye piercing. "Lady Maellys, I assure you that I will do my utmost to be a good husband to her," he said earnestly. "I know that the circumstances of our betrothal are less than ideal, but I hope that we can make the best of it."

Maellys nodded, not quite believing him. She knew that her sister deserved better than this situation. "I hope so too, Your Highness," she said coldly.

They stood in silence for a few moments before Aemond spoke again. "Lady Maellys, I know that this must be a difficult time for you and your sister," he said kindly. "If there is anything I can do to make things easier on you both, please do not hesitate to ask."

Maellys couldn't help but be surprised by his courteousness. He seemed genuine in his desire to help them. Perhaps he wasn't as bad as she had initially thought.

"Thank you, Your Highness," she said gratefully. "Your offer is much appreciated."

Aemond gave her a small smile before turning to leave. "Goodnight, Lady Maellys."

"Goodnight, Your Highness," she replied softly as he walked away.

Maellys watched him go with mixed emotions. On one hand, she still despised the idea of her sister being forced into marriage with him. But on the other hand, perhaps he wasn't the monster she had initially thought he was.

She sighed and wrapped her shawl closer around herself before heading back towards her chambers, falling into her bed exhausted and sinking into a deep sleep.

-

Maena had been woken up by Maellys the next morning. "Good morning!", she chirped. Maena rubbed her eyes sleepily, sitting up in bed. "Good morning," she yawned. "Did you manage to get any rest last night?"

Maellys forced a smile. "A little bit," she lied. "I was thinking, Maena... Maybe you could try to wait with your despair. I honestly do not think that he wishes you to suffer. Mabe you would wish to speak to the Queen? Maybe she has planned something fun for our nameday?"

Maena looked at her sister skeptically. "Do you really think that the Queen will care about our nameday?" she asked, raising an eyebrow.

Maellys shrugged. "It's worth a try, isn't it? And who knows, maybe we can distract ourselves from all this stress for a little while."

Maena nodded slowly. "I suppose you're right. We can't dwell on this forever."

Maellys smiled and pulled her sister into a hug. "Exactly. Now let's get ready for breakfast and then we'll speak to the Queen."

As they got dressed for the day, both sisters couldn't help but feel a sense of unease in the pit of their stomachs. They knew that their situation was far from ideal, but they also knew that they had to make the best of it.

After breakfast, they made their way to the Queen's chambers, hoping to find some solace in her company.

When they arrived, they were greeted by one of the handmaidens who told them that the Queen was currently in a meeting with some of her advisors and wouldn't be available for a few hours. Disappointed but not deterred, they decided to take a walk around the castle grounds to pass the time.

As they walked through the gardens, Maena suddenly stopped in her tracks and gasped, pointing towards a small cluster of flowers near a nearby fountain.

"Maellys, look! Those are my favorite flowers!" she exclaimed, running towards them with glee. Maellys couldn't help but smile at her sister's excitement. "Well then let's pick some for your room," she said. "Or even better, some for the Queen. It would be charming, wouldn't it?"

Maena nodded eagerly and they began to carefully pick a bouquet of the vibrant flowers, discussing what they should say to the Queen when they presented it to her.

As they returned to the castle, they heard the sounds of horses approaching. They quickly moved out of the way as a group of knights rode past them, led by Prince Aemond himself. The sisters froze for a moment, unsure of what to do. Aemond noticed them and reined in his horse, dismounting gracefully.

"Ladies," he said with a nod. "What brings you out here?"

"We were just taking a walk," Maellys replied politely.

Aemond glanced down at the bouquet in their hands. "And what do you have there?" he asked curiously.

Maena stepped forward, holding out the flowers. "We picked these for the Queen," she said. "We thought she might like them."

Aemond smiled, taking the bouquet from her to inspect it closer before handing it back. "How thoughtful of you both," he said. "I'm sure she will appreciate them."

They chatted for a few more moments before Aemond bid them farewell and rode off with his knights.

The sisters continued on their way towards the Queen's chambers, feeling a little lighter after their encounter with Aemond. Perhaps things weren't as hopeless as they had initially thought. When they finally arrived at the Queen's chambers, they were pleased to find that she was free to see them. They presented her with the bouquet and explained that they had picked it just for her.

The Queen smiled warmly at them, clearly touched by their gesture. "How lovely," she said. "Now, what has brought you to me? Both of you have been awfully quiet and I have never seen anyone that visited the sept as much as you had done."

Maellys and Maena exchanged a quick look before Maellys stepped forward, taking a deep breath. "Your Grace, we wanted to speak with you about my sister's impending marriage to Prince Aemond."

The Queen's expression softened slightly, knowing that the situation was a difficult one for the sisters. "Of course. I understand that this is not an easy situation for either of you. Is there something specific you wanted to discuss?"

"Well, we were just wondering if there was anything that could be done to make the transition easier for Maena," Maellys said tentatively. "Perhaps some sort of arrangement or agreement could be made between our two families."

The Queen sighed, her face taking on a more serious expression. "I'm afraid there isn't much that can be done at this point," she said gently. "The betrothal has already been arranged and agreed upon by both of our families. However, I promise you both that I will do everything in my power to ensure that Maena is safe and happy in her new life."

Maena bit her lip nervously, feeling as though she was being spoken about as though she were not there. She wanted to speak up and voice her own feelings but found herself unable to. Maellys noticed her sister's discomfort and spoke up again. "Your Grace, if I may... Maena is going to be marrying a prince. Surely there must be ways to make it more enjoyable for her?"

The Queen smiled softly at the girls' eagerness to help their sister. "Well, I suppose there are a few things that could be done," she said thoughtfully.

"Our name day is coming up, Your Grace.", Maena said, trying her best to calm down again and show the Queen that she was just as strong as when she had arrived.

The Queen raised an eyebrow. "Yes, it is," she said slowly. "What do you propose?"

Maellys took a deep breath before speaking. "Well, we were hoping that perhaps there could be some sort of celebration or feast held in honor of Maena's and Prince Aemond's wedding," she said. "Something to make her feel special on her nameday and to celebrate the coming union between our families."

The Queen considered this for a moment before nodding. "I think that's a wonderful idea," she said. "I will speak with the kitchen staff and arrange for a feast to be held in Maena's honor on her nameday. And Maena, I promise you that we will do everything in our power to make your transition into Prince Aemond's household a smooth one."

Maena felt her heart lift at the Queen's words. It was comforting to know that someone was looking out for her, even if she didn't feel entirely ready for what was to come.

As they made their way back to their chambers, Maellys couldn't help but feel proud of her sister for speaking up and advocating for herself.

"Maena, I'm so proud of you," she said, hugging her sister tightly. "You were so brave just now." Maena smiled weakly, still feeling a little overwhelmed by everything. "I don't know if I was all that brave," she said. "But thank you."

Back in her own chambers, she nervously looked down into the courtyard. She saw Prince Aemond standing there, talking with some of his knights. Her heart pounded in her chest as she watched him, feeling a strange mixture of fear and excitement.

She had always known that she would marry someone important, but she had never expected it to be the prince himself. It was all so overwhelming and unfamiliar.

As she watched him, he suddenly looked up and caught her eye. Maena's instincts told her to look away but instead, she held his dark gaze for a moment before quickly turning back to her chambers.

[youraverageaemondsimp]

Lust for love. // Aemond Targaryen x Wife!Reader.

Summary: Aemond's life has always been a bitter and sour one, the only sweet thing in his life was you, his wife, perhaps too sweet for his liking, yet he neglected you in the past but a series of events lead you both together into love.

WARNINGS: mdni, smut, unprotected p in v, cunnilingus, interrupted orgasm, horny aemond, martial duties, clit stimulation, tiddy succin, body worship(?), gentle and kind aemond but he gets rough during sex, + not proofread, lmk if I missed any!

WC: 2.9k

A/N: divider credits @cafekitsune

The cold breeze brushed against Aemond's face as he walked hastily towards your chamber, his boots clacking against the stone floor heavily while his heart banged in his ribcage.

He was feeling light headed, unable to form any thoughts and only the words of the maester rang inside his skull from earlier. ‘Your lady wife seems to be sick’ he had informed him and those mere words were enough to make Aemond spurt up from his chair in the meeting room and immediately rush towards you.

Aemond, frankly, did not know why he was feeling anxious at the information that you were sick, he did not even like you much and only merely married you for the connections and benefits your family provided.

You were just a mere duty to him, so when did he start caring about you?

He stood in front of your chamber door waiting anxiously as the guard gave him a bow before he opened the door, the mental hinges creaking as it slowly moved. He steps inside hurriedly and immediately lets out a sigh of relief when he sees you sitting up. You just stare at him confused.

“Husband? What are you doing here?” The tone of your voice indicated surprise, because Aemond had never visited your chambers even once since the beginning of your marriage and only called you to his chamber when he wanted to consummate.

“I had been informed by the maester that you were sick.” He replies nonchalantly, tone betraying the true feelings that were whirling on the inside. He wanted to get close to you, embrace you.

“I'm not with child.” You reluctantly tell him while looking down, suddenly feeling as though you are a disappointment. It felt humiliating to tell him that, especially when he came all the way to your chambers, he probably expected that you would be with a child.

Except that was not the case.

Aemond was confused on why you were bringing up that topic now, but then it clicked in his head and he cleared his throat, grabbing your attention before shaking his head, “Oh no, wife, I wasn't here because of that.. I was worried.” He admits and your eyes widen in shock.

Worried for you?

For as long as you can remember Aemond never seemed the type to show affection or concern for anyone, perhaps it was due to his past grievances, you had only heard about his eye through rumours, he never opened up to you about anything. You were a duty for him, someone he needs a legitimate heir from; because it is not as though he doesn’t have whores to seek pleasure from so what is the use of you? ; or at least that is what you had assumed and questioned.

But to Aemond, you were his sweet gentle wife, he was afraid of hurting you, in his vision, you were like a white swan, pure, elegant and graceful, he did not want to scare you lest you fly away from him. He did not know when he started perceiving you in this way, but as time went on, he had developed quite a soft spot for you.

“My apologies, Lord husband, I did not intend to worry you.” You apologised, he shook his head gently. “No need to apologise, how are you feeling now?” He questions and you simply blink at him, “I'm well, better than before.” You reply with a soft smile. Aemond's lip curved upwards slightly as he nodded, “Very well.” He says in a dismissive tone.

Awkward silence falls between you both as you look down, he clears his throat before speaking, “If you'll pardon me- I have to—”

“Would you like to take a walk with me?” The question leaves your mouth in a hurry before you could stop it, a desperate attempt at clinging onto this fleeting moment of affection. He seems slightly taken aback but he nods his head, “I'd love to.” He replies and you nod, stepping in his direction and standing next to him. “Shall we go?” You inquire, “Yes, wife.” He answers and you wait for him to take the first step, which he does; and soon you follow him out of the room.

You both stroll down the garden, admiring the scenery, the breeze was gentle today, and the weather seemed perfect, Aemond linked your arm in his, holding you close to him.

Your skin was soft to the touch and it drove him insane, he couldn't help but stare at the way your breasts pushed up against the material of your dress, he never really properly fucked you like you deserve.

Yet now, he just wants nothing to do but push you against the castle wall and fuck you relentlessly in the garden. Aemond realised that he never heard you moan, or show any type of reaction when he consummated with you.

He wondered how your soft voice would shriek in pleasure, calling out his name in pleasure, how you'd cling so tightly to him, he wished he could witness such a sight. He wished he hadn't gone to whores to receive pleasure while he left his wife dry. He missed out on a lot of things due to his decisions.

He mentally made a note to stop visiting brothels as it would taint your honour, he could simply seek the same pleasure from you. He became more bothered as his imagination went wild.

“... husband…? husband…!” He snaps out of his imagination, looking at your confused expression, “Y-Yes? Please excuse me, I was lost in thought.” He apologises and you give him a soft smile, “You were saying something?” He asks and you nod, “I was thinking about; well; if you excuse my rudeness, I realised we don't know much about each other.” You truthfully tell him.

Aemond furrows his brows in question, “What do you mean by that wife?”

“I want to get to know you, husband.” You stare at him in the eye and his eye widens slightly, and just then he recalls the memory of Aegon's words.

“That woman in the brothel knows more about you than your own wife, don't you find it amusing?” He was taunting Aemond, and at that time Aemond ignored those words, but now that you've openly admitted that you don't know him much made his heart shatter.

“Of course wife, what do you wanna know?” He decides to let his guard down, ready to tell you whatever you ask for. “Everything.” You reply, biting your lip anxiously, your hand travels up to his face, caressing his cheek before you trail your thumb down his scar. He knew what that implication meant and he smiles at you in a gentle manner, his own hand coming up to grab your wrist.

“Of course.”

Days pass by just like that, your marriage with Aemond had improved tremendously after your little effort to get to know him better, you felt bad for him when he began to reveal such vulnerable things, yet you never judged him.

He had shown you all of his vulnerability so openly, from the matter of his eye to everything else. You listened in silence, and he appreciated that.

As Aemond grew more comfortable, he began to show his emotional side, which included both his vulnerability and anger. He would utter treasonous things about his own brother.

This night was one of those cold nights, the cold breeze flew into the martial chambers you were waiting in, the maids prepared you for the consummation as they do, you and Aemond consummate according to your moon cycle since your only duty is to provide him with a heir.

And besides, he probably did not want to lay with you in an intimate manner, or for pleasure. You felt insecure because of that.

You were scared that after all this progress, everything would return to the same way it was before because of this night, you doubted that it would happen but your thoughts plagued you.

You winced when you felt the maid tug at a hair strand accidentally, “Sorry my lady.” She apologises to you, “It is alright.” You respond softly, you stare at your own reflection in the mirror, eyes trailing down your features.

The door to the chamber opens, and Aemond strides in hurriedly, the maids quickly finish fixing you up and leave the room immediately, you get up from your seat and turn around to see Aemond undoing his clothes.

“Let me help you.” You offered, usually he would decline and continue to undress himself, and you expected that again, but his actions shocked you.

He immediately dropped his hands to the side and turned to look at you, waiting for you to walk over to him and help him. You blinked rapidly before rushing over to where he stood before you stood in front of him.

Your hands immediately began to work on removing his vest, your fingers delicately undid the loops, you were too focused on the job that you failed to notice Aemond's piercing gaze. He watched with intent as you worked on removing his clothes, his eye taking in your form. His breeches felt tight.

You pushed his coat off his shoulders and peeled away the vest, revealing his tunic beneath the layers, his garments fell to the ground with a shuffle, you stepped back, leaving him in his undergarments.

He grabbed the hem of his tunic before he pulled it off and then began to undo his breeches, untying the strings. You took that as a gesture to lay down on the bed, facing up.

This is what you did when you both consummated before, you would lay down, he would spread your legs, insert himself, finish and leave.

You expected that to be the case, but you were surprised when climbed on top of you, his face right in front of yours, platinum locks curtaining around you. He stared at your lips for a moment before he leaned in, capturing your lips with his.

You were surprised, and didn't know what to do, so you stayed still, but he bit your lip, indicating his disappointment at your freezing up, and so you immediately tried to mimic his movements.

Your lips danced against his, yet it couldn't match the fervent passion he moved with, it was desperate, intimate and most importantly, filled with love and lust.

All your prior insecurities melted away under his warm lips which were filled with desire and want, he wanted you, he seeked you out.

You both pulled away to catch your breaths, his lips were glossy from your saliva and slightly swollen. Your heart was pounding loudly in your chest.

Aemond moved your night off your shoulder before ripping it apart, revealing your breasts which you immediately covered out of instinct. But he gently grabbed your wrists and pinned your hands to the side of your head.

He leaned down, tracing kissing down your jawline, to your neck and to the soft flesh of your chest. His hot breath against your bud made you shiver in delight.

He hooked his tongue on your hardened nipple before engulfing it with his mouth, you let out a squeal of surprise at his actions but you didn't stop him.

He suckled on it gently, using his teeth to trap the bud in between before licking it with his tongue, he grunted in delight, his grip loosening one of your hands, freeing it from his hold.

He grabbed your unoccupied breast with his now free hand, giving it soft squeezes and playing with the bud, rolling and pinching it. You were new to this, not having any understanding of what was happening, after all, you've only read about it, never experienced such intimate acts yourself.

You rubbed your thighs together, trying to ease the ache that was forming in between them, you realised how sticky the area felt, and how it made it difficult for the friction of rubbing to work.

He notices this, lets go of your breast with a pop, he smirks before he rises off from you and settles in between your legs, this was the position you were more used to.

He spreads your legs wide apart, pulling up your nightgown, revealing all of you. He pressed his thumb against your clit which made your breath, you stared at him confused until you felt him rub small circles upon it.

