#aemond x female

[targaryenrealnessdarling]

For King and Kin

22/12: Party and Position Changes - Aemond Targaryen Word Count: 1.6k~ | Warnings: mentions of pregnancy, smut, prince regent aemond, doggy

12 Days of Smuff Masterlist

“She is of a weak disposition, I heard. Perhaps she is with child.”

“The Prince Regent certainly needs an heir.”

“He has looked sour since his Lady Wife left the celebrations.”

Aemond scoffed from his spot at the high table, circling a finger over the rim of his cup, half-filled with wine. They spoke as if he did not hear them, whispering such gossip. It was infuriating.

It was true that his lady wife suffered from sickness, especially in the mornings, but not exclusively. The maesters had told him in quiet confidence that they suspected she was with child, but that it was sensible to wait until the quickening to confirm.

What an excruciating wait.

She had graced the court with her presence earlier in the evening, but when she began to feel her stomach churning, she need only pay him a furrow of her brows in pain and he was more than happy to allow her rest if she needed it.

He was willing to carry her even, excuse himself from the celebrations himself. But she reassured him she was still able to walk, with a small, amused smile.

Even with the conqueror's crown planted firmly upon his head, all he could think of was the sweet curve of his wife's body in his. How warm she is. How smooth her skin. How plush her thighs. How tight her—

“Your Grace.”

Aemond blinked, swallowing thickly as he felt his breeches tighten at the mere tangent his mind was about to embark upon. Nothing softened him faster than the sight of Ser Tyland Lannister though, smug and stood tall as if he himself had been crowned instead of him.

“I wish to congratulate you on your Regency. As always your council will remain steadfast and trustworthy. And should you ever desire a Hand—”

“Thank you, Ser Tyland,” Aemond half-smiled, half-grimaced, “your loyalty is appreciated.”

Aemond nodded curtly to Ser Tyland, signalling the conversation was over, though the Lannister lingered a moment too long for Aemond’s liking before finally bowing and stepping away. 

His good eye drifted across the festivities. Everyone was drunk at best, smiles too wide, laughter too hollow, and he was overcome with the sudden desire to leave it all behind. He glanced in his mother’s direction as he pushed his chair out, her brown eyes wide with curiosity and judgement perhaps. 

She had given him no other look since Rook’s Rest.

“I believe they’ve seen enough of me tonight,” Aemond said, his tone firm. “The realm will not crumble if its Regent retires an hour early.”

“Aemond–”

“Mother,” he interrupted, his voice low but final.

It was only in the hall where he felt he could finally breathe. Air flowed easily, no longer stifled by the pomp and proper of the evening he had just sought to leave. He opened the heavy door to their chambers and stepped inside. The fire had burned low and she was already in bed, lying on her side, her hair spilling over the pillow.

“You left early,” he said quietly, closing the door behind him.

Her eyes opened slowly, and a small smile curved her lips. “And yet you followed.”

As he reached the bed, she shifted to sit up, the blanket pooling around her waist. “I thought you’d stay longer. Your mother will have words, I’m sure.”

“She always does,” he replied, sitting on the edge of the bed. His hand reached out to brush a strand of hair from her face. “Are you feeling unwell?”

Her gaze dropped for a moment, her fingers grazing her stomach in that way that had haunted him all evening. “No,” she said softly. “Just…tired.”

He hummed, “when will the maesters give their opinion?”

She looked up at him then, her expression caught somewhere between apprehension and hope. “They said it would be unwise to speculate for a few more weeks,” she replied. “But I am aware patience is not your strong suit, is it?”

He smirked faintly. “It is not.”

“You’ve waited for so much, Aemond,” she said softly, her voice warm and soothing, eyes glancing up at the conqueror’s crown sat atop his head. “A little longer won’t harm you.”

“Hm,” he murmurs, crawling over the bed towards her delicate form, pressing his face to her stomach with his hands on her hips, “spare me, dear wife. Have the maesters forbade coupling? I do not think I can wait.”

Her fingers threaded through his hair as she let out a soft laugh. “No,” she said, “but we must be careful. They warned against anything too…strenuous. Until we know for certain.”

“I am no beast,” he muffled against her shift, bunching it up as if desperate to touch her flesh, “I know restraint.”

“I seem to recall differently,” she countered with a teasing lilt.

With a hand to his chest, she pushes him back, enough to be able to straddle his lap as he sits with his back against the bed frame. For a moment his pupil widened slightly and she relished in the warm pride that spread through her at his reaction. 

She wasted no time. Unlacing his breeches was the simple part, but in this position, face to face, it was novel and intimate, more than usual. It was always Aemond on top, commanding her body to his. She wasn't sure how her husband was likely to cope with the change.

His breath hitched, eye closing as she pulled his cock free and worked him to full hardness, her slight palm massaging the ruddy tip, knowing what he liked. He was surely about to speak before she rose her hips, and the tip of him kissed her waiting slit, and slowly, slowly took her husband to the hilt.

Her movements were slow, deliberate, her hands braced against his chest as she guided them both into a steady rhythm. Aemond’s hands gripped her hips, his fingers pressing into her flesh as he resisted the urge to take control. He let her lead, his lips parting as a low groan escaped him.

“Ābrazȳrys” his voice caught, his eye blazing as he gazed up at her. “You are perfection.”

She leaned forward, her fingers threading through his silver hair, and pressed her lips to his. The dark crown brushed her fingertips, and in her annoyed breath, she slipped it from his head onto the bed. An action only the wife of the Prince Regent in this intimate moment would ever get away with.

Their breaths mingled, their shared movements growing more heated, more desperate. It felt good to roll her hips against him, each slide home was easy, aided by her unending desire to please him. But soon, she began to slow, the strain in her thighs becoming too much.

Her brows furrowed, her rhythm faltering as she let out a shaky breath. “Aemond.”

He must have felt the shake, as he was already moving her off his lap, “enough. Allow me.”

He guided her off him carefully, laying her down on her side before helping her onto her hands and knees. She looked over her shoulder, her eyes wide, and for a moment, uncertainty flickered across her face.

Her cheeks burned as he pulled the shift over her backside, pulling her legs apart so he might see the wetness that glazed her womanhood. She felt exposed and utterly at his mercy in such a compromising position.

Not to mention, this was uncharted territory.

“We’ve never…” she began, her voice trailing off.

Aemond smirked, his fingers trailing down her spine. “No,” he murmured, his tone low, “but we will now.”

He positioned himself behind her, and watched with curiosity and admiration, as for from this angle, he was able to watch himself disappear inside, swallowed by her silky walls. She gasped in turn, this was deeper than she had ever felt him, with her spine curved and backside held against him. Her fingers clutched the sheets as his pace began slow enough, before his restraint began to ebb away.

“Alright?” he rasped, leaning forward to press kisses along her shoulder, his voice rough with both pleasure and concern.

Her hips instinctively pushed back, “don't stop…”

Her approval shocked him, but ignited his confidence all the same as he began to push into her with renewed vigour. She was surprised at how much she liked it, the way he fit against her, the way his hands held her so firmly. It felt raw, intimate, and utterly consuming.

His hands slid up to her waist as he felt her peak quiver through her body, her walls spasming around him and in the force of it, her arms gave out and she pressed her front to the sheets. She swore she felt the palm of his hand on her lower stomach, stroking lovingly as he reached his, pushing hot, pearly ropes of his release so much inside her, that she felt it dribble down her thigh.

Aemond helped her shift onto her side, gathering her into his arms as they both caught their breath. His hand instinctively returned to her stomach, his thumb brushing over the soft skin in slow, soothing circles.

“You will let me know once the maesters give their opinion, won’t you?”

“Of course,” she replied, leaning into him. “But tonight, you are Prince Regent. Let us celebrate that.”

Aemond shook his head, his lips curling into a rare, genuine smile. His gaze softened as he looked at her, his wife, who had managed to calm the storm in him more times than he cared to admit.

“Tonight, I am your husband. Nothing else matters.”

General Taglist: @1lluminaticonfirmed @aemondsfavouritebastard @all-for-aemond @bellstwd @blackswxnn

@blairfox04 @buckybarnesb-tch @castellomargot @cl-0-vr @eddieslut69

@emmaisafictionwhore @eponaartemisa @hb8301 @jamespotterismydaddy @justbelljust

@minholy223 @mochi-rose @natty2017 @nenelysian @nixiefics

@primonizzutto @qyburnsghost @randomdragonfires @risefallrise @sheshellsseashells

[desireangel]

Bad Things | Aemond Targaryen

Summary: Aemond is plagued with doubts and seeks refuge in the one place where he is at peace with himself; between his beloved wife's legs.

Pairing: Aemond x fem!reader

Word Count: 2.6k

Warnings: MDNI, 18+ only!! this is so in Aemond's thoughts, self doubt, lack of remorse, smut, oral (f receiving), talk of sex, slight breeding kink, Aemond is lost in his head and obsessed with eating his wife out, Aemond may be prince regent of Westeros but he is king of eating pussy, unedited, hmm kinda just porn really - let me know to add anything if need be!

Author's Note: Came home drunk (typos??? potentially. unnecessary droning on??? potentially.) after a couple cocktails and had the urge to erm write. About oral sex specifically, of course. Anywayssss, enjoy (I hope!) - xoxo kisses!!! <3

Masterlist!

Sometimes Aemond let his mind wander to all that could have been and all that could come to be had he only made his decisions differently. He seldom felt regret - never felt as if he would change the things that have led him towards the path of greatness he was on. But what ifs and the memory of failures are as stubborn as a newborn plague and Aemond was just as vulnerable to illness as those whom he revered and those whom he detested. 

It was warm under the light of the setting sun, a kiss on his skin as Aemond rested against the balcony at the window and watched over what he longed to have for himself. If things had been different, at any time and any place, where would he be now?

The thought of living his life without his injury had come to sicken him but it lingered at the back of his mind. Had certain moments taken a different turn, would he still feel the need to drive people to respect him through fear and prove himself worthy at every chance he could find? Aemond swallowed at the thought. And he stood there, looking to the skies as if the clouds could free him from the suffocation of the feelings that had haunted him since the night he lost his eye. 

Feelings of failure, feelings of defeat, feelings of fear and feelings of humiliation. 

Even after meeting you, and understanding that loving you meant different things - things he wasn’t familiar with, things he wasn’t sure he was capable of becoming familiar with - the lingering thought of what if was all consuming.

Aemond could hear you coming seconds before you were beside him. He was thankful you stood by his side, silently and wordlessly as your eyes dragged across his face, analysing what you could of his thoughts from his perfected emotionless expression. Quiet moments like this, where Aemond got lost in his mind grew fewer at each move he made within this war.

But here you both were, silently in each other’s company. Aemond was a passionate lover. But he was also at times a cold and imperfect partner. And some of those times where he retreated into himself, although he had rarely lost control of himself in front of you, left him vexed at your presence.  

Because to Aemond, you were perfect. Frustrating at times but that was often the fault of his own lack of patience and tolerance. You were, at the end of the day, too perfect. He saw your compassion, your empathy, your kindness. And he saw your strength, your wit, your fearsome loyalty.

And here Aemond was, unable to even regret many of the times he acted without any of those perfect things. After the fate that Lucerys had met, Aemond found he could not find it in himself to feel remorse for much else. 

You let your fingers graze along the leather sleeve on his arm, your light touch burning into his skin through the fabric. He closed his eye and kept it closed for minutes of silence that felt like hours before he spoke lowly.

“I have done bad things.”

You sucked in a breath. “Would you be here today if you had not done those things?”

“No, you do not understand me. I cannot bring myself to care for some of the vile things that I have done. That I have caused. I should care, should I not?” 

Releasing a long sigh, you shifted on your feet. Aemond knew that you were different to him. You didn’t agree with many of his actions and decisions but you knew there was nothing you could do except to be there when he needed you. It had taken time to realise you couldn’t change the way he thought, the way he felt, the way he reacted to things - you weren’t sure if you truly, deeply wanted to take on that burden. 

As Aemond grew more honest with you, you had come to realise that when it came down to it he was not a completely good man. But he was good to you and while Aemond saw your strength, you knew you were weak when it came to him. Loyalty and love for your husband burned painfully in your chest no matter his imperfections and you never bothered to try to justify it. 

“Perhaps if I had acted differently, somewhere,” Aemond’s words were rushed, a switch from his normally slow drawl. He would curse himself tomorrow for his moment of weakness but he couldn’t ignore the pit in his stomach. “Then I would not be the way that I am now.”

You stared at him for a moment. His expression was of ice and had you not known him the way that you do, then you would never have noticed the confliction in his eyes. “There is no use-”

“I know there is no use in thinking about what may have been, I know,” Aemond spat. 

“Alright,” you paused. “But you will never know what could have changed. You made your decisions, you were the author of your own fate, Aemond. ‘Tis the way things go - we must face it. What difference would it make if things could have been different? You cannot undo what you have already done.”

Aemond’s jaw ticked and he moved so that his arm hung at your waist. You briefly glanced back inside at the servant who prepared your nightly cup of tea at your bedside. Aemond seldom made a show of your relationship when you weren’t entirely alone. Nevertheless, you didn’t let your mind linger on that fact. 

He gazed down at you, his ocean-strong eye never failing to make your breath hitch and goosebumps to rise on your skin. You were relieved that he seemed to agree with your words. Aemond’s shoulders had lost much of the tension they held and the start of the sweet smile that was shared only with you played on his lips. 

He had to try hard to believe what you had told him. Because here you were, no matter what he did and no matter his lack of conviction, at his side and wrapped around his finger. You were the calming breeze that cooled his heat, you were the shade that gave him relief from the scorching sun and you were the water that flushed the burn from his skin. Aemond was not one to be an emotional man but he knew that he had love for you and your endless, boundless support. And he dreamed of how he would share with you the world that will one day be at his feet. 

“I shall share your bed tonight, my love.” Aemond’s words were as they always have been; smooth with honey but laced with venomous promises. You bit back a smile as he pulled you inside, addicted to whatever venom dripped from his words, from his eye, from him.  “And that shall serve as all the reminder that I need to be sure I have not been so misguided that I have lost my way to no return.” 

When he pressed his nose into the crook of your neck, dragging it along your soft skin, he inhaled deeply. Aemond thought for a moment of how perfect it would be if he could bottle your scent and keep it with him forever. A reminder of the woman for whom he wished he could become a good, honest man. 

Your body felt so familiar to him that it made his mind turn quiet and Aemond could only think of having you closer, closer, closer. And it was never close enough, no matter how hard he squeezed at the flesh of your hips to pull you in, no matter how your breath tickled his skin and  how your eyelashes fluttered against his hair as he dragged his lips over your shoulder and along the side of your neck. 

If there were no roof atop your heads, you would have thought that it rained flames onto the both of you and to relieve the burn of it, you melted into Aemond, pressing yourself further into him and squirming for more as he grabbed at your nightclothes to toss them to the floor. 

You tugged hopelessly at the buckles on his tunic, whining. “Get it off, Aemond.”

Aemond didn’t need to be told a second time because hardly a moment later he was as naked as you were, pushing you until the back of your legs hit the edge of your bed and you fell onto it gently. A strained groan fell from his lips as he let you pull him down with you, holding his face in your hands as he held himself above you with an arm beside your head. You gently removed the leather that covered his glimmering sapphire, sighing contently. 

Admiring Aemond as he was, bare and honest and beautiful had become your favourite way to see him. Without the need to hide any part of himself from you. 

Smirking, he let his lips graze yours softly. It was a stark contrast to the way Aemond’s other hand was roughly grabbing at whatever flesh he could hold, squeezing you and sending shockwaves straight through to your core. 

You could barely get the words out of you. “Kiss me–Gods, kiss me.”

And he did kiss you, his lips desperately clashing against yours with a new kind of vigour. Aemond rarely kissed you with such force, such rage and such raw, unfettered need. But as his teeth knocked against yours, catching your lip in between and drawing blood, he entertained the thought that maybe he did regret something. All of the kisses he never had the chance to give you. 

The air between you was charged with something sharp and electric, a primal energy that clouded your head and had you gasping Aemond’s name at the way he brushed his knuckle against your core. Normally, he would have taken his time with you. But despite the fact that you had the entire night ahead of you, Aemond was rushed and impatient. 

“Always so ready for me,” he murmured, taking in a sharp breath as his fingers rubbed through your slick folds, pulling a soft whine from you. Aemond’s cock twitched at the perfect sound and he ground his hips against the plush of your thigh. He dragged the pads of his fingers teasingly up from the slit of your hole to the hood of your clit, drawing teasing circles so softly you could have been convinced his touch was a figment of your fantasies. 

“Aemond, please-”

He shushed you softly. “Patience, my sweet.”

Aemonds lips, wet on your jaw, travelled down the expanse of your neck and over your collarbones. He nibbled at you, amused at the way you arched and squirmed, replacing his fingers with his cock and sliding it against your clit. When his lips met your nipple he sucked harshly with a flick of his tongue, giving your right breast hardly enough attention before turning to the other. 

It sent shivers down your spine and you were sure Aemond felt you shudder against him when his lips travelled lower, leaving a wet trail down your skin until he was finally just below your naval. Aemond turned his head, his teeth pinching the flesh of your thigh harshly, just above where your thigh curved into your pelvis. You squealed. 

“Hm,” He chuckled darkly, smiling up at you and shaking his head with a deep tsk when your legs instinctively moved to shut. His hands groped at your thighs and pushed them up so that you were folded yet entirely spread in front of him. “I will fuck you with my tongue first. And my fingers. Then I will fuck you with my cock and fill you with my seed, only after I have made you quiver and shake from the pleasure of my mouth on your perfect cunt.”

Aemond’s eye dropped to your sopping cunt and his words coiled in his throat, coming out as a muffled moan. You gasped as he lewdly spat, his head falling downwards in an instant, wave after wave of pleasure stealing the oxygen from your lungs as he sucked on your pussy, tongue weaving across your clit and back down. 

All of the loud doubts that plagued his mind turned into whispers of incoherence the moment his mouth met the velvety skin of your womanhood, Aemond’s favourite place to lose himself when his thoughts became unbearable. The tangy, sweet taste of your arousal pulled a deep growl from his chest and when your hips jerked against his face, he wrapped a strong arm over your hips to hold you in place. 

As Aemond’s tongue dipped into you, his lips latched on the expanse of your cunt, you let out a cry, your hand falling to his hair and pulling hard. Your body was hot with desire, thighs squeezing your husband’s head as he greedily feasted on the most intimate parts of you. He pulled away for one quick second to catch his breath before burying himself in you once again, the obscene smacking sounds of how he relentlessly sucked and lapped at your slit. 

For such vulgar noises, they had become increasingly beautiful. 

“I dream of staying here forever,” Aemond’s words were muffled, difficult to hear over your own whimpers and the movement of his lips on your folds had you bucking to follow his mouth. He hid his grin in your wetness. “I can do no wrong with the taste of you on my tongue.”

The pleasure that Aemond always submerged you was almost becoming overwhelming and you lost the ability to form sentences, muttering and mumbling in response. He could decipher his name, falling for your flushed lips so many times, and his eye flickered up to watch how your body climbed to the highest point of satisfaction where such a sinful act became heavenly. 

You were always beautiful, Aemond thought. But you were at your most beautiful when you came undone for him, lost in the throes of bliss and grasping at him as if you could not live for another second without his touch. He carried you through your orgasm, unrelenting as he greedily devoured every part of your pussy, looking up at you with his darkened eye and shining sapphire, strands of his hair that had come loose sticking to the wetness on his jaw. Aemond relished in the strangled, melodic sounds that you made for him. 

When you jerked away from him with a squeal, so sensitive when the tip of his tongue flicked against your clit that your hips bucked suddenly, Aemond pulled away while chuckling and placing featherlight kisses along your shaking thighs. He watched how your cunt continued to clench around nothing as you came down from your orgasm, the messy mixture of his spit and your arousal glistening under the light from the lamps. 

You let yourself relax into the bedsheets and moved to close your legs, tugging Aemond to meet you for a kiss and giggling when he stopped to quickly wipe your slick from his face. But before your knees could come together, he caught them, settling himself in between and you could feel the steady heat from his hardened cock grazing across the outside of your slit. 

“I think my pretty wife believes she is going to have a restful night,” Aemond teased against your lips, sliding a hand down between your bodies and spreading your folds once again to make way for his fingers. You shuddered against him with a mewl. “You are mistaken, my love, if you believe I will not have you full of my seed by the time I am done making love to you. I am a man of my word, am I not?”

[flowerandblood]

Duty and desire (Oneshot)

[ canon • Aemond x niece • wife female ]

[ warnings: incest obviously, sex content, smut, angst, praise kink activated, lactation kink, fluff ]

[ description: An incident between her husband and their sons causes her uncle to completely break down. She decides to show him how deep her feelings are towards him and to comfort him. A heartbroken, vulnerable, infatuated Aemond in need of simple tenderness. ]

Author’s note: The events of this oneshot are part of the canon of The Fall from the Heavens series and feature the same characters. I couldn't sleep and that's how I mentally coped with what I saw in the second episode of the second season. You're welcome, lol. If you still didn't watch it, wait with reading it (if you don't like any kind of spoilers). It can be read as a standalone story.

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

My other works: Masterlist

_____

He had returned to their chamber earlier, tense and visibly frustrated despite the fact that he usually spent that part of the day sparring with their sons, training them in the wielding of the sword.

She smiled at him from above her book, watching as he involuntarily looked into the cradle where Visenya slept peacefully.

The birth of their first daughter was joyous news for the entire kingdom, including them.

"So early?" She asked, spreading out comfortably in her chair, curious about this change of plans. Her uncle only pursed his lips at her words, walking over to the table where she sat and reached for a cup, into which he poured himself a little wine.

He remained silent.

A bad sign.

"What's happened?" She asked immediately, seeing that hundreds of thoughts were currently running through his mind, which if they did not find an outlet would eventually explode in the form of his fury.

He took a few deep sips from his goblet without looking at her, setting it down with a loud clink of steel on the table.

"Viserys and Aegon have suggested that Ser Robert should be the one to train them today. They apparently want to become archers." He said with a sneer and anger that startled her. She swallowed hard, closing the book, understanding full well that his words were only the tip of what he was really thinking about.

