#daeron targaryen oneshot

[diamantar]

REINA OSADA

→ Daeron Targaryen x fem!OC [Visenya Targaryen]

✦ Sinopsis: Portando un nombre lleno de historia, Visenya armará su propio mundo junto a la persona indicada.

✦ Advertencias: Incesto / Diferencia de edad / Matrimonio arreglado / ¿Lesiones consensuadas?

✦ Palabras: 1557

✦ Pedido: Si, de Wattpad.

Alicent inspiró profundo y juntó toda voluntad existente para no arrancarse la piel alrededor de las uñas, a paso ansioso recorriendo sus aposentos en una espera insoportable. Demasiados pensamientos la atormentaban y no podía imaginar que el plan ideado no saliera a favor, especialmente cuando le otorgaría poder en varios aspectos.

Ser Criston, que bien sabía lo que sufría, ni siquiera pidió permiso al abrir la puerta y enseñar al tercer hijo de la Reina.

—Aemond, me han dicho que solo Vhagar ha regresado, ¿que sucedió? —preguntó preocupada, ambas pupilas cayendo en la carta sucia y arrugada que cargaba—. ¿Es de Daeron?

—Pide sinceras disculpas por no venir él mismo, pero envía una nota para esclarecer su ausencia.

La Hightower agarró la misiva casi con miedo, durante unos segundos guardando silencio antes de enfocarse en el príncipe.

—Lo viste, ¿verdad? —indagó tragando con dificultad—. ¿Estaba con ella?

—Correcto —asintió, por un segundo amagando a sonreír.

Tan pequeño y veloz gesto paralizó a la mujer, que olvidó pestañear y rápidamente destruyó el sello para leer las palabras del menor.

—Esto es… —dejó los labios separados en incredulidad.

—Lo que deseabas.

Ante la confirmación cerró los ojos y lanzó la cabeza hacia atrás agradeciendo tal fortuna, aliviada prefiriendo sentarse frente al escritorio.

—Un dragón criado entre águilas, es ideal —comentó poniendo una mano en el pecho y sintiendo las pulsaciones regresar a la normalidad—. La hija menor de Aemma nos dará gran ventaja.

—¿Segura de que estará de nuestro lado en las discusiones por la herencia al trono?

—No, pero no se ha criado aquí y no es cercana a Rhaenyra, podemos dirigirla a nosotros

—Recuerda que es conocida por justamente ser alguien difícil de manipular.

—“La reencarnación de Visenya” —suspiró jugando con una pluma sin tinta—. Ciertamente sabían que hacían al nombrarla como la hermana de Aegon el Conquistador, porque nació con el carácter de ella.

—¿Crees poder manejarla? —enarcó una ceja, porque había visto a la mujer y reconocía que era una oponente fuerte.

—Tal vez no, pero Daeron…

—Es inesperado que se conocieran y forjaran tan buena relación.

Alicent asintió y observó el celeste cielo, ausente ordenando la mente antes de hablar.

—Como tu hermano, Visenya fue enviada joven a su segunda casa. Los Arryn estaban encantados de recibir a una de las nietas de su única hija de descendencia Targaryen, especialmente cuando Vermithor la seguiría. Desde joven ha mostrado carácter dominante y una actitud inclinada hacia la batalla… Ha terminado por sí misma decenas de rebeliones y forjó una enorme fortuna a partir de ellas, es el gran orgullo de ambas familias —resumió a punto de negar maravillada—. La opinión publica es increíble, algunos hasta la ven como una reina del pasado que surgió a guiarlos y protegerlos.

—¿Padre aceptará el casamiento cuando podría utilizarla para reforzar lazos? He oído que hay varios interesados.

—Viserys no dudará mientras exista la posibilidad de una reconciliación familiar, celebrará la propuesta —bufó como si aquel fuera el menor de los problemas.

—Al menos no deberás preocuparte por de Daeron, él está sumamente encantado con nuestra hermana.

—Así parece —dijo en volumen bajo y levantando la carta—. Pensar que se conocerían cerca de Antigua para sofocar un batallón de bandidos… Los Dioses están de nuestro lado.

—¿Necesitas más de mí? —preguntó al apreciar que la conversación terminaba.

—No, has hecho bien, descansa que es mi turno de hablar con el Rey.

La mujer inspiró a gusto con el desarrollo de los eventos y por largos segundos disfrutó aquella victoria, con renovada energía agarrando la carta y partiendo hacia su esposo.

El humo escalaba hasta el cielo en torres grises que desde kilómetros anunciaban peligro, los numerosos focos de fuego aún ardiendo entre escombros y cadáveres. La brisa llevaba el aroma a carne quemada hacia la zona contraria al campamento, aunque la única femenina en pie estaba segura que su ejercito ya adivinaba qué había hecho.