Your body felt pangs of delightful stimulation, you couldn't help but enjoy the feeling, all of this was foreign to you. Aemond takes a deep breath before he closes in on your cunt, before licking a stripe upwards to your clit. You jolt from the sudden pleasure.

Aemond wrapped his lips around it, sucking on the bud slowly, you whined, grabbing his head for support as his mouth worked wonders down there. You tasted absolutely divine to Aemond, your essence trailing down his cheek as your body produced so much of it. You whimpered, thrashing around lightly as his warm tongue flickered with your bud.

Aemond's tongue swirled around your clit before he captured it with his mouth once again; “Oh! Yes!” You moaned, throwing your head back in pleasure when you felt him nibble on your bud. An unfamiliar feeling of warmth rose in your lower abdomen, you felt as if there was a fire inside you, waiting to combust any moment.

Just when you feet the flames beginning to erupt, Aemond stops his manoeuvres, putting out the fire, you furrowed your brows in confusion, wondering why he stopped.

But when you looked at Aemond, he seemed like an entirely different being at that moment, he had risen up back to his haunches again taking deep breaths almost as if he was trying to contain himself.

He was.

He had never felt such an overwhelming of desire in his body, every time he touched you; his mind scrambled into pieces, he wanted to fuck you so badly.

“Aemond?” You call out softly, confused, wondering if he was disappointed by your behaviour but it seems to snap him out of his daze and he stares at you. “I apologise; I'm finding it hard to control myself.” He admits his thoughts.

“Then don't.”

Aemond swore he heard you wrong.

“What?” He questions you.

“Don't try to Aemond, Don't hold yourself back, I want this, I want you.” You admit shyly.

The atmosphere fell silent for a second and you could feel the awkwardness from your own words beginning to sink in, that was until Aemond moved suddenly.

You shrieked as he pulled your hips onto his lap, wasting no time in inserting himself, you gasped at the sudden stretch, feeling yourself become full of him. You grabbed onto his shoulders for support.

He held your waist tightly, grabbing onto your hips for leverage as he began to move, thrusting himself in and out.

This was a movement you were familiar with, yet somehow it still feels new because of the strange sensation, it felt more intimate and passionate, his thrusts held meaning and it was as if every time he pushed inside you; he was reaffirming his love and desire for you.

He pushed you into the mattress, grabbing your legs and shoving them to your chest as he thrusted hard, his skin slapped against yours loudly, the room echoing the noises.

You threw your head back at the sensation, and you felt the fire in your stomach rekindle and you couldn't help but desperately chase it. “Ah, right there.” You moaned, feeling him hit a sweet spot inside you that fueled the fire in you, you gasped for air as every thrust of his knocked it out of your lungs. “You feel so good, you're driving me insane, wife.” Aemond grunts, his thrusts never once faltering.

Everything about this night together was very different from the previous ones, Aemond had never felt this good and neither have you, he regrets not trying to get to know you earlier. He felt like he was in heaven with the way you clenched around him.

He felt his high approaching, and he desperately ran after it thrusting deeper inside as he groaned and moaned.

Your body jolted up and down the bed and you felt the fire beginning to spread out slowly, you closed your eyes, when you felt the fire suddenly go out, you were confused but as Aemond thrusted one more time it erupted in your body like volcano, coursing through your veins and to your mind.

You moaned loudly, grabbing the sheets and arching your back as your eyes rolled to the back of your head at the intensity, you have never felt this way before.

Your vision went completely white before you could see once again, you felt Aemond finish inside you, his cocking twitching as he spurted his seed deep inside you.

“Seven hells.” He groans, riding his orgasm off, you watch as he clenches his eye shut taking deep breaths.

He looked so ethereal.

He immediately falls down next to you, catching his breath, he pulls you close and kisses you on the forehead, “You did so well for me.” He praises you, and you blush shyly.

Neither of you moved from the bed, having no intention to.

Typically Aemond would leave the room right after.

Yet he didn't.

He was stroking your shoulder gently as you dozed off, head resting on his shoulder.

He looks at your closed eyelids and thinks you're asleep.

“I love you.” He confesses, realising his true feelings.

Your lips quirk up into a smile before you open your eyes slightly.

“I love you too.”

You then doze off into slumber immediately, Aemond's heart picks up its pace, embarrassed and shy that you had heard him, but your response made him smile.

[xeno1queen]

Growing Strong With The Dragon - Part I

Aemond Targareyen x Tyrell!Reader Summary: A lonely princess finds herself betrothed to a cold prince. Warnings: No warnings, just a chill introduction. No character description. Afab. Authors Note: First time writing a fanfic so I’m just putting into words the things I’ve been thinking. Don't really care about "historical" inaccuracies. English is not my first language so the grammar might be a bit janked.

You have been alone most of your life, your only company being your ladies in waiting and your mother. You had a brother and a dad, but both of them seemed to have no interest in you.

You much prefer the company of books and nature in the Highgarden gardens.

You've heard the news in the capital and you're wondering which side your father will choose as the lord of Highgarden. You don't really care which side he picks, as you are not told much about the war because "Ladies should not worry their heads about unfit matters," said your father, but you do indeed worry.

A couple of days had passed since you first heard the news of the war, and the Greens were already looking for allies. They placed that task on the shoulders of their only unmarried heir. A bold choice, but no one would dare touch the prince in the presence of his dragon. The prince has already gone to Storm's End in search of a betrothed, but the exchange ended badly with the killing of Prince Lucerys Valaryon.

His second option was going to Highgarden. Your father hasn't chosen a side yet, so a marriage proposal to such an important family could help in his decision.

Within two days, the prince arrived at your doorstep. Your lavish father decided that he was to be welcomed with a feast, even though it was just meant to be a quick trip to ask for your hand in marriage. Your father spared no expense at the visit of such an important prince. He wasn't afraid to show the power of House Tyrell, owning the most fertile fields in Westeros means lots of money for your family.

During the feast, the prince was not really impressed by the food, as during the reign of his father, the banquets were not few. However, he sure was impressed by how you behaved yourself.

You’ve always been shy. During the whole banquet, you could mostly only look at your plate and, the few times you looked at him, you noticed he was already looking at you, which made you flinch and blush.

While feasting, your father and the prince talked about war and his marriage proposal, which of course your father accepted swiftly. Having his daughter marry the most powerful family in Westeros was a blessing to him, even if it came with the condition of having to send his men to die in a war they shouldn’t be participating in.

You know you were only getting married to the prince for political reasons, yet you wondered if such a beautiful man could eventually fall for you. You weren’t ugly yourself, just a bit “socially awkward,” yet he didn’t look at you with disgust. He looked at you with intrigue.

Once the banquet was finished, Prince Aemond locked eyes with you and returned to King's Landing. You felt like stone after that intense eye contact, as if his only eye had turned you into a statue.

That night, you felt all the anxiety from the feast hit you, and the anticipation of a long journey to marry the most beautiful man in Westeros made you lay sleepless all night. Would he be kind? Or would he be a cold monster who would only use you to make heirs? Those questions did not leave your mind all night. You just hoped he wouldn’t treat you badly.

[multific]

An Eye for an Eye

​​Aemond Targaryen x Reader

/This is a short piece based on episode 1 of season 2/

Season 2 Ep 1 SPOILERS - Your first and only warning - 

You knew it. 

As soon as you heard Helaena's cries, you knew.

A son for a son.

But not your son.

You hid away with your young child in the depths of Red Keep. 

Even if Aemond called it unnecessary, you weren't going to risk it.

Your son was far too precious for you to lose him.

Soon after the cries began, Aemond barged into your hidden chambers and he let out a long sigh, a sigh of relief. 

He rushed to your side as you sat on the bed.

"You are both alive." he said, as if needing to calm himself, he looked at you and then at your child in your arms.

"We are. My heart hurts for Helaena." you said as a tear ran down your cheek.

"My sister made a choice, Aegon will handle it. I'm glad you two are fine." he said as you handed him your sleeping son. 

"That was meant for us. You killed her boy, so they came for yours."

"I know, but I will not let it happen. I am glad you came here. I should have listened to you." you watched him as he held his son to his chest.

"I had this feeling, as if someone was watching me, yet no one was here. I guess they were looking for me, for him rather." Aemond nodded as he placed a kiss on his son's head.

You knew that Aegon would have his revenge for his son.

And Aemond will have his for sending men for his. 

House of the Dragon Collection

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[lola-writes]

Prince Regent

Pairing: Aemond Targaryen x wife!reader

Word Count: 8.6k

Synopsis: Aemond returns to the Red Keep after the battle of Rook’s Rest with a newfound vigor for his wife.

Themes & Warnings: 18+ (minors DNI!), POV first person (Aemond’s & reader’s), s2x04,05 inspired, enemies to lovers trope, smut, violence, blood, dark/possessive Aemond, breeding kink, swearing, mentions of rape, high valyrian, fingering, multiple orgasms, p in v, doggystyle, creampie, rough sex, hair pulling, choking

Song: Hide and Seek ~ Klergy, Mindy Jones

Latest oneshot: A Dragon's Lullaby

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Enjoy the read!

[gif @aemondstark ]

AEMOND

Smoke. Dragon fire. Blood.

It clung to me, acrid and sweet, like a perverse cloak of victory.

A primal urge, raw and unbidden, erupted within me, a hunger that transcended the battle’s end. It devoured my senses. It vibrated within my bones. It consumed my very being.

My adrenaline ebbed, leaving a hollowness in its wake. The battle was over. Victory was ours. Gleaming armor was storming the castle. But that victory hung hollow, a meaningless echo in the carnage. My flesh seared with defeat. A strange fire, unsatiated, stirred beneath my skin.

I needed something more. Something I could sink my teeth into, as Vhagar had. Something warm and living.

From the air, I watched the smoke curl skyward, soldiers scattering like startled ants, and Meleys red corpse lay vanquished beneath brick and dust.

The warmth of my kill was still writhing. It was a fresh, living ember, demanding to be tended.

The impact of my brother’s fall had torn the wood asunder, set the ground ablaze, smoke and cinders rising steadily towards the heavens. My gaze settled on the inferno, and I urged Vhagar, my reflection in scales and fire, towards it, my mighty beast beating the wind like thunder as we circled twice around the barrenness of the forest, before she heeded my command.

“Qubemagon, Vhagar.” (Descend)

I dismounted her and trod a path towards the inferno, my sword materializing in my grasp with a practiced turn of my wrist. Shades of red marred my vision. The air shimmered, thick with smoke and the metallic tang of blood.

Adrenaline trickled into my bloodstream.

Never had I been so close to my birthright, so close to erasing the past. My grip tightened around the hilt. Images swam up before me. A lifetime of humiliations, each one a searing brand in my retina. My brother getting what he wasn’t fit for, presented to him on a silver platter. But no longer. No more would he be the architect of my suffering. 

But as a tremor shook the ground, a low rumble heralding the broken form of the golden dragon, a monument of smoke, blood, dirt, and ashes, none of it seemed to matter. 

As I crested a rise, the world snapped into sharp focus. My gaze landed on him - my brother; melted into a nightmarish tableau of steel, flesh, and bone, encircled by his dragon’s golden body.

Resolution, cold and heavy, settled in my chest. Killing him would be fruitless. The Stranger had already requested an audience.

I had achieved what needed to be done. As I lifted the edge of my sword to its sheath, a voice echoed through the forest.

“Aemond!” Cole cried my name like a desperate warning. I glanced back, my weapon disappearing into its sheath with a final rasp.

I looked down at my sacrifice. The damage was raw, excessive. The damage that was wanton. A pang of unease twisted in my gut. 

A glint of metal caught my eye, and I dropped to my haunches to retrieve the Conqueror’s Valyrian steel dagger from the bloodied earth. The dagger that was once Aegon’s. It was mine now. 

Ser Criston’s rustling armor announced his approach. “Where is His Grace?” he asked, voice quivering.

I didn’t respond. Instead, I tilted my chin, allowing the glistening steel guide his gaze toward the grotesque sculpture of my melted brother encircled by golden scales.

Ser Criston crumpled to his knees without a word, as I rose to my feet. 

A cold knot of regret twisted in my chest as I regarded my tribute. But it was fleeting, replaced by the icy fire of my ambition. 

There was much to be done, and I needed to proceed if I were to achieve it. I turned on my heel and left Cole and my broken brother behind. 

The battlefield and the devastation shrank beneath me as Vhagar’s powerful wings propelled us skyward. 

A sharp thrill prickled my skin that was naught from the velocity, but rather that of my impending regency. 

_

Upon returning to King’s Landing, I made my way to the small council chamber, ascending the stairs with slow deliberate steps. The air was thick with tension. The council was in disarray, engrossed in a heated discussion, but fell silent as the doors swung open. Eyes turned to me.

“My Lords,” I announced, my voice cutting through the sudden hush. I rounded the council table. “Mother,” I said, offering a curt nod of acknowledgement as I passed Alicent’s chair.

“Aemond,” she demanded, steel in her voice. “Where is Aegon?”

A heavy pause hung in the air before I met her gaze.

“Aegon has fallen,” I said. 

The council erupted in uproar. 

Cries of outrage and accusations.

Obscenities.

Scandal.

“How could this be allowed to happen?”

“What is the meaning of this?”

“We are doomed!”

The disapproval of the Lords sullied the chambers. This council was surely in lack of discipline. I already had my eyes on who I were to replace.  

“The King is dead!”

“The King is not dead,” I countered, my voice calm and mellifluous, soothing the council members like warm milk. Voices dipped and eyes turned to me, an invisible shudder surging through the air. “He has merely sustained grave injuries and is being brought back to the Red Keep for treatment as we speak.” I began to pace around the table, hands slotted behind my back. “The King fought bravely,” I continued. “Landing mortal injuries to the Pretender’s cause. But the Red Queen cast him out of the sky before I could get to him.”

My pacing had brought me to the head of the council table, where I ceased my step. My hand reached out to allow my fingers to trace the chair frame, its iron vibrating with the power I so craved. 

It was palpable. 

It was mine for the taking. 

I looked up at the members of the small council, my eye piercing each and every one of them until they quivered in their chairs.

“And in the coils of torment,” I spoke. “My brother, King Aegon, named me Prince Regent.”

A tremor vibrated the room, weary eyes glanced at each other, bodies twisting uncomfortably in creaking chairs. 

“If anyone should be named regent, surely it should be me, his mother,” voiced Alicent. 

I cast my gaze on her. 

“Aemond is next in line,” came voices from the small council.

“Yes, but the King still lives!” Alicent implored.

“Who am I to contest the wishes of the King?” I said softly, casting her a look of pure innocence.

Alicent’s eyes welled like a tide of despair, her head dipping to the table with defeat. If Alicent could conjure words that had not been uttered to serve her own ends, why could I not?

“Aemond…” she started, her voice a gentle tremble. “Could we at least discuss this?”

“As prince regent, I vow to serve this realm, my Lords, and guide our path to victory against the Whore of Dragonstone.”

My gaze drifted to the platform in the center of the table, settling on the cold polished marble that remained. The King’s marble. I reached for it, and as my fingers closed around its smooth surface, I met Alicent’s eyes. A flicker of desperate plea danced within them, and I held it with a cold response. She exhaled with defeat as I seated myself in the King’s chair, placing the marble in its rocky nest. 

“All hail Aemond, Prince Regent and Protector of the Realm,” Lord Tyland Lannister’s voice came, and the words echoed across the table. 

A smirk played on my lips. “My Lords,” I began, splaying my hands atop the table. “Let us commence.”

YOU

Mutters. Whispers. Gossip.

The news, carried on frantic breaths, was a tangled mess.

One moment, the King was dead, the next, grievously wounded. Some murmured of a crippled monarch, others of his mighty dragon slain. 

It buzzed in my ears as I made my way towards the throne room.

Fear, a cold serpent, coiled in my gut.

The throne room pulsed with tense energy. Hundreds of courtiers jostled for position, their faces etched with a mixture of morbid curiosity and nervous anticipation. I descended the cold stone steps, the weight of each step echoing the growing dread in my heart.

The Iron Throne loomed before me, an empty monument of jagged steel. Its cruel beauty, forged from a thousand fallen enemies, held a chilling glint in the flickering torchlight. I observed it over the shoulder of the woman in front of me, the precariousness of my position suddenly amplified. 

A shiver ran down my spine. Sometimes, I believed it was cursed. Promising to cast whoever graced it to a terrible fate.

My fingers, restless with apprehension, turned my rings about my fingers, pulling them off and on in a nervous dance. A prickling sensation spread through me as I felt countless eyes burning into my back. Disapproval mingled with a strange reverence. The room thrummed with unspoken questions, and I, too, yearned for answers, desperately seeking a foothold in the swirling vortex of uncertainty. 