"In your presence they always feel they have to prove themselves. They're afraid of being ridiculed in front of you. Maybe it's…"

"At their age I dreamt of my father doing for me what I do for them. This is our time together." He growled, looking out of the corner of his eye into the area where she sat, but not directly at her, immersed in his thoughts, memories and regrets.

"I know." She whispered and her words, something about the way she said them made his lip tremble, made him lower his head in shame and cover his face with his hand, drawing in air loudly.

"They are terrified at the sight of me. Both of them. They don't love me, they just fear me. Their own father." He mouthed, his quivering voice betraying that although he tried to control himself, something about the thought had broken him.

She stood up from her seat, shaking her head, coming up to him quickly, wanting to touch his arm with her hand, but he moved away and turned his head, not wanting her to see what was happening to him.

"If you could hear with what pride and admiration they speak of you when you are not there. They so desperately want to please you." She muttered in pain, feeling a squeeze in her heart at the thought that he might have believed he was a bad father, when they both knew how hard he tried.

"To please me? My sons, they live to please me? And if they don't then what will happen to them? Hm?" He asked and fell silent, looking at her at last, his eye red with grief and despair, his face simultaneously red and pale with emotion, his lips parted in a heavy breath.

He covered his eyes with his hand as he burst into silent sobs, as if he had not stifled the thought for a day or a month, but for years, ever since their first son had been born.

She looked at him in disbelief, stunned, at the same time hurt and saddened by his words, by the thought of how he judged and perceived himself.

"Looking into my eyes do you see anything other than love?" She asked, renewing her attempt, taking a step towards him, and this time he didn't pushed her away, looking at her uncertainly.

"– it's something else –" He whispered.

"– how can it be? – do you think I would love a man who is a bad father to my children? –" She asked further, and he swallowed hard, trying to calm his breathing, his cheeks red from tears.

"– stop it –" He said and turned away, wiping his face, walking to the other side of the room, embarrassed and ashamed of his weakness.

"– sit down on the bed, husband – I want to explain a few things to you –" She finally said.

He sighed heavily and did as she asked, making room beside himself, looking down at his hands, heartbroken. She, however, walked up to him and did not sit next to him, but on his lap, surprising him by taking his warm, red face in her hands, stroking his moist skin with her thumbs.

For a moment she simply looked at him, all helpless and vulnerable, feeling the heat in her chest.

"– you're defending our family – you're the rock that protects us – you have to show strength – be determined – and that's hard when you're king and father at the same time – the burden of the crown is great and you know it – you're trying to prepare them for it –" She whispered, with each successive word placing kisses on his red face: on his forehead, his temple, his eyebrows, his eyelid, his cheekbone, his lips, his jaw.

She felt his hands involuntarily rise to her waist, stroking her through the material of her gown.

"– so why don't they understand this? – why do they push me away? –" He muttered, focusing his gaze on her full, plump lips, his manhood hidden in his breeches pulsed softly in a natural reaction to her closeness.

"– because they are still children – children who need their father to love them no matter what – a father who will sometimes let them go their own way –" She said softly, in a gentle, light motion untying the black ribbon at the back of his head, making the front strands of his silver hair fall over his shoulders.

"– I just want to spend time with them like a father with his sons – I want them to need me –" He whispered, and she nodded, letting his broad hand move her hip closer, making her body press against his.

"– I know, my husband – my sweet, sweet husband –" She whispered and heard him draw in the air loudly, surprised, his erection pulsed hard between her thighs.

She licked her lips, wondering if he was aroused by what he was hearing.

"– my husband is so good to me –" She gasped softly, letting their lips join in hot, sticky, lazy kisses, making wonderful heat surge through her body. "– my sweet friend – my sweet boy –"

She shuddered as his fingers tightened on the material of her gown, his throat leaving a sound she had never heard before.

He moaned.

Not the way he usually did, low and deep, when it was on the verge of panting, but high, the way she did when he gave her sweet pleasure.

Their fingers tightened on their bodies, letting their mouths find each other in greedy, violent, deep kisses – his cock between her thighs swelled all over and pulsed, hot, betraying that he was now completely ready to possess her.

"– I love you – please –" He muttered, forcibly ripping her gown off her shoulders, exposing her naked breasts, all swollen with milk. Something like a sigh of delight and relief left his throat as he sank his face into her sternum, his thumbs stroking and teasing her nipples hard from the cold.

She moaned as she tilted her head back, untying the material of his breeches, feeling the wonderful, pleasurable wetness between her thighs, proving that she was ready to receive him deep inside her.

"– my sweet husband deserve to be soothed – doesn't he? – to feel his beloved wife – how warm she is – how wet she is –" She whispered, cupping his swollen, quivering erection in her palm, feeling how incredibly hard it was, its tip thick and smooth, dripping with his moisture.

"– yes –" He mumbled in shame, directing one of her breasts to his face, holding it in his hand, finding her nipple with his mouth, beginning to suck it loudly along with her milk as she guided the head of his cock against her pulsing slit.

"– ah – my husband is so hard for me – makes me feel so fucking good – so, so big –" She cooed, sinking slowly onto his manhood only to lift herself on it with a loud click of her wetness, opening her thirsty, fleshy cunt again and again on his long, throbbing erection.

"– f-fuck –" He exhaled, embarrassed, imposing a fast, aggressive pace on her at once, clearly aroused by what she was saying and how she was behaving, needing her affection, her acceptance, her closeness, everything he couldn't ask of anyone else outside the door of their chamber.

"– it's all yours, my dearest – I can ride you all night – you'll fill me with your seed as many times as I need, won't you? –" She gasped, and he groaned loudly into the skin of her breasts, clamping his hot hands on her hips, pounding into her like there was no tomorrow, panting and quivering along with her.

She wasn't sure she had ever experienced a similar orgasm, so overpowering, hot, soothing, delightful.

"– f-fuck – f-fuck, Aemond, yes –" She whimpered, throwing her head back as she felt his body convulse, his warm seed filling her womb wit his low moans of pleasure.

He released her nipple from his mouth, panting heavily, snuggling his cheek into her chest, letting her arms embrace him in a tight grip, her lips placing tender, hot kisses on his hair.

"– forgive me – I'm ashamed – I –"

"– you are my husband – let me give you relief when you need it –" She whispered, combing her fingers through his long hair.

"– but – it was –"

"– a husband can show tenderness and understanding to his wife, but a wife to her husband cannot? –" She asked in pain, and he swallowed hard, letting out a loud, shuddering breath.

"– it won't happen again –" He muttered, needing, apparently, for her to tell that lie so he could stop thinking about how weak he was, how he needed it, how pleasant it was.

That he would beg in his mind for more.

More of her tenderness.

More of her praise.

More of her love.

"– as you wish –"

[pr3ttygrlz]

Hidden jealousy

Scenarios 2/?

aemond x reader (no use of y/n)

synopsis: When an unexpected confrontation turns intimate, she realizes her husband’s indifference may have only been a mask.

warnings: nudity, jealous!aemond, female!reader

word count: 816

author's note: the room is very much inspired by alicent's in ep 2 s2 <3

She had endured an awkwardly long supper with his family. It was someone's name day, though she couldn’t quite recall whose—she hadn’t cared to remember. Her attention had been entirely consumed by how insistent her mother-in-law's brother had been in asking her to dance.

Sir Gwayne had arrived in King’s Landing from Oldtown just a couple of moons ago, and since then, he had been persistently seeking her company. Though undeniably charming, she had naturally declined his advances numerous times. Unhappy as she was, she remained a married woman, and her husband was always watching.

Eventually, after considerable effort, she managed to fend off Sir Gwayne’s attention and excused herself to her chambers. She had already had enough of him—and of the warning looks Aemond had been casting her way throughout the evening.

Exhausted and desperate to clear her mind, she instructed her lady attendant to prepare a bath. Once the tub by the fireplace was filled, the attendant helped unlace her gown, and she felt immediate relief as the constricting garment fell away.

After undoing the intricate hairstyle her maid had created earlier that evening, she slipped off the rest of her clothing. Barefoot, she tested the water with a tentative dip of her toes. The temperature made her flinch momentarily, but she soon slid in completely, welcoming the soothing warmth.

The maid began washing her hair with soft, deliberate motions that relaxed her to the point of near slumber. She had nearly drifted off when a sudden noise startled her awake—he had entered the room.

The water rippled as she instinctively sat up, gripping the edge of the tub to turn and face him. The expression on his face revealed everything: he was furious. Approaching the tub with measured steps, he glared at the maid and commanded curtly, “Get out. Now.”

The maid didn’t hesitate. She scrambled to her feet and fled the room, leaving them alone.

An oppressive silence settled between them, stretching for what felt like an eternity. Her awareness of her exposed state grew acute—he had never seen her like this before. Why would he? She had assumed he held no interest in her at all.

“Husband,” she murmured, her voice low as she finished rinsing the soap from her arms. “You seem troubled.”

“It is because I am,” he replied, his tone colder and sharper than she had ever heard. “Why are you so fond of my uncle?”

She let out a small, incredulous laugh, rising from the water with deliberate slowness. Droplets fell to the floor as she wrung out her hair, her voice tinged with defiance as she answered, “I don't know what makes you think that.”

His gaze briefly scanned her, lingering against his will. The flickering firelight accentuated her curves, the water glistening on her skin. Averting his eyes, he looked down, only to notice how uncomfortable his trousers were starting to feel. “Maybe it’s all the attention you’ve been giving him these past few days,” he muttered, annoyance clear in his voice.

A smirk tugged at her lips. He was truly unbelievable. “Why would you care, Aemond?” Her words were sharper than intended, brimming with defiance. “If it were you that I directed all my attention to, you wouldn't even bother to notice.”

She turned her back on him, reaching for a small washcloth hanging on a nearby table. Draping it over herself, she approached the mirror and began drying off, her movements unhurried.

“You know that is not true,” he said quietly, his voice heavy with something she couldn’t quite place. His eyes tracked her reflection as she moved.

She paused, glancing over her shoulder, disbelief etched across her features. “Do I really?” Her tone was biting. “And I’m supposed to believe you just because you’re suddenly jealous of your uncle?”

She stepped closer to him, closing the space between them until only a few paces separated them. The lavender scent of her soap enveloped him, and he struggled against the urge to draw her closer, to bury his face in her neck.

Her brows furrowed slightly as she tilted her head. “All you've ever done is avoid and ignore me, do you even feel anything for me?”

Before she had even finished speaking, he closed the distance between them in a single stride. His rough hand cupped her neck while the other settled firmly on her bare waist. He kissed her—fierce, passionate, and unrelenting. For a moment, she froze in surprise before her eyes fluttered shut, and she surrendered to the overwhelming sensation.

When they finally pulled apart, breathless, he gazed into her eyes with an intensity that made her heart race. His voice was low, almost pleading. “Will you let me show you how much I truly do?”

[wordbreaker]

The Taming of the Dragon, 1 ✷ Aemond Targaryen

PAIRING: Aemond Targaryen / F!OC

SUMMARY: One evening, Aemong, in dire need of clearing his head, catches a Dragonkeeper on the beach tending to Vhagar. The Queen of Dragons doesn't seem bothered by the stranger's presence. Quite the opposite. Aemond is immediately intrigued. Even more so when he discovers that the stranger is a girl who comes from the North and bears the name Snow.

-ˋˏ following chapter ✶ ao3 ✶ my inbox ˎˊ-

         Aemond Targaryen was on the verge of going mad. Everyone around him, from his mother to his grandfather and even his failing father, had only one word on their lips: Rhaenyra. His half-sister, who lived in Dragonstone, haunted the Red Keep. Her ghost wandered the corridors and manifested itself on their lips. He no longer wanted to hear that cursed name, which brought with it bad omens and curses.

“She'll do anything to usurp the throne! Even if she knows Aegon is the rightful heir!’ Alicent Hightower shouted.

Her brown curls bounced with every step she took. Her incessant to-ing and fro-ing along the Small Council’s table was making his head spin.

His mother had summoned him—as if Aegon wasn't the first son—to this secret meeting where her, his grandfather Otto, Criston Cole and Larys Strong would discuss stratagems, politics, and manipulations: three things he had started to loath. His love for his mother and his sense of duty had kept him from leaving the minute she made that request.

His expression revealed his true opinion of this ridiculous spectacle which he was watching with a distracted eye. He had stopped listening a long time ago and was waiting patiently—as was expected of him—to be dismissed. These discussions had a way of boring him. They went round in circles, nothing more than paraphrases of a previous meeting. A constant déjà-vu fuelled by obsession and a thirst for power.

“Viserys will come round,” her father reassured her.

The Queen laughed, a mundane, almost inelegant, gesture that was incongruous with her status. Rhaenyra had the gift of unearthing his mother’s inner ugliness. She could turn the most important woman in Westeros into the common little girl full of rage she had once been.

“She has his favour. She is the favourite child! He won't change his mind, not even about his first son!”

And what a son! Unsurprisingly, Aegon was nowhere to be seen today. His brother had never taken to politics. He was probably busy fucking some whore in the Silk Alley or some maid in his rooms, happy to let Aemond take over the responsibilities he left vacant.

Although it pained him to admit it, Aegon was the first son and he belonged on the Iron Throne. Aemond would much rather see his brother sit there than his whore of a half-sister. Aegon wasn't evil, just a misguided soul that his mother and grandfather would set straight. He was sure of that. Leaving the kingdom in Rhaenyra's palms, on the other hand, was tantamount to condemning the inhabitants of the Seven Kingdoms. Her reign would only bring calamity.

He tilted his head back and looked up at the ornate ceiling. His fingernails beat against the wooden table as the minutes ticked by. Slowly. Much too slowly. He held back a yawn.

The tone had been raised, words had been shouted, orders, given, and in the midst of all this racket, Aemond felt like screaming. He couldn't care less about Rhaenyra, his uncle, and her brown-haired bastards.

Aemond didn't want to suffer what his birth had spared him—responsibility. The second son was merely the replacement, the forgotten one. He would only appear on stage if Death came too early.

He wanted to be left in peace until then.

A futile desire for someone bearing the Targaryen name. No ancestor of the blood of the Dragon had known peace and he certainly wouldn't be the first.

The sun had been down for at least three hours when Aemond finally escaped from the clutches of his mother and grandfather. He mourned a wasted day and headed for his rooms.

On the way, he came across Aegon, his eyes reddened, and his eyelashes still stuck with sleep. His fist itched. He felt a visceral need to bring it down on his brother’s face. Why wouldn’t he grow up? What would become of Westeros if his grandfather and mother succeeded in making him king? Aegon was an immature fool and Aemond was expected to pick up the pieces. What did he gain by doing so? No recognition, no respect, and certainly not power. He was asked to do it because it was expected of him. An unspoken rule he learned to obey from an early age.

Aemond Targaryen would forever remain the second son, obscured by the shadow of Aegon’s unworthy glory.

“Brother.”

Aegon nodded, but the sly smile on his lips threw off any semblance of politeness. Aemond remained unmoved. He would not play his game, not tonight, although a few insults came to the tip of his tongue. He clenched his jaw.

“I assume the council was as interesting as usual. I'm sorry I couldn't be there but, you understand... A pretty servant was waiting for me. Couldn’t disappoint her, you know?”

Aemond didn't reply. He had not even deigned to leave the castle, not even his rooms. His hands began to shake, and a stabbing pain seized his sapphire eye, as it did every time he was upset. Lazy bastard.

When Aemond was mastering the art of sword fighting, Aegon was swilling whole jugs of wine. When Aegon was thrusting his cock between the thighs of a whore, Aemond was immersing himself in the histories of Old Valyria.

They couldn't have been more different.

Aemond continued towards his chambers, his face tense. Behind him, his brother burst out laughing and tried to talk to him, but he quickened his pace. Tonight, he had no patience for conversation.

Soon, the large wooden doors of his rooms appeared at the end of the corridor. The relief he felt was dulled by a weight in his chest.

At the last moment, Aemond turned around and hurried back. He felt as if he were suffocating within the gigantic walls of the Red Keep. The vast corridors were no longer so. They closed in on him and whispered hissing words. They slipped into his ear and snaked into his mind to unearth his worries. Stories of legitimacy, inheritance, the throne and responsibility—everywhere he went, his duty followed and plagued him.

Aemond needed to see Vhagar. He usually avoided disturbing her in the evening. His dragon was no longer in her prime and slept more than the others. Tonight, he would allow himself to be selfish. The need was too great. He had to clear his head, or he would go mad like many Targaryens before him.

He continued walking until he came to a darkened alcove. Aemond slid his hand over the cold stones. Eyes closed, he savoured the sensation. Click. He pushed open the wall, revealing a long and abandoned corridor.

The secrets of the Red Keep were no longer unknown for him. Aemond had spent his youth wandering up and down the corridors of the building in search of them. The stories said that Maegor the Cruel had beheaded the architects, the masons, the carpenters... all the brains and hands that built this fortress. They took these secrets to their graves, secrets that only the blood of the Dragon could recognise.

After the loss of his eye—thinking of Lucerys Strong made him cringe—Aemond had redoubled his efforts to find them all. These passages had offered him the ideal refuge to escape from the gaze of others during the most difficult period of his life. This tradition had survived.

Aemond didn't even stop in front of Balerion's skull—not when his own dragon, alive on top of it, was waiting for him—and he rushed through the corridors, down some stairs, up others, turned left and then right, down some stairs again until he finally reached a door which he pushed open.

The fresh air whipped across his face. Immediately, all his worries evaporated, although his hands continued to tremble—a vestige of his wrath. He inhaled the smell of the shore, a delicious mixture of salt and air.

Aemond made his way down the stairs and onto the beach. He relished the sensation of walking on the white sand. It crumbled under his leather boots. Aemond found this instability reassuring. Nature could be unstable too. The wind had picked up and was blowing thousands of grains around. These whirlwinds, small storms of matter, calmed him and the proximity of Vhagar finished off the hurricane rising in his heart.

With a slight smile on his lips, he walked over to the dunes where his dragon had taken refuge since he brought her back from Driftmark, eight years ago. A mountain of green scales stood among the other mounds of sand. It moved with every breath. Aemond could almost feel the warmth of her breath, the hardness of her scales, and could already imagine himself riding her, hair blowing in the wind, free in his mind.

His joy was short-lived. The gods did not like to see him happy.

Aemond stopped dead in his tracks. Next to the gigantic figure of Vhagar, a small silhouette stood out. It was fidgeting and tormenting the dragon’s sleep. The short distance between the two made him clench his fists. They were close, far too close. Aemond had forbidden anyone to approach his mount. He had never had to repeat his request before. Who would be foolish enough to approach a sleeping dragon? Those who had risked it were no longer around to tell the tale. They had been burnt to a crisp and their loved ones had had to mourn an unrecognisable pile of ashes.

The stranger must have been unconscious or just mad.

Aemond stomped over to them.

“Who are you and what are you doing here?” he growled rather than asked.

He knew he was protective of Vhagar. Everyone around him had noticed. He had exchanged her for an eye, and this suffering had only redoubled his murderous impulses: Vhagar was his. Anyone who dared touch her would face his rage.

The latter rose in his chest and accelerated his heartbeat. It coursed through his entire being, leaving no part of his body untouched. His nails dug into the palms of his hands. His muscles quivered, waiting for just one thing—for him to attack.

He stepped forward, ready to confront the stranger, who jumped and turned but did not reply. This silence made him even more furious. Who dared ignore their prince?

Moving a little closer, Aemond recognised the gleaming black armour and scaled helmet of the Dragonkeepers.

A breeze of relief blew over his heart, but it didn't completely calm the agitation that had been building up inside. At least this person knew what they were doing.

Worry and anger gave way to curiosity: what were they doing here? Aemond had never come across a Dragonkeeper outside the pit. They lived there to ensure the well-being of the creatures. Like monks, the pit was their sanctuary, and nothing could keep them from their duties.    

Normally, at least.

He couldn't see their face. Vhagar's massive form cast an equally colossal shadow over their body, which was further darkened by the night. It was only when he was close enough to smell the smoke coming from their uniform that he realised it was a girl and, worse still, that he didn't know her.

The last time he had ventured into the dragonpit, he had been only ten years old and had two eyes. Back when he was still Dragonless-Aemond, the place had seemed unreachable yet idyllic—the embodiment of impossible dreams. Eight years ago, he would have easily been able to name the seventy-seven keepers with the time he spent there. He came every day, waiting for the moment when a dragon would accept him as a rider.

The Dragonkeepers’ faces had clouded over with time, reduced to vague memories that the satisfaction of having claimed Vhagar had swept away. Far too large to fit in the pit, his dragon had made her home on the dunes of King's Landing and, in doing so, had made the dragonpit a bygone era of his childhood.

“State your name. Now.”

She dipped into a clumsy curtsy, perhaps the worst he had ever seen. She almost tripped on air and fell face-first into the sand. He winced. This girl was cruelly lacking in grace. No doubt the keeper’s profession had damaged her manners, which already left a lot to be desired.

"Lucella Snow, yer ‘ighness.”

His eye twitched.

A bastard from the North.

The shamelessness made perfect sense now.

These people were nothing but barbarians, made savages by the cold and their proximity with the Wildlings. They prayed to their strange, faceless gods, remnants of a primitive past, and still clung to superstitions dating back thousands of years which bore witness to their backwardness. Too limited for the political intrigues of the South, they retreated into their icy fortresses and only left them to defend themselves.

Northerners were strange and even the Starks, although not the worst of their species, were no exception to the rule.

Add to that the absence of a father to beat her and train her like a lady, which she could have become with a little effort, and you had the bastard in front of him. She was not unpleasant to look at, Aemond decided. Her pale skin, hidden under the ashes smeared on her cheeks, and the few strands of black hair sticking out of her helmet leaped out at him. If she had been born in wedlock, many suitors would have fought for her hand in marriage.

“And what on earth is a Winterfell bastard doing here?”

“I’m sorry, yer ‘ighness, but I’m afraid ‘am just a bastard frum White ‘arbah.”