A ripple of anticipation surged through the crowd as a figure emerged. I turned to witness the gleaming silver armor of the King’s Guard announcing Ser Criston Cole, the newly appointed Hand of the King. Hundreds of eyes swiveled in his wake as he strode towards the Iron Throne, which seemed to gnash its serrated teeth at his approach. 

My mind churned in chaotic disarray. Ser Criston had marched on Rook’s Rest, prompting Aemond’s hurried departure. Where my husband was now, remained a mystery. Perhaps still at Rook’s Rest, tending to the fallen King, or perhaps continuing on to Harrenhal, a destination he oft mentioned.  

None of it mattered. 

My marriage to Aemond had been a political maneuver, as cold and sterile as a septa’s cell. He held no affection for me, nor I for him. He was the absent, aloof prince I’d always imagined him to be. Carrying a frozen heart of a killer. Our union was no more than an alliance. Though I was hardly complaining. Married life granted me freedoms I scarcely thought possible for a highborn lady. But I would jest if I said I did not long for something more. Something warm. Something living. But in Aemond, either would be the last place I’d find. 

Ser Criston swept a steely gaze across the court, his face unreadable. He chewed the inside of his cheeks curiously, the motion ceasing abruptly when his eyes met mine. Cold and dark. I met his stare head-on, until an odd feeling took root in my gut. 

Unanswered questions swirled in my mind. 

Ser Criston tore his gaze from me, his eyes flitting across the room. Then, with a voice laced with authority, he boomed, “I address this court as Hand to inform you that the King has been grievously wounded in battle!”

A collective gasp ripped through the court. Whispers, like startled birds, rose in a flurry.

Ser Criston continued, a steely edge creeping into his voice, “Rhaenyra the Cruel will believe she won a great victory this day. May believe we will cower and offer her the throne like whipped dogs. But the False Queen is sorely mistaken. For the throne will not remain empty.”

Whispers escalated into a commotion. An unsettling prickle danced across my skin. My mind darted to the dowager Queen Alicent. Surely, in Aegon’s absence, they would elevate her to the throne. But after usurping Rhaenyra, would they truly place another woman in her stead? 

My thoughts, apparently, mirrored those of the court, for Alicent’s name drifted around me like a persistent echo.

Ser Criston’s voice rose to a commanding pitch, reverberating through the throne room, “I present to you…” The heavy oak doors of the throne room ground open, drawing every eye in unison.

My breath caught in my throat as a figure materialized at the stairs. 

It wasn’t Alicent. 

A frame, draped in dark green leather that shimmered with silver accents, emerged from the groaning doors. The Conqueror’s crown, a heavy circle of iron, sat upon their silver head, casting a long shadow across a face half-obscured by an eyepatch. 

“Prince Regent, Aemond Targaryen,” Ser Criston declared, his voice thick with forced authority. “Rider of Vhagar.”

Aemond descended the steps.

“Slayer of the queen who never was.”

Aemond’s footsteps, muffled by polished leather boots and the collective murmurs of the courtiers, made a predator’s approach as he stalked toward the Iron Throne. Two King’s Guard flanked him with stoic expressions. 

“And Protector of the Realm.”

He ascended the iron steps with a chilling grace, finally settling upon the throne. A hush fell over the court, thick and heavy. Silence stretched as he molded himself into the seat, his lethal hands caressing the equally lethal rests, a small smirk playing on his lips. His voice, a honeyed drawl laced with a hint of steel, echoed in the sudden silence.

“My Lords and Ladies,” he began, the menacing glint in his blue eye accentuated by the play of shadows on his face. “His Grace, the King, has been wounded at the battle of Rook’s Rest, and will be incapable to rule.”

There was a power in his presence, an unspoken threat that left the court speechless. Not a cough, not a rustle of fabric dared to break the silence. 

“Therefore,” he continued, his gaze sweeping over the frozen faces, “I, will act as your sovereign.”

Unease prickled at my skin. Something about Aemond’s demeanor, the unnatural sheen on his face, sent a tremor of suspicion through me. 

Had this all been a carefully orchestrated play? What truly transpired at Rook’s Rest? 

My eyes darted to the ornate dagger resting at his hip, the ancestral blade of Aegon the Conqueror. It was the same dagger I’d last seen clutched in the hand of his brother. 

As Aemond spoke on, a knot of apprehension tightened in my gut. 

“The tide has turned,” he declared, his voice ringing through the stunned silence. “Rhaenys Targaryen is slain, along with her dragon.” A small smile tugged at his lips, a low hum escaping them. “The largest serving the Pretender’s cause.” He said it like it was a jest. “Rook’s Rest has been claimed, leaving Dragonstone vulnerable.” His fingers tapped across the blades. “This is a victory for us.”

Scattered heads nodded in agreement. 

Then, his gaze snapped to me, a rapacious glint in his single blue eye. It seemed to bore into my very soul, stripping away any pretense. 

“It’s all going according to plan,” he murmured, his voice a silken threat, and for a moment, an eerie feeling within told me he was addressing me alone. The fire that danced within his eye flickered a touch too bright, and it felt like he could see every thought swirling in my mind, every flicker of doubt, every spark of fear. 

It felt like he was about to eat me alive.

A violent terror surged through me, icy fingers gripping my heart. Adrenaline tapped into my veins, a primal urge to flee. 

_

Frantic energy fueled my movements. I shoved dresses, jewelry, all of my belongings, into overflowing wooden trunks. Their straining hinges mocked my desperation. My handmaid, silent but swift, followed my frenzied instructions. I knew then, with a chilling certainty, that I owed her my life after this escape. 

Aemond’s chambers, once a familiar haven, felt cold and sterile now, stripped bare of my belongings. Rain lashed against the open windows, mirroring the frantic rhythm of my heart. The journey ahead would be long and treacherous. Circumstances weren’t optimal, but there was no other choice at my disposal.

My husband was a murderer and a kinslayer twice over. And my intuition told me it would soon be thrice. He wasn’t just ruthless; there was an unsettling hollowness behind his actions, a chilling absence of remorse. He was a walking blight, a storm that devoured everything in its path. And I refused to be struck down by its lightning.  

The apartment doors shuddered open, shattering me into distraught. My flight instincts flared, but I refused to cower. My hand instinctively shot out, grasping my maid’s hand tightly. We held our breath as a large, porcelain hand reached out and pushed the door wider. 

Aemond entered, leaving the door ajar. His gaze, unwavering and cold, locked with mine. “Leave us,” he commanded, his voice a smooth, cold current. 

My handmaid curtsied, her grip faltering as she pried my fingers loose. With a hurried glance back, she scurried out, the heavy door slamming shut behind her. 

An oppressive silence descended, broken only by the frantic pounding of my heart against my ribs. 

Escape seemed impossible; the air thick with a chilling dread. 

“You sent for me, wife?” Aemond’s voice, a silken caress laced with steel, echoed in the cavernous chamber. He approached with a predative grace, each deliberate step shrinking the distance between us. 

Confusion slammed into me. I hadn’t summoned him. This was, by far, the most he’d spoken to me since our loveless union. 

“You are mistaken,” I stammered, my voice barely above a whisper. My feet, traitors that they were, retreated with each of his advances. Then, it dawned on me, that it might have been his intention to put me in a state of dubiety, making me more malleable. A cutthroat, not only lethal, but cunning.

He stopped beside my overflowing trunk, a flicker of amusement playing on his lips. 

“Travelling somewhere?” His single blue eye, unnervingly perceptive, held me captive. 

Panic clawed at my throat. I clenched my trembling hands into fists, slotting them behind my back, forcing my lips into a gentle smile. 

“I wish to visit my family,” I said. “With war looming, I wish for us to be together.”

Aemond took another measured step closer. “Ao issi aerēbas mirriot daor,” (You’re not going anywhere), he murmured, the High Valyrian rolling off his tongue like a sinister threat. 

A furrow etched between my brows as I attempted to comprehend his words. My grasp of the ancient tongue was limited, and whether he intended me to understand was a cruel game. Perhaps, it was yet another tool to exert his dominance. But based on his relentless pursuit, I gathered me leaving wasn’t an option he entertained.

“I am of no use to you, Aemond,” I pleaded, maintaining a safe distance. “Me staying serves no purpose.”

“On the contrary,” he purred, his voice dripping with a dark promise. His head tilted covetously, venom flashing in his eye. 

“We barely exist to each other,” I continued. “What difference would it make if I was half a world away?”

“It would make all the difference.” The warmth in his voice vanished, replaced by a glacial edge. “There’s the matter of heirs.”

Seven Hells. 

Anguish twisted my gut. Intuition, a primal scream, roared to life. Images flashed behind my eyelids – Aemond sitting the throne, and Aegon reduced to ash. 

Had this been his plan all along? Was he the reason for the King’s lethal end?

The pieces slammed together in my mind, a horrifying mosaic. 

I gasped, my back hitting the cold stone wall. Aemond’s ambition stretched far beyond my naïve expectations. Loyalty to his house, to his brother, had been a carefully constructed facade. Beneath it, he schemed, a shrewd predator stalking his ultimate prize. The crown. 

And the crown needed heirs. 

He towered over me, his presence overwhelming. He was much taller than I recalled, every inch radiating a rapacious tension. A hand braced itself against the wall, inches from my head. 

“What have you done?” My thoughts materialized into shaky words, laced with an enmity that surprised even me. My gaze raked over him, revulsion twisting my features. The green leather seemed to pulse, an illusion fueled by my churning stomach. 

A flicker, a hint of something akin to uncertainty, crossed his single eye. It darted across my face, as if truly seeing me for the first time. Perhaps he was. In this desperate flight, we’d never been closer. Close enough to be enveloped by his scent, a foreign musk that did little to quell my churning nausea. 

“Skoros iksin bēvilagon.” (What was necessary)

I frowned again, aggravated that he took to High Valyrian as an attempt to shut me out of his thoughts. My jaw clenched, frustration a bitter taste on my tongue. 

Malevolence rose like a flood as I leaned forward, so close that our noses nearly touched, “I would not have your child in a million years, kinslayer,” I spat, my voice trembling with contained fury. I lunged forward, aiming to push past him, to escape his suffocating presence. But his other hand shot out, slamming against the wall beside me, effectively caging me in.

A venomous glint flickered in his eye as he narrowed it at me through his lashes. A twitch played on his lips, a cat batting at a cornered mouse. “Be that as it may,” he said mellowly. “But even a bad wife must obey her king.”

A scoff escaped my lips, my eyes sizing him up and down. “You are no king,” I hissed, defiance lacing my voice. “You are not even a man.”

His reaction was swift and brutal.

One hand shot out and grabbed my face, forcing my head against the cold stone. Pain erupted at the impact, but quickly subsided as he leaned in, his hot breath fanning against my lips.

“Speak such treason again, and I’ll show you what I really am.”

“What will you do?” I spat back, my voice trembling with a mix of fear and insurgence. “Cripple me, like you did your brother? Force yourself on me?”

“Don’t tempt me,” he growled, his voice simmering with barely contained violence.

A tense silence ensued, the air crackling with his restrained fury.

My suspicions, already simmering, solidified into a horrifying certainty. He’d orchestrated his brother’s downfall on purpose. 

“Have you no honor?” I whispered, the words a ragged plea. 

The silence stretched, broken only by our ragged breaths. His hold on my face loosened gradually, his hand falling away. But his gaze remained fixed on me, a storm brewing within its depths. 

“You cannot stop me, Aemond,” I said, my voice shrinking. “I will leave this place, one way or another. You can play king in my absence, but it will be a hollow crown.”

“Kesan arghugon ao naejot se mōris hen tegon.” (I will hunt you to the end of the earth)

“Speak plainly,” I snapped, my patience with his cryptic pronouncements wearing thin.

A chilling smile, devoid of warmth, stretched across his lips. He pushed himself away from the wall, backing away, creating my long-desired distance between us. 

“You may go,” he drawled, the amusement in his voice laced with a dangerous edge, that sardonic smile still plastered on his lips. 

Acrimony filled my gut. What little I knew of this man, I feared greatly, but also told me this was a trick. He wouldn’t relinquish control so easily. He’d allow me to make my “escape”, only to have me snatched back by the King’s Guard, now under his control, a public display of his authority. There was no true freedom with him.

Maegor’s tunnels, a potential escape route, loomed tantalizingly behind me. If only I were alone, a simple push against the wall would send me tumbling into its dark embrace. But escape without a plan or supplies was a fool’s errand. 

My mind spun, each possibility twisting the knife of despair deeper. Even if I reached my family, what awaited me there? Shame would be their welcome. Aemond, no doubt, would make sure of it. 

The rain continued its relentless assault on the outside world, punctuated by the booming symphony of thunder. A flash of lightning illuminated the apartments, casting Aemond in a grotesque, menacing silhouette. 

Exhaustion overwhelmed me. I slumped to the floor, seeking solace in the meager comfort of my arms wrapped around my knees. Here I was, a prisoner in this gilded cage, condemned to bear the children of a traitor until flames consumed us all. 

Aemond crouched before me, his wrists resting on his knees. He regarded me with an intensity that bordered on scientific curiosity. A flicker of something, perhaps disappointment, played at his edges. 

“I’d take you for many things, wife,” he cooed, the endearment dripping with veiled malice. “But weak was not one of them.” His words landed like a body blow. “If I’d known you’d crumble so easily, I would never have wed you in the first place.” 

I sniffed and looked up at him, exhaustion a heavy cloak on my lids. “You did not have much of a say in the matter,” I countered.

A wicked smile twisted his lips and his head tilted to the side. “No,” he said softly. A sudden chill iced his demeanor. “And neither do you.”

He rose to his feet with predacious grace, leaving me pleated on the floor. He sauntered to his chair and seated himself, one leg propped up on his knee, his leather splaying atop the arm rests.

I watched him. His face was turned to the violent storm outside, immersed in contemplation, lightning whipping across his features. A vision of menace. A weapon poised to strike. 

“So, what is your scheme, Aemond?” I started; my voice hoarse. His head turned slowly, his gaze locking onto mine with the piercing intensity of Valyrian steel. “Do you envision a period of mourning for the King, followed by a convenient acclamation in your favor? Or will you hurry along the succession and carry out the deed yourself before anyone suspects?”

A single corner of his mouth quirked into a cruel smile. “Suppose I have not yet decided.” His voice was like liquid. 

Defiance flickered within me. “The court will never agree to this once they find out what you’ve done.”

Aemond hummed, a deep sound in the bottom of his chest. “Dragons don’t concern themselves with the opinions of sheep.” He leaned forward, resting his arms across his knees. “I am next in line to the throne,” he drawled. “None is better suited than I.”

I staggered to my feet and went to sit beside him. “With a legitimate heir,” I said carefully. “Your claim would be uncontested.”

He smirked, as though I’d read his mind. He leaned back, his eyes gleaming with dangerous delight. 

“A woman’s pleasure is,” he began, a slow, suggestive smile playing on his lips. His blue eye drifted down my form in a way that made my skin crawl. “Of as much importance as the seed itself.”

A hot flush crept up my cheeks at his implication.

“Which is why submission must be a willing act,” he finished, his voice dropping to a husky murmur.

I swallowed, provocation crackling through me. Did he truly believe I would succumb to his advances? He seemed to think he could manipulate anyone to his will, whether through seduction or brutality, though I had yet to see the former. 

“And if I refuse?” I challenged, my voice surprisingly steady despite the tremor in my hands. 

A low growl vibrated in his chest, his face soft. “Then you’ll find yourself counted amongst the sheep,” he drawled.

Deflating, I sighed and dipped my head. The only path forward seemed excruciatingly clear. Raising my eyes to meet his, I lifted an eyebrow in rebellion.

“Consider me sheep then.” With that, I rose from the settee and strode towards the apartment doors, the cold of the metal handle stealing the warmth from my fingers as I heaved it open.

It shut then, with a loud thud, and I jumped, a sudden heat radiating behind me. Aemond’s fingers splayed on the oak door above my head. My pulse drummed in my ears, Aemond’s lips grazing my lobe, urging it to pick up the pace. 

“Jaelā naejot mazverdagon nyke jorarghutan ao, ābrazȳrys?” (You want to make me chase you, wife?) His voice rumbled into me, a low growl as potent as the thunderstorm.

The rolling, guttural words sent a strange warmth through my core. His air consumed me. A rich mixture of smoke, leather, and dragon, infiltrated my senses, intoxicating and unsettling in equal measure. 

“I can’t understand you,” I whispered, my voice barely audible. I felt him smiling against my ear, a low chuckle reverberating into it, sending goosebumps erupting across my skin. 

“You won't need to,” he said softly. His hand drifted away from the door and closed around my throat, surprisingly gentle, yet the warmth of his fingers felt like embers branding my skin. They snaked around the back of my neck, the pressure tightening as he turned me to face him. His single eye, a bottomless well of intricacy, held mine captive.

My gaze flickered down to his lips. They were curved into a wicked grin.

His scent became a suffocating presence. The heat radiating from his body, fervid as a dragon, made sweat bead on my forehead. My entire being screamed I was at his mercy. He could crush my life out with a mere squeeze, or worse, with his single eye, he could strip me bare without ever laying a hand on me. 

But a strange fire flickered within me, a rebellion against his dominion. My hands, fueled by a desperate need for control, reached out and began loosening his doublet, my fingers slow and deliberate. 

Aemond stilled, his eye falling to my movements. He watched, transfixed, as I unfastened the green leather halfway down his chest, then trailed my fingers lower. His gaze darkened and his breath grew uneven, as the bulge beneath his belt pressed against my touch.

A visceral desire flared within me, a response I couldn’t fully comprehend. My pulse hammered a frantic rhythm against my ribs, slowly drifting between my thighs at the sight of his desire. 

His grip softened at my nape, and with a surge of defiance, I ripped myself free from his hold, and landed a heavy blow to his stomach. But a wave of terror washed over me when Aemond barely flinched.

Panic clawed at my throat. 

Taking advantage of his momentary surprise, I flung open the chamber doors and fled, the sound of my pounding heart echoing in my ears. 

AEMOND

The aftershock of her blow lingered, a dull ache radiating from my gut, while I allowed her to make her escape. Fury, a familiar companion, usually surged through me, promising retribution, suggesting to make her death appear an accident. This time, however, a different heat consumed me, a mix of surprise and… arousal. 

Rarely did I misjudge a person. Yet, the meek mouse I’d wed had transformed into a daring she-wolf before my very eyes. This escape attempt, fueled by defiance, was a revelation. It made my dick hard. 

A rapacious glint flickered in my eye. A grudging respect, laced with something far more primal, coiled in my gut. I had underestimated her, and the unexpected turn of events had ignited a spark within me. 

A smirk twisted my lips, and I hummed with satisfaction, the thrill of the hunt coursing through me. 

“Jaelā naejot tymagon?” (You want to play?) I murmured, the challenge laced with amusement. “Kesi tymagon.” (Let’s play.)

I started into the storm-ridden castle. 

YOU

Immediate regret shot through me with a pang, a cold fist squeezing my breath. 

To toy with a dragon was like asking to get burned.

My lungs screamed in protest, my legs burning with each step down the Red Keep’s slick stone steps. Blood, metallic and sharp, left traces in my mouth as I hoisted my cumbersome gown to avoid tripping. The castle shuddered from the storm, which groaned and wailed its onslaught. Guards stood stoic at their posts, their expressions unreadable underneath silver helms. Appealing to them was a fool’s errand.

None dared defy the one-eyed prince. 

Driven by blind instinct, I found myself pushing through the massive doors of the throne room. 

The Iron Throne, a monstrous silhouette of twisted blades, dominated the chamber, its edges flashing white-hot under the lightning’s fury. I stumbled towards it, chest heaving, gasping for air. 

If it truly was cursed, could touching it offer some strange absolution, a release from the gilded cage that was my life? Surely, it couldn’t be worse than the fate that awaited me back in his clutches. 

Ascension. My trembling legs carried me up the steps, each one a monumental effort. Reaching the top, I lingered to sit, an action so simple, yet it loomed so immensely in my mind.

“Waiting to make your peace with the gods?” came a voice, and I turned with a gasp.

Aemond stood in the middle of the room, arms slotted behind his back, approaching with slow, menacing steps, like a predator savoring the hunt. Thunder boomed overhead. 

“No,” I countered, spite flaring hot in my chest. “Waiting for you to catch up so I can meet them myself,” I said, descending the steps. 

“Once more, so quick to admit defeat,” he taunted, venom dripping from his words like the rain outside.

I studied his sharp features, while the burden of my reality settled like a weight in my chest. “There is no escaping you,” I gritted out, holding his heavy gaze. 

His violence loomed heavy, and depravity flickered in his gaze. “Your perception waxes,” he conceded, and suddenly, the world tilted on its axis as he scooped me up and tossed me effortlessly over his broad shoulder. 

The journey back to his chambers was a furious ballet of resistance. My limbs flailed wildly, desperate for purchase, and obscenities, laced with an untenable fear, ripped from my throat.

A sharp slap landed on my behind, eliciting a yelp of surprised pain. 

“The more you struggle,” he growled, the sound a low rumble in his chest, “the worse it will be.”

A part of me recognized the truth in his words, yet a bestial defiance warred within, refusing to yield. Fueled by a surge of adrenaline, I lunged for his silver hair, grabbing a fistful and yanking with all my might. 

He hissed through his teeth, followed by a guttural sound echoing deep within him. “Ilībōños,” (Bitch/Bastard) he cursed.

The apartment door slammed shut behind us as he entered, his movements purposeful. With a rough toss, I landed unceremoniously on the bed, the air whooshing out of my lungs on impact. Fury, a searing inferno, consumed me, each cell screaming in protest, my claws unsheathing. I wanted to hurt him. 

Anything within reach became a potential weapon. Pillows, a discarded jeweled comb – I hurled them all at him, each item a silent scream of rebellion. But his movements were swift, each projectile dodged with practiced ease. 

Frustration mounted, morphing into a desperate rage. I lunged at him, a clumsy attempt to push him back. But he remained immovable, an unyielding mountain. Undeterred, I pushed again, and again, fueled by a futile contempt. 

Finally, as I drew back for another pointless shove, his hands shot out, lightning fast, pinning my arms to my sides. He moved swiftly, his body caging mine in a steely embrace. 

“Lykirī,” he hummed, the word a low thrum against my ear. 

“Fuck you,” I spat, my chest heaving from my ambush.

Did he mistake me for his winged beast that he could command to his will?

My attempt to wiggle out of his hold was a pointless endeavour. Rage crackled in my veins, but it flickered under his touch. My breath hitched as he leaned closer, the heat of his body searing through my gown. The scent of him, smoke and leather, filled my senses. And the undeniable press of his erection against my stomach sent a jolt through me. 

This perverted man was enjoying my defiance. His grip tightened, a teasing hold that both frustrated and excited me. My body, traitor that it was, started to soften against him, a spark igniting beneath the embers of anger. 

“Have you had your fill of my company?” he whispered, his voice husky against my ear. His hands trailed down my arms, sending shivers skittering across my skin.

Every rational part of me screamed to break free, to run for the tunnels, to fight back. But the intoxication of his touch, the heat radiating from him, the suggestive murmur against my ear – they all conspired to trap me.

Before I could think, my head slowly turned from one side to the other. 

He hummed deeply. “Say it.”

Frustration warred with a strange vulnerability within me. My cheeks burned, and I clenched my jaw hard enough to taste blood. 

“I haven't.”

“You haven't what?”

Fury flickered back to life, fueled by his smug grin and the realization of how easily he’d manipulated me. 

“I haven't had enough,” I gritted out, the words a reluctant surrender. 

A growl of satisfaction escaped him before he grasped me by my throat, pushed me back against the wall, and tasted my next breath on his tongue. 

His lips, hot and demanding, devoured mine like a beggar, silencing the gasp that threatened to escape. Heat, a wildfire erupting at the junction of our bodies threatened to consume me. Fury, a simmering ember, still flickered within. I shoved against his chest and stomped on his feet; futile attempts against his unyielding form.

“Gaomagon vīlībagon nyke daor,” (Do not fight me) he said roughly against my lips, nipping at the bottom one. “Kesā botagon daor.” (You would not survive)

I didn’t understand him, and it urged on my fury. I opened my mouth with a quip in mind, but he used that opportunity to slide his tongue inside, hot and wet. The anger threatened to drown the blossoming desire, creating a tempestuous war within. I panted, torn between resistance and a strange, unfamiliar need, a fever writhing and pulsing inside my veins. My hands clenched in the rough leather of his doublet, a desperate attempt to maintain some sort of control. 

I closed my teeth on his bottom lip, and he hissed sharply, encircling my throat with his hand, pushing me against the stone. 

“Kelītīs,” (Stop) he growled.

The question of whether he even realized he was speaking High Valyrian was a fleeting thought. I melted into his rough hold, to his wicked mouth crashing against mine again and again, getting lost in the hot glide of his tongue. His rough kisses, the frantic press of his body, all contrived to unravel my carefully constructed defenses. A soft moan escaped my lips as my nipples brushed against his chest, sending sparks lower. He groaned low in his throat, sucking my bottom lip between his teeth.

With practiced ease, he untied the strings of my dress, letting the fabric pool around my ankles. I stood there in only my kirtle, breathless under his heated gaze. A dark groan rumbled from his chest as he slipped his hands beneath my thighs, effortlessly lifting me. My legs instinctively wrapped around his waist. His grip tightened on my bare flesh, a touch too rough, and I retaliated with another yank on his silver hair. An angry sound erupted in his throat as he attempted to shake off my grip. 

He carried us to the bed, the world tilting on its axis as he settled me on top of him. Our mouths met in a frantic clash, a tangle of tongues and heated breaths. We tore away from each other briefly, just long enough for him to pull my kirtle over my head.

Naked and exposed, I felt a shiver dance across my skin under the intensity of his gaze. Something dark moved through his eye, and my skin prickled with goosebumps.

He gripped the swell of my hips, his palms sliding upward, a slow exploration that sent sparks igniting in my blood. The fight drained from me, replaced by a heavy languor. His fingers, surprisingly gentle for a cold-blooded killer, traced patterns across my skin, before cupping my breasts into a rough grip. A soft moan escaped my lips as his thumb brushed a nipple, and pleasure rushed to my core. He leaned in and closed his mouth over a peak, drawing it in with a slow, gentle suck. My head fell back, a groan escaping my throat. My hands filtered into his thick silver, my fingers impulsively easing off the leather tie that kept it out of his face, and it went cascading around his features like spills of moonlight.

Awe mingled with desire as I watched him continue to explore my body, his mouth leaving a trail of wet heat across my skin. I cupped his sharp face in my hands, the rational, caged side of me screaming to tear him off me. I made weak, pitiful attempts to do so, but Aemond growled his disapproval and sucked my nipple hard. The wet heat of his mouth tugged between my legs as he moved to the other, flames curling low in my stomach. I ground down on him, my wet entrance dampening the dark leather of his breeches, the friction sending a delicious heat through my core. A moan ripped from his lips.

I was on fire, a confusing mix of desire and desperation clawing at me. I needed something more, something to push me over the edge. My body moved of its own accord, grinding harder, seeking that elusive release. 

He released my nipple with a graze of teeth that sent a jolt of white heat through me, and looked up at me with his eye dark like the storm.

“Skoros gaomagon jaelā?” (What do you crave?), he rumbled.

Exhaustion gnawed at me, but a visceral need pulsed deep within. “Please,” I pleaded, the word a ragged whisper escaping my lips, the frustration of the language barrier a dull ache compared to the firestorm raging in my core. “More,” I begged, grinding against his erection with desperate mewlings. 

When his hand lowered to palm my pussy, my skin caught on fire, burning me from scalp to toes. Desire inflated in my throat when he ran his hand up my neck, into my hair, grabbing a fistful and using it to arch my head back, his touch both possessive and arousing. 

“Is this what you desire?” he rasped against my throat, his voice husky with restrained passion. His calloused thumb began drawing circles on my clit, a slow, deliberate exploration that sent frustration battling with a rising tide of pleasure. 

I nodded desperately. “Yes,” I gasped.

He slipped two fingers into my wetness, and I arched my back, groaning in pleasure and a little pain, his fingers filling me up to the brim. My hands found purchase in his hair, anchoring myself as he moved his digits, flames of pleasure licking at my walls. 

Ecstasy unfurled in my veins like milk of the poppy, mind-numbing, delirious, as he slid his thick fingers in and out of me, rubbing a sensitive spot deep within. Hot pressure expanded, and my eyes rolled back in my head. A throaty moan escaped my lips with every thrust of his fingers and a delicious rumble rolled in his chest. 

His grip around my hair suddenly vanished and his thumb began rubbing circles on my clit as he fingered me. I cried out, the intensity overwhelming, and I braced myself on his leather-covered shoulders, a cold sweat starting beneath my skin.

“Sholīze,” (You’re so wet), he groaned against my skin, the word a brand that sent shivers lancing through me, the heat beneath the surface threatening to erupt. I rolled my hips on his fingers, and a satisfied growl escaped his mouth, his eye dropping to witness me riding his hand as my pleasure ran down his wrist, my leg and onto his lap. 

“Shkelagon zhēdys,” (You’re making a mess), he whispered into my mouth, swallowing my desperate cries. 

A third finger, bold and intrusive, slid inside, the added pressure sending me over the edge. My vision swam, black dots exploding at the edges. My heart pounded to the fire searing through every nerve in my body. Throaty moans tore from my lips over and over, as I clenched around his moving fingers. He groaned with dark satisfaction, encircling my waist, pressing me against him as I rode out my orgasm. 

The storm within me subsided slowly. His fingers, once urgent, now moved slowly in and out of me while I caught my breath and the ringing in my ears faded. He didn’t withdraw until he’d coaxed out the very last tremor of pleasure from my body. 

A languorous warmth, a deep sense of satiation unlike anything I’d ever known, bloomed within me.

Lost in the afterglow, I trailed kisses up his neck, small noises of contentment escaping my lips. 

“Gevie,” he panted, slipping his fingers out of me.

I knew that word.

Beautiful. 

AEMOND

I never thought the act of making an heir would be this… riveting. 

So much pure heat, flame and pleasure, fueled not just by my own desire, but by the sight of her pleasure burgeoning under my touch. It was a new prospect entirely. I could have reached my own release simply from witnessing hers. 

But this was not going to make an heir, after all.  

She ran her fingers over my erection, her lips and teeth teasing a line down my neck as she came down from her high. My hand, forearm and lap were slick from her sweet desire. 

She settled back into my lap, a vision of post-orgasmic bliss. Her eyes, usually bright and defiant, were now hooded with languid satisfaction, her cheeks flushed a becoming crimson. Her lips, slightly parted, breathed shallowly. I pushed my thumb between them, and she met the intrusion with a beckoning glide of her tongue, the wet heat settling in my groin. I pulled my thumb free, wiping the evidence of her touch across her lips. 

This woman, this force of nature, was mine. My wife.

Lightning played across her features like she was its master. Like she embodied the raw power of the storm. 

Untamed, fierce, fuckable.

She was molded just for me.

Her fingers, tracing a familiar path down my doublet, encountered the bulge straining against the fabric, my dick throbbing at her faintest touch.

“Take it off,” she said, working on the buckle. I reached my hands up my neck, loosening the doublet from my frame. 

“Do not attempt any strikes this time,” I drawled, a playful challenge in my voice. I relished the smile that spread across her lips.

“You have my word,” she said softly. 

The leather of my arms whispered down, discarded on the floor like a shed skin. Her eyes ignited with raw desire, a flickering flame that mirrored the inferno that had been building within me. Her fingers, hesitant at first, traced a path down my chest, my abs, further, until her hand slipped beneath my breeches and over the length of my dick. 

I hissed through my teeth. The heat, a branding iron searing flesh, intensified as her hand, unsure but determined, wrapped around my erection, heat curling at the base of my spine. Her hesitant touch grew more confident as she stroked me from base to head with smooth, gentle motions, sending a low groan rumbling from my chest. 

I grabbed her face and grazed her chin with my teeth, making her stroke me harder. “I’ll fill you with my seed, wife,” I growled, the words rough against her skin. A promise, a threat, a declaration of possession – all rolled into one.  

Her sigh held a hint of resignation, contrasting the fire in her eyes. “As long as you’ll leave me alone once you’re done,” she mumbled, the words laced with quiet defiance. 

Fury, a red-hot ember, flared within me. 

I threw her down on her knees on the bed and yanked her head back by her hair until her head rested against my shoulder. The vulnerability in her exposed throat fueled a dark avarice within me. My erection pressed against the heat of her ass, restraint becoming an impossible enemy. 

“You’re bound to me now,” I growled in her ear, the words a possessive vow. “You’re not going anywhere.”

A ghost of a smile played on her lips, a silent challenge that both frustrated and excited me. I leaned in, whispering a single word against her ear, “Ñuhon.” (Mine) I nipped her earlobe, making her hiss. 

When I released her, she sagged forward, head hanging low. Her shoulders slumped, and she lowered herself onto her hands, the curve of her backside a sight that ignited a fresh wave of heat within me. 

I discarded my breeches, the urgency a physical ache in my core. Kneeling behind her, I pushed two fingers inside of her. She clenched down on me so tightly. I groaned and pulled my fingers free. As I rubbed the head of my cock against her wet opening, the heat of it almost burned me. A tremble coasted throat her, and her fingers gripped the sheets, bracing herself. 