Her accent struck Aemond's ears and made him wince. Syllables here and there disappeared as the vowels struggled to make themselves heard properly in this gibberish. Her voice was deep, deeper than his mother's or his sister's—the only women of his life—, and dragonfire smoke had taken the evenness out of her tone, leaving it hoarse.

He didn't like the way she avoided his question or her undeniable lack of politeness. She looked at him with jaded eyes as if he were the one who shouldn't be there. He thought he saw a flame dancing in her amber irises. A strange colour for someone from a Northerner. In these lands, eyes were only blue, grey, or black: bland colours for a land saddened by the blizzard.

“Winterfell... White Harbor... Northern towns all look alike.”

“I suppose yeh won't mind if I call you Velaryon, then? Yeh understand... Valyrians… They’re all th’same.”

His indecency irritated her. A mouth like hers belonged in a dilapidated tavern, not in a place like the Red Keep.

Northerners didn't belong here. They weren't like them.

“What is your concern here?” he asked her again.

Why isn’t Vhagar killing you? he thought.

Next to Snow, the Queen of Dragons looked peaceful. His companion was used to the presence of the keeper of the North, Aemond realised. The thought worried him. How long had this stranger been roaming around his dragon without him knowing?

The bastard pointed her gloved fingertips at a sheep carcass, no doubt ready to be charred by Vhagar, judging by the hungry look on her face. Aemond had not seen it until now.

The presence of this woman was upsetting his plans and troubling his senses.

“I’m bringing her food.”

Her 'r's rolled off her tongue.

“I already feed her.”

“Not enough. Obviously,” Snow retorted without hesitation, pointing to Vhagar's visible ribs. “Age tends t’work up their appetite. Ain’t tha’ right, sweetheart?”

She tenderly stroked the dragon’s muzzle, who let herself be petted under Aemond's hallucinated gaze.

His mount, reduced to a common pet.

His nostrils flared. He abruptly grabbed her hand and pulled her away from Vhagar, ignoring the grimace of pain on the Dragonkeeper’s face. Good. Perhaps she would understand that lurking around his dragon was not without consequences.

Vhagar, the Queen of all dragons, ridden by Visenya, had fought and survived Aegon's Conquest. She embodied the glory of House Targaryen and would not be touched by a commoner. A Northern bastard even less so.

Without a glance at her, he climbed the rope ladder and settled into the saddle.

"Sōvēs," he commanded.

Vhagar, lethargic, took her time shaking her wings before flapping them and taking flight. She sent grains of sand and stones flying. Soon, the beach was nothing more than a pale speck drowned in the thick clouds bathing in the twilight’s silver light. The icy air invigorated him, but he couldn't find the comfort he had come for. His thoughts remained stuck on the Dragonkeeper.

When Vhagar lost altitude for a moment, when the two of them broke through the cloud barrier and the beach was visible once again, Aemond saw that she had not moved and that her eyes were riveted on him.

Aemond didn't understand her expression but decided he didn't give a fuck.

[delusionalmishka]

Blue Blood pt.4

(pt1)(pt2)(pt3)

Summary: After the turmoil at Driftmark, King Viserys attempted to mend family divisions by arranging a marriage between Alicent's son, Aemond Targaryen, and Rhaenyra's daughter, Lucenya Velaryon; when King Viserys died and the Greens and the Blacks war began to unravel, the arrangement fell through. On the brink of war, Lucenya was sent to Storm's End as an envoy. Aemond didn’t plan on letting his bastard bride slip through his fingers one more time. She’d owned him for his left eye.

warnings for this chapter: none for now.

The day of Lucenya's presentation to Aegon's court had come too quickly. Her body was still frail, her bruises fading to a shade of light green and purples and there was a sharp pain in her right side, but she had to endure, it was Alicent’s command.

The maids dressed her in an emerald green velvet gown that clung to her slender frame, the deep color contrasting starkly with her pale skin. The gown's bodice was intricately embroidered with silver thread, tracing delicate patterns of vines and flowers. The sleeves were long and fitted, ending in graceful points at her wrists, while the skirt flowed down in soft, sweeping folds that brushed against the floor with each step.

Her hair, a rich dark brown hair had been carefully arranged into loose waves cascading down her back. Atop her head, she wore a Valyrian steel tiara that had belonged to her grandmother, Aemma. The tiara was a masterpiece of craftsmanship, its delicate filigree design adorned with small, sparkling gems that caught the light with every movement.

Lucenya glanced in the mirror, her reflection a painful reminder of her current situation. The gown was exquisite but symbolized everything she despised about her captivity, although the tiara she wore, as a token of her lineage and strength gave her a small measure of comfort. 

Aemond was in the dressing room with her, as he always seemed to be, his presence a constant shadow. His single eye tracked her every movement, a mix of possessiveness and something she couldn't quite identify.

He was also dressed impeccably in rich fabrics and his long silver hair was braided. A sword hung from his belt, a constant reminder of his martial prowess and the threat he posed.

"It's time," Aemond said quietly, offering her his arm. She hesitated for a moment before taking it, feeling his strength and warmth through the fabric of his sleeve. His touch was steady, grounding her amid this nightmare.

As they slowly walked through the grand hall towards the Iron Throne room, respecting Lucy’s slow pace, Aemond's mind wandered. He imagined himself sitting on the Iron Throne, with Lucenya by his side as his queen. He pictured her in the same emerald green gown, her tiara gleaming as she looked down upon their united realm. The thought filled him with bitterness. If only he were the eldest son, he could have had all this without the need for bloodbath and betrayal.

They approached their destination, and the sound of bards and conversation from within made Lucenya's heart pound inside her chest. She hated the spectacle that was being made of her, a clear display of power to show that they had Rhaenyra's daughter.

As they entered the packed throne room, Lucenya's eyes immediately found Haelena, who sat quietly to the side, right next to Otto Hightower. There was a softness in Haelena's expression, a sympathy that Lucenya found herself grateful for. It was a small comfort in this, amid endless hostility.

The Iron Throne room was packed with nobles and supporters of Aegon, their presence suffocating as Aegon lounged on the Iron Throne, a smug smile playing on his lips. Alicent stood nearby, her face serene but her eyes sharp, dressed in green from head to toe. The courtiers whispered among themselves, the air filled with pity and curiosity. Lucenya's eyes scanned the room, desperate for a familiar face among the sea of enemies. The looks of other noblemen, hungry and curious, made her skin crawl. She tried to maintain her composure, but the pressure was immense.

Her eyes widened when she caught the eyes of no other than Allun Caswell. The bald and older man has been a fierce supporter of her mother’s cause, he and Lady Caswell even visited Dragonstone a couple of times. She quickly turned her gaze away but Lucy felt Caswell’s eyes on her. 

Aemond's presence was stifling, Lucy knew his presence was there to keep her in check, his single eye always coming back to her.  To Aemond, Lucenya was the prettiest lady in the room by far. Despite being a bastard, she carried herself with a regal grace that matched his own. In his eyes, she was royalty - she was even fluent in High Valiryan- and the thought filled him with a twisted sense of pride. She was officially his in the eyes of the court, and he relished the idea of having her by his side.

As they moved closer to the throne, Aegon's gaze settled on them, his amusement evident. "Welcome, Lucenya Velaryon," he said, his voice dripping with condescension. "You honor us with your presence," Lucy noticed his slurred words. 

Lucenya could not quite grasp the belief that Aegon would be a better ruler than her mother. 

Lucy forced herself to meet his gaze, her chin held high despite the fear and anger boiling inside her. "Your Grace," she replied, her voice steady. "I am here under duress, not by choice."

Aegon's smile widened, a predatory gleam in his eyes. "Nevertheless, you are here. And you look quite ravishing in green, niece. It suits you!"

Lucenya's grip on Aemond's arm tightened, but she kept her expression neutral. "I wear it as I must," she said coldly.

Alicent stepped forward. "You will find that duty often comes with sacrifice," she said. "Embrace the honor you have been given." 

Lucenya's stomach churned with anger and helplessness. She wanted to lash out, to scream at them for their arrogance and cruelty. But she knew that now was not the time. She needed to bide her time. Aemond sensed her turmoil and squeezed her waist gently, a silent reminder of his presence and support. She glanced at him, seeing the conflict in his eye. There was a part of him that genuinely cared for her, despite the obvious distaste for her and her family.

 It was a twisted, possessive kind of care, but he still cared.

The Iron Throne room had been transformed for the banquet, filled with the sound of music and the clinking of goblets. Tables were laden with an extravagant feast, the finest food, and endless supplies of wine and ale. The atmosphere was one of forced merriment, an attempt to celebrate the frail strength and unity of Aegon's rule. Lucy felt anything but festive.

Lucenya took her seat next to Aemond, who sat close. The wine flowed freely, and she welcomed it, downing several goblets to numb the discomfort of her injuries and the ache of her heart. Each sip dulled the pain, both physical and emotional, but it did little to quiet the storm of thoughts in her mind.

Across the room, Aegon reveled in the attention, his laughter loud and grating. Alicent sat beside him, her face a mask of composed satisfaction. Lucenya caught her eye briefly and saw the woman nodding her head at her. 

She’s been behaving well.

Her eyes turned to Allun Caswell again, the older man’s eyes still on her and a glimpse of worry crossed his features when their eyes met. 

{...}

The music played on, a lively tune that felt out of place in the oppressive atmosphere. Lucenya forced herself to smile and play the part of the compliant captive. She engaged in polite conversation with the nobles who approached her, their thinly veiled curiosity and disdain evident. Every so often, she glanced at Allun Caswell, who lingered at the edges of the room. His presence was a small comfort, a reminder that she wasn't entirely alone.

"Are you enjoying the feast?" Aemond's voice broke through her thoughts, his tone was rushed and gentle. 

She turned to him, offering a strained smile. "It's... quite a spectacle," she replied, choosing her words carefully.

Aemond nodded, his gaze lingering on her for a moment longer before shifting back to the room. "You look beautiful tonight," he said, his voice so low she almost didn't catch it.

"Thank you," she responded, her heart not in the compliment. "It's the dress your mother chose for me."

Aemond's expression darkened briefly, but he said nothing more. Instead, he reached for her hand, squeezing it gently. Lucy noticed how his hand was much bigger than hers, his skin covered in thin scars and roughness, years of training behind them. "Stay close to me tonight," he said, his voice firmer. "I won't let anyone hurt you."

Lucenya's thoughts raced. She knew his protection came at a cost, but for now, she needed to play along. "I appreciate that," she said softly, her eyes meeting his. "But why are you doing this? Why care so much?"

Aemond's jaw tightened, his gaze intense. "It's my duty as your future husband," he replied. "We've been promised to each other since we were children. I will uphold that promise."

Before she could respond, Aegon called for a toast, raising his goblet high. "To the future of our realm!" he declared, his eyes glittering with malice as he stared in Lucy’s direction. "May we crush our enemies and secure our legacy!"

The room erupted in cheers, the sound ringing in Lucenya's ears. She raised her goblet reluctantly, her heart heavy with the weight of her predicament. As she took another big sip, she caught Aegon's eye, his smile was chilling as he downed his own golden goblet. Lucy broke the eye contact, she did not have time to let Aegon get under her skin. 

After the toast, the banquet continued, the revelry growing louder and more chaotic. Lucy leaned back in her chair, her head spinning from the wine. She glanced at Allun again, trying to convey her desperation with a look. He gave her a small nod and started to walk in their direction.

Her heart raced. Did he misunderstand her silent signals? 

When Allun reached Lucenya, he extended a courteous hand, as was customary. With a practiced grace, he took her hand in his, bringing it to his lips for a respectful kiss. It was during this seemingly innocent gesture that Allun made his move. With a subtle shift of his fingers, he managed to slip a small, folded note into Lucenya’s hand, his touch light but deliberate.

The note was tiny and folded tightly. Lucy’s heart raced as she felt the paper’s weight in her hand. She quickly closed her fingers around it, ensuring it was hidden from view.

“It is a relief to see you in good health, Princess Lucenya.” 

Aemond’s keen eyes were on them, his expression unreadable but alert. As Allun withdrew with a bow directed to the prince, his gaze lingered a moment longer than necessary, filled with a hint of concern that Lucenya hoped was genuine. Aemond’s irritation flared when he noticed the interaction, and he immediately moved to interject, his hand closing around Lucenya’s wrist with a possessive grip.

“What was that about?” Aemond’s voice was low and edged with frustration as he pulled Lucy’s attention away from Caswell. His eye was sharp, searching for any hint of deceit or hidden meaning.

Lucenya forced herself to maintain a calm facade, though her pulse quickened and her stomach churned. “Nothing of importance,” she replied, her voice steady despite the tension. “He was just being polite.”

Aemond’s scrutiny did not waver, but he chose not to press the matter further. Instead,he took another sip of how wine, but his hand did not left her wrist, his grip firm but not harsh. The conversation continued around them, but Lucy’s thoughts were consumed by the note clutched tightly in her hand.

{...} 

As the banquet drew to a close, Lucy found herself feeling the effects of the wine she had consumed throughout the evening. The alcohol buzzed in her veins, dulling the sharp edges of her fear and anger but leaving her mind in a haze. She stumbled slightly as she rose from the table, and Aemond was immediately at her side, his arm steadying her.

“Careful,” he murmured, his tone softer than she expected and she felt heat rising to her cheeks when she caught a glimpse of his smirking lips. Aemond was overwhelming, his height and the aura of command he exuded making him seem larger than life. As much as Lucy hated herself for it, she had to admit her uncle had grown into a fine man, much taller than her and even taller than her brother Jace. It was a realization that hit her with a mix of emotions she couldn’t fully process in her inebriated state. 

Aemond guided her through the winding and corridors of the Red Keep, his hand firm but gentle around her. She felt the warmth of his touch through the fabric of her dress, a sensation that confused her muddled thoughts. When they reached her chambers, he led her inside and carefully closed the door behind them.

Lucenya expected Aemond to call the maids to help her undress and get ready for bed, but she was not surprised when he started to work on the laces and ties of her dress himself. She stood still, feeling the wine's warmth in her veins and the buzz of the banquet still lingering in her mind.

Aemond’s fingers moved deftly, loosening the intricate bindings of her emerald green dress. His touch was firm yet unexpectedly gentle, and Lucenya couldn’t help but notice the careful way he handled her. The fabric slowly slid off her shoulders, leaving her on with the thin and see-through undertunic. Chills raised in her skin when she felt his cold fingers brush along her skin, his touch lingering. The was silence thick between then, the only thing heard in the room was the crackling of the fire. 

“You should rest,” Aemond murmured as he continued his work, his voice low and soothing. He moved behind her, untangling the ribbons and curls of her hair with the same careful precision. She watched his reflection in the mirror, noting the intensity of his gaze, the way his single eye focused on the task at hand.

Her mind drifted as he worked, and she thought about the note Allun Caswell had slipped into her hand earlier in the evening. It was hidden beneath her pillow now, a small sliver of hope blooming in her chest. 

Aemond’s hands lingered on her shoulders for a moment before he guided her to the bed, his expression softening as he looked at her. Lucenya’s thoughts were a whirlwind of confusion and exhaustion, the alcohol in her system making it hard to think clearly.

She was surprised when he didn’t immediately leave. Instead, he hesitated, standing over her with a conflicted look in his eye. Then, without warning, he leaned down and held her face, his hand cupping her chin as strands of his silver hair tickled her skin. He pressed his lips to hers in a kiss.

Lucenya’s thoughts were swirling in her head, the strong wine she'd consumed blurred the lines between her desires and her will. For a moment, she let her wants speak louder and kissed him back. Her lips moved against his, responding to the unexpected tenderness. There was a part of her that craved the connection, the comfort, even if it was from him.

The kiss deepened, a swirl of conflicting emotions as Aemond's hand moved to the back of her neck, pulling her closer. The intensity of the moment made her heart race, and for a brief, intoxicating instant, she let herself get lost in it. The world outside their kiss faded away, leaving only the heat between them.

But as quickly as it began, it ended. Aemond pulled away, his breath warm against her skin. His gaze lingered on her face, his thumb brushing against her rose tinted cheeks. "I will see you in the morrow," he said quietly, turning to leave.

Lucy lay there, her mind a mess of regret and confusion as the door closed behind him with a soft click. The reality of what had just happened sank in, and she felt a pang of guilt and anger at herself. She had given in, even if just for a moment, and she knew it would only feed into Aemond's feelings of possession he had over her. 

She touched her lips, still feeling the ghost of his kiss, and her resolve hardened. She couldn’t afford to let her guard down, no matter how desperate or lonely she felt. 

Instead of wallowing in those feelings, she forced herself to take a deep breath. She had to stay focused. She searched the room, her eyes darting around until she found Allun's note tucked under her pillow. 

Allun's note, hastily scribbled but clear, read:

Lady Lucenya,

Do not lose hope. There are those loyal to your mother even here. At midnight tomorrow, find a way to the servants' entrance near the kitchens. A small boat will be waiting for you. We must move quickly and quietly.

Stay strong.

— Allun Caswell

Holding it in her hands, she felt the tears well up in her eyes. 

As she read the note again, tears spilled over. Allun's message gave her a glimmer of hope, a chance to escape and return to her family. She had to be strong, not just for herself but for her mother, her brother, and everyone who depended on her.

Lucenya tucked the note back under her pillow and wiped her tears away. She would have to be clever and resourceful to pull off the escape. The servants' entrance near the kitchens—it was her only chance. She had to find a way to slip past Aemond and the guards.

She lay back on her bed, her mind racing with plans and possibilities. The thought of freedom, of reuniting with her family, fueled her determination. She would not let Aemond trap her any longer. She had to escape, no matter the cost.

(AO3)

[the-common-cowgirl]

In The Woods Somewhere

This my entry to the HOTD Big Bang '24. The full fic will be posted with amazing artwork from @targaryenrealnessdarling ❤️

Warnings: Murder, Abduction, Non-Con, Graphic Depictions of Violence, Drugging, Swearing, Blood & Gore

Teaser:

In the air, smells of the dinner she had prepared over an hour ago still linger like stagnant water. His plate sits cold on the counter, attracting flies as she does the dishes in the dark. Mindlessly, she scrubs the stainless steel pans as she stares out the window above the sink with a taut brow, waiting anxiously for a glimpse of her husband’s silver hair emerging from the treeline behind their house. 

This has been her routine for the past three weeks. Since she had noticed the dried mud on the soles of his trainers, she watched and waited in the kitchen, wondering why he had to stray off the gravel path he had laid just a year prior in the woods behind their home. Anticipation thrums through her blood like a thunderstorm as she fixates on the mouth of the path. Her eyes strain on the spot in her vision where he is likely to return at any point. She picks up a glass without thinking, running her sponge over the same spot over and over and over again, in time with her rapid heart beats.

Coming to @hotd-bigbang in Autumn '24!

[aemondslefteyeball]

In The Flat Field (3)

Masterlist Future!Aemond x Fem!Reader

Warnings: Gore, traumatic c-section, spooky shit, death, gun usage

Summary: Aemond and Y/N have entered an ancient Library at their own peril. Galaxies away from home with no possibility for communication with people they know, they are stranded in an ever-worsening situation.

Word Count: 3.9K

Camera eye flick shudder within

The smell of mildew and maple syrup clung heavily to the air as you and Aemond idled through the library. In this section old books sweetly scented the air despite their rough state. But it was silent and that gave you a minute amount of comfort. “It was like, bottled books but they snitch you out to the Lords if you open them.” You explained, half wondering why you were adopting the terminology of a madman. You flipped through the pages of the journal as you continued onwards, keeping your steps light. 

“And what was the… Lord like?” Aemond questioned, his eye boring into the left side of your face. He lowered his gaze to glance at the page you were skimming. After you finish a half-coherent line you purse your lips in consideration for a moment. 

“You know how when you’re a child you want to pet a dinosaur so badly?” You questioned. “But then you get to Jurassia III and realize that you’re actually good staying behind the plexiglass? Sort of like that.”

“I meant what did it look like” He stated, amusement pulling at the corner of his lips.

“Oh.” You considered for a moment. “Well it changes color, sort of like those octopuses off the coast of Myr.” You considered for another moment, almost wishing you had a cybernetic implant yourself. “Maybe a little under 3 meters tall, but it puts off this weird sort of energy.” You tensed at the memory. 

“What, like bad vibes?” He teased.

“No.” You shook your head, slipping the journal back into your bag before Aemond zipped up the pocket for you. “Thanks. It’s like a… you just get a general feeling of what the Lord is feeling as well. Directly in your brain whether you want it or not.” 

“Do you think it could be pheromone based?”

“I don’t think so, I know it sounds silly but it felt how psychic abilities are described.” Aemond paused to consider for a moment, implant flashing yellow as he glanced at you. 

“They must be a social species then.” You hummed in agreement.

“I’m not sure if their vocal cords are as developed as ours are though. It just kind of wheezed and clicked at me. Sounded like your Dad on a bad day.” Aemond smirked at that for a moment before shaking his head. 

“Is there anything interesting in the journal?” You shrugged in response to his question, lifting one hand in a 50/50 motion. 

“What is actually decipherable is still kinda crazy. The dude thought parts of this library would eat him.” 

“Mmm,” Aemond responded, a wry chuckle following. “With everything that’s happened so far, I’m not so sure we can count out being eaten by some books.” He pointed out. You rolled your eyes playfully in response before reaching to grab one off a shelf, opening it to mimic the snapping of jaws and guiding it closer to an unamused Aemond. 

“No,” You giggled. “A row that eats you, apparently. Much better, isn’t it?”

“Mmm.” He responded with raised brows, gently grabbing the book from your hands as the two of you stopped momentarily. He flipped open the pages and you leaned in close to him, following the same path his eyes were. As the two of you stared down at the book the letters shifted from an alien script into recognizable letters. The common tongue. Unease filled you for a moment and apparently, Aemond took notice of it, as he gently brushed a lock of hair behind your ear. You hoped you weren’t blushing. “If you aren’t shedding all over Vhagar, you’re blocking my view.” He teased, his fingers lingering where your neck met your jaw for a few more moments. You shifted your weight on your feet before he snapped out of it and started reading. 

“Jungfrau?”