I eased into her, and, gods spare me, she was so fucking tense, to the point she nearly resisted me entirely. I caressed her ass, her hips, running my hand up and down her back, attempting to relax her, uttering words I scarcely knew were the Common Tongue or High Valyrian. 

“Vīrȳn (take it), you’re so fucking wet, gūrogon mirre yno (take all of me).”

Until her walls softened and I watched myself slide into her, until I was as deep as I could go.

Seven Hells. 

The feeling was overwhelming. The way she clutched me like a wet fist. Every cell in me ached for more, to fuck her hard, relentlessly, but I gave her a moment to adjust, squeezing her, running my hands all over her. 

Soon, she was rocking back against me, and I gave her what she wanted, pulling out all the way before slowly pushing back in, every inch of me vanishing. She groaned and dropped her face to the bed, fisting the sheets in her hands. I gripped the swell of her hips, guiding her warm, wet pussy onto my throbbing dick over and over, watching their salacious union, my sight darkening at the squelching sounds that ensued. A deep hum erupted from my chest.

She glanced over her shoulder, her eyes hooded with lust, settling on each lazy thrust. 

“Iksis ao bisa ijiōrtan?” (Is this pleasing you?) I rasped, but before she could answer, I fucked her a little harder. It occurred to me that she probably could not have understood what I’d been saying half the time. 

Her head fell forward, and the sight of her biting down on her hand to quiet her moans sent a heady rush to my head, lighting me on fire. 

Thunder rolled overhead. 

I was completely lost in the heat of her, taking her hard, watching her ass bounce against me with every thrust. I wrapped an arm around her waist and pulled her back against my chest.

She was panting, fucked into soft compliancy.

“To whom do you belong?” I growled in her ear.

She didn’t resist any of my advances this time. “You,” she breathed. 

“Say my name.”

“Aemond.”

“And who is your King?”

“Aemond.”

My grip snaked and tightened around her neck as I fucked her.

“Say it.”

“You’re the King, Your Grace,” she whined. “The first of your name.”

It set me on fire.

I pushed her back down and fucked her through her second orgasm, holding her hips up when her legs gave out. She shuddered and clenched around me, the pressure sending licking fires down my back, threatening to erupt. I gritted my teeth as I came inside of her, a white, hot fire shooting through me so hard, my vision went black.

My muscles shook from the aftershock.

I doubled over her, letting my forehead rest on her back as we came down. 

When I pulled out of her, I watched my seed leak out of her entrance like white tears. I plugged it with my fingers, burrowing deep inside of her, and she gasped.

“Dragonseed is precious,” I rumbled into her ear. “Would not want it to go to waste.” I kissed her temple.

“Tepagon aōha dārys iā dārilaros, dōna ābrazȳrys.” (Give your king an heir, sweet wife)

[agathaswoman]

accidentally reading aemond's diary

aemond: you read my diary?

y/n: ok, first of all, at first i did not know that it was YOUR diary, alright? i thought it was just a very sad handwritten book by someone else

[barbieaemond]

Religion

Pairing: Aemond Targaryen x wife!reader

Warnings: mild angst, misogyny, banter, pregnancy, childbirth, oral sex, p in v, fingering, orgasm denial, dry humping, overstimulation, brief lactation kink, breeding kink, manipulation (to get some), some good ol' tying up, slandering of the Gods lol

Author's note: this is the third and final part following And I dream of a grave and A curse for a curse but can be read as a standalone. Just keep in mind that Aemond did not cheat on his wife while in Harrenhal. He used Alys only for her visions.

Word count: 13k. Ye have to suffer for your smut darlin'

MASTERLIST | English is not my first language.

taglist: @multyfangirl @ladystarksneedle @arcielee @darylandbethfanforever9 @zaldritzosrose @alphard-hydraes-blog

Her mother had come to King’s Landing three days after she gave birth. Peering through the door, the Princess didn’t know if the woman was more surprised to finally see a baby safely tucked between her daughter’s arms or to witness that she was still breathing. She had chosen to believe both.

Since she was a little girl, she had been instructed in what was coming, for her and all the girls like her: how to serve men, how to serve the Realm. She knew pregnancy could be a time of great distress, physical and otherwise, and for her, it turned out to be nothing more than that.

She spent the first moons plagued by sickness, glaring at the Maesters who told her that morning sickness was perfectly normal. It would've been, if only it had lasted the hours the sun was at its highest. Instead, she couldn’t keep down her breakfast, just like her lunch, or dinner. She had lost weight, she couldn’t stand any kind of smell with the risk of rushing to her pot and empty her stomach.

Then, on one fine morning, while she was walking the gardens with two of her maids, she had suddenly bent over, hissing with pain while clutching her maid’s arm, dreading the trickle running down her thighs.

The Maesters said occasional bleedings might happen, that she only needed to rest and take some tonic to strenghten her body. But that day signaled the end of her peace and the beginning of her confinement.

Because clearly, at the first sign of something going wrong, slipping out of his control, Aemond would panic, albeit showing none of it, standing as tall and stoic as ever and somehow more than he’d ever done now that the Conqueror’s Crown weighted on his head. But she knew better. She knew how to look through all his walls. She knew he was scared—for her, for the baby, for his sister, for his whole family. It was simply too much for a single person to carry all of that on their shoulders. And it was precisely for that reason that she didn’t object to any of his orders. After all, she couldn’t. He was the King now, even if he didn’t choose to style himself as such.

Thus, her chambers became her prison.

Cobwebs didn’t have time to grow because she was quick enough to point them out to the servants. She was aware of the slight drop in the stone tiles just behind the terrace, as of the strategic point where to linger to gain some cool breeze from the sea. She knew the baby liked to sleep upside down in the early afternoon, occasionally kicking hard as he, or she, settled comfortably in her womb.

Aemond had picked some books for her, mostly about history, having her yawning at the third page. She had tried needle work, putting all her good will into it for the sake of doing something, and she had deliberately chosen to believe she was undeniably good at it. But that was a very generous lie. 

“What is that supposed to be exactly?” Aemond asked one day, peeking over her shoulder as he reached her on the terrace.

She didn’t look up, keeping her eyes fixed on her embroidery tambour, working the needle in and out. “Isn’t it obvious?”

He leaned down until she felt the long silver strands tickling her head and even without turning, she could feel him grimacing. “A bird?”

At that, she had raised her head, reading all the disbelief on his face. “It is a dragon. For the cradle.”

Aemond had simply furrowed his brow, unable for the life of him to consider what he saw as something even remotely resembling a dragon. But he thought better than to anger his pregnant wife, given her late sour spirit, but especially in light of how fiercely she had started to stick the needle in, likely picturing to stick it into him instead. He had built the most fake pleasant smile he could master and said “Very well. Excellent work, my love.”

“Thank you, husband.”

The trouble was that, as time went by, she only became sourer. She grew more and more uncomfortable, too tight in her own skin. Her back hurt, her breasts hurt, and she was starting to believe she was carrying a real dragon, with fangs and all; she had no other explanation for how hot she constantly felt, forced to lie in a thin white chemise all the time, despite the winds carrying the winter.

But maybe there was another reason why her spirits were so low and sour. She had come to learn that pregnancy affected every aspect of her life, including the most pleasant one.

She would grow wet for a kiss. She would close her legs and rub them together upon seeing him rise from the bathtub. She would moan into his mouth if he so much as grazed her nipples with his knuckles. But as she grew bigger and bigger, along with the discomfort, kisses and some intimate brushing were all she would get from him. Aemond had grown distant, not only with his presence, due to all the duties he had to fulfill wearing the Crown, but even when he was there, in their chambers, sleeping next to her, she felt him leagues and leagues away.

“Pregnancy is a very hard time for a woman.” The Dowager Queen had said to her “It is overwhelming to think that you are never alone and yet...somehow you are.”

She’d never understood what her good mother meant until she was confined to her chambers, alone with her thoughts and her fears. She didn’t expect Aemond to do something, this was women’s business. And she knew his reluctance to lie with her rested solely on concern and love for her.

No matter how much he craved to take her, he had decided to put his husband’s rights away for the delicate final moons until the baby was born. He still felt guilty, for Harrenhal, for the witch, for forsaking her only to get drunk on visions and prophecies. Yet, those visions turned out to be true. He had shut that voice in his head and tried to make amends. But they didn’t have the time to mend themselves together, to knit all the distrust and suspicions into something good; the baby was coming, and it seemed he or she did nothing but grow them more apart. 

He saw how tired she was, how some days she couldn’t even get out of bed. And how useless he felt when he would catch her crying, like that night when he found her all alone on the terrace at the hour of the owl.

She was sitting on her chaise filled with cushions when Aemond walked around her. Given the state of his white shirt and hair, he had likely just awakened and hadn’t found her beside him.

“What are you doing out here? You will catch a cold.”

“I cannot sleep.” she had kept her eyes far, on the Black Water Bay, far from him. But he saw them anyway, her reddened eyes.

“You cannot stay here in your condition.” He said almost tiredly, but when she didn’t even blink at his words, he called her name, with the tone he used in the Throne Room.

“Aemond, please.” She whispered, turning her head. “I—” she bit her tongue, unwilling to put this on him, but she knew he wouldn’t let go until she was safely back in bed. So, she said “I don’t want to hear her.”

It took him less than a moment to understand what she meant. Helaena. Helaena who lost a child, who saw her flesh and blood horribly murdered before her eyes. Helaena who couldn’t stop wailing in the dead of night.

She had looked at him, seeing that torn thing, broken and raw like a split wound; shame and guilt and rage all at once. Then, he lowered himself onto his knees until he took her cold hands and squeezed them tight. His mouth opened, but she was faster. “Don’t say it.”

You cannot keep such a promise, you cannot keep us safe. No matter how many times you say it. But she wouldn’t take that solace away from him, not that plainly. The more he said it, the more he seemed to believe it. So be it.

“Is there anything I can do?” he asked, and there was a beautiful, heartbreaking desperation in his hushed voice. “Tell me what to do.”

She had built a convincing smile, running her hand through his loose hair and pushing some strands back. “Go back to sleep. I’m fine.”

Her spirits during the day would slightly improve. And between the Council and some hearings in the Throne Room, he always saved some time to go visit her in their chambers. She didn’t seem to enjoy being watched like a toddler, but deep down she cherished his concern. She cherished the way his hands would gently hold her own, or caress her hair, her belly. She found it hard to believe those hands could bestow such reverence and violence at the same time. And even in his absence, he managed to ensure she always had anything she needed. Even blackberries in early autumn.

“Myra, where have you been?” She asked in a late afternoon, when one of her most loyal maids entered her chambers after disappearing for the whole day.

The young girl had an awful look. She seemed exhausted, as if she had walked the entirety of Flea Bottom, twice. “Apologies, my Princess. It took me quite a while to find blackberries.”

“Seven Hells, it is only a craving. You did not have to go all the way through King’s Landing to find me blackberries.”

"No, I-I ought to.”

The Princess paused, frowning at the young girl. “Did someone else tell you that you ought to?”

“Well…yes…” the maid said, sinking her gaze to the floor “The King—uhm Prince Regent.”

She sighed deeply, and with heavy steps, she walked towards the terrace; her maid was immediately at her side to help her. “What did he tell you?” the Princess asked as they reached the chair outside.

The girl waited for her to sit, slowly and awkwardly given her big belly; then, a little timidly, she said “He…ordered me to go look for blackberries and not to…bother coming back if I didn’t find them.”

The Princess rolled her eyes in quite an unlady-like manner, “How in the name of Seven did he know about it?” She asked, grimacing as she desperately tried to find a comfortable position. “I have barely seen him this morning.”

The young maid helped her, fixing some cushions behind her back and whispered “The White Cloak at the door…I suspect he reports everything to his Grace.”

The notion didn’t seem to strike her that much, or maybe she was too tired, too uncomfortable and too hot to comment on the matter, or even scoff at it.

She grabbed a fan from her maid’s hands and unceremoniously shook her shoes off, placing her swollen feet on the cool tiles. Closing her eyes, she basked in that small relief; the floor was cold, the sun was about to set, and the baby was sleeping.

According to the Maesters, her time was close. She was eager to meet this little person but in truth, she just wanted it to end. She hated having no control over her body, her spirits, her marriage. She missed being a wife and being treated as such, not just as the mother of his child. She had come to think that, deep down, any woman felt that way, but they were forced to hide everything behind a joyful smile while sinking to their knees to thank the Mother. Wasn’t that the sole purpose of any girl in the world? To bleed on a birthing bed? Wasn’t that the way men measured women’s value?

She swallowed hard as the question spun in her head. Am I finally worthy of you, Aemond?

She wouldn’t dare ask him. 

“What is it? Are you unwell?”

She was too lost in her thoughts to even hear his footsteps on the terrace. As her gaze flew up, she read the deep concern on his face, all lumped in the steep furrow between his eyebrows. He must’ve seen her grimacing, thinking she was in some pain. She was, but she was too much of a coward to tell him.

She resumed her fanning, averting her gaze and stretching her legs out further on the floor. “I feel like I’m boiling.”

“Yes, I can see that.” He deadpanned, raking his eye over her disheveled state; sprawled on that chair with her legs slightly open, her white chemise all crumpled and unbuttoned, and a bead of sweat on the forehead, in the crevice of her swollen breasts. He thought the times when a mere look at this woman would make him hard were gone once the novelty of having a wife, someone rightly and thoroughly his, had dissipated. He was wrong.

“I’m well aware of my lack of decency.” She replied, seeing how he was staring, the little inquiring curve in his eyebrow. “I’m afraid I care very little about decency at this moment. Blame it on your son.”

His lips curled up, watching her gather her loose hair with one hand while she kept fanning herself quickly with the other.

“Are you still inclined to believe for certain that it’s a boy?”

“I know it’s a boy. Only men can be this insufferable.”

That little smile on his lips lingered, deepened, and then he moved, going to stand behind her. “Let me.” He said, and took her hair between his hands. She couldn’t see what he was doing but got the gist as she felt his deft fingers moving and her neck free to get some air. When he walked around the chaise to sit beside her, she saw that his hair was loose. He had tied her hair with the black lace he always wore to prevent the silver strands from ending up in front of his eye.

She loved to see him like this: hair loose, eyepatch lost somewhere in a drawer, sitting next to her, even without saying a word. The sapphire seemed to match his eye, glowing a soft violet under the setting sun. She felt that familiar lump in her throat, as she stared at him, a restless thing flowing through her whole body, demanding to be released only to be trapped under her teeth, biting down her lower lip, starved and yearning.

“A little bird told me you put a hound on my trail.” she said at one point, shutting her little fan.

Aemond didn’t look surprised to acknowledge that she knew. He had actually ventured with himself about how long it would have taken her to realise he was spying on her every move.

“You are well aware of my duties now.” He said, turning his head to look at her. But not quite. His eye seemed to linger everywhere at once, fleeting, snatching a look here and there, her legs, her sweated neck, her belly…his own testament, as if she wasn’t one already.

You left your mark on her just as she did on you. Those were Alys’ words, at which he had ugly sneered. And she had laughed at the sight, eerily, as someone who owned the truth. I’m your spoil of war and yet, you speak to me ten paces away. What are you afraid of, Kinslayer? That your skin would burn like brimstone if you touched another woman?

“Besides,” he resumes “any lady would be flattered by her husband’s genuine concern.”

“You could flatter me in different ways.” was her prompt answer and she moved incredibly fast, given her impediment, getting close to him until she filled his nostrils. She smelled different since she was pregnant. A thick smell, musky. She tasted differently. Sweeter and somehow sourer. He swallowed at the mere memory. “We have talked about this.”

“And I’ve talked to the Maesters.”

His head spun around, forcing her to stifle a smile at his ever strictly reserved nature.

“They said there’s nothing wrong, or remotely dangerous, if we…engage in our conjugal duties.”

He tried to ignore her hand, her fingers traveling up his arm like a spider’s legs. “Did you need the Maesters to learn that?”

“No, but you do. You hang on their lips…I wish you hung on mine.”

Aemond heard her voice dropping a tone, and dropped his chin down, looking at her hand roving on his chest, shamelessly slipping beneath his dark green doublet, skin to skin. She glided on his planes slowly, making sure to trap one of his nipples in the little hollow between her index and middle.

“I don’t need them to know about my private matters.” He said mindlessly, trying to hold a grip on his thoughts.

“Seven Hells. It baffles me to witness how prudish you desperately want to appear while I perfectly know how debauched you really are, to the bone.”

“My debauchery is confined to these four walls.”

“Oh, is it? What about that time on our way to the Grand Sept?” She tilted her head, so she was talking almost in his ear. “Do you remember?”

Her hand on his chest was burning, or was it his own skin? His own flesh simmering wherever she touched him.

“Don’t do that.” She whispered when she saw his long legs cross. “Let me see. You have condemned me to do nothing else.”

His eye chased her hand as she grabbed his knee and pushed to uncross his legs, so that she could see, the outline of his cock through the breeches, see how he ached for her. “Do you remember what you did in the wheelhouse?” She asked again, looking at him; the sapphire was the only thing flashing violet now. His eye was pitch black.

“You put your hand beneath my gowns…” she said and her hand slid up against his thigh “you grabbed me, harshly.” And she did the same, forcing his mouth open and a shallow breath out of his throat. “And you grinned…because my garments were soaked.” he closed his eye for a moment, perhaps recalling, or maybe because her hand was moving, palming all his length through the breeches.

“And then you slipped your fingers underneath…” and again, she did just so, unbuckling his belt and sinking her hand in. He opened his eye, and basked in what he saw: that sort of silent, desperate plea in the little wrinkle between her eyebrows, in her heaving chest, in the way she was rubbing her legs together.

Thus, just when she was about to grab him, he grabbed her wrist instead and crashed his mouth against hers with a low growling sound. She could do nothing but moan, giving him open room to slip his tongue in and taste every corner, driving his body closer and closer, but not too much as to crush her.

She, on the other hand, felt free, finally, to roam, to rummage. Her hands grabbed and pulled everywhere, at his doublet, the collar, the buttons, the thin white shirt underneath it all, until everything was loose, and she was free to touch him, all the while making the sweetest wanton sounds, close to desperate whines. “Please, Aemond…” she begged freely, holding his face “just this once…please…”

He shushed her with another harsh kiss and with a free hand, he clutched her white nightgown into his fist, pulling up, enough to stick his arm between her legs. She spread them for him, panting with anticipation, and stopped breathing altogether when he cupped her core with the large palm of his hand. Aemond trapped her lower lip with his teeth, biting softly upon feeling how wet she was, dripping on his fingers, so much that he wished to fall on his knees and wipe it clean with his tongue.

“Please…” she breathed, barely rocking her hips to urge him to touch her.

“Hush.” he said, and curled his fingers, brushing his fingertips against her centre, gaining a delicious wince from her. “Tell me of the wheelhouse.”

She smiled breathlessly, her eyes hungry and heavy, full of lust. “It was the first time I wore green.” she started to tell. “We were still betrothed. I wanted to impress you.”

“Hmm. You certainly did.” He remarked, watching her closely while rubbing his index pad against her entrance, teasingly, making her squirm. “Go on.”

She felt like burning, her face hot for the sun, the baby, the ache in her lower belly, stirring and coiling. “You told the White Cloak to take another round…” she said, breathing with her mouth open. “You grabbed my waist and forced me on your lap.”

“And you pushed me away. Twice.” he’d laughed, flashing a grin that made her willing to shove him away, to pull him closer. “What a farse you put on.” he continued, leaving a chaste kiss on her neck that resulted in her writhing some more, pushing her pelvis against his hand. “I had to cover your mouth for your mewling. You were so fucking loud.”

It was then that he finally granted her some mercy, slipping one finger inside her drenched lips, spilling a long gasp from her.

“No. Not quite.” He observed cruelly and slid another finger, this time gaining a proper loud moan. “That’s more like it.”

His two fingers started to pump slowly, and yet she was making the lewdest sounds he’d ever spilled from her, arching her back as far as she could, scrunching her face almost in pain and pulling at his collar, twisting, as if he were torturing her instead of giving her pleasure. She made his cock stir painfully, his teeth grind for the ache, for the fact that she was coating his whole hand. “Easy now…” he warned her, his tone all husky. “You don’t want to come already, do you? ‘Tis the only thing you’ll get from me, sweetling…you better make it last.” 

She whined in annoyance, forcing another grin on his ruthless lips, and with that same ruthlessness, he slowed his ministrations, only to cup one of her breasts with his free hand, squeezing softly until the thin, silky fabric slipped down, revealing her pink, swollen nipple. “I must say…I’m relieved you will summon a wet nurse…so these will be all mine.”

She had to stifle a breathless laugh at that. “Being jealous of your child is a bit too much, even for you…”

“Oh, my love” he crooned, freeing the other breast “I am jealous of the clothes on your skin.”

Wasting no time, he wrapped his lips around her nipple, causing her to arch against him once more, one hand flying down his shoulder, fisting his doublet, twisting it as he swirled his tongue and hummed with delight dripping from his tone, as if he were tasting honey, and the sweetest ever made.

His fingers resumed their frantic rhythm, sinking deep inside and stretching, hitting that special spot that made her sight go black, reduced to a mess of sweat coating every inch of her skin and a string of moans growing hoarse and high-pitched.

“Are you close? Hmm?” he rasped “How about another? Can you take another for me?”

He slipped a third finger in, causing her to wince and cling to his shoulders with her mouth open in a silent scream. “Good girl.” He praised at the sight. He wished he could savor it for a little longer, he wished to keep doing that again and again, until the sun went down and rose again, until there was nothing but ruin around them.

But she was so close now, he could feel it in her tensed arms around his shoulders, in her clenching walls around his hand, and quite frankly, the ache in his breeches was unbearable, twitching at every moan and squelching sound of his fingers inside her flesh. 

She came loudly, curling her ankles on the ground and writhing in his hold as if in a delirium. He kept her still, his hand buried inside her, feeling the quick pulsing that rivaled the one in her heart. And he watched her, gasping for air and throwing her head back, utterly spent, hair all sticked to her forehead. In his eye she had never looked this beautiful.

He pulled his fingers out, making her wince slightly, and brought them to her mouth, smearing her spent desire on her own lips, like the final touch to a painting. And then he kissed her, humming at her bittersweet taste. He held her face gently, grabbing her jaw and angling her head to taste her better, eliciting a blissful sigh from the back of her throat that made his hardness throb. As if she had felt that, her hand had slipped between them with purpose, sinking past all his layers and taking hold of him.

She rejoiced in the little whimper he gave her, and started to work her hand up and down, making it impossible for him to kiss her any further, if not for a sloppy and panting mess of spit and teeth. 

Given the unbearable pressure building past his navel, he knew he wouldn’t last long. And she knew that too. But she didn’t want to have him this way. Awkwardly, she stood up and spread his legs to make herself some room, but as soon as Aemond, despite the lack of blood in his mind, caught her intentions, he stopped her, grabbing her arms firmly.

“No…” he croaked. “Not on your knees.”

She couldn’t help the little surprise on her face. Aemond had never been this considerate, especially in bed. He could be gentle in his own way, subtly. Little hidden things in the way he would run his fingers through her hair once she had reached her peak, the way he would regain air once he’d spilled inside her, breathing into her neck and running his lips lazily against her skin. But most of the times, he was very diligent, all focused in giving her and himself the pleasure they both craved; he was somehow harsh, ruthless, a mirror of who he was outside the bedroom, possessed by some kind of urgency that would break her in the most beautiful and cruel way and put her back together at once.

But then again, she imagined the promise of his heir living inside her was affecting even one of the most ruthless of men.

She sat down again and watched him stand up, his breath labored and open-mouthed as he looked down at her, working the few laces of his breeches still tied. She didn’t need an invitation, an order, a mere tilt of his chin to sit upright and put her hands alongside his snatched waist.

She looked up, and he found himself swallowing hard, cursing silently at the sight of her looking straight into his eye with his cock a breath away from her, all hard and glistening on the tip. Shamefully, he thought that would have done it for him.

A coarse grunt left his lips as soon as she wrapped her mouth around it, teasingly swirling her tongue on the slit without ever averting her gaze from him. He hissed painfully when her lips started to travel along his length, trying with all his might to hold back and not spill into her mouth so soon.

She, on the other hand, seemed eager to watch him come undone, just as he had done to her a few moments earlier. She started to suck him eagerly, like a starved creature, because on all those nights and days when he had taken her apart, learning every inch of her and how to bend it to his will, she had done just the same.

She knew how to make him wince and moan openly, while on her knees on their bedroom floor or on a fucking terrace during a late afternoon, with likely anyone to walk on them at any moment. With the Gods watching.

She didn't care. The Gods didn't care for them anyway. Let them see to whom she fell to her knees.

He couldn’t stop looking, how pretty she was like this, swallowing him whole, up to the hilt, hitting her throat with a gagging sound. So lecherous, so holy.

He was so close he had to bite his lip to restrain himself, letting out a string of curses until he felt the pressure growing stronger, and then, he thought, he might as well have it his way.

“Stop…” he croaked, grabbing her cheek but delicately, slipping out of her mouth and running his thumb over her sore jaw. She closed her slicked mouth, a drop of spit running down her chin and she looked at him, with such devotion he thought he had nothing to envy the Gods.

“Let me…” he pleaded, wiping her chin clean with his finger. “Let me fuck your mouth, sweetling. Would you?”

A question that needed no answer. Indeed, he wasted no time and grabbed the back of her head, tilting it slightly up for a better angle. He sheathed himself all the way in, gasping deeply at feeling the hot walls of her mouth, her cheeks hollowing.

His fingers curled into her hair, but never in a hurtful way, enough to keep her still as he started to move his hips against her face back and forth, his open mouth quivering as the pleasure began to build where it left off.

“Fuck—” he cursed once, and then twice, fucking her mouth faster to chase his peak, pulling ever so slightly at her scalp until he went still altogether, pushed his waist hard against her, and grunted loudly, in a pretty uncharacteristic way, as his cock twitched and spilled down her throat until the last drop.

Panting harshly, he pulled himself out and watched her close her mouth, eyes fixed on him, working her cheeks and making no mystery of the white essence on her tongue before swallowing it, thoroughly.

Aemond let himself fall on that chaise and she watched, she drank that sight: his hair all disheveled and damp with sweat, a shade of pink on his cutting cheekbones as he slowly pulled himself together, breathing through his open mouth while buckling his belt and breeches.

“I think I’m going to take a bath.” She said at one point, clumsily standing up. He had mumbled something in return, still caught in the throes of what they had done, but before she got back inside, she turned and said “Oh, just so you know…all of this was a ploy.”

She smiled cunningly at his frowning. “I never had any cravings. And I knew about the White Cloak at the door since the first day you put him there. You are not as subtle as you think you are, my love.”

A man of few words, but loud actions.

Her pains came during a peaceful afternoon.

In haste, nursemaids began their frantic rounds in and out of the Princess’ rooms like soldiers, carrying hot water and boiled rags. The Dowager Queen abandoned her perch beside Queen Helaena, or what was left of her, and went to assist the Princess. Having borne four children, she had quite a bit of advice to dispense, things she had learned on her own skin, things that any Master would never have told her because oblivious and convinced they knew what happened to a woman's body at such a delicate time based on how deep they had buried their nose in an old dusty tome.

Alicent helped the Princess rise from the bed, clutched her arm firmly and helped her walk. She said it was vital to walk, that it would ease her pain and help the baby come sooner. She told her to squat when the pain hit. She rubbed her back and wiped the sweat off her face as if she were her own daughter. It felt like that. Even though the Princess seemed to face it all with a stiff lip, Alicent could see that she was scared and in terrible pain, that she probably wished for her mother to be there. She had wished the same, no matter how many times she had faced it.

“Your Grace?” The Princess asked after another wave of pain had come and gone.

“Yes, child?”

“Do you think your son would forgive me If I said this one is both the first and the last?”

The Queen had smiled at that. “If the Gods bless you with more children, it will be easier, I can assure you. The first time is always rough. But it shouldn’t be long now.”

Well, her good mother turned out to be wrong. Because the pain plagued her for a full night, giving her no peace. At the hour of the nightingale, the nursemaids forced her to bed, and she gladly went. She was exhausted, she could no longer walk without hissing at every step, and by that time she was so used to the pain she no longer whined or anything, only scrunched her face and ground her teeth.

The servants stripped her bare and replaced her sweat-soaked nightgown with a fresh one. They dabbed her face with a wet cloth, but she could barely register anything, floating into unconsciousness only to be brought back to the present as another pain choked her breath.

“Perhaps some Milk of the Poppy?” One of the nurses said at one point.

“No.” the Maester said. “She may need to start pushing any moment now. We need her vigil.”

Her heavy-lidded eyes opened, wandering helplessly around the room. Useless research, for she knew he wouldn’t be there. She didn’t expect him to be. The birthing bed was no place for men, save for the Maesters, although she was starting to doubt their real usefulness when all they could do was pull her nightgown up, take a close look and shake their heads. They might as well let Aemond be there.

She imagined he must’ve been waiting outside, or in the Council, and yet she ached to see him. She closed her eyes and searched for him in her mind, clutching the sheets in her fist as if she could clutch his hand instead. And then she felt someone’s hand closing around her own, loosening her grip. Alicent, smiling down at her, and holding her hand tight.

It was holding her good mother’s hand that, at the first light of dawn, she gave birth to her child. A boy, healthy and all screeching as soon as he was out of her womb, clad in blood and grease.

Aemond had decided to name the child Aenar, if it was a boy, after the first Targaryen Lord, and she couldn’t quite believe her eyes or force her tears back when he was finally admitted to their chambers and took their son in his arms for the first time. 

Alicent was beaming at the sight, squeezing his arm. “Congratulations, my son.”

But Aemond didn’t seem to even register her mother’s words, or presence, utterly enraptured by his little creature. He cast a look at his wife, a secret little look that told her how proud he was of her, how relieving it was for both to have come this far after all that happened, to have this little thing, this little ounce of peace amidst all the chaos of war.

What she didn’t know at that time was that Aenar was not exactly a peaceful child.

She had believed there had finally come the time when she could be herself again. But from the earliest days, Aenar proved not to be an easy child to deal with. The newborn cried and cried for hours, plagued by belly aches, and seemingly able to calm down only when in his mother’s arms. They had obviously called on a wet nurse; highborn ladies did not feed their children themselves, let alone a Princess. But Aenar had categorically refused to latch onto his wet nurse’s breasts. Alicent had proposed to summon another one, but as they dawdled and wavered, the Princess felt her heart break into pieces each time she held her little baby in her arms, all red in the face, hungry and in pain, turning his head towards her cleavage, desperate for her milk. Thus, she had put aside ceremonial court and all of that and chose to feed him herself.

But it was a strenuous task. The Maesters had warned her it would be tiring, sleep depriving, but she really had no choice. She had to do it every three hours, sometimes less, because being latched onto her breast seemed the only thing that would prevent the baby from screaming at the top of his lungs all day long. The nursemaid had recommended fennel and chamomile for belly aches. And, instantly, Aemond had ordered an astounding amount of both to be delivered to the Red Keep’s kitchens.

Queen Alicent taught her to hold the baby on his stomach, to rock him, but not too fast. They told her to take several breaks during breastfeeding, to make the baby belch often and prevent air from his belly. In the first week after Aenar was born, her mind was all but a vessel of do this, do that. No, not this way. Don’t ever wake the baby when he’s sleeping. Try to sleep when he does. Don’t eat spicy dishes.

In the midst of all of this, Aemond turned more and more suffocating in all his well-hidden, self-consuming concern. A handful of white cloaks, the most trusted by Ser Criston, were constantly guarding the door, day and night. He had a secret passageway that led to his rooms walled up, and she could swear he slept with his dagger beneath the pillow. Evidently not at peace with such extreme measures, he had the cradle moved to his side of the bed, within his reach, so that every time she had to wake up because the baby was wailing, she had to walk around the bed and pray that she would not tumble to the floor in the dark.

However, she was at least grateful to have Aemond’s support, for the little he could do. If he wasn’t occupied with warfare or hearings, he spent all the time he had with her and their child. And in those moments, no matter how exhausted she was, she would always find the strength to smile at the view when he held their baby, tracing his long fingers over the velvety grizzled skin of Aenar’s small hands; even when he’d speak to him in Valyrian, at which she had frowned at first.

“You do realise he’s one week old?”

“”Tis never too soon.”

“Mh. What’s next? Bring him to the skies on dragonback?”

“I’ll have you know Vhagar is perfectly safe to—“

“Over my dead body.” 

He had smiled and stood up, going to place the baby in her arms. Aenar immediately began to fuss, whining and turning his head against her chest. She had started to unbutton her chemise but then stopped, looking up, where Aemond stood still like a sentry, and watching.

She raised an eyebrow. “Am I putting up a show?”

“Usually, you do.” He drawled. “Am I not allowed to watch? It seems my son and I already share a few interests.”

She looked away, smiling, and then she freed her left breast, watching as the baby immediately latched onto it. A moment later, Aemond took her chin in his hand, forcing her to look at him. He stared at her, and she saw that familiar glint his eye.

He trailed his thumb over her lip, barely breaching inside. “Soon?” was all he asked.

“Soon.” Was all she answered.

The soreness and the bleeding were reducing, and she was back in her tight flesh.