“Jungfrau.” Aemond corrected, a yellow light blinking onto the pages briefly. You gave him a pointed look, raising a brow. “Another word for virgin.” You hummed curiously, taking a closer look at the page. An androgynous man rippled across the page, shining chestnut curls seeming to radiate their own light as his features shifted. You chalked it up to the book and looked at the glimmering aura around him. It shone with every color of the rainbow and some you weren’t even sure you could comprehend. For the hundredth time, you questioned whether you were on some sort of psychoactive substance before pulling your eyes away from the man’s aura to look at the text. “Apparently he’s the Dreamweaver,” Aemond said softly, turning the page to read more. For your part, you were grateful there were no more portraits of him. As beautiful as he was, it weirded you out. “But he can also bestow magical swords upon people.” You pulled your lips back approvingly before nodding. 

“Be nice if he bestowed one on us.” Aemond let out a dry laugh in response. 

“And what good would we do with a sword against a 3-meter tall shapeshifting monster.” 

“Well, it’s a magic sword, Aemond.” You said, leaning into the ridiculousness. “Maybe you hold it up and say some magic password then you get, like, an outfit change and your hair gets even more fabulous..” 

“Ha ha.” Aemond cut you off before you could finish, gesturing to the pistol that still sat on his hip. “This will be more useful than any magic sword.” 

“Oh, speaking of.” You murmured before grabbing yours, releasing it so the clip fell out. “Do you need any more ammo?” Aemond hummed approvingly before you pulled out a few bullets from the magazine, passing them to him so he could load them into the pistol. “Is it like shooting a phaser?” You asked, Aemond looked at you for a moment before smirking. 

“Yes, which is why the thought of you holding one is terrifying.” You let out a mock gasp, playfully hitting his arm. 

“Your implant has what, a gazillion terabytes of data but apparently no manners in the default program.” 

“Oh, no, it did,” Aemond responded, a wolfish grin splitting across his face. “I deleted them so I could save room for more important things, such as the time you shook a Whituan’s knee.” You let out a dry laugh, rolling your eyes. 

“Worst damn part about that thing, you’ll never let either of us forget any time I embarrass myself.” Aemond chuckled in good humor, putting an arm around your shoulders to pull you closer, giving you a light squeeze. 

“It’s adorable that you think I’d need the implant to do that.” You flipped him off in response and he stared at you for a moment before a red light flashed out of his implant. Concern twisted across your face as you reached to touch it. Aemond pulled back. “We ought to keep moving.” He said abruptly. 

“Uhh..” You let the silence hang in the air for a moment. “Are we going to talk about this?” Aemond shot you a weary look as he started walking towards a new row. “I wasn’t born yesterday, you know. Your implant’s usually got a green light.” 

“It’s just the distress beacon.” He responded curtly. “My implant keeps trying to send it out but it’s unsuccessful so now it’s doing this. I plan to recalibrate it when we get back to the room.” A lie. You pursed your lips in response, figuring it was better to let it be for now. You could grill him later. You absentmindedly wondered if he knew you knew he was lying, but judging from the speed he kept up it was likely. You decide to let him squirm a little longer, figuring that if he could lie to your face he could enjoy the nervousness. You put your hand up to Aemond’s chest suddenly, pausing where the two of you were. A rhythmic thudding could be heard in the distance and you knit your brows in confusion. It was different from the Lord’s footfalls, at least the one that you encountered. Either way you figured caution was best. You and Aemond ducked behind a row as you moved to peek your head out in the direction of the noise. Aemond tutted disapprovingly and placed an arm around your waist, swapping places with you. You shot him a look before he shot you one in turn. Rolling your eyes, you acquiesced. 

“Can your eye pick up on anything from this distance?” Keeping your voice in a low whisper, you rested a hand on his left shoulder blade. He nodded, looking for a few more seconds. Your watch pulsed quietly against your wrist as the transmitted image popped up. Okay, so it was too small to be a Lord. But that didn’t necessarily bode well either. “Should we check it out?” Aemond set his jaw for a moment before nodding. He reached to grab his pistol and you reached for yours in turn. The two of you shared a brief look and Aemond moved to step into the row before you paused. Gesturing for him to wait a second you holstered the pistol once more then pulled out the map of the library from your backpack and grabbed the journal, making quick work of scanning them into your watch. Imposing the madman’s notes on the map, you saved the complete version before transmitting the data to Aemond. You figured he already had a download of the map but the former resident’s notes may be useful. With that done the two of you stepped out from behind the row, grabbing your pistol once more and keeping it pointed at the floor. The Archaeologist’s Guild leaned on weaponry only for self-defense but the two of you figured a creepy library with shapeshifting monsters in it justified staying armed. Stopping behind each row to scope out the humanoid you were shocked after a few more rows to find… a human man. It almost took you off guard more than a miniature Lord would. What was even worse was the Guild uniform he wore. You shot an unsure look at Aemond before he tilted his head to keep going. When you checked through the logs before heading out into Juliet Quadrant only a few Archaeologists had actually been there. A few had gone missing. The two of you figured it was the usual and that they had found a planet to settle down on or died due to catastrophic ship failure but the idea that one of them ended up here was even worse. 

“Y/N.” Aemond whispered, his right eye widening. You looked over towards him before your watch pulsed against your wrist. The two of you knew him. Not well, but you had bumped into each other at a few fundraisers that required you to kiss sponsor ass. You swallowed hard before running your lips over your teeth, praying he had some answers for whatever the hell was going on here. As the two of you approached your colleague he seemed ignorant of your presence, picking books up off the shelf, flipping through the pages, and dropping them into what remained of the sack on his shoulder. Without fail they fell out of the large hole in the bottom and onto the ground, resulting in the heavy thudding you heard earlier. Aemond held an arm out in front of you when you were a few paces away, hesitantly holstering his pistol. Following suit, you lowered Aemonds arm but held onto his hand. 

“Tommen?” You questioned. He looked worse for wear but was still recognizable. Gray, matted curls hung around his face before he turned to look at the two of you. You let out a gasp of horror. An unnaturally wide grin split his face as he glanced at the two of you momentarily before he turned back to the shelf, grabbing the next book to drop it on the floor. 

“Tommen,” Aemond stated more firmly, but the man in question continued in his movements. The two of you shared a look at each other as the automaton dropped another book. “Do you know where you are?” 

“Library” He didn’t stop his actions, the Cheshire grin looking painful across his face. “Lords.” You couldn’t honestly say that you had enjoyed too much of your time in the library but this pushed it to a whole new level of unsettling. 

“Do you know how you got here?” You questioned lightly, running your eyes up and down his emaciated frame. Gods, what in the seven hells had this place done to him? And what would it do to us? Tommen’s movements slowed briefly, yet did not stop. His face contorted slightly around the unnatural grin that split his features, looking unable to properly form the words needed.

“Found.” He rasped out, voice gravelly from what seemed to be years of disuse. You shot a worried look at Aemond, who seemed much more collected than you. Was this your fate if you stayed in the library too long? He wasn’t even blinking. Just dropping another book with another ominous thud. “Crrrhhhhhhh” He wheezed out, mouth unable to move to form whatever word he was thinking of. 

“Tommen.” Aemond said, his voice having a dangerous edge to it. You glanced over at him and saw unease flickering in the back of his eye. “We need to leave this place. You need to leave this place.” Tommen ignored him, making a few more wheezing sounds before Aemond lost his patience and closed the distance between them, grabbing him by the arm. “It’s dangerous here.” Distress flickered across the shriveled man’s face despite the unsettling smile carved into it and he tried to reach for another book to no avail. “Walk.” Aemond commanded and for his part, Tommen did, though it was with an unnatural gait. His steps didn’t match the rhythm of your footfalls, adding to the tension. You knew the two of you couldn’t leave him behind but you were wondering how much of Tommen was still in there. “Do you know anything about the Lords?” Aemond questioned, ignoring the look you shot him. 

“Lords.” He responded with a low wheeze, apparently unable or willing to answer Aemond’s questions. His uniform was raggedy, but the tatters of it that did cling to him reeked to high heaven. BO and something else that you couldn’t quite place. 

“Did you leave the box back in the room?” Aemond prodded as you shook your head. Tommen shuffled along, not answering. “Did you see the map?” His tone was growing more irritated with the old man. 

“Aemond. Maybe that’s enough questions for now.” You suggested, keeping your tone gentle with a slight edge to it. 

“Keeeeepp” The man wheezed out between cracked, rotting teeth “eeeeerrrrrr” Aemond was clearly trying to refrain from shooting you a smug look. The three of you continued onward as the man went back to silence. But thankfully he seemed to stink less as you progressed. That or you were becoming nose-blind to it. If you didn’t know better you would almost say it was starting to smell like maple syrup more, but with a slightly herbier edge to it. You looked over to Aemond wondering if he smelled that too, apparently so as he sniffed the air before shooting a wary look at you. Tommen started to let out more wheezes as the scent of maple hung heavier in the air. You shot a look back to Aemond, a deep pit of anxiety forming in your gut. You stopped for a moment, grabbing Tommen as he let out an excited warble. Between his wheezes, you heard the heavy footfalls that sent primordial terror through you. Looking at Aemond, you mouthed what you could tell he was starting to fear too. A Lord. 

“Creation!” Tommen explained, his mouth struggling to form the words as his cloudy, unblinking green eyes lit up. “The Keeper knew!” He started laughing as loud as possible, the sound barely being muffled when you clapped your hand over his mouth. With madness in his eyes Tommen started to scream about whatever incoherent thoughts he could muster, you looked to Aemond before the two of you nodded at each other. Letting go of Tommen, you pushed him back only for him to start screaming ecstatically. The two of you drew your pistols before you booked it in the other direction. Heavy footsteps grew closer as Tommen stumbled towards you two, still shrieking. Aemond moved to raise the barrel of the weapon in Tommen’s direction before you put a hand over his wrist, shaking your head. Tommen still stumbled after you two as quickly as was possible for him, cackling and shrieking simultaneously. As much as you were against the idea of killing a fellow Guild member, you wished you had a gag on hand to at least shut him the hells up. Thankfully you and Aemond had speed on your side and at least with Tommen’s screaming it provided a cover for your footfalls. You ducked behind a row momentarily to catch your breath, peeking back behind you to see Tommen stumbling as the Lord gained after him. It didn’t appear to be the same one you initially encountered but was around the same height as the other, the same clicking noises emerging as deep blues and reds bled into the all-consuming grayness of its body. An overwhelming sense of thrill wriggled its way into your mind as the creature advanced, catching up with Tommen. You and Aemond looked at each other for a moment, and you clicked your safety off. No sooner than you could do that had the Lord slapped the old man into a bookshelf, unable to restrain the gasp of horror as he knocked his head on the edge. Tommen’s jaw barely clung on and it did little to stop his shrieks, just interrupted them with gurgles of quickly coagulating blood. The Guild member tried in vain to lift the ruined left side of his jaw back to where it had been attached. Despite that, he dropped and the light began to fade from his crusted eyes. Apparently having heard your gasp, the Lord looked over in your direction. Shakingly raising a hand you cleared your mind and pulled the trigger three times.

 Miss

 Miss

Miss. 

Okay, maybe Aemond did have a point about your phaser skills. Thankfully he wasn’t going to gloat about it, and he did not miss. Yet despite hitting the being in what you assumed to be the eyeholes it continued on as if nothing happened. You put your pistol back into the holster as you started to run in the opposite direction. Without Tommen to cause a distraction there was no doubt it would have an easier time chasing the two of you down now. You ran until every muscle in your body burned and Aemond pulled you into one of the spots that Tommen had emptied with his antics earlier. He gestured to your wrist, having pinged onto the spot where the madman had marked the man-eating row. It would require a lot more running but given bullets seemed little more than an annoyance to the being it was your best bet. You nodded as you started running in that direction, refusing to look back as you pushed your body beyond its natural limits. You knew exhaustion would hit hard later but for now if you tired you would die. After what felt like an hour you were approaching the area and banked suddenly to the right as Aemond shifted to follow in your path. You took the row next to it as heavy footsteps gained on the two of you but you simply pumped your arms faster and refused to look back. When you finally got to the far end of the man-eating row you took a second to catch your breath before yelling. Whatever you could do to draw it into the row, you simply had to. Putting two fingers in your mouth you remembered a whistle your Dad had taught you as a little girl. You grew up on a planet that was mostly covered in water, and the landmasses that were there were covered in thousands of turquoise lakes. Ionic clouds interfered with radio signals so whistles were used by fishermen to communicate across the lakes. You blew as hard as you could, your heart dropping as the Lord looked to be following the path the two of you had taken there. Looking at Aemond, you glanced back over at the heavy wooden shelves. 

“We have to climb.” You panted out, reaching to pop a foot on the lowest shelf available before getting a handhold and hoisting yourself up. Aemond simply looked at you like you were insane. “It said not to step foot in the row.” You argued, and at the very least it hadn’t eaten you yet. You moved further upward, your arms burning as you hauled yourself up. Aemond followed suit as you moved closer to the middle of the row. When the Lord emerged where the two of you had been, it looked around in confusion momentarily and your heart dropped further. If the madman was wrong about this you were at perfect grabbing height for the creature. It would be like a shopper picking their preferred snack off the grocery shelf. As you moved right and up you stopped for a second to grab a book and throw it down onto the floor. An overwhelming sense of delight filled you as the Lord bounded two paces into the row. But when it did it let out a piercing shriek. Aemond pulled you into a crevice he had cleared for the two of you and you watched the Lord struggle against whatever had it. But the predator of your predator wasn’t so keen on letting up and a surprisingly hollow crack filled the air as the creature's leg was snapped clean off. Going into a frenzy, you acutely felt the Lord’s fear and rage as it slammed into the shelf opposite yours with enough force to send it wobbling. As the creature thrashed continually the other leg met the same fate. Aemond put an arm around you and pulled you as far into himself as he possibly could, pressing your backs flat against the wall of the shelving. The shelves on the other side wobbled again and toppled over in the opposite direction as the massive creature fell, an otherworldly shrieking filling the air. As the torso started to tear open a bright image was cast above the being. A woman with hair as silver as the moon was being cut open by a dagger, the rippled metal seeming to swallow the light. The creature screamed and you clapped your hands over your ears, Aemond moved to cover your eyes but you shook your head before he could. He moved to gently rub between your shoulder blades. A man dressed in dark green and red reached into the woman’s bulging belly and pulled out a slimy, scaly thing. The creature and the woman seemed to wail in unison, oil spill and red blood pouring out as they grew softer in volume. The man cleared the slime away from the little creature and you watched as it spread its wings. Shrieks softened until there was little more than gurgling with intermittent clicks, but up until the bitter end, you felt every depth of emotion the Lord did. Whatever cosmic abomination had brought forth that scene had disappeared with the dead creature. When you lowered your hands from your ears they shook before Aemond gathered them in his own. You lay your head on his shoulder, happy that at least the sea of emotions within you now were yours.

Taglist: @chainsawsangel

[hotdsworld]

So those who know me know that I'm mostly a smut writer and those who don't know me now know 😭 I have been thinking about Aemond x F!Reader angst where Aemond and Reader lose their child as a result of the war (similar really to Helaena and Aegon) I want to write how it affects them and how they are growing apart becaus of it.

[presidenthades]

Chapter 8 is posted!

Chapter Title: My Brother's Keeper

Chapter Summary: Aemond has lost his eye and his heart. He isn't sure which hurts more.

New HOTD Daughters-verse Fic!

Title: Compromise and Being Compromised

Rating: E (for eventual smut; it’ll take a little time to get there)

Pairings: Aemond/OC (primary), Aegon/OC, Daeron/OC (different OCs, no love triangles)

Summary: It is a truth universally acknowledged that a Targaryen prince in possession of a large ego must be in want of:

✅ A strong grasp of history and philosophy
✅ Mastery of the blade
✅ The largest dragon in the world
❌ Some goddamn respect from his family
❌ A Velaryon bride who happens to be the heir to Driftmark (optional, but not really).

Or: Lucera is a second daughter who is never good enough, and Aemond is a second son who is never satisfied. It takes a lost eye, at least one failed marriage proposal, and years of heartache before they both finally learn to compromise so they can have what they really want.

Notable tags: Genderbending, No Dance, Angst, Multi-Year Time Span, Mutual Pining

[targaryenrealnessdarling]

Unabashed

Summary: Aemond wonders whether his pretty new wife is as shy in her sleep as she is awake, and intends to find out | Word Count: 1.6~k | Warnings: somnophilia, dubcon, oral (f receiving), feelings of shame

Thank you to @targaryen-dynasty for organising the event! <3 Make sure to check out the others!

The early dawn light filtered through the gossamer curtains, casting a soft glow across the spacious chamber. Aemond stood at the edge of their grand bed. His gaze softened as it fell upon his wife, a gentle and shy creature, who seemed out of place amidst the grandeur of a Targaryen prince's bedchamber.

They had been married but a few weeks, and her timidity was still evident in her every movement. She lay there, her breaths even and soft, her face relaxed in sleep. Aemond's heart swelled with a mixture of affection and protectiveness. He knew she struggled with the expectations placed upon her as his wife, especially when it came to intimacy.

He thought back to their wedding night. She had blushed deeply, her cheeks a rosy hue as she avoided meeting his gaze. Her hands had trembled slightly as she undressed, her shyness palpable. Aemond had taken her hands in his, his touch gentle, hoping to reassure her, but with a deep desire to claim her as his. Her skin had been warm, and he could feel the rapid beat of her pulse under his fingers. He had moved slowly, each touch deliberate, wanting to make her feel safe and cherished. Despite his efforts, she had remained tentative, her actions hesitant and reserved.

Many at court whispered that she was ill-suited for the intensity that came with being bound to a man like Aemond. They said she lacked the fire needed to stand beside him. Aemond had often wondered if there was another side to her, one hidden beneath layers of gentleness and timidity. A side that perhaps only he could reach, given time and patience.

This morning, he found himself wondering again. As she lay there, serene in sleep, he considered the possibility that in her dreams, she might be free from the constraints of her waking shyness. Perhaps, he thought, he could gently coax that hidden side of her into the light.

The sheets framed her form in his plush bed, her hair in somewhat disarray, a few pieces having escaped her careful and perfect braiding the night before. It had been hot in King’s Landing since their wedding night, and so as his eye drifted over her, he could see the gentle rise of her chest, and her perk nipples forming peaks against the near-translucent cotton bedding. A shy thing she was, but most certainly not without allure.

Aemond's breath caught at the sight, a primal part of him stirred by her unintentional seduction. The stark contrast between her modesty and the sensual image she presented tugged at some place usually kept hidden. She was a puzzle he was determined to solve, a delicate flower he was eager to nurture.

Before he knew it, his fingers bunched the sheets in his grasp, watching with deep satisfaction at the way her body was slowly revealed to him, inch by perfect inch. A map of unmarked territory he was determined to explore. The fabric slid against her skin with such ease, as if she were made of water and they were simply a ripple in her perfection, until eventually, once she was bared to him and she gave a quick breath-like shudder, he was able to take his time in forming his plan.

Aemond leaned closer, his breath hot against her skin. His lips pressed gentle, reverent kisses along the smooth expanse of her stomach, moving lower with each caress. Her body trembled slightly beneath his touch, her breath hitching in her sleep, as if her dreams were becoming more vivid and enticing.

When he finally reached the apex of her thighs, he paused, glancing up at her face. Her eyes were still closed, her lips parted slightly, a soft sigh escaping her. Taking a deep breath, Aemond pressed a tender kiss against her inner thigh, feeling the warmth of her skin beneath his lips.

His tongue flicked out, tasting her, a heady mix of sweetness and desire. She stirred, a soft moan escaping her lips as her body responded to his touch. Encouraged, Aemond continued his ministrations, his tongue moving with careful thought, exploring every inch of her glistening slit with the precision he afforded everything else in his life. 

Her hips shifted slightly, a subconscious response to the pleasure building within her. Aemond's hands gently gripped her thighs, holding her in place as he deepened his efforts, his tongue moving in slow, deliberate strokes. Each moan, each soft gasp she made was a testament to the pleasure he was giving her.

There was a deep, primal part that glimmered in his eye at the way she responded, her subconscious sounds and movements a stark contrast to her demeanour when she was awake. Her slumber seemed to lower her carefully built walls, imprisoning her sexuality inside. Her hands gripped the sheets the same way he gripped her thighs, the warm muscle of his tongue dragging over her sex up towards her bud, enclosing his lips around it, the smirk he wore hidden in his actions. 

The sounds were so sweet to his ears he could stay between her plush thighs all day. A part of him was surprised she hadn’t woken yet with the way her hips were chasing his lips and tongue, and her fingers carding through his loose hair and pulling lightly at the roots to ground herself. Her movements were by no means erratic, enough for him to know without looking that she was still in whatever sleep-addled bliss she imagined, but it appeared his little wife was more and more an exciting enigma with every passing day.

Her breathing grew a fraction more erratic, her stomach clenching and unclenching with the warm, numbing climax that was steadily rising. She would blush and apologise profusely if she could see the way she was acting right at this moment, moaning and writhing with her cunt on his mouth. Aemond worked in rhythmic, intoxicating strokes, taking everything she was giving to him, the tartness of her arousal was addictive in a way he had never imagined. 

His little wife’s body arched only slightly off the bed, her grip tightening and thighs trembling, her release washing over her in powerful waves. The only sound she gave was a breathy, elongated moan, too sweet for the carnal, forbidden act he was performing on her sleeping form. Aemond watched with satisfaction as she slowly relaxed, her breathing returning to a more even pace. He placed a final, tender kiss against her sensitive skin before drawing back, his eyes lingering on her peaceful, contented expression.

He found it almost comical that his wife hadn’t woken to her husband devouring her sweet cunt, but that she had woken to the feeling of the mattress dipping as Aemond righted himself, looking down at her bare form, her chest shimmering with a dew of sweat. 

Her eyelids fluttered open, and she blinked up at him, her gaze initially hazy with sleep. As her awareness sharpened, she noticed her state of undress and the lingering warmth between her thighs. Her cheeks flushed a deep crimson, a mix of surprise and realisation dawning on her features.

"Aemond," she whispered, her voice trembling with both shyness and residual pleasure.

He wiped his face, a victorious, cat-like smirk on his features, as if to emphasise her embarrassment. “Good morning, my love.”