But the Gods must have cursed them some more, because that “soon” never seemed to become “now”.

The sickness didn’t seem willing to leave the poor child alone, along with his parents and the entirety of the Red Keep who had to suffer through his heartbreaking cries day and night.

The Princess had started to feel hopeless and guilty, no matter how many times the nursemaids, and even Queen Alicent, told her it was not her fault, that it was natural. No matter how many times she tried to convince herself they were right. Her heart broke any time the baby cried, wriggling desperately in her arms, in Aemond’s, in the cradle. She would end up crying too as she tried to soothe him, caressing his back with her cheek resting on his timidly silver-haired head.

She was working herself up to exhaustion, often falling asleep with the baby still latched onto her breast. It was Aemond who would take the baby to the cradle, it was Aemond who would button her chemise and pull up the blankets.

She hit rock bottom two weeks after Aenar’s birth, when she realised she hadn’t bathed in four days. Even Aemond, she could swear, was starting to look a little ragged around the edges. You don’t want to be King and take decisions in the middle of a war only to come back to a screaming infant at night.

But then, like a curse lifting, the sickness stopped. Amidst all those days she had stopped counting or even being aware of which was which, Aenar stopped crying. She was ashamed to admit that the first night he slept peacefully in his cradle, she had gone to check on him five times, to see if he was still breathing. 

She began to gradually return to her former self, able to enjoy motherhood with a more rested mind, at least. Physically, she still felt worn out, given how much time she spent breastfeeding or rocking the baby to sleep. But now she was strong enough to take the baby out, walking the gardens with her maids and smiling proudly as the court ladies stopped to congratulate themselves and say how beautiful her baby was.

By doing this, though, she also became aware that she had lived in a bubble for so long that she had almost forgotten there was a war raging, there were battles being fought across the realm.

Reality hits her one day when Alicent goes to visit her and her grandson, bringing the news of a very important victory near the Honeywine, a large river flowing in the Reach, thanks to Prince Daeron Targaryen who had arrived all victorious on that very morning, riding his blue scaled dragon, Tessarion.

The news stuns her for a moment. She had no idea of it, partly because she had been too caught up with Aenar, but also because Aemond had not told her. Yet her family came from the Reach, they lived there, not very far from the Honeywine; her older brother fought for the Green Army. Still, not a word from Aemond.

Taking advantage of Aenar sleeping and the fact that Alicent offered to watch him, she leaves her chambers and heads for the Council. There’s a bustle of lords coming out of the door when she gets there, barely paying her any attention as they hastily babble about armies and supplies and men; always more men to be sent to slaughter.

She stops at the door, widening her eyes at the silver head crossing the threshold, one she hadn’t seen in a long time. “Prince Daeron.”

The youngest son of Queen Alicent and late King Viserys was nothing but a boy. But war had taken its toll on him too. He stood like a man, a Prince, and more than anything, a skilled dragon rider.

“Princess.” He says, tilting his chin down.

She curtsies and sees an immediate gentle smile softening his Valyrian features. “I believe some congratulations are in order.”

“Well, in all fairness, you shall be the most celebrated, my Prince. I’ve just heard of your recent victory.”

His gentle smile lingers, but loses its sparkle. “I must say I much prefer to celebrate life…rather than…the death of innocent men and women.”

There can’t be objections to such a statement; she just nods and casts a distracted glance inside the Council.

“Please…” the Prince says then, making room to let her pass “I won’t keep you away from my brother.”

She turns her head and smiles, tightly. “I’m afraid it is your brother who keeps himself away from me.”

“Heavy is the head that wears the Crown.”

“Indeed.”

The Prince bows to her and leaves.

Closing the door behind her, she glances at Aemond sitting at the head of the table, in the King’s chair, with such effortlessness that he seems to have been born exclusively for that purpose.

“I thought I heard you.” he says absent-mindedly, scribbling down a small piece of parchment. She slowly walks to the windows, casting a single furtive glance down, but she can’t possibly make out what he’s writing, or to whom.

“How’s—"

“Aenar is fine.” She cuts him off. “He’s with your mother, sleeping.”

He stops scribbling, glancing up for a moment. Her voice is tight, cutting. He knows that tone. It’s the same one she used in Harrenhal, as if he should have fallen to his knees and be grateful for the mere fact that she was speaking to him. But he doesn’t have time today to circle around her like a coiling snake, so he goes straight to the point. “Is something the matter?”

“You didn’t tell me of the Honeywine.” She says after a moment, gazing at the Bay.

Aemond sighes, a sign that he was expecting such a question. “You were looking after our son.”

“And?” she’s quick to rebut, quick to reach him at the table and stare down at him. “You didn’t deem it appropriate to inform me of a battle raging in my family lands?”

“I am your family.” He says, stoically, as if common law, and she has to stifle a bitter laugh. The nerve of him. “That is a very lovely concept. Strange how it got lost on you in Harrenhal.”

“Enough!” he barks, and the sudden harshness makes the quill pierce through parchment. “I thought I’d made myself clear.” He warns. “I don’t want to hear another word about the witch. Ever.”

She obediently looks down, regretting having said that, but not entirely. Perhaps she has spent so much time beside him that she, too, can’t let go of her grudges.

“I did not tell you, for I did not want to upset you.” He says, resuming his collected tone. “You were worn out by the baby, I didn’t want to put more weight on your shoulders.”

She knows he’s sincere. Still, her nod is stiff as she looks away, biting her cheek. She is just so sick of it all. Of being regarded as a cunt to be bred at first and now a weakling nailed to a cradle with an infant sucking the life out of her. She knows she’s not the first, and she won’t be the last.

Aemond leaves the quill and stands up, circling until he’s close to her. “Your family is fine.” He tells her, lingering behind her. “Daeron spoke to your brother this morning.”

She keeps nodding, keeping her gaze down on the table, all scattered with maps and little dragon-shaped tokens, some black, some green. She frowns, letting warfare soothe her petty spirits. “What is this?”

“Our next move. A defense plan…which happens to be an attack plan too.”

“A pincher?”

She turns just in time to see the little surprise on his face. “My brother talked of nothing else when we were children. He slept with warfare books as pillows.”

“Hmm.” He muses, and takes a step closer, slipping his arm around her waist and resting his chin on her collarbone. “Show me.”

She shudders at his sudden proximity, at his breath blowing on her neck. She shudders at anything these days. A hand on her back, his legs fumbling beneath the covers and casually brushing against hers. She’s tight as a fiddle string.

“A pincher is nothing else but a decoy.” She explains. “You let your enemy believe they have you trapped…” and in saying this, she grabs his hand and moves it across the map. “And then…at the right moment…” she makes him hold a green token between his fingers and brings it near a little division of black ones “you strike on both flanks.” And with a swift flick of her wrist, his hand scatters all the black tokens across the table. To do so, she must lean over the table, accidentally brushing her lower back against his bulge. He’s not hard, yet, but it thrills her to feel the lightning quick effect she has on him.

“Hmm. Good. Very good.” He praises next to her ear as she withdraws her hand; his voice is so low it makes her spine shiver. But she keeps herself grounded and asks “When will this happen?”

“Soon.” he whispers, placing his hand flat on her stomach. “There’s another Small Council shortly but Aegon wanted to be present. They went to fetch him.”

“Well, then I shall retire to my chambers. I feel a bit lightheaded from all the thinking.”

He ignores her jab and keeps her still by the arm when she tries to move. There’s a little sly smirk pulling at his lips. “I have some time to spare.”

“And how do you propose we spend it?”

“Enough with your pantomimes. I can feel your legs squirming.”

Curse him.

He slips the other hand straight into her corset, cupping her breast and humming with delight at how full she is, how it fills his large hand entirely. “Are you wet for me, my love?”

His teeth sink down her lobe, and at the same time, he pinches her nipple between his thumb and index, forcing an indecorous whine out of her. “My, my…” he laughs darkly, torturing her sensitive skin until he feels something wet on his fingertips, probably milk. “I could make you come just by doing this.”

Powerless, she yields, leaning completely against him, rubbing her lower back for some friction. “What if someone enters?”

“We’ll make it quick.”

“But I don’t want it to be quick.” She pants, grabbing his hand on her breast and squeezing; the other crawls behind her back to try to feel him through his breeches. 

Hissing, when she starts to palm him, he says “Then we let them watch. They get to see how pretty you look when you come on my fingers, or my cock. Which should it be?”

“Both. Anything.” She answers hastily, pulling at his collar to bring him close enough to kiss him. He hums contentedly when she does, twirling his tongue around hers. It soon gets messy, each of them fighting for dominance, winning and losing in turn, until he spins her around, so he can look at her and with both his hands, he seizes her gowns and pulls up, furiously rummaging through them.

“How many fucking layers have you on?”

“I’m not pregnant anymore.” she points out, unbuckling his belt.

“Pity. Perhaps I should fuck another one into you to keep you in your skimpy robes.”

“Don’t you dare, Aemond—” 

“Gods be good, brother! That eager to make another one?”

They both startle like little children caught doing something naughty, turning their heads towards the door, where two servants are carrying King Aegon on a chair. Aemond sighs annoyingly, letting go of her gowns as she does with his belt, trying to compose herself.

“My King.” She says, greeting her good brother with a tight little smile.

Aegon’s appearance has improved since Rook’s Rest, just as the burnings, but he carries with him the smell of Milk of the Poppy and rotting skin everywhere he goes. 

“Good-sister. What are you doing here? Apart from being ravished by my brother... should you not be breastfeeding?”

Aemond gives him a level stare and then looks at her, hoping she will not take the bait. Aegon and his wife never got along well, to say the least. Things had only escalated with time, to the point that whenever they found themselves in the same room, one of them would wisely leave, his wife most of the times, lest they start to hiss at each other like two cats fighting for territory.

“What if I intend to stay and attend the council?”

Aegon giggles, as the servants put down the chair, and after a quick glance below her neck he says “I’m afraid you would be a little distracting. And my brother is not one for sharing.”

Before she can ask what in the Seven he is blabbing about, Aemond takes her arm and makes her turn, shielding her from his brother and the Lords coming through the door.

“You should retire.” He curtly says.

“Are you taking his side again?” she asks, wriggling her arm to free herself from his hold.

“You’re leaking.” He informs her, flatly. 

At that, she frowns and dips her chin down, watching the front of her dress practically soaked in milk. “Oh.”

“I shall join you when I’m done here.” He tells her, and lets her out through the side doors.

Aemond did not join her.

The council lasted until the evening, a recurring thing when Aegon attended. Aemond was stern and concise in his decisions. Aegon liked to laze around, enjoying the wine in his cup, rattling his younger brother’s nerves. Deep down, she was convinced that Aegon did not really want to attend the Council because really interested in what to do, but only to remind his brother that he was still breathing and that the Conqueror's Crown on Aemond's head was a temporary measure.

But it didn’t matter. She would join him for the banquet in honor of Prince Daeron.

She was thrilled to go. It was not a proper feast. Since Helaena had fallen into grief, the atmosphere within the walls of the Keep had become rather austere. But a banquet still meant an occasion for conviviality, and after weeks and weeks spent locked up within four walls, the Princess was eager to spend some time outside her chambers. She had felt like a terrible mother at the mere thought. She loved Aenar, how could she not? But she also loved herself, her family, her marriage, Aemond. Especially Aemond.

Once she had put the baby to sleep, she had ordered her maid to prepare one of her favorite dresses, a green one, and to tie her hair in an elegant braided bun. When she had looked in the mirror, she had almost grunted. The scarce and troubled hours of sleep were all evident in the dark circles under her eyes, but it was nothing a little egg-white couldn't temper.

When she arrived at the banquet, Aemond was already there, standing in his usual soldierly stance, intent on talking to his mother. She approached them from the side, Aemond's blind side precisely, so that when she announced herself, he had to turn his shoulder to look at her. He cast a glance at her hair, ran his eye over her entire figure. She wasn’t expecting any kind of sappy words, and certainly not in front of his mother, nor did she desire them. She could feast on that look alone.

Queen Alicent excused herself to give order about the banquet, and they were left alone, while some musicians gathered in a corner of the hall.

“You said you would join me. I thought they abducted you.”

“More or less.”

“Ah. Yes, I'm sure it must have been so hard for you to listen to the lords snapping like little soldiers at your command.”

“It pains me to acknowledge how little you know me, when you think I'd rather talk war with those wimps who can't even hold a sword than fuck my wife till dawn.”

“That was your plan?”

“We have some unfinished business, don’t we? And don’t play dumb. You’re wearing green. You’re not as subtle as you think you are either.”

“Good. I’m sick of subtleties. So, are you going to ask me to dance?”

Aemond rolled his eye and gave her a stare that told her he’d preferred to walk barefoot on lava.

“Still not fond of dancing, eh?”

Prince Daeron suddenly appeared between them, with his cheerful manner and his head of silver curls, dressed in dark green just like his older brother. “Strange. You were the only one listening to the lessons when we were children.”

“Yes, because you and Aegon acted as court jesters the whole time.”

“I’ll have you know, brother, I have refined my dancing skills in Oldtown. So…may I dance with my good sister?”

Aemond gave him a simple nod, and Daeron bowed to her gallantly, raising his palm up.

She kindly accepted the invitation and placed her hand on his. “Don’t sulk too much.” She whispered to her husband before following his brother.

Aemond watched closely as they started to dance, stealing all the attention, and despite that little primitive tug at the sight of his woman dancing with another man, even though that was his brother and there was absolutely nothing malicious in his or her intentions, he was glad to see her like this, spinning and twisting around instead of lying still in the cold with dread eating her alive.

When the dance ended, Daeron escorted the Princess back to Aemond and took his leave. “Remind me again,” she asked as she watched the young Prince leave “How is it that your brother is still unmarried?”

Aemond sighed deeply and took her arm to escort her to the table. “I’d give you one week before you’d get bored of him.”

While they waited for dinner, the lords and ladies of the court were obviously very eager to hear Prince Daeron. Alicent in the first place, after so much despair, and after being separated from her youngest son for years, seemed to smile with her eyes every time she heard him speak.

“Hear, hear!” one of the lords cheered after listening to Prince Daeron’s retelling of the Battle of the Honeywine. “A brave soldier and a brave dragon rider! I propose a toast.”

At once, everybody stood up, raising their glasses. “To Prince Daeron, to House Targaryen!”

“And to House Hightower.” The Prince proudly stated, raising his glass towards his mother.

As they sat back, the Queen ordered the servants to serve the dinner. The table was gradually filled with a great variety of dishes, many of them Prince Daeron's favourites, specifically ordered by his mother to make him feel at home. It had been weeks and weeks since such a banquet had been seen at King's Landing. Prince Daeron seemed very pleased and grateful, as did all those present who watched the rich dishes crowd the table, and lastly, the huge tray of fresh fruit that a servant laid in the middle.

“I can’t quite believe my eyes. Blackberries? This far in the season?” said Lady Bracken.

“I’m afraid that is entirely my fault.” The Princess chirped, catching Aemond’s attention from across the table.

“I had a sudden craving, while I was carrying Aenar.”

“I had one too with my first.” Lady Redwyne joined in. “Plums, specifically.”

“Did you find them agreeable, Princess?”

“Oh, very much indeed.” She stated, casting an innocent glance around, but lingering for just a moment longer on her husband. “I devoured so many…I still feel the taste on my tongue.”

Devious woman, he thought, fighting back his cursed smirk. He had half a mind to excuse themselves and retire to their chambers, if he managed to endure it all the way and not take her in the middle of a hallway.

She seemed able to read his mind, judging by the way she was looking at him, unfurling a napkin on her lap. He knew her well enough to foresee when she was in a teasing spirit, and he was all in for it.

But then, just when they were about to start eating, her trusted maid came in, going straight to the Princess. “Apologies your Grace.” she said to her ear “but the Princeling is awake.”

Aemond saw the concern instantly widening her eyes and then a shadow passing over her face. “Yes…” she said, and stood up talking to all the present. “My apologies. I must retire.”

“See?” said Lady Bracken as Aemond watched his wife leave the hall. “This is why I refused to breastfeed. No matter how my second would scream…”

By the time she had done breastfeeding, her chest hurt so much that the maid had to place some rags soaked in cold water directly on her nipples; the instant relief had made the Princess close her eyes and almost moan. She had planned to go back to the banquet as soon as Aenar had had his fill but as she gained relief by pressing those wet rags to her breasts, she realised her son wouldn’t let her get away that easily.

As soon as the maid had taken him, trying to put him to sleep, he had begun to fuss and wriggle, whining in what she knew would soon turn into a high-pitched, deaf inducing crying.

Perhaps he’s cursed too. She had thought exhaustingly, promptly kissing his silver little head.

She gave up on her plan to go back to the banquet and rocked the baby herself, pacing before the windows while whispering sweet soothing words.