She averted her gaze, her hands moving to cover herself instinctively, but Aemond's firm yet gentle touch stopped her.

"There is no need for that," he said softly, his smirk fading into a more tender expression.

She looked up at him, her eyes wide with a mixture of emotions, embarrassment, curiosity, and a budding sense of trust. "Did I... did I embarrass myself?" she asked hesitantly.

Aemond chuckled, a deep, satisfied sound that made her cheeks flush even more. "Not at all," he replied, his voice filled with genuine amusement and pleasure. "You were perfect, and it was a delight to see you respond so…unabashedly"

Her blush deepened, but she managed to meet his gaze, her curiosity overcoming her shyness. "I did not wake up," she murmured, almost to herself. “I thought it was a dream.”

"A dream, perhaps," he said, brushing his fingers gently along her jawline. "But one that I was more than happy to make real."

Feeling her cheeks burn at his brazen behaviour, she tugged the sheets to her chest to cover herself, her expression pleasured but shy. “Such actions will not result in a child.”

"No, it will not," he agreed. "But there are many ways to show my desire. Not all of them are about creating heirs."

“Well I know that.”

His expression took on a predatory gleam, moving swiftly to hold her wrists down to the bed with ease. “You might know,” he murmured, “but you will feel it, every day and every night.”

Her breath hitched, a mixture of fear and excitement. The hardness in his gaze tempered by the affection she saw there. Something shifted in her eyes, a spark of defiance and curiosity he hadn't seen before. She reached up, slipping from his hold, her fingers trailing lightly over his chest, her touch both hesitant and bold. Her lips curved into a small, sweet smile that almost dared him to do more.

His innocent little wife had a hidden fire, one that both intrigued and excited him. He felt his desire flare even stronger, spurred on by the need to explore this new side of her, to see just how far she would go.

“And I intend to make certain you never forget.”

General Taglist: @1lluminaticonfirmed @aemondsfavouritebastard @bellstwd @blackswxnn @blairfox04

@buckybarnesb-tch @castellomargot @eddieslut69 @emmaisafictionwhore @eponaartemisa

@hb8301 @jamespotterismydaddy @justbelljust @minholy223 @mochi-rose

@natty2017 @nenelysian @nixiefics @primonizzutto @qyburnsghost

[desireangel]

A Good Girl's Reputation | Aemond Targaryen

Modern!Aemond Targaryen x fem!reader

Summary: It was the last place you wanted to be but nonetheless, you found yourself pulled along to a party you hosted by none other than the Targaryen's, only for spilled wine to force you into Aemond's shirt. A sight that had him dragging you to his bed, eager to corrupt the well-behaved girl who had set him ablaze with desire.

Word Count: 6.7k.

Warnings: MDNI 18+ only!! Oral (f receiving), unprotected P in V sex, dirty talk!!, a major cliche on the good girl trope, reader is shy!, slight degradation, mean friends at a party maybe?, Aegon being sneaky, bad language. Unedited. Please let me know if I missed anything!

Author's Note: Okay, I wasn't going to post this one because it was purely self-indulgent and I kinda wasn't happy with my pen game in this but I was feeling bad about the delay in Dark Cherry part 5 so wanted to share something!! I also love the idea of Aemond being totally feral about seeing reader in his clothes. Share your thoughts my loves, I'm more than happy to discuss things, thoughts and feedback with you all - xoxo, kisses!! <3

There was a nonsensical grandeur about everything that Jilly dragged you into. This time was no different and you silently waited for the sound of the elevator ding while listening to your best friend chatter about the ‘world’s best fucking boyfriend–wait, do you think this makes him my boyfriend?’

“I don’t know, Jilly,” you nibbled on your lip, craning your neck to look around the corner of the entrance hallway. For what reason, you weren’t sure but there was a crawling nervousness on your skin and the urge to make sure there were no unexpected surprises was consuming. “It’s Aegon. Only he can answer that question for you.”

The elevator was taking an infuriatingly long time. You wondered if this was the building’s way of telling you to turn around and return to the dorm room that had become your safe haven over the last two years. Jilly had somehow gotten herself involved with none other than Aegon Targaryen, a man notorious for his partying and hedonism.

It was entertaining at first, and you were more than happy to remain a spectator of the ridiculous pairing. Jilly was entirely different to Aegon and tended to carry herself with a lot more modesty than Aegon was known for. She was calculating and calm where he was impulsive and excitable. 

You thought back to the first time they had met. In a tutorial for a statistics class you needed to take to meet course requirements, the three of you paired together to facilitate a useless discussion on probabilities. The bickering between the two of them was amusing and the first greeting that Aegon had graced the two of you with was a grumbled ‘what kind of name is Jilly?’

And weeks later, Aegon had decided to hold another one of his campus-famous house parties. He had obviously invited Jilly–and by extension he had invited you because there was no chance Jilly would go to a party without you. In fact, before she had met Aegon, there was no chance Jilly would go to any party regardless. 

A loud, excited hmph! fell from Jilly’s lips when the elevator doors finally opened. You had hoped it had broken down on its way to pick you up and that there was a rather convenient lack of staircase to climb instead. 

“I don’t think–”

“Don’t say it,” Jilly held a hand in front of your face. She clicked on P with her other hand. For the penthouse, you guessed. “I know you don’t want to be here. But we are going to have a good night.” 

You sighed, tugging the short, black skirt that Jilly had wrestled you into further down your thighs. It looked good paired with the white satin button down you had insisted on wearing for comfort but it was shorter than you were accustomed to. The thought of maintaining it enough so it didn’t ride up past your bum was tiresome but there was no arguing which you could do to wiggle your way into some pants instead. 

Jilly snickered. “Quit fiddling with your skirt, you’ll poke a hole in your tights–Oh!”

The two of you shared a gasp when the doors opened. No wonder people had so much to say about the Targaryen siblings and their parties when their apartment looked like it was straight out of a Forbes magazine. For a moment, it seemed impossible that the apartment housed two students. It was incomparable to the wardrobe sized dorm you had been living in over the semester. 

Distant chatter pulled you out of your thoughts and you followed Jilly further into the apartment, reminding yourself not to let your jaw drop as your eyes adjusted to the dimmed lighting. The party was an hour or so away from starting - Aegon had told everyone to head in after seven but had given Jilly an earlier time so that the two of you could join their pre-game. 

Not that you would. The prospect of getting as drunk as Aegon planned at your (embarrassingly?) first student party was daunting. 

Anxiously, you followed Jilly into the living area where a handful of familiar faces were lounging and drinking. There was a deep bumping of bass, and you could feel the floor vibrating with it, but you couldn’t make out the song that was playing. 

“Jill!” Floris, Aegon’s friend who you had only ever seen on campus, pulled Jilly towards the nearest couch. Hesitantly, you followed, flashing Aegon and Cregan a purse-lipped smile as they made their way to greet you. “We were worried you wouldn’t show up. Is this your friend?”

With a smile, you introduced yourself. Floris only grinned at you before returning her attention to Jilly, who had started up an animated conversation with Helaena. Aegon whistled at Jilly, tipping the neck of his beer in her direction as if to say hello, and threw his other arm around your shoulder. 

He laughed when you cringed, pulling back from him slightly. Aegon smelled like a mixture of beer, red wine and sandalwood cologne. “We placed bets on whether you’d show up. Glad you did. There’s multiple motherfuckers in here who owe me a silver stag each. Not that I need it.”

You spluttered a bit. “What-” 

“Relax,” Cregan teased you from the other side of Aegon. He was clearly drunk. “You’re clearly not much of a party girl but that changes two-” he held up two fingers and then aggressively pointed them down at the floor with a jerk. “-night.” 

Aegon laughed, handing you a glass of wine which suddenly appeared in his hand. You shook your head and he shrugged, downing it himself. He turned away from you, waving someone down. “Aemond!”

Oh gods, no. 

You tried to keep your smile on your face. Aemond fucking Targaryen was leaning against a counter, a beer loosely hanging between his fingers. He was in the middle of a conversation with Criston Cole, a friend of their family who you had heard of only through mindless campus gossip. Aemond glanced toward Aegon in response, an eyebrow raised lazily. 

If there were ever a man you had crushed on, it really had to be him. It was a little bit maddening because you were exactly like your peers in thinking Aemond may be the most attractive man you’d ever see in your lifetime. He was tall, had an air of darkness and mystery to him and his silver hair framed his defined cheekbones and sharp jawline perfectly. But it was the severity in everything about him that had caught your eye–right from the first lecture you had seen him in. 

Aemond, as you understood, had no idea who you were. And while you knew exactly who he was, it wasn’t odd. Everyone knew of him and his family. He had practically been birthed into the public eye. 

“This pretty thing here,” Aegon, much to your protest, had pulled you across the room to introduce you. “Jilly’s best friend. Much like you, dear brother, she hates parties and is not here by her own will. You’d get along.”

Aemond looked at you and you suddenly had no idea what to do with yourself. You met his eye, fiddling with the hem of your skirt and waiting for whatever this moment was to end quickly. Your skin was tingling under his gaze which dropped from your head to your feet and then back to your face. 

When he didn’t say anything, you offered him a tight lipped smile and a timid wave. “Hi?”

He was going to respond. You could see it in the way he had moved but Aegon was quick to cut him off, ever the loud mouthed brat. As subtle as Aegon believed himself to be, he was an incredibly obnoxious drunk.  

“Surely,” Aegon drawled, wrapping his arms around Jilly’s waist when she appeared by your side and pulling her into him tightly. Mockingly, he targeted his question at Jilly but switched his gaze between her and Aemond. “Your little-good-girl friend could use a bit of corrupting, Jills. Seems like Aemond would be entirely capable, from what Floris has–”

“That’s enough, Aegon,” Aemond’s voice was smooth and darker than you’d expected. He gave you a small, reassuring yet tight smile. “Don’t be an ass. Let her be.”

You were a little breathless. Sure, you didn’t quite let go of yourself as much as everyone else did but you were no prude. Right? 

There was no offence intended in Aegon’s teasing but you couldn’t help but feel the sting. He was right–you were relatively good. All of your time and effort went into studying and working. Where you weren’t doing either of those, you preferred the solitude of a good book at a quiet cafe. There were very few bad habits in your life, the worst of which would only be the likes of a dependence on tea or coffee. Parties were a rarity but on the odd occasion you would tag along wherever Jilly would go. And, regardless of that, here you were.

It was embarrassing. You had hoped that if you were to ever introduce yourself to Aemond, things would go slightly better than this and your uptight prudish reputation (which you didn’t realise you had until today) would remain undiscussed. He was different and he didn’t tend to spend his time with people of your tendencies. Aemond was the object of everyone’s desires; if they didn’t want to have him then they certainly wanted to be him. 

You were clearly different from his normal type. If only for the fact that he also had a reputation and that reputation consisted of a string of heartbroken girls who he had never pursued or never shared more than his bed with. Those girls were a lot more like his friends; confident, daring and well accomplished. Aemond was not Aegon; there was a lot more respect in the way people spoke of him and his academic and professional talents were impressive to most people. 

Thankfully, Jilly had pulled you away from that dreadful conversation with a harsh glare pointed at Aegon. The kitchen, which was the closest place for you to hide, was filled with snacks and drinks almost falling off of the countertops. You recognised Helaena, and waved at her.

Helaena had been a friend whenever you had bumped into each other. She was sweet and kind and you actually enjoyed her company. “It’s nice to see you, Helaena. Didn’t think we’d ever run into each other at a house party but hey, it’s been an hour full of surprises.”

She laughed with you. There was an easy flow of conversation between the two of you and when Floris and Jilly had taken to what they called ‘Kitchen Karaoke’, you had even danced together. Jilly, as drunk as she was, pushed the bottle of wine in her hand to you, waiting for you to drink. With some encouragement from Helaena and Floris, you smiled and took a few sips. 

The peace you had found in the kitchen was short lived and when Jilly, joined by Aegon and caught up in her exaggerated Lady Gaga performance, flung her arm out, the bottle of wine in her hand spilling right onto your chest and soaking through the white fabric of your shirt. 

“Shit,” she winced. It was cold and you had a small sense of panic that raised goosebumps on your skin at the thought of wearing a wet, stained shirt all night but at the drunken apologetic look on her face all you could do was force a smile. Jilly giggled nervously. “At least it makes your tits look good.”

“Right,” you mumbled, fingers pulling the wet fabric off of your skin. It was uncomfortably sticking to your skin and the smell of the red wine was beginning to catch. “No problem.”

Aegon tapped your shoulder gently and gave you an animated salute. “Don’t worry, I’ll find you something from the fresh laundry.”

You followed him into the laundry, which was only just around the corner, waiting as he grinned and shuffled through the clothes that were sitting in the dryer. When Aegon turned to you, he had a stupid toothy smile and passed you a grey shirt. “Wear that. It’ll be big but it’ll still look good with the rest of your outfit if you tuck it in or something.”

The t-shirt Aegon handed you was a little long but you weren’t going to complain when you were much happier to be in dry clothing. It was a Slipknot shirt, the graphic on the front slightly worn down with time and washes. You figured it could have been worse–at least Slipknot were good. Aegon had long gone, giving you privacy to change and when you stepped out of the laundry room, you were surprised to see that people had started piling into the apartment. 

Some hip-hop song you could barely recognise played loudly and you were a little thrown off by the crowds of unfamiliar faces. But everyone was having a good time, smiling and dancing among themselves. 

Cigarettes, cologne and coffee filled your senses and you let out a small yelp as you met with a hardened surface, stumbling a little to catch yourself. Aemond’s hands reached out to grab hold of your arms, holding you steady against him so that you wouldn’t fall to the ground. 

“Easy, missy,” he stepped back slightly, as if he were trying to get a good look at you. As Aemond dragged his gaze over you from head to toe, he smirked and hummed deeply.

The heat that rushed to your cheeks was quick and you wondered if Aemond had always smelled so delicious. Your mind was clouded by him and the way he didn’t remove his hands from you, his fingers still gently squeezing your flesh and keeping you far closer to him than you needed to be. 

Whatever it was, if he continued to look at you with so much intensity and hold you as if he didn’t want to let go of you, there was a high chance you’d do something that would only leave you disappointed and embarrassed. 

“Sorry,” you squeaked, pulling away from him in one movement and rushing into the kitchen. Jilly grinned at you, eyebrows wagging exaggeratedly in her drunken state. 

The rest of the girls had found their way to the kitchen, which had actually quietened down even more in the short moments you were away. You found yourself once again at Helaena’s side, watching as Jilly danced with her bottle of wine in hand, and failing to listen to the conversation that was somehow still in flow. 

If you were being honest, the party was a certain type of boring. There was a lot going on yet nothing at the same time and you chalked it up to the fact that you weren’t that friendly with anyone here. Helaena was only part of the crowd because she lived here and Jilly was becoming a part of Aegon’s group of mates, all of whom you knew of but had no real friendship with. 

Floris, who had been staring at you on and off since you had returned, took a sip of her drink and flashed you an odd look. “Is that Aemond’s shirt?”

Helaena giggled beside you, watching you keenly as you frowned. When you answered, Floris looked at you with narrowed eyes. You cleared your throat, nervously nibbling on your bottom lip. “I assumed it was Aegon’s since he gave it to me.”

“What was wrong with what you came in?”

“Floris, you saw that blouse get ruined,” Jilly rolled her eyes, stepping closer to you when she noticed the gentle alarm on your face. “She couldn’t have stayed in a stained top. It won't dry out until tomorrow.”

Floris only huffed, regarding you with a harsh stare and a forced shrug. There was an odd silence that lingered and you considered offering her an apology. But you quickly realised that you didn’t really have anything to apologise for, even though it is probably Aemond’s t-shirt and it was no secret that Floris was all about Aemond. 

The night was passing slowly and you continued to make small talk with the same few people you knew. But the weight of Floris’ glare never disappeared. And Aemond, with his gentle smirk and quiet confidence, had been lingering the entire night. You were half-certain that it was Floris who was the purpose of his prolonged presence in the kitchen, which had become somewhat of a break room for everyone at this point.

There was a pointed silence from him aside from the few words he had muttered in conversation with Helaena or Daeron yet his gaze was communicating more than his words could. Aemond kept looking towards you, his wanting eye holding yours assertively whenever you’d catch him watching you. You couldn’t help the heat that crept up your neck at the way he looked you up and down at every chance he got. 

It was suffocating when paired with the daggers you could feel from Floris’ stares and Aegon’s vexing grin. 

“I’m going outside for a bit,” you told Helaena, placing your glass down on the counter and flashing a pursed-lip smile at whoever caught your eye on your way towards the terrace. 

The journey to the terrace wasn’t easy and you could feel your throat closing in as you tried to squeeze through crowds of people. It was sweaty and loud, shoulders knocking and elbows bumping as you finally pushed your way through to a secluded part of the terrace, sighing at the fresh air and solitude. 

Once again, your peace didn’t last long before you caught a flash of silver in your peripheral. 

Aemond stood beside you, so close that your shoulder brushed the leather of his jacket. “You alright?” 

His proximity had turned your brain silent and you simply nodded, forcing your eyelids not to flutter shut at his delicious smell. There was a comfortable silence that followed. He rested his elbows on the railing as you were, relaxing against it and watching the street below. 

A tickle on your cheek from a loose strand of Aemond’s hair following the breeze woke you up from the haze you were entering. “Not enjoying the party?”

“I don’t like parties,” he chuckled, reaching into his pocket. 

You snickered, eyes trailing across his hands as he fiddled with a packet of cigarettes and a lighter. Taking a moment to admire the way his rings complemented his nimble yet clearly strong fingers, you couldn’t believe how attractive a man’s hands could be.  “You’re not like your brother, then. That’s good–couldn’t handle having two Aegon’s about.”

Aemond shook his head, smiling as he held the box out to you. “Thankfully my brother and I are not alike. Cig?”

“Not for me.”

He hummed, popping a cigarette between his lips and holding the lighter to it. “Good. Do you mind?”

You didn’t have much else to say other than a shrug, letting him know it was alright for him to smoke. It would hardly be anything to complain about with the way Aemond seemed to look ten times sexier with a cigarette between his fingers and hanging from his lips. 

“I guess your reputation isn’t a lie,” Aemond let his eye fall to you, holding a world of darkness and sin as he smirked at you. A cheeky grin played on his lips as he turned to his side, resting on his arm and leaning back a bit to look at you better. 

You swallowed thickly. A wave of heat to your core had you turning away from him, the intensity of how he looked at you like you were tempting all of his urges. “I just try to stay clear of bad habits. It doesn’t really matter.”

“So you are a good girl,” Aemond leaned closer, his fingers gently tipping your head upwards at your chin. He was closer than he was before you had blinked and all of your senses were overwhelmed by him. “I like that. I wonder if Aegon was right about us.”

Because of the way he was holding your chin, firmly and gently at the same time, you had no choice but to meet his gaze. Goosebumps arose on your skin and you shivered despite the burn of his fingers on your skin. 

“Let me take you somewhere more comfortable,” Aemond drawled. The air grew charged when he grazed his lips against yours, so softly it was almost nonexistent. “They all thought I would be the one to corrupt you but I can show you all the ways you’ve corrupted my mind instead.”

The small gasp that fell from your lips made his jaw tick and he let go of your chin, dragging the knuckles of his fingers across your cheek affectionately. 

You nodded and cleared your throat quietly, surprised at your own eagerness. “But I don’t understand.”

“I think you do,” Aemond gently lowered his hand to hold your hip, letting one last puff of smoke out before putting his cigarette out. He guided you inside, keeping you right in front of him and his free arm loosely extended in front of your body to stop people from pushing into you. His lips lingered at your ear all the while. “You were already a pretty little thing, missy. But I never could have guessed that you’d be so fucking delicious in my clothes.” 

You were grateful that you weren’t facing him. He couldn’t see the flush that had crossed your expression and had you shying away gently but only to sink further against his chest as he led you through a quieter hallway. When Aemond pushed open the door to his bedroom, he finally noticed your dishevelled state and let out an affectionate huff. 

Only letting go of you for a moment so that he could close the door behind him, Aemond had turned you to face him and pulled you back to your place against his body. His bedroom was pointedly his; neat and collected, the walls decorated with a few posters of the bands he likes and bookshelves that were almost filled entirely. It smelled like clean linen and his cologne. 

“Wait.” You remembered the girl who had been far more than unhappy to see you in his shirt and stiffened. “I thought you and Floris-”

“Floris and I are nothing,” Aemond was calm when he spoke, still watching you with that fierce desire that you had felt from him when you bumped into him earlier on. You swallowed down your apprehension visibly, avoiding eye contact. “I promise.”

Odd, considering you were well aware he didn’t need to promise you anything. 

Aemond watched your chest heave with your heavy breaths, covered entirely by his favourite t-shirt which draped perfectly from your breasts. A hand returned to your hip, squeezing lightly while the other rested at the crevice of your neck and shoulder, his fingers tickling your warm skin. 

He pursed his lips, hyper aware of how tense you were in his hands. “Tell me to stop and I will. We don’t have to do anything you don’t want. We can just chat and get to know each other.” 

“No,” you shook your head.“I don’t want you to stop.”

It was impossible to resist the way that Aemond was pulling you against him, as if you weren’t close enough despite how you were pressed flush against him and the fabric of your clothing was all that could fit between the two of you. Gods, he smelled so good. 

Confident with your reassurance, Aemond dipped his head so close to yours that you were sharing air, his smirk returned when he felt you shiver against him. “Are you nervous?” 

“I don’t usually do this,” you muttered, eyelids fluttering shut when he brushed the tip of his nose against your cheek and pressed a featherlight kiss beside your lips, dragging them to your jaw when you instinctively moved to try catch his lips in the kiss you only now realised you were craving. But you failed and he cheekily worked away from your attempted kiss. His lips felt good on your skin and a soft gasp in his ear had him squeezing your hip harder. It reminded you what you were telling him. “We technically just met.”

He never stopped placing the smallest of kisses along your jaw, moving them towards your neck. “Technically?”

“We have a couple lectures together.”

The thought that it was rather surprising that he had never noticed much of you crossed Aemond’s mind but when you let your hand fall to his chest, fisting the lapel of his jacket and tugging like you needed him more than oxygen, it disappeared into a haze of your perfume and warmth. 

Aemond hummed as you noticed he did often. “Does it count if I take you out the day after?”

“I’m sure it does,” you bit your lip to hide your smile, frowning when he pulled away from your neck. “But only if you really want–”

All your thoughts were lost when Aemond swallowed your words, his lips finding yours eagerly. You moaned against him, stiffening for a moment as your skin flushed under his touch but returning his vigour when he laced his fingers through your hair, holding it in a tight fist. It was a perfectly coordinated mess of tongue and teeth, and Aemond never once faltered in his fervour. 

Blindly, you let him guide you to the bed, pulling him down without breaking the kiss when the edge of the bed hit the back of your legs.

In the soft glow of candlelight, the both of you were enveloped in a world of your own. The air was thick with anticipation as your bodies drew closer, the heat shared between you palpable. You tilted your head back, inviting his lips to trace a path along your neck, each kiss sending your blood rushing to your core.

“Tell me what you want,” he murmured, his breath hot against your skin.

“Everything, Aemond.”

As his hands found their way under his shirt, fingers gliding over your soft skin, you let out a soft gasp, arching into him. His hands roamed freely, seeking out the warmth beneath the soft fabric, craving your skin against his own.

You felt the weight of him above you, powerful and intoxicating. With a careful urgency, Aemond sat back momentarily, pulling you with him so that he could reach to unclasp your bra. When you moved to take the shirt off with a soft smile, he stopped you. 

“Keep it on,” Aemond placed a kiss to your clothed shoulder, running his hand across the side of your leg as he let you get rid of your bra underneath the shirt. He pulled your skirt and tights off with steady hands, humming appreciatively at the way your underwear peaked out from where the t-shirt had bunched at your hips. “I want you in my shirt only.”

You watched him, entranced, as he took in the sight of you and muttered under his breath about how perfect you were for him, his eye dark with longing. Aemond moved downwards, nestling himself comfortably between your legs, pressing soft kisses along your inner thighs, his mouth warm and inviting. 

When you whined impatiently he smiled, a wicked glint in his eye, and returned to his explorations, kissing his way closer to your core. Aemond never took his eye off you and you could see him watching you from where he teasingly licked at the skin where your thigh met your covered womanhood. The tension in your core tightened and you jerked when he wrapped his lips around your clothed clit and sucked hard. 

Strong hands held your hips down as he wrapped his arms around your thighs, fingers pressing into the flesh of your thighs. Again, you whined at him. “You’re not very patient are you? Already so wet for me that I can taste your delicious pussy through the fabric. Tell me what you want.”

You propped yourself on your elbows, your arms quivering under your weight and breath hitching when you noticed his own clothes had been haphazardly taken off. Aemond was ridding you of your mind and he had barely done anything. “More, Aemond. I want more.”

“More what?”

“More of you,” you whined again, mouth watering at the way he gazed at you from where he was nestled. “I want more of you.”

Aemond complied, pulling your panties off as soon as your hips had lifted on his command. He gave you a pointed look, scolding you gently when you gave him a shy whimper, moving to shut your legs so he couldn’t see you spread for him. 

“Spread your legs, pretty girl,” he let out a coarse breath when you wordlessly did as he said, baring yourself to him and gracing him with a sight more tempting than all the gold and jewels the world had to offer. Aemond’s hands guided your thighs apart encouragingly. “That’s it–little bit more.”

His gentle commands were both exhilarating and daunting. The weight of his gaze was both thrilling and intimidating, sending heat rushing to your cheeks and your cunt and the chuckle coming from the man between your legs was enough to tell you that he had seen you clench around nothing. 

Trailing his kisses from your knees and down your thighs once again, Aemond groaned, fisting the bottom of the shirt that rested against your raised thigh and licking a long stripe between your folds. It had you sucking in a breath, the sensation of his wet tongue suddenly exploring your cunt taking over every part of your mind and body, your fingers grasping at the sheets when he lapped at your clit and moaned into your wetness.

“Gods, Aemond-” you made the prettiest noises but Aemond’s cock jumped at the way you said his name, giving him a newfound fervour as he ferociously sucked at your clit, flicking it with his tongue. 

Nothing you had experienced with anyone had you trembling from sensitivity and pleasure so easily. His tongue and lips moved against you expertly and he let his arms wrap around your thighs as they rested against his shoulders, using his thumbs to spread you even more for him. 

Spit mixed with your wetness, creating a slick that dripped from your cunt and tainted his chin and his cheeks but Aemond seemed only to revel in it. His cock grew painfully hard at the beautiful sounds you made and the sweet, slightly tart and metallic taste of you on his tongue. 

At a particularly harsh suck on your clit, you jerked, legs clamping shut around Aemond’s head as you felt your orgasm building faster than you had expected. “Aemond. Oh fuck, it’s good-”

“Are you going to come for me, missy?” Aemond asked and the vibrations of his voice while he continued to feast on you had you moaning out an incoherent answer. He was watching you as you nodded, head thrown back so all that he could see over your body and his t-shirt was your chin and glimpses of your blissful expression. 

Shuddering and struggling to even your breathing, a heated pleasure took you with surprising intensity. Aemond continued to suck on you, delving into you with his tongue and teasing you with his fingers as he helped you through your orgasm, groaning at the way your body tensed and your pussy clenched. 

Placing a final kiss on your clit with a cheeky grin, making his way up your body, enjoying the way you continued to tremble and whimper under his touch. He took a nipple into his mouth through the shirt, teasingly only giving it a moment of attention before his lips were back on yours. 

Sharing the taste of you, Aemond kissed you hungrily despite having done the same within your folds only seconds ago. It was unbelievably hot in the room and you became dizzy with how your body gave into his, moulding against him perfectly as his hips found their place between your legs. 

Aemond’s voice was dark and confident, dripping with lust. 

But you salivated at the thought of taking him in your mouth and tried to push him back. “I want you in my mouth too.”

“Not tonight.” His hand found one of your breasts, touching you over the shirt. When you pouted at him, legs still jerking around his hips, Aemond softly moaned. “Aren’t you full of surprises? Good girl like you, so eager to suck me.”

Hot and heavy, Aemond grinded his cock against you, pressing it deliciously to your clit and then taking its place with his fingers. He wondered whether the pout on your lips would disappear when he pushed a digit into you, satisfied to see it fall away and be replaced with a furrow of your eyebrows and a silent gasp. 

Keening at both his words and the way that Aemond slid another finger in and curled them inside you, searching for that spot that had your toes curling, you were increasingly desperate to taste him now that you had felt how hard and ready he was for you. “Please, let me taste you.”

“You’ll have plenty of opportunities for that.” He sighed deeply when you moaned loudly, grasping at his shoulders and pressing your face into his neck. “I would kill to feel your pretty lips on my cock. Do you want to know what I think, missy?”

Aemond was intoxicating, sending your body into overdrive and your mind hazy with need. All you could do was nod, lost in the way he was perfectly bringing you to so much bliss. 

“I think,” he purred. “That I’m going to make you mine. And that I’ll fuck the well-behaved girl right out of you in each and every shirt that I own.”

Gasping for air as he pushed himself into you, replacing his fingers with his cock, you clung to him as he stretched you out. There was a sharp sting from his size but it subsided quickly and you could feel the effects of Aemond’s cock in you all the way down your legs and to your toes. 

Aemond’s breath hitched, his eye holding yours as he gave you time to adjust, jaw clenched and holding you tightly as if he’d fall to the pits of the hells if he were to let go of you. 

For someone he had just met properly only hours ago, Aemond thought he had found his own heaven in you and your body. 

You mewled, pushing your hips forward greedily. “It feels so good-so good, Aemond.”

He slowly moved his hips, hissing and letting his forehead fall to your shoulder where he bit down gently. The way Aemond pushed deeper into you at every thrust forward stole your breath from your lungs each time. He felt like he was a virgin once again, feeling the comfort of a wet, hot cunt for the first time, losing the control he had over the urge to claim you properly and spill into you already.

Aemond was no stranger to the pleasures of the body but never had he fallen victim to weakness by a woman and Aemond was of half a mind to understand that he would do anything you asked of him simply because your bodies were a carnally perfect fit. Right now, he would burn down cities if you asked him to. 

Keeping the steady pace, Aemond’s thrusts became more forceful, driving into you harder and drawing out nonsensical murmurs and whimpers from you. It was white-hot, each thrust sending a barrage of pleasure and sensitivity through your body. 

“If only they could see you now,” Aemond’s tone was deep, laced with lust and somewhat desperate as his hips snapped into you, the sound of skin against skin and his cock pushing lewd sounds from your wetness that couldn’t be drowned out by the distant thump of the party’s music. “The perfect, innocent girl that they all believe you to be, squeezing my cock like a good little slut. Just for me.”

Blissful, incoherent sounds that he pulled from only spurred him on further and you could feel how his cock twitched and moved within you. The way that Aemond’s body fit with yours was perfect and it had that tension return to your stomach, your skin tingling and toes curling as he sped up his movements. It was blinding and deafening at the same time, stealing your breath from you each time he dragged his cock out only to push it back in. 

Shaking and trembling, your legs squeezed around his hips and Aemond grunted, his head falling to your shoulder as he grabbed the flesh of your thigh and pushing it up and holding it beside you. Angling your hips perfectly, Aemond’s rough thrusts found a sensitive spot and you gasped, back arching off the bed as you gripped him tightly in your arms. You were barely of the right mind to notice him hiss when your nails scraped across his skin. 

Aemond was convinced he had found a version of peace in your body, the feeling of your warmth and wetness squeezing him, quieting the loud, painful thoughts that never ceased in his mind. He swore, his voice constrained and his fingers digging further into your flesh. There wouldn’t be a day that could go by in which he wouldn’t be haunted by your perfect cunt and pretty sounds. It was a thought that would have had him scoffing in any other circumstances but he was so lost in you that he couldn’t find it in himself to give a damn. 

“You are so fucking-” he groaned. “Tight. Made to fit my cock perfectly.”

“Aemond-”

He chuckled, enjoying the way his name was the only word you could force out between your moans. Aemond’s hips stuttered as you clamped down around him, your eyes rolling back and falling shut as you turned away from him reflexively, pressing your head into the pillow and whining pathetically. 

“Yes, missy?” Aemond’s voice was constricted but still smooth. 

“Gonna come–I’m gonna come,” you gasped out between whimpers and moans, calling out his name as if he was your salvation.

Aemond let go of your thigh, his fingers clasping around your throat and squeezing the sides enough so that he could force your head out of the pillow. “Look at me when you come, pretty girl.”

When your eyes met his, you were surprised to see that his eyepatch hadn’t been discarded but couldn’t linger on the thought. Not with the way that overwhelming tension had become too much, coiling in your stomach and making you quiver underneath Aemond’s strong body, coming to its peak and snapping with an earth shattering, burning intensity that forced your entire world to go quiet. 

With strained gasps, Aemond’s peak quickly followed yours and he pulled out, surprised to see how swiftly your hand replaced his. You felt the ropes of his hot seed fall onto your stomach, the warmth of his breath against your skin as he buried his face into your neck, heaving as he rode through the strength of his orgasm. 

Strings of curses came from him as he let his body fall to the space beside you. Aemond barely wasted two seconds before pulling you into him so that your head rested against his chest as he held you against him. “You okay?”

“Yeah,” you smiled, letting yourself melt into him, too spent to spare a thought for the mess on your stomach. “But I doubt I’ll be feeling so great tomorrow.”

A deep chuckle vibrated against your ear. “I’d apologise but I’m afraid I wouldn’t mean it.”

“Cheeky.”

Aemond took a hold of your wrist when you slapped his chest gently, bringing your hand up to place a kiss on your knuckles before letting his hand fall to that spot on your hip. “I wasn’t lying you know.”

“About?” You raised an eyebrow, craning your neck so that you could see his face without moving away from him. 

“I will take you out.” Aemond grinned, squeezing your flesh playfully. “And I will fuck you in every single one of my t-shirts.”

[flowerandblood]

Hi, for the ask game you’re making

Glass cuts deepest

🖼️ Museum

🍁 Autumn

💐 Care

🎃 Jealousy

😬 Semi-public sex

🍓 Sexual tension

Congratulations on the milestone 😊!

The Art of Body

[ professor! • Aemond x student! • female ]

[ prompts: museum, autumn, jealousy, care, sexual tension, semi-public sex ]

[ warnings: unprotected sex, smut, mention of sexual trauma ]

A short written as a celebration of my 4000 followers milestone as part of this ask game, which is part of Glass Cuts Deepest story.

Rino Stefano Tagliafierro is the animation artist of François Boucher's "Leda and the Swan" 1740 [post by eucanthos]

______

"Are you sure? I don't want to force you to do anything. It's the middle of the school year, I'm sure there'll be a lot of people there." Wright muttered, looking at him with uncertainty.

He felt frustration, knowing what she meant by people.

Women.

The truth was that since they had been engaged, he had gradually but successfully managed to simply pretend that he didn't see them. When they were in a restaurant or on a walk he would focus only on her and on talking to her, often holding her hand – it made him feel safer, like when you are looking down a great precipice while holding on to the railing.

He was very proud of himself when one day they went to the cinema together to see an animation they both really wanted to watch – it turned out that there were women sitting on either side of their seats. Wright wanted to back out and just leave, recognising that they didn't need to see the film at all, but he was tired of running away all the time.

When they sat down, he shifted in his seat as close to Wright as possible, not wanting the person sitting next to him to touch him – his fiancée had been leaning over his ear throughout the screening, asking if everything was okay, and he only nodded.

He couldn't remember much of what he saw – he was unable to focus as he felt only the rapid pounding of his heart and the cold sweat on his back.

When they left the cinema, he felt relieved, but also proud, because he had done it – even though he felt sick a few times and wanted to vomit, he had endured and nothing had happened.

He felt that he was slowly ready to just go out to people and not wonder who he was passing on the way.

"I want to go there. It's the biggest museum in our country. We've been talking about it for a long time." He said, putting his black turtleneck over his head and sighed, seeing that he had ruined his elaborately styled hairdo by doing so.

Wright noticed this and involuntarily reached into his hair, trying to comb it properly again with her fingers.

He swallowed hard, simultaneously frightened and pleased that she had touched him so suddenly – he repeated to himself at times like this that he trusted her, her familiar scent and the warmth of her skin affecting him in a calming way.

"If you say so. Maybe you're right. I've wanted to see this place for a long time too." She admitted finally, and he smiled with satisfaction, looking at her out of the corner of his eye.

"Give me a moment. I need to change." She said, opening his wardrobe, looking in it probably for one of her dresses.

Some part of him wanted her to change in front of him – she never did. On the other hand, he dreaded it – he had never seen her naked – not completely.

He had never seen her bare breasts or buttocks, only felt them beneath his hands when he put his hand under her shirt.

He swallowed hard as she threw him a warm smile and locked herself in the bathroom, feeling both relieved and disappointed.

He waited patiently for her, and when he heard her come out, he froze – her floral dress was fastened from the front with large white buttons, a fluffy, light-coloured jumper over her shoulders. She had said something to him, probably that she was ready, but all he could think about was that she hadn't put her bra on.

He could easily see the shape of her nipples under the material and something about the sight frustrated him.

Why should others look at something that even he couldn't see?

He wanted to say it, but before he opened his mouth he thought it was unfair – he himself wouldn't want her to dictate what he could and couldn't wear, and he thought his remark might be rude.

"Let's go." He said finally.

It took them a couple of hours to get there – during this time Wright had bought them tickets for all the exhibitions online, so they wouldn't have to wait in long queues at the box office. He liked how organised she was – the fact that she always helped him and didn't leave everything on his head.

He felt he could rely on her.

When they got out of the car, they ran ahead, holding hands – an intense autumn rain had broken up all around them, which meant that by the time they reached the main entrance, they were all wet.

The security guard scanned their tickets and pointed the way they should follow – after a while, their eyes were met by spacious, bright, richly lit halls with walls filled with paintings by great artists, with sculptures of wood, bronze and marble all around them.

His fiancée approached one of the medieval statues depicting the Beautiful Madonna and Child, the one they both knew well from their art history textbooks.

"Look! It's even more beautiful than in the pictures." She said cheerfully, quickly grabbing her phone, taking pictures of the sculpture.

He, however, stared at her dully, seeing the wet material of her dress clinging to her skin, her nipples clearly outlined, popping from the cold.

He felt both irritation and desire at the sight, his manhood pulsed softly in his trousers, expressing his desire to touch her.

He grunted and turned his head away, walking over to one of the baroque paintings hanging on the wall, trying not to think about it.

I'm sexualising her too much, he rebuked himself in his mind, feeling a kind of shame by doing what he himself would never want to experience again in his life.

He regained his good humour and walked with her through the long corridors filled with art, stopping constantly at some artefact – they talked about everything, delighting in the workmanship and details together, while criticising what they didn't like.

He felt an unpleasant twinge in his stomach again when, standing at one of the sculptures, he saw that the man standing opposite them was looking straight at Wright's breasts – he would have thought he was being oversensitive again if it hadn't been for the slight smile of satisfaction on the man's lips, which told him that he was pleased with how much was visible through the thin material of her dress.

He didn't know why, but he grabbed her wrist and tugged at it, pulling her the other way, frustrated and enraged.

"What happened? Did someone touch you?" She mumbled, following him obediently, thinking it was all about him, as usual.

He stopped and looked at her, his heart pounding like mad in his chest.

"Did you have to dress like that? Everyone's looking at you." He hissed, but immediately regretted his words – Wright blinked and shook her head, horror and discomfort in her eyes, as if what he had said had caused her pain.

"What do you mean? I don't understand. After all, my dress doesn't even reveal my cleavage." She said resentfully, looking down, only after a moment noticing what he and everyone else had seen.

She looked at him again and pressed her lips together, covering her breasts with her jumper and her hands, as if the sight of them was something disgusting, worthy of condemnation.

He felt a sting in his heart at the sight – at the thought that she felt it was her fault that other men were looking where they shouldn't.

He swallowed hard and grabbed her hands, lowering them down, making her involuntarily reveal again what she had tried to cover up only moments before.

"– forgive me – I shouldn't have said that – it's just – fuck – I just I have a hard time with the idea that someone else might be... looking at something that even I couldn't see –"

"After all, you can look at it." She whispered, speaking so that no one could hear her. "Even now, if you want to."

"Now?" He muttered, surprised by her words.

What did she mean?

"We can go to the toilet and lock ourselves in the cabin. Our first time was like that too. You did it because the area around you didn't remind you of the place where you faced something bad. About the bed." She reminded him, and he swallowed loudly, realising it was true.

He looked down once more, at the thing he wanted so badly, and nodded slowly.

"Okay."

He felt like a little boy, unable to look at her in shame when the toilet door closed behind them. Once they made sure they were alone, they hid in one of the cabins and just looked at each other for a while.

He felt his heart thump harder in his chest as her hands slowly rose to the buttons of her dress – he watched in disbelief as she began to undo it one by one, his erection twitching and swelling in his trousers, aching with desire at the sight of her bare skin.

When she reached the height of her belly, she stopped and her hands dropped – her dress was unbuttoned, but revealed only a small line of her naked skin – he could see that she was breathing heavily as was he, panting with excitement.

Involuntarily, he took one slow step towards her, then another – his large hand rose uncertainly to the height of her chest and pushed the material of her dress aside in a gentle, lazy motion. He sighed deeply, immediately covering what he saw with his fingers, feeling himself breathe through his mouth out of lust – he looked into her eyes as her hand closed over his, encouraging him to sink deeper into the structure of her plump, soft bosom.

He leaned in and kissed her, unable to withstand the tension he felt inside – his lower abdomen was filled with a wonderfully familiar, warm, tickling sensation that made his length completely hard. He pressed his hips against her abdomen, rolling them back and forth, trying to somehow soothe the need for closeness and tenderness that only she could give him.

"– feels good? –" She breathed out into his mouth, letting their lips caress again and again with the sticky clicks of their saliva, the skin of her breasts wonderfully warm and swollen, melting beneath his fingers.

"– pull down your panties –" He instructed, and she moaned softly into his mouth, immediately obeying his command.

He let her go for a moment, dealing with his trousers, only to release his heavy, painfully swollen erection – as soon as her underwear landed on the ground, he grabbed her in his arms and lifted her, so that her breasts were at the level of his face.

They both cried out as at the same time his lips closed over her hard nipple and the head of his cock opened her wide – he gasped in pleasure, feeling how warm and moist she was, but not seeing anything that was happening from her waist down, covered by the material of her dress.

"– ah –" She mewled as his arms embraced her in a confident hug and pressed her body against the cold tiles, trying to keep her balance as he sank all the way into her body with one, sure thrust of his hips.

"– be quiet or I'll stop –" He threatened and they both froze when they heard someone enter – his cock pulsed inside her greedily as he simply continued with her in that position.

He felt her hands tighten in his hair, her hot pussy squeezed his manhood hard as his tongue swirled around her little nipple, teasing and sucking on it alternately.

He grunted quietly as he felt her begin to roll her hips – some part of him wanted to stop her, hearing that someone was still inside, however the other, more animalistic part of him just wanted to pound into her – and that's what he did.

He heard her squeal softly and she immediately pressed her face against his hair, trying to deafen the sound, as their naked bodies began to slam against each other with loud, sticky smacks of her moisture. He was no longer interested in whether or not the person inside knew what had just taken place – all he could focus on was their heavy, ragged breaths, the wonderful, growing tension in his loins, the squeeze in his testicles testifying that he was close.

He couldn't contain the low growl of delight that passed in vibration across her breast, couldn't contain how desperate he was, couldn't contain what euphoria possessed him at the thought of looking, smelling, touching her naked body, experiencing nothing but bliss.

"– Aemond –" She mumbled softly into his ear, so that only he was able to hear it – her small fingers clenched on his body allowing her to keep her balance and take what he was giving her, as shocked by what they were doing as he was.

All he could think about was how warm and wet she was, how easily she welcomed him deep inside her, how much she wanted him even though they had been together for so long.