As soon as he had dozed off, she put him in his crib and absent-mindedly grabbed a book from Aemond's desk, lazily leafing through it while rocking the cradle with the other hand.

Aemond finds her like this when he opens the door on his way back from the banquet. She looks up from the page and sees him striding purposefully towards her, snatching the little book in her hands and throwing it on the bed.

She’s shocked, to say the least. One might say he treats books far better than his subjects.

“What—“ she tries to say but he takes her hand and pulls, forcing her to stand up and follow his steady gait.

“Aemond?” she asks down the corridor, a girlish grin climbing on her lips. “Where are you taking me?”

He doesn’t bother to answer but she doesn’t have to wait long to find out. They stop before a door down the corridor opposite to their chambers, Aemond pushes her inside without so much grace and shuts the door behind them. 

She looks around briefly; the room is warm, the fire in the hearth is lit, as the candles scattered all around. This is all familiar. “These are my old chambers…” she says with a little frown, turning to him.

“Quite the observer, wife.” He drawls, and takes a few steps. His stride is different now. Slow, contemplating, as his gaze raking over her, as if he in the first place doesn’t know why he brought her here and he’s assessing what to do. A war map, and he knows where all the faults lie.

“I thought we could spend some time together” he starts, walking past her to go sit near the fire “Alone.” he adds once he leisurely sits down, crossing his long legs and resting his hands on the armrests. “What better place than a vacant room? No one will come looking for us here.”

She tries as hard as she can to stop the little smirk at the corner of her lips; she walks closer, stopping right in front of him, staring down. “They might hear.” 

“Hmm. And that is much of a trouble for you, isn’t it?” he asks with the most fake genuine tone, taking a cup from the nearby table, and then “You sucked my cock on a terrace and begged me to fuck you in the Small Council…I thought I told you to quit your act.”

She smiles openly now, watching the wine pouring in the cup, his eye fixed on the liquid as his eyebrow shots up. “Besides, I know exactly what to do to muffle your noises.”

“You should be proud of my noises.”

“I am.” He says, taking a sip of wine, his eye piercing through her above the cup’s brim. “But for once, Aegon is right. I’m not one for sharing.”

His arm moves to put the wine aside but she takes it, only to feel his hand pulling the cup away from her. “You cannot drink.”

“Fine.” She concedes, leaning on him. “I’ll have it my way.”

She holds his face and with her left hand she glides her fingers on the left side of his face, delicately but with purpose, pushing the eyepatch off. And then she kisses him, eagerly, licking his lips and then breaching inside to taste the wine on his tongue, on the roof of his mouth.

She sighs deeply when he locks his tongue with hers, and feels his lips curling.

“Did you hear it?” He says breaking the kiss, breathing into her mouth. “That one is my favorite.”

“Your favorite what?” She asks mindlessly, chasing his lips but to no use, because he tilts his head back, his cursed smirk ghosting.

“Noise. It’s a little thing…” he tells her, locking one hand around her neck “in the back of your throat, close to a sigh but not quite…” his fingers trails against her throat, chasing her swallowing “It tells me you’re dying to.”

“To do what?”

“Fall on your knees for me. Be a supplicant.”

She grabs the back of his neck, driving his head close and looks down at his arched mouth “You cannot live without God, can you?” She looks up, her mouth open to breathe “Seven of them seem to have cursed me. I had to find my own.”

His eye widens at that. He looks straight into her eyes, so devoted, so raw. She’s right. The Gods would curse her some more if they saw she looks at him the way she should look at the Gods.

“Then do it.”

“What?”

“Flatteries don’t work on me, sweetling. You should know that.” With his hand on her neck, he slightly pushes her away, making some distance between them. “You will have to show me.”

“What would you have me do?”

His hands let go of her completely, resting on the armchair. The gemstone glints blue, and yet it’s nowhere near the bright cursed thing in his eye. “Get on your knees for me. Now.”

She should be ashamed of the pull in her bones, the muscles willing to move on their own accord and fall to the ground. But why, why does it have to be sin? Why can it not be religion?

When her knees hit the ground, she sees his chest rise, his long fingers spreading flat on the armchair. But her eyes fly back to his face as soon as he speaks, as soon as he commands. “Take off your dress.”

His eye sinks down, watching her hands work the corset, steadily. It’s the only sound in the room, this tugging, at the dress. But she tugs at his cock too. She tugs between her own legs.

When the dress is nothing but a pool of green on the ground, she goes to pull down her white chemise, but she suddenly stops. Aemond uncrosses his legs and the air hitches in her throat as his hands go straight to his belt, unbuckling it.

He revels in the little lump in her throat. Perhaps later he will let her have what she’s craving, but not so soon. “Give me your wrists.”

“My—”

“Don’t make me say it again.”

Swallowing, she keeps her eyes on him and raises her hands, like an offering. Aemond takes off his belt and leans forward, enough to take her hands and cross her wrists. She shudders at the sharp tug when he wraps the leather around, tying them tight.

“On your feet.”

And up she goes, testing her hands briefly but finding soon that she cannot move them, at all.

“Come.”

It takes one swift movement of his leg, bending the knee while the other rests loosely on the ground, for her to get the gist and walk closer, sitting on his knee, sideways.

“No. Like this.” Quite harshly, he grabs her hips and turns her so that she’s straddling his thigh. He can hear her little gasp when he pushes his thigh firmly against her core. He can feel her warmth through the fabric, stirring his cock. But he pays it no mind, for now.

“What now?” She asks, poised precariously on his thigh. 

Aemond tilts his head, and he just looks at her. In the spur of a moment, a boyish one that doesn’t sit well with how he’s built, he thinks he might be quite contented by merely looking at her. Because she’s beautiful and mine, mine, mine.

But his hands are burning, they might fray and wither if he doesn’t touch her. He unties her hair, running his fingers through them as they fall around her shoulders. The Maiden. The Mother. And yet something better, something worse. Because her eyes are hungry, her mouth is starving for air, for his flesh.

“You must toil to find God.” He says, and then he grins. A savage thing, full of promise. “Bring yourself to come.”

A flash of thrill lights up her face, darkens her eyes and Aemond tilts his head again, biding all the time in the world, for he knows she will.

Tentatively, she pushes her body down, against his thigh, feeling a timid shot of pleasure traveling up from her core, ending in a short, labored breath.

That noise, that might be his second favorite.

Soon, her hips start to move back and forth, each time trying to push herself down as hard as she can, making little breathless cries each time she fails to give herself the friction she needs. She has little balance due to her tied wrists, so she rests her palms on his chest to gain some leverage. And that seems to do the trick.

She tilts her head back, moving faster, doing little jumps on his thigh, panting harshly as sweat lumps on her forehead and pleasure coils in her belly.

Aemond hikes up her chemise, watches her cunt brushing back and forth against his leg, leaving a trail of wetness on the fabric of his breeches. He has to choke down a growl. “Gods, you’re soaking me…”

She looks down at him, her cheeks pink, her lips open in a little o. He can’t help himself. He sticks two fingers inside and how relishing it is that she waits for no invitation or order. She laps, twirls her tongue around his fingertips, sucks them.

“Look at you…” he croons, taking his fingers out, leaving a trail of saliva down her chin. “But you can’t, can you? Perhaps I should fuck you before a mirror, so you see. You see how pretty you are when you’re desperate for me.”

His hand travels down her neck, tossing her hair back and then grasping the strap of her chemise, pulling it down, revealing her swollen, turgid breast. He leans forward immediately, cupping it in his hand, and takes the nipple into his mouth, crooning contentedly and then some more when he feels her wince and cry out loud.

Her tied wrists writhe in their merciless hold and he stops her, gripping both her hands with one of his own, keeping her still, lapping and sucking at her nipple until he feels something wet and saccharine on his tongue, humming all the better. He grazes his teeth over the sensitive bud, and she cries out again, bucking violently against him, turning sloppy and frenzy as she feels the fall close.

He feels it too, feels her thighs trembling around him, and that’s when he takes her hips in a tight hold and forces her to stop altogether.

“Did you think I would make it so easy?” he asks spitefully, seeing her dazed expression. Wasting no time, he holds her firmly close to him and stands up. It takes him only two of his long steps to reach the bed and place her above. In a moment of illusive freedom, her tied wrists fly to his breeches, to his evident hardness, but he’s quick to stop her, bringing her arms above her head, keeping them there with a firm hold. “Stay still.”

“Aemond—“ she pleads.

“Hush. Spread your legs.”

She obliges, eager for him to do something, anything to stop the aching. Aemond wets his fingers on his tongue and brings them down, breaching inside her with two of them, watching her gasp, arch her back and twist her wrists in his hold, uselessly. “Easy…” he cruelly laughs “I have just started.”

But she hasn’t. She’s a few steps away from the precipice of her previous denied peak, it would take him so little to push her over the edge. Instead, his torture is so slow that the whole coiling in her belly falls apart and she must climb her peak again.

His two fingers slip in and out ever so easily, their wet sounds echoing through the room, mixed with her panted breaths and his own. He aches for her to touch him, he aches so much that his cock is pulsing, painfully, but this is just too thrilling. Now he knows exactly how she felt in Harrenhal, when she had him chained up to a chaise.

Her hips rock frantically against his hand, trying to speed him, to get there faster. Mumbling nonsense, her legs tense like iron, her cunt clenches and sucks his fingers in like a vice. “Yes…yes, please…Aemond…please don’t stop—‘m so close…”

And just like that, he slips his fingers out; a dark pleasure dances on his candle-lit features as she writhes and whines for the loss of his fingers, swinging her lower back and forth, desperate for the barest friction that would end her misery.

“Aemond, please…” she says, and even with only one eye, he can’t mistake the tears of frustration at the corners of her eyes.

“What, my love?”

“Plea—” she’s cut off by his hand, pushing his sticky fingers inside to make her clean up her mess.

“We said enough with subtleties, did we not? Speak. Tell me…what you need me to do?”

“Let me come please…please…”

At that, he finally lets her wrists go, and she almost winces in pain, for the time she had them tensed above her head. He stalls for a moment, unsure, running his eye over her whole body, sweating and feverish, and so beautifully plump because of motherhood. He unbuttons his doublet, and then his shirt, his breeches. He bares himself completely, catching her eyes following his deft hands everywhere, breathing heavily.

He kneels between her legs, spreading them. And it’s embarrassing, really, the way she tumbles as soon as he puts his tongue flat against her drenched folds. If only she cared.

It takes only a couple of twirls of his tongue around her lips, and she comes undone, shaking all over, canting her slit against his face. He helps her ride out her climax, by not stopping at all. Instead, he doubles his efforts like a man possessed, pushing his mouth open against her cunt as if he wished to devour it, sucking harshly until she whimpers hard, choking on a loud sob. “Aemond—wait—I can’t—”

She cannot take more so soon. But he’s utterly deaf to her complaints.

He feasts on her, lapping and dipping his tongue in, parting her folds to go as deep as he can, humming while drinking all of her; his voice reverberates through her flesh, it makes her bones rattle.

His long nose rubs against her bud and he looks up: she trashes about the sheets, cutting herself as the belt leather scratches her skin. She tries to push him away with her tied wrists, to no use. She clamps her legs around his head, in a desperate attempt to chase him away, sobbing for the unbearable stimulation. And yet…and yet her hips move on their own whim, bucking with sharp jolts until the wave starts to rise, higher and higher, and she drowns in it, letting go a high-pitched cry, clutching his scalp with both her tied hands, scraping, pushing him against her as she rides her peak against his face.  

He swallows everything, licking her clean, moaning softly at feeling her pulsing on his tongue.

“Enough…I—Aemond you have to stop…” she rasps breathlessly.  

“Why?” he asks, finally rising from where he had perched himself; he climbs on her, until he speaks to her face. “I am only making up to you. Wasn’t that what you wanted?”

She can smell herself on him, she can see herself, glistening on his mouth, chin, even his cheekbones.

“Answer me.” His hand grips her jaw “You said you wanted everything.”

She chokes down a whimper when he leans completely on her, feeling his cock against her cooling flesh, while he’s hot and hard and heavy.

“I will give you more.” He says, brushing a strand of her sweat-soaked hair from her temple. “I will give you another child. Keep you all aching and wet for me while you swell with my child. Do you think I don’t know? How you ached for me? D’you think I didn’t?” he presses himself down, so she can feel it thoroughly, furrowing her brow as her body already answers to his call.

 “I can feel you in our bed…” he keeps rasping “rubbing your legs together. And you know how much that bothers me. Your pleasure is mine to take…and to give.”

Her lips part, gasping roughly. She was so hung on his lips that she hadn’t even registered that he had taken hold of himself, bending her knee on his left hip, and guided himself in.

She arches against him while he slowly sheathes himself all the way in, moaning with long-awaited relief. He stays still for a moment, adjusting, but also because he takes her wrists and sets her hands free.

Thrilling as it was, he wants her hands on him, he craves her touch.

He wants her to cling to his shoulders as she always does, digging her nails down.

He wants her to clamp her fingers on the back of his neck, scraping and pulling his hair to keep him close enough to moan into his mouth.

He wants her hands on his back, sliding down, to push him even deeper while rutting inside her.

And she does all of that. She finds God.

[vermithorn]

crying and begging for a little aemond pegging drabble in these times

AEMOND + PEGGING

contains: afab!reader, modern!aemond, strap-on dildo, pegging, anal fingering, too much lube (please use it),

author’s note: got two requests for this with aemond, so i hope y’all like it! I WANT HIM OK I WANT HIM SO BAD HES SO ANNOYING I WILL TAKE CARE OF HIM !

send your requests for my milestone event!

Aemond’s eye stared at you, breathing heavily with a frown on him. “I am sure, stop asking.”

You rolled your eyes, taking a step closer to him, as he was laying on the bed, an emotionless expression on his face as you caressed his jaw, tracing his scar gently. He looked up at you, his lilac eye studying your movements.

“I just want to make sure we are on the same page, love.” He scoffed but didn’t move away from your touch.

“I am sure,” He repeated, trying his best to conceal his excitement, but you could easily read through him. “I want this.”

You smirked, “I know you do, but I wonder,” Your hand traced his thighs until they reached his cock, your left hand stayed there slowly pumping it, and the other kept his path downwards his perineum until you had two fingers deep inside his stretched (and very lubed) hole, “I could just keep fingering your tight little ass, making you come with only my fingers.”

Aemond was a curious man, after all, he wanted to try everything once for the sake of knowledge. He brought up the idea in the first place, and you were more than delighted to comply.

He made sure to have all the supplies for the event and did extensive research he later forwarded you via fucking email.

He grunted, looking at you impatiently, but his eye betrayed him, the intense lust he felt in that precise moment was too much for him.

“I want you to fuck me, I won’t repeat myself.” His voice broke at the last word when your two fingers brushed his prostate. “F-fuck you.”

“Love, don’t be rude.” He gasped, muffling a moan with his hand as your fingers kept moving inside of him, nudging ever so slightly on his prostate.

You decided he was ready when he started shivering, not wanting him to peak before you got a chance to bury yourself in his tight hole.

He watched you remove your fingers from his hole and your hand from his cock, taking a step towards your nightstand where everything was carefully laid out by him a few hours before.

You took pleasure seeing him gulp as you dropped your sweatpants to the floor, revealing your bare cunt to him. You slowly started sliding into the strap-on, securing it the belt on your waist. You picked the size against Aemond’s wishes to have a choice in the matter, a very nice 7-inch dildo attached to the strap-on in a lilac color, almost matching Aemond’s eye.

You turned around to show him the dildo fully, which was standing up and proudly lilac, you grinned at him. “How do I look?”

His pupil dilated, licking his lips, “Good.”

You rolled your eyes, walking towards the bed. “All fours, love.” He complied with a grunt of annoyance, his body moving swiftly and hair falling from his shoulders as he took his position, presenting his gaping hole to you.

“My love, you look so pretty like this,” You caressed his back, a hand softly trailing from his spine to his hole, adding more lube, the coldness of it making him tremble. “Why we haven’t done this before? I want to die inside of you.”

He did his best to muffle a moan, and in a moment of weakness he whispered, “Make love to me.”

“I will, my love.” You lubed the strap on, putting an absurd amount on the lilac dildo, you positioned yourself behind Aemond, the tip of your cock on his hole, teasing him as you slowly eased in.

He gasped, writhing as you pushed into him watching mesmerized as your plastic cock eased into his gaping hole. “Fuck, you’re so pretty.”

You tried going slow, but he rocked his hips backward until he had your cock buried inside his ass, he whined loudly as he stilled.

“This.. this feels so good.” You knew he was blushing furiously as he stuttered the words out.

You grinned wolfishly, “Want to come only thanks to my cock, love?”

vermithorn © do not copy, repost or translate my works.