The level of trust he held in her made him able to focus only on pleasure, and after a few messy, loud slaps he came inside her with a gasp of relief.

Her nails digging into his shoulders and hair made it almost painful when he felt her body shake with an aggressive, intense orgasm, causing her to stifle a moan with difficulty, making a quiet, whimpering sound.

"– shhh – shhh, little one –" He whispered, still deep inside her, feeling his manhood and her fleshy walls pulsing in one united rhythm, snuggled into her soft, warm chest.

The touch of her bare skin, her heart beating beneath his cheek was so wonderfully intimate, personal, sweet.

Why hadn't he done this before?

They were both relieved when they heard the sound of the water being drained in the other cabin, then the door opening and someone's footsteps indicating that they were alone.

"– Aemond – my legs are aching –" She mumbled, still crossing her calves on his back, supported only by his hands that held her buttocks.

"– just a little longer –" He muttered, pressing his face harder into the silky structure of her plump breasts.

Just a little longer.

[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.

[wordbreaker]

The Taming of the Dragon, 3 ✷ Aemond Targaryen

PAIRING: Aemond Targaryen / F!OC

SUMMARY: One evening, Aemong, in dire need of clearing his head, catches a Dragonkeeper on the beach tending to Vhagar. The Queen of Dragons doesn't seem bothered by the stranger's presence. Quite the opposite. Aemond is immediately intrigued. Even more so when he discovers that the stranger is a girl who comes from the North and bears the name Snow.

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         How ironic for the House of Fire and Blood to concern itself with Water.

Driftmark and its succession haunted everyone's thoughts. A blue thorn in the back of those who held the kingdom together.

Aemond’s last vision of Driftmark had been one of blood and pain. Crimson waves had washed away his admiration for the endless sea and the sunny horizon. The only cherished memory he held close to his heart was Vhagar. The rest, he preferred to forget. His eye, hidden under his leather patch, seemed to burst into flame. The pain, petty and merciless, reminded him that he would never be able to get rid of this evening.

Lucerys Strong deserved neither Water nor Fire, and certainly not Driftmark.

The blood fever that kept Corlys Valeryon bedridden cured Aemond’s eternal suffering. Boiling water calmed the dragon's fire which, for ten years, had never stopped dancing and burning those who got too close. He was already looking forward to seeing his nephew's shoulders slumping, his chin drooping and his brown eyes glistening. The only sea he would rule would be that of his tears. Aemond had no regard for the succession of the island—the affairs of the Valeryons had long ceased to interest him—but the prospect of seeing the sadness and disappointment painted on his bastard nephew’s childish face would bring him more joy than any present.

For Lucerys Valeryon would not win, not when Otto Hightower sat on the Iron Throne in his father’s stead.

His half-sister, armed with her usual gall, would parade her bastards around shamelessly, proclaiming loud and clear that Driftmark was rightfully theirs. He laughed, alone in his quarters.

Lucerys Valeryon was not a leader and certainly not a lord. He remembered the little boy who always hid behind his older brother, always involved in Aegon's tasteless pranks. Lucerys Valeryon—no, Strong—was just a rag doll with no backbone, given life and the desire to rule by the stupid words his whore of a mother had insisted on pounding into his head.

“Your Highness, your mother the Queen asks that you join her at the gates.”

Aemond dismissed the servant with a nod and took one last look at his mirror. His violet eye lingered on the piece of leather that crossed half his face—the continuation of the scar on his cheek. No. Lucerys Strong didn't deserve Driftmark.

He turned and stomped off towards the entrance, leaving behind him the glimmering shadow of a blade which, that evening ten years ago, had blinded him as much as the blow.

The prince left his chambers. He could already see himself in the throne room, tired of listening to the pleas of people whose blood was supposedly as pure as his own. Vaemond and Rhaenyra would strut into the Red Keep and then into the throne room, chins up, shoulders straight—the very image of pride—to fight for a bloodline that was doomed. The dynasty of Old Valyria, tainted by the vices of a woman and the obsession of a man. The blood in their veins did not bleed red; their wrongs had blackened it.

Like many other houses, the Valeryon dynasty would kill itself, leaving behind only bastards and stagnant water. Aemond would feast on their demise in silence but with a certain jubilation.

“Do you know why I have been summoned?” he asked his sworn protector.

“Your sister the princess has arrived, Your Highness.”

His only eye twitched with anger. Of course she had. He took a deep breath but continued walking. The corridors of the Red Keep flashed by with his hurried steps.

The sooner he greeted them, the sooner he could leave.

Aemond soon reached the great doors. They alone separated him from his past. The swollen skin of his eye throbbed. It seemed to boil. Water had defeated fire once. He clenched his fist. Sometimes he felt like ripping off half his face. The pain had never subsided. It lay dormant, waiting for the right moment to leap up and paralyse him.

The sapphire in his eye socket had done nothing to appease his sorrow nor his pain. It was just a way for his mother to forget her son was now just a crippled. Its colour would always remind him of Driftmark. He carried the sea in his eye and, when he dared to face his reflection in the mirror, was reminded of it daily.

At the sight of him, the soldiers posted on either side of the doors opened them. He held his breath and rushed outside. The cool wind whipped across his face, calming for a few seconds the storm that was growing inside him. A few soldiers were training here and there. Others were making their rounds.

Aemond looked around but didn't see his mother, his grandfather and certainly not his father, confined to bed by illness and old age. This impotence had brought them this far. Vaemond Valeryon would never have dared contradict the King if he could still defend his beloved child.

Viserys was the cause of many things.

A roar made him raise his head. The long body of Caraxes twisted to land in the courtyard. Its red scales reminded Aemond of the flags his mother had had removed and replaced with the symbols of the Seven. His uncle, Daemon Targaryen, as proud as ever, dismounted nonchalantly, Black Sister swinging from his belt. Aemond dreamed of touching, even brushing his fingertips against, the legendary sword.

A relic of the Conquest.

Aemond did not feel the same visceral hatred for his uncle that sometimes paralysed him. Admiration and respect for Daemon mixed with rage to create an intoxicating concoction.

He only felt that way with another person, whom he preferred to leave to the beach and the night.

Syrax's yellow scales sparkled in his field of vision and tore the thin smile that had so far tugged at Aemond's lips. Vermax and Arrax, small as they were, enraged him to no end. One by one, the dragons landed and shook the ground. A dust storm whirled around and reached Aemond at the top of the steps. He rubbed his black tunic with his hand and gloated when he saw that none of their mounts compared to Vhagar, not even the Blood Wyrm. The prince felt a deep sense of satisfaction at this. It ran through his veins and soothed him.

Aemond, in a rare childish whim, refused to pay the slightest attention to Luke. The pain in his eye seemed to intensify at the mere proximity of the boy. He resisted the urge to cup the left side of his face and straightened his shoulders. The rustle of a cloth drew him from his thoughts. His mother stopped beside him and gave him a thin smile. Worry deepened the wrinkles that, over the years, had multiplied around her eyes and her lips, which were always pursed.

Jacaerys dismounted his dragon. His nephew, though still plain-looking, had grown. His build had thickened and reminded him of a certain Harwin Strong. He chuckled. His mother placed a hand on his forearm. A warning. He didn't care. No one could deny that his sister's first three children were bastards. Even a blind man wasn't naive enough to believe the sweet lies that his whore sister's angelic face spouted.

“Embrot.”

“Inkot!”

“Jātās! Jātās I said!”

Orders in High Valyrian rang out.

A horde of dragonkeepers, covered head to toe in their black armour, surrounded the newcomers and busied themselves around the restless beasts.

Dragonstone, carved out of cold stone, was warmed only by the fire of the wild dragons that populated the island. There were no keepers in this fortress. The dragons knew only their riders and would kill anyone who dared approach them. Arrax tried to char one of the guards, completely ignoring Luke's panicked cries.

If he couldn't control his dragon, how could he hope to rule Driftmark? The Blacks’ nerve could not erase reality—they were undeserving.

Aemond's eyes feasted on this spectacle of incompetence, but his smile soon faded when he spotted a female figure, a whirl of pale skin and brown hair, among the guards.

Snow.

He frowned and watched her walk towards Vermax. She raised her arms towards the dragon, palms outstretched, to calm it down. Beside her, Jace, instead of following his family as they gradually drew closer to Aemond and his mother, began to talk to her. Their heads came closer together. Aemond watched Lucella throw her head back and laugh, all under his nephew's satisfied gaze.

The prince clenched his fists. Why was she there? Wasn't she his dragon's appointed keeper? Vhagar needed her more than that miserable Vermax.

As if she could hear his thoughts, Lucella suddenly met his gaze. She frowned and turned back to Jace, who noticed the exchange and raised an eyebrow. An unpleasant sensation lodged in Aemond's chest and made him itch.

Two bastards together. He laughed at the thought, but his hilarity painfully hit his throat. A lump had got stuck there and was choking him. Why did he feel the need to come between them, to pull Lucella away from his nephew? His hands tingled. Thousands of small needles were screaming at him to do something, not to let the snow be contaminated by water. 

The dragon's fire blazed in his chest, burning away any sense of sanity.

He wanted Jacaerys to perish in the flames of his rage.

Aemond hadn't seen her for a week. Yet her face and the contours of her lips had never left him. She haunted him. In the evenings, her accentuated voice echoed in his thoughts.

Since their eventful meeting, Lucella and Aemond had crossed paths several times on the beach. Their shared love for Vhagar prevented them from killing each other, although he often felt like doing so, for Lucella Snow couldn't keep her mouth shut. The few times they spoke, her sharp words, as sharp as a blade, cut into the cage around his chest.

This cordial understanding soothed his senses and prevented him from dreading his visits to the beach. He had given up going out alone at night, for Lucella Snow never left his side, even when she wasn't there. He couldn't ride his dragon without thinking of the keeper.

She kept looking after Vhagar. The carcasses of charred sheep and game piled up on the beach, staining the white sand with their blood. The dragonkeeper avoided him. He didn't know why. Nothing had changed in their exchanges. Their duels of words, the winner of which always varied, had retained the same tenor, the same intelligence.

What had made her run away from him?

Lucella Snow had blended into the background, disappeared into the shadows, and escaped his blind spot. Aemond should have been happy. No more northern bastard with an unpleasant accent raging in his ears and insulting him at every turn. Yet something prevented him from rejoicing at this absence. He felt he was losing control and hated it.

Across from Jacaerys, Lucella burst out laughing.

He had never made her laugh. His insults sometimes drew a smile, though it was always tinged with resentment, and, more rarely, a snort. Lucella Snow didn't laugh. She would glare and insult you.

Lucella Snow was no laughing matter. You had to decipher her Nordic gibberish, which— intermingled with the insults and stubborn retorts to always have the last word—became particularly irritating.

And yet, Lucella Snow was laughing out loud with his nephew. His plain nephew. Aemond railed against the bastard who, like his mother, stole everything that didn't belong to him. Driftmark, the Iron Throne... And now Lucella Snow and her laugh.

That melodious sound, so clear, so different from her hoarse voice, stayed with him all day. He nodded absent-mindedly to his half-sister and her bastards. Neither Vaemond's nor Rhaenyra's plea echoed in his eardrums. All he could hear was her laughter, and all he could see was her face, her pink, stretched lips revealing astonishingly white teeth. Her hair went round and round in his mind.

He closed his only eye and prayed for a moment's respite, but the Gods turned a deaf ear to his plea.

His father burst in, reaffirmed Driftmark's succession to Lucerys, Vaemond dared to say what everyone else was thinking and lost his head in the process. His sister yelped; his brother turned his head; Aemond remained motionless for that damned laughter never left his thoughts and drove him mad.

He clenched his fists as his eye stared blankly at Vaemond's decapitated head.

Lucella Snow was driving him mad, whether she was there or not.

That evening, she still hadn't left his thoughts. He kept seeing the image of her, head back, smiling. Happy. Happy to talk to Jacaerys. Jacaerys, sitting next to Aegon—who was already drowning in wine—and his betrothed, was talking as if nothing had happened. As if he had not encroached on Aemond's territory. This made him furious. He sank into his usual silence but felt flames dancing in his chest. He waited and waited.

It was Luke's sneer when the roast pork was served that made him snap. His hand came down on the table and shook the glasses. Aemond took hold of his, still full, and raised it in the direction of the only two brown-haired boys, yet another example of their difference, their defect.

“Final tribute. To the health of my nephews. Jace… Luke… and Joffrey. Each of them handsome, wise… hm… strong.”

“Aemond.”

“Come... let us drain our cups to these three… Strong boys.”

“I dare you to say that again,” said Jacaerys, whose cheeks had become flushed.

The echo of a laugh resounded in his skull. The ghost of his nephew leaned towards Lucella. Aemond’s eye twitched. His thoughts darkened.

“Why? ‘Twas only a compliment. Do you not think yourself Strong?”

The bastard dared to punch him. Aemond threw one back and was delighted to hear his jaw crack. Their mothers stepped in as Aegon grabbed Luke by the hair and slammed his head against the solid oak table. Aemond could not contain his chuckled. He was reborn in the chaos and the pain of his nephew. His nephew who had dared to speak to Lucella, his dragonkeeper. Who had dared to make her laugh.

His mother dismissed him. He happily complied. Another second in Jacaerys' presence and he would have had to deal with much more than just a punch in the cheek. The fire that was burning every inch of his flesh—and whose first spark had ignited in the remnant of his eye—was not subsiding.

The flames intensified. They would consume him if he didn't get out of here.

Once outside, Aemond automatically headed for the Dragonpit. Fight fire with fire. He would feed off the dragons’ chaos and rejoice in their hot breath.

The prince didn't dare dwell on why. Why hadn't he headed for the beach, where he was sure to find Vhagar? Aemond kept quiet about this question—the answer to which he knew but didn't want to admit—and rushed into the pit.

His heart missed a beat and seemed to speed up at the same time.

Near the stairs where the Pink Dread had appeared years before, Lucella, staff in hand, was leading the dragons of Rhaenyra's clan forward. The eminent departure of the heiress to the throne had been quickly made known. The decision had been taken in haste. Rhaenyra would return to Dragonstone, where she reigned over her vices. King's Landing would no longer be contaminated by bastardy and manipulation. His grandfather and mother had made sure of that.

“Lykirī, Caraxes,” Snow's husky voice drew him from his thoughts. “Calm down. I don't want to use that.”

She shook her long wooden stick. Aemond had never seen Lucella use one. The other guardians never parted with it. They pricked the dragons' sides shamelessly and hit them when the creatures dared to rebel. Lucella did not stoop to such barbaric techniques. Her voice alone was enough to tame the most savage beasts. She had, after all, managed to bond with Vhagar.

Dragonkeepers forgot that the creatures in their care deserved respect and admiration. Only Snow understood this.

She grazed rather than poked Caraxes' rib.

Reluctance to hurt.  

Without being able to explain it, Aemond felt a certain satisfaction in knowing that she didn't need a stick when she was looking after Vhagar. The bond between the Northwoman and his dragon was unique. The first non-Targaryen to be able to touch her without dying.

A Northern girl who could tame dragons. She would inspire the minstrels of Flea Bottom, whose songs would overflow with metaphors about snow and fire. Lucella was a conundrum that Aemond couldn't decipher.

He hated not knowing. He had prided himself on his intelligence ever since he lost his eye. Luke had taken away his beauty, he would shine with his mind. Philosophy, science, nothing held any secrets for him except Lucella Snow, who symbolised everything her native land was not. 

The first time he had seen her, he had put her relationship with Vhagar down to luck. Perhaps his dragon, just as curious as he was, had become attached to this mongrel from the North. The days had passed. They had met again and Aemond had had to admit that the keeper knew what she was doing. He even dared to use the word “gift”, for no other dragon keeper possessed such an ability to tame beasts as she did: with love and respect.

For the first time in the history of Westeros, snow resisted fire. Ever white and strong, it extinguished flames.

Aemond did not move. He remained at the entrance of the pit and watched from a distance as Lucella calmed Caraxes with great gestures. The red dragon twisted in all directions to avoid her hands, but she was not discouraged. Her voice became firmer. He stiffened as he heard her order Daemon's dragon not to move.

“Lucella!”

The woman turned her head. One of the keepers appeared on the staircase. She was reluctant to leave the Blood Wyrm in the hands of one of the Elders. He had to pull her arm away from it. The Elder grabbed her staff and struck a clean blow into Caraxes' side. The dragon roared. A few waves of smoke escaped from his snout. A warning. Lucella clenched her fist and looked as if she wanted to say something to the Elder, but the other keeper called to her again. She joined him, shoulders tense, eyebrows furrowed.

Aemond watched them talk. From here, he couldn't tell what they were saying, but it seemed serious. They whispered urgently and glanced at the staircase. The keeper pointed to it. Lucella nodded. Aemond watched the girl disappear down the stairs. Something urged him to act. He pushed against the unpleasant memories—a winged pig and a dragon ready to char him— and followed.

Aemond could not see a thing. The dragons' only source of light was their fire. The guards armed themselves with torches to navigate this labyrinth of great galleries and endless corridors. Lucella strode with disconcerting ease in the complete darkness. A few torches here and there illuminated their surroundings, but he had to squint to make out Lucella's silhouette walking at a hurried pace.

Seeing that dragons were condemned to darkness, Aemond was glad that Vhagar didn't have to live in there. His gaze remained fixed on Lucella. She walked without hesitation. The pit held no secrets for her. She knew exactly where she was going and why. His guide in the dark.

“I have not seen you on the beach for a long time. Are you not supposed to be tending to Vhagar? The dunes and the fresh air are probably more pleasant than this… rat hole,” he glanced around wearily.

Lucella flinched, as she did every time they met. A small smile stretched Aemond's mouth. She was almost cute, startled out of her wits. He instantly chastised himself. Lucella Snow was not cute: she was an angry and sarcastic woman who constantly made inappropriate remarks.

The keeper rolled her eyes.

“What are yeh doin’ ere? Don't yeh ‘ave princely duties to attend t’?”

She had quickly abandoned all politeness. Had she ever had any? Their first encounters had exuded a certain reserve that annoyance had swept aside with a wave of its hand. The North and its lack of manners had quickly caught up with her. Aemond still couldn't understand why she spoke to him as if he were a commoner and not the prince, son of her king. The North may have worshipped their Warden, the Starks, but the Targaryen monarchy and power did not stop at the Neck.

“Vhagar don’t need me all th’ time,” she finally said when she saw he wouldn't answer. “She ‘as a rider. Would be good if he remembered. ‘ave neither t’ desire or t’ patience to carry dead sheep on me shoulder every day.”

“You are a dragonkeeper. The crown houses you, feeds you and gives you money to look after dragons.”

“Aye! Dragons. Not just one. Vhagar can look aftah ‘erself for a few hours. She survived Aegon's conquest, she'll survive three hours withou’ a pat on t’ ribs. Sunfyre needs me, Dreamfyre too. ‘nd wi’ Rhaenyra... Four more dragons is nah mean feat, let me tell yeh tha’. Not tha’ it matters anymore. People say you've lightened me workload. I thank yeh for tha’. I don't s’ppose dinnah went well? Was the meat not cooked to yer liking, yer ‘ighness?”

Lucella curtsied ungracefully. Her favourite mockery. Each time, she reminded him that she didn't care about his royal title.

“It concerns you not.”

“Hm… Well,” she shrugged. “I guess wine will loosen yer brother's tongue soon enough. Th’ Street of Silk is t’ best place t’ learn royal business. Everyone says so.”

She turned left into a seemingly endless corridor. He didn't know exactly how long they had been walking or the reason for this expedition.

“Just wish I could’ve looked after Vermax a litt’ longer. Tha’ an interesting character right ther’”

He laughed. It sounded bitter.

“His rider as well, I suppose?”

She turned and stared at him but said nothing. Lucella continued to advance into the pit. Aemond followed. An unpleasant feeling weighed down his shoulders. He opened his mouth several times but could not come up with something satisfactory to say. The image of her laughing at Jacaerys flashed in his mind. How had he done it?

“Do you not miss working in the pit?” he finally asked.

“Nay. It's not healthy t’ be so immersed in the dark. Some o’ t’ guards ‘ave gone mad. Even the North ‘s more welcoming. The dark always passes. Not ’ere. I prefer t’ beach, even if it means yeh’re there,” she glanced over her shoulder at him. “Vhagar is happier than any o’ those dragons. It's awful, t’ way they're treated. If I ‘ad me way, they'd be flyin’ free over King's Landing. A dragon is no slave that can be chained up in t’ dark ‘nd taken out when its rider wants t’ get some fresh air. I've always– Look out!”

Lucella pulled him out of the path of the flames. A dragon, illuminated by the blaze, appeared in his field of vision for a few seconds and disappeared into the darkness just as quickly. His heart pounded against his chest. His hands trembled. He saw himself again, ten years earlier, in the same position. He closed his eye.  

“Fuck!”

Lucella screamed in pain. The distinctive smell of charred flesh rose to his nose. Aemond looked down. In the darkness, he could make out the keeper’s burnt arm. She yelped. The sound tore at Aemond's heart.

A rumble sounded, followed by a second. One by one, the dragons awoke. Lucella swore.

Despite her injury, she pulled the prince towards the exit. He followed her like a puppet, with no resistance in his limbs.

She was touching him.

For the first time.

They left the darkness behind them. Aemond's violet eye fell on Lucella's arm. Her armour had taken the brunt of the attack, but leather was no match for the Dracarys of an enraged dragon. Iron, dragonglass, Valyrian steel... The fire nibbled at everything, leaving nothing but ashes. The usually pale flesh of the female keeper was now nothing but a jumble of black and pink. Melted leather had mixed with the raw wound. He grimaced. It would leave a scar. Only now did Aemond notice that, unlike the other guards, Lucella's face and body had not been marred by the flames.

Before him and his careless mistake, a small, petty voice whispered to him. He did not try to quiet it. It was right. Because of his stupidity, she was suffering. A lump caught in Aemond's throat.

They went out of the pit, onto the open arena. Lucella grumbled under her breath. She berated him for having followed her and distracted her.

“Princes ‘ave no business in the pit! Yeh always want t’ play great lords… saviours… Whatevah! And yeh expect people t’ pick up the pieces yer idiocy caused! The nerve of yeh!”

Hatred took over and soothed her suffering. He let her scream. Perhaps that was the best remedy, for, no doubt, the adrenalin would soon evaporate and leave her weak and feverish.

“We must treat the wound as quickly as possible. I will summon Maestre Mullynn. He'll know what to do. He's the one who stitched up my eye, so he'll probably be able to–”

“Leave me be. Yeh’ve done enough. Go do what princes do. Fuck a whore, play knight, whatevah... I don’t give no fuck. Go.”

For once, he didn't comment on her vulgarity and simply repeated what he had just said. If she didn't see a Maester and treat her burns immediately, she risked much more than a simple scar. Aemond dared to put a hand on her shoulder.

The feel of her skin against his made him lose his train of thought. In his heart, a flame different from the others ignited. He leaned into this pleasant, softer, warmth.

Lucella jerked away from his grasp and stomped on the flame, leaving him cold as stone. She held back a cry of pain through clenched teeth and pressed her arm against her chest. One eye wasn't enough to hide the tremors that shook her arm. He clenched his fist. He would carry her all the way to Maestre Mullynn if he had to. Lucella had to treat that arm.

“I must insist... He–”

“Get lost, for fuck’s sake!”

Aemond stood still, surprised by the explosion. He was not facing a Northern bastard, but a dragon. A dragon ready to destroy everything in its path. In her amber eyes burned the flame of resentment. She had become the Stranger and promised death to anyone who dared stand in her way. Aemond had come close to Death many times. It had never looked so frightening.

He watched her walk away helplessly, her hand trembling on her fragile arm.

His eye itched. He didn't understand why.

As he passed through the gates of the Red Keep, Ser Criston Cole summoned him to the Small Council Chamber. His mother told him that his father, the King, had died and that Aegon was to be crowned.

A tear rolled down his cheek. He was not sad.

[delusionalmishka]

Blue Blood (pt.5)

(pt.4)

Summary: After the turmoil at Driftmark, King Viserys attempted to mend family divisions by arranging a marriage between Alicent's son, Aemond Targaryen, and Rhaenyra's daughter, Lucenya Velaryon; when King Viserys died and the Greens and the Blacks war began to unravel, the arrangement fell through. On the brink of war, Lucenya was sent to Storm's End as an envoy. Aemond didn’t plan on letting his bastard bride slip through his fingers one more time. She’d owned him for his left eye.

Warnings for this chapter: blood, violence, Aemond being crazy.

Lucenya's nerves were fraying by the minute as she sat at the breakfast table with Aemond. The grand chamber was filled with the clinking of fine porcelain and the muted chatter of the maids attending to their duties. The morning light filtered through the large windows, casting a soft glow over the richly decorated room, but for Lucenya, it felt as though she was trapped in a gilded cage.

Aemond sat across from her, a rare, genuine smile gracing his lips. His satisfaction was palpable, and his eyes followed her every move with an intensity that made her skin crawl. His eagerness for their upcoming marriage was clear, and the anticipation in his demeanor was both unsettling and unnerving.

"I've spoken with the High Septon," he said, his voice filled with a quiet excitement. "He will bless our wedding. Although I wanted to marry you in the old Valyrian tradition, I will follow my mother's wishes and marry you under the Faith of the Seven."

Lucenya's heart sank further. The reality of her impending marriage to Aemond was closing in on her. She felt trapped, her options dwindling. She nodded absently, barely registering Aemond's words.

He reached out, his hand gently lift her chin, turning her face toward him. "Are you listening?" His voice was softer, a rare gentleness that only made her feel more trapped.

She forced herself to meet his gaze, swallowing her fear. "Yes, uncle. I'm listening. It's... it's just a lot to take in."

She thought about the note under her pillow.

Lucenya tried to focus on the task at hand—eating and maintaining a semblance of normalcy—but her anxiety was overwhelming. Her hands trembled as she reached for the milk, and her grip was unsteady. As she poured the milk into her goblet, her nerves got the better of her, and she accidentally spilled a generous amount over the table.

The milk pooled around the edges of the fine tablecloth, and the sight made Lucy flush with embarrassment. She quickly began to apologize, her voice wavering with fear. Aemond’s eyes narrowed, but he remained calm, a faint smile playing on his lips. He snapped his fingers, summoning a young blonde maid who had been quietly attending to them. She was quick to respond, her kind eyes filled with sympathy as she approached the mess.

Lucenya watched as the maid began to clean up the spill, noting how the girl had been one of the few sources of kindness since her arrival, her name was Dyana; she had tented to Lucy’s wounds, working closely with the Maester to care for her burns.

 As the maid worked, Lucenya caught Aemond’s gaze, but he did not press her about the spill or her obvious anxiety. Instead, he seemed content, a sense of satisfaction evident in his posture.

"Are you feeling unwell, niece?" Aemond asked, his tone gentle yet probing. He reached out and placed a hand on her wrist, his touch lingering longer than necessary. Lucenya could barely meet his gaze.

"I'm just cold," she replied, forcing a weak smile. Her voice trembled despite her best efforts to sound steady.

Aemond studied her for a moment. “I’m sure you’ll warm up soon,” he said. “We’ve made all the preparations for the wedding. I want you to be comfortable and ready for the ceremony.” he smiled in her direction although it did not reached his eye. 

Lucenya nodded, her mind racing with the implications of his words. Despite her anxiety, she managed to keep her composure as best as she could. She could feel the weight of Aemond’s gaze on her.

As the meal continued, she focused on the task of eating. Each bite felt like a chore, each sip of milk a reminder of her precarious situation. Her mind was fixed on the plan for her escape that night, and she could hardly think of anything else.

Aemond's demeanor remained unchanged throughout breakfast. He spoke of the wedding with an almost reverent tone, his excitement for their union apparent. His focus was entirely on her, and although he was suspicious of her nervousness, he chose not to press her further. Instead, he seemed content in the knowledge that their marriage was drawing near, a goal that had consumed him for some time.

Lucenya, meanwhile, felt a pang of fear and desperation. The stakes were high, and the possibility of failure was not an option. As the breakfast came to an end and Aemond prepared to leave, she took a deep breath, trying to steady herself for the night ahead. The time for action was fast approaching, and she could only hope that everything would go according to plan.

{...}

The afternoon sun cast long shadows across the stone walls of Lucenya’s chamber, painting the room in a warm, golden hue. The door creaked open and Dyana, who had been assigned to tend to Lucenya, stepped inside. Her eyes, filled with a mixture of curiosity and concern, settled on Lucenya, who was pacing the room nervously.

“Is there something you need, my lady?” the maid asked, her voice gentle.

Lucenya turned, trying to keep her composure despite the turmoil brewing inside her. “Yes,” she said quietly, taking a deep breath to steady herself. “I could use some assistance. Would you help me with something?”

Dyana nodded, stepping closer. “Of course, my lady. What do you need?”

Lucenya glanced around to ensure they were alone. She moved to her dressing table and carefully retrieved a small, velvet-lined box from one of the drawers. Her hands trembled slightly as she opened it to reveal a magnificent ruby ring, its deep red hue shimmering in the light.

“This ring,” Lucenya said, holding it out to Dyana, “is worth a small fortune. I need your help to escape from the Red Keep tonight.”

The maid’s eyes widened in shock and apprehension as she looked at the ring. “Escape? But—”

Lucenya quickly lowered her voice, glancing nervously at the door. “Please, listen. I’m desperate. Aemond has no intention of letting me go, and I cannot remain here any longer. I need you to bring me some male clothing and a cloak. Tonight, after dark, I plan to leave, through the kitchen. Please leave my door unlocked before you retire from you duties tonight.”

The maid’s gaze flickered between the ring and Lucenya’s pleading eyes. She seemed to weigh the risk against the reward, the silence of the room making the decision all the more pressing.

Finally, with a hesitant nod, she took the ring from Lucenya’s hand. “I’ll get what you need. But please, be careful.”

“Thank you,” Lucenya whispered, relief flooding through her. “I’ll be ready.”

The maid gave a final nod before slipping our of the chamber, leaving Lucenya alone with her thoughts. As the door closed behind her, Lucenya took a moment to collect herself. She paced the room, her mind racing with plans and contingencies. The sound of her footsteps was the only noise in the quiet chamber, a stark contrast to the noise and activity she would soon leave behind.

Lucenya’s heart pounded. She knew the risks of her plan, but the promise of freedom was too great to ignore. Every moment counted, and she had to make sure everything was in place for her escape.

{...}

Later that day, as the sun was setting in the horizon, she heard a sharp knock at the door. Her pulse quickened, expecting Aemond to enter, but instead, Ser Criston Cole stepped inside, his armor gleaming in the orange sunlight that engulfed her chamber.

He looked at her with the same disdain he had always held for her mother, Rhaenyra, and by extension, for her. Lucenya could feel the chill in his gaze, the man was not Captain of the King’s Guard, Lucy knew he was dangerous. She straightened herself, trying to appear as composed as possible, though her hands still trembled slightly from the tension that had gripped her since morning.

"Prince Aemond sends his regards," Ser Criston said, his tone flat, "and wishes to inform you that he will not be joining you today. He is occupied with his duties on the Small Council."

Lucenya blinked in surprise. Aemond was on the Small Council? It was unexpected news, and it unsettled her more than she cared to admit. The idea of Aemond holding a position of power within Aegon’s court only made her situation more precarious. His influence was growing, and with it, his control over her life.

But as Ser Criston delivered the message, an unexpected sense of relief washed over her. Aemond’s absence tonight will work in her favor. If he was occupied with council matters, he would be less likely to notice anything amiss until it was too late. The timing couldn’t have been more fortuitous.

Ser Criston, however, lingered for a moment longer, his cold eyes sweeping over her with an expression that made Lucenya’s skin crawl. "I would advise you to remember your place, Lady Lucenya," he added with a sneer, his voice dripping with the same venom he had always reserved for her family. "Prince Aemond is very fond of you, but that affection has its limits."

Lucenya held his gaze, refusing to flinch under the weight of his words. "I understand," she replied quietly, masking the turmoil that churned within her.

With a final, contemptuous glance, Ser Criston turned on his heel and left, the door closing with a resounding thud behind him. Lucenya exhaled slowly, her mind racing. She knew that tonight had to be the night. There was no telling when she would have another opportunity like this, with Aemond preoccupied and the guards perhaps less vigilant.

The hours dragged by painfully slowly as Lucenya went through the motions of the day, trying to act as if nothing was amiss. 

Lucy hoped Dyana would keep her part of the deal. 

As dusk settled over King’s Landing, Lucenya’s anxiety grew. The fear of being caught was overwhelming, but it was nothing compared to the dread of what awaited her if she stayed. Lucy missed Dragonstone, her mother and her brothers endlessly. 

Finally, as the Red Keep grew quiet and the sounds of the bustling castle faded into the night and the sky turned pitch black outside, Lucenya knew it was time. 

Lucenya's heart pounded in her chest as she approached the door of her chamber, her nerves fraying with every step. She hesitated for a moment, her hand hovering over the handle, terrified of what she might find on the other side. If the door was locked, her escape plan would fall apart before it even began. She took a deep breath, steeling herself, and pushed the handle down.

Relief washed over her when the door creaked open, unlocked. A wave of hope surged through her, a fragile but precious thing in the suffocating misery that had become her life in King’s Landing. She peered outside, her eyes scanning the dimly lit corridor. There, just as she had hoped, was a small bundle on the cold stone floor, and more importantly, the corridor was empty. The guards who usually stood vigil outside her room were nowhere to be seen.

Lucenya silently thanked Dyana, for keeping her part of the deal. The maid had managed to lure the guards away, just as she had promised. Lucenya knew she had little time to spare. Quickly and quietly, she slipped back into her chamber, shutting the door softly behind her. She untied the bundle with trembling hands, revealing the dark pants, tunic, and cloak that Dyana had left for her.

She wasted no time in changing, discarding her feminine garments in favor of the rough, masculine clothing. The tunic hung loosely on her frame, the pants a bit too large, but she made do, tightening the belt around her waist. The cloak was heavy and coarse, but it would help her blend into the shadows. Lucenya pulled the hood low over her face, hiding her brown hair, and darted out of the door, her heart pounding in her ears.

The Red Keep was a maze of corridors and hidden passages, but Lucenya had spent enough time here to know some of its secrets. She moved swiftly, staying close to the walls, her footsteps muffled by the thick soles of her boots. The castle seemed to swallow her whole, the darkness pressing in on all sides as she made her way toward the exit.

Every sound made her flinch, every creak of the floorboards and distant murmur of voices sending her heart racing. She couldn’t afford to be caught now, not when she was so close. Her mind raced with thoughts of her family, of her mother and brothers who were surely waiting for her return. The hope of seeing them again, of escaping this nightmare, drove her forward.

The journey through the Red Keep felt endless, each corner turned revealing another stretch of shadowy corridor. But Lucy was determined, her fear overshadowed by the desperation to be free. She moved with purpose, guided by the sliver of hope that Dyana had given her, praying to the gods that she would reach Allun Caswell before it was too late.

As she neared the exit, the cold night air hit her face, filling her with a renewed sense of urgency. She was almost there, almost free. Lucenya quickened her pace, the promise of freedom just within reach.

Lucenya reached the docks of the Red Keep, her breath coming in ragged gasps, her body trembling with exhaustion and fear. The sight of Allun Caswell standing by a small fishing boat filled her with a rush of relief. Her nightmare was almost over. The older man’s face was grim, and there was no time for courtesies; he immediately gestured for her to hurry.

"Quickly, my lady," Allun urged, his voice low and urgent.

Lucenya didn't need to be told twice. She scrambled into the boat, her hands moving frantically to untie the rope that secured it to the dock. The knot was stubborn, but her desperation gave her strength. With a final tug, the rope came loose, and she turned around to help Lord Caswell into the boat.

But before she could reach out to him, a sickening sound tore through the night—a sharp, wet thud. Lucenya froze, her blood turning to ice. Allun’s eyes widened in shock, his hand instinctively reaching for his chest where an arrow had pierced through him. His knees buckled, and he collapsed onto the dock. 

"No!" Lucenya's scream was choked with horror. She lunged toward him, but the boat rocked dangerously, and she was forced to steady herself. 

Allun’s eyes locked with hers as another arrow pierced thought his neck, blood gushing out of the wound. His lips moved as if to say something, but no sound came out. The light in his eyes faded quickly, leaving only a lifeless stare. His body fell with a heavy thud. 

Lucenya was paralyzed, her mind unable to process what had just happened. This couldn't be real. This couldn't be happening. Her teary brown eyes stared at his lifeless body. The only men who stood up to help her, the man who was loyal to her mother was now dead. 

Panic surged through her. She had to move, desperation yelling at her to get away, but the boat was still tied to the dock. She fumbled with the oars, her hands shaking uncontrollably as she tried to push the boat away from the dock.

Tears streamed down her face as she finally managed to shove the boat away, the gap between the dock and the boat widening. The water beneath her was dark and cold, the current pulling her farther from the shore. But it was too late

They would catch her. They would drag her back to that gilded cage.

Then, she saw him.

Aemond Targaryen walked towards her with an unsettling calm, a bow slung over his shoulder and a quiver of arrows strapped to his back. His face was illuminated by the flickering torchlight, and a wide smile spread across his lips. It was a smile that sent a shiver down Lucenya's spine. He looked almost... pleased, as if this was a game and she had given him exactly what he wanted.

"A little sport in the night, hm?" Aemond's voice was smooth, almost playful. He paused at the edge of the dock, watching her with a predatory gaze from above. "I haven't hunted in quite some time, thanks to the state of the realm. But this... this gave me a thrill I’ve missed."

Lucenya’s breath caught in her throat. The realization that he had been the one to shoot Allun—her only hope of escape—hit her like a physical blow. The older man’s body still lay on the dock, blood staining the stone, and yet Aemond’s eyes never wavered from her.

He was savoring this moment.

“You thought you could just slip away, didn’t you?” Aemond continued, his voice laced with mockery. He stepped closer to the edge, looking down at her with a mix of amusement and something darker. “You’re smarter than that, Lucenya. Or at least, I thought you were.”

Lucenya’s hands tightened around the oars, her knuckles white. She wanted to scream, to curse him, but the words stuck in her throat. The boat was drifting farther out now, the water widening the distance between them, but it wasn’t enough. It would never be enough.

Aemond didn’t seem to be in any hurry. He reached for an arrow, his movements slow, deliberate. He nocked it to the bowstring and drew it back, the wood creaking under the tension.

Lucenya’s heart pounded in her chest, her eyes locked on the arrow aimed at her. She could feel the terror rising within her, but she refused to give him the satisfaction of seeing her fear.

Aemond tilted his head slightly, his smile never fading. “Run all you like, Lucenya. But you’ll never be able to escape me.”

With that, he released the arrow. It whistled through the air, missing the boat by inches. He was toying with her, showing her that even if she managed to flee, she would always be within his reach.

Lucenya fell to her knees, her heart sinking as the full weight of her failed escape crashed down on her. The cold realization that there was no way out, no hope of returning to her family, was like a dagger to her chest. Her limbs felt heavy, drained of strength and resolve. She couldn’t even muster the will to fight when Aemond brought the boat closer to the shore.

She climbed out of the boat on her own, her eyes fixed on the ground, avoiding the sight of Allun’s lifeless body. The man who had risked everything to save her now lay dead, and it was all because of her. Her hands trembled, and tears welled up in her eyes, but she refused to let them fall. She couldn’t afford to show any more weakness in front of Aemond.

Aemond stood before her, towering over her like a vengeful shadow. His pale silver hair framed a face twisted in a dark mix of fury and satisfaction. The thrill of the hunt had faded, replaced by the cold, simmering anger that now burned in his violet eye. Lucenya dared not look up at him, but she could feel the intensity of his gaze, like a predator who had finally cornered its prey.

Without a word, Aemond reached down and grabbed a handful of her hair, yanking her head back. Lucenya gasped, her scalp burning with pain, but she remained silent, too shocked and defeated to resist. He started dragging her back toward the Red Keep, each step a painful reminder of her failure.

They passed by Criston Cole, who stood with a smug expression, clearly pleased with the sight before him. His eyes gleamed with a twisted sense of satisfaction as he watched Aemond pull Lucenya along like a rag doll. There was no pity, no sympathy in his gaze—only the cold, calculated pleasure of a man who had watched his enemy’s child be brought to heel.

Lucenya’s vision blurred with tears, her mind racing with fear and despair. She could barely process the situation, her thoughts a chaotic swirl of guilt, anger, and hopelessness. Aemond’s grip on her hair tightened as they approached the entrance to the Red Keep, and she could feel the fury radiating off him in waves.

Aemond’s grip on Lucenya’s hair tightened as he dragged her through the winding corridors of the Red Keep, his steps quick and determined. Lucenya stumbled along behind him, barely able to keep her feet under her as he led her deeper into the castle. Her heart pounded with fear and dread, each step echoing in the cold, unforgiving stone of the fortress. She could feel the walls closing in around her.

Finally, they arrived at the chamber of the Grand Septon, who had been summoned to the Red Keep for the impending marriage ceremony. The heavy door swung open, and Aemond shoved Lucenya inside, throwing her to the floor at the Septon’s feet. She landed hard on her knees, the impact jarring through her already trembling body.

The Grand Septon, an elderly man with a face lined with age and wisdom, looked down at Lucenya with shock and concern. His pale blue eyes widened as he took in the sight of the disheveled young woman before him, tears running down her face. He glanced up at Aemond, who stood looming over her, his expression dark and unyielding.

“Prince Aemond,” the Septon began, his voice quivering slightly with unease, “what is the meaning of this? What has happened?”

Aemond’s voice was cold and commanding as he spoke, his eye never leaving Lucenya. “You are to marry us, right here, right now.”

The Grand Septon blinked in astonishment, his hands trembling slightly as he clutched the edges of his robes. “But… but, Your Grace, the ceremony is not yet prepared. There are rites to be observed, blessings to be given—”

Aemond cut him off with a sharp glare, his patience worn thin. “You will marry us now, or I will find someone else who will. This wedding will happen tonight.”

Lucenya’s heart sank even further as she heard the finality in his words. There was no escape, no hope left. She was trapped in this nightmare, with no way out. She could feel the Septon’s hesitant gaze on her, as if silently asking her for confirmation, but she couldn’t bring herself to look up at him. She didn’t have the strength to protest, nor the will to resist.

The Grand Septon hesitated, clearly torn between his duty and the unsettling circumstances. But the fear of defying a Targaryen prince—a man known for his ruthless determination—overpowered his reservations. With a solemn nod, he finally relented, his voice shaking slightly as he spoke.

“Very well, Your Grace. If this is your wish… I will perform the ceremony.”

Aemond’s lips curled into a satisfied smile, and he reached down, grabbing Lucenya by the arm and hauling her to her feet. She felt like a puppet on strings, her body moving without her consent, her mind numb with despair. The Grand Septon began to recite the vows, his voice wavering as he performed the sacred rites in the cold, impersonal chamber.

As the words of the ceremony filled the room, Lucenya’s mind drifted, her thoughts far away from the scene unfolding before her. She thought of her mother, her brothers, and the life she had been so cruelly torn away from. The hope she had clung to, the sliver of a chance at freedom, was now gone, extinguished by the harsh reality of her situation.

When the Grand Septon finished the vows, he hesitated once more before declaring them man and wife, the weight of the moment heavy on his shoulders. Aemond wasted no time, pulling Lucenya close and pressing a possessive kiss to her lips. The kiss was harsh and forceful, lacking any tenderness or warmth like he had when they shared a kiss before. It was a claim, a final assertion of his control over her.

Lucenya didn’t resist, didn’t fight back. She was too numb, too broken to do anything but endure. As Aemond released her, the reality of her new life began to sink in. She was now bound to him.

The Grand Septon stepped back, his expression a mix of pity and resignation as he looked at Lucenya.

Aemond turned to leave, dragging Lucenya along with him, his grip on her arm firm and unrelenting. As they exited the chamber, the heavy door closing behind them, Lucenya felt the last remnants of her hope slip away, leaving her with nothing but the cold, suffocating reality of her new life as Aemond’s wife.