Vermithor brillaba ante el reflejo del sol y estiraba las alas en una pose sumamente relajada, la Targaryen quitándose el casco y dejando las mechas ondear en naturaleza. El panorama repleto de cenizas la llenó de orgullo y elevó el mentón en satisfacción, otro grupo de inútiles agregándose a la lista de conquistas. Torció el agarre en la espada que cargaba e inquirió si así fue como se sintió Aegon I, el deseo de sentir tal grandeza y obtener toda tierra posible enviando escalofríos que casi la hicieron jadear.

Un rugido la sacó del ensimismamiento e hizo que sonriera pequeño, de pronto el cielo cubriéndose y sellando en la tierra una forma que bien identificaba. Vermithor observó y rezongó, de manera que ella estiró el cuello y apreció el destellante azul metálico del joven dragón. Conectó breves miradas con el jinete e inclinó la cabeza en desafío, desde el inicio señalando que no se arrepentía de lo cometido.

—¿No pudiste esperar?

El reclamo llegó apenas aterrizó y Visenya enfrentó al atractivo adolescente con una mueca traviesa.

—Adelanté el trabajo —respondió indiferente—. ¿Por qué mover y agotar al resto cuando puedo encargarme sola?

Daeron torció la boca y acortó la distancia quitándose el casco, objeto que tiró a lo que quedaba de pasto.

—Los eventos no siempre saldrán a tu favor, ¡podrías morir!

—Admite que estás enojado porque no te llamé para la diversión —rió sin tomarlo en serio.

Frunciendo el ceño y sosteniéndola del rostro, el aire alrededor del chico cambió.

—Nunca vuelvas a dejarme atrás, pensamos y atacamos juntos, ¿entendido? —ordenó en tono bajo y severo.

—Daeron el Osado es un título apropiado viendo que tienes el atrevimiento de amonestarme —gruñó entre dientes—. Congeniamos y calibramos de manera espectacular, ¿pero piensas que te permitiré controlarme?

—Anhelo cuidar y proteger a mi futura esposa, ¿acaso es una locura lo que pido?

El término empleado la descolocó y provocó que contorsionara el rostro, con labios apretados observándolo como si fuera un desquiciado.

—¿Qué has dicho?

Liberándola despacio, Daeron retrocedió y buscó entre su armadura un papel doblado.

—Es una carta de padre para ambos, pensaba leerla contigo hasta que descubrí que volaste sola a pelear.

Visenya agarró y leyó, progresivamente enseriándose y perdiendo cualquier expresión que señalara lo que pensaba. Rápidamente mojó los labios y le miró, en un puño sosteniendo el decreto y enfrentándolo de una manera casi intimidante.

—¿Qué piensas de esta decisión?

Daeron se arrodilló en una pierna y colocó la mano derecha sobre el corazón.

—Contraer matrimonio contigo será el honor más grande de mi vida.

La mujer desenfundó la espada y lo apuntó, lento y casi sin pestañear admirando como él intentaba descifrar sus próximos movimientos.

—Palabras bonitas no comprarán mi corazón —habló, en el proceso colocando la punta del metal en el centro del cuello.

—Lo sé, pero mi alma se desvive por ti, esa es la única verdad.

Visenya inclinó la cabeza y bajó la mirada a la tierna piel que amenazaba, de pronto rodeándola un aura casi exótica.

—¿Sabes de la tradición valyria o solo conoces la Fe de los Siete?

—Yo… —dudó un momento intentando recordar algo que pudiera haber leído.

—Silencio, el titubeo solo confirma la ignorancia —interrumpió dando un paso más—. Eres joven y tu futuro brilla, pero soy mayor y mi reputación aplasta la que posees. ¿Serás capaz de conquistar el mundo conmigo?

El Targaryen tragó y saltó al sentir como la espada le lastimaba, con el corazón acelerado admirándola desde abajo mientras el viento y el sol la coronaban como la poderosa reina que era.

—Te pertenezco —respiró tembloroso, la tensión provocando cosquillas en su vientre—. Viviremos, amaremos, procrearemos, arrasaremos y construiremos juntos, desde que te conocí no ha existido nadie más que tú.

Visenya inspiró lento y profundo, despacio bajando la espada y yendo a arrodillarse frente a él. Tiró el arma a un costado y colocó ambas manos en el pecho contrario, suave descendiendo hasta encontrar la daga y tomarla en posesión.

—¿Qué…?

—Un pacto de sangre —aclaró mientras le agarraba el mentón y acercaba el filo al labio inferior—. A partir de hoy eres completamente mío, Daeron.

Observándose a los ojos, él apenas se movió cuando ella realizó un pequeño corte. Aguantó el dolor y el ardor para tomar el puñal y entender que era su turno de actuar.

—Visenya… —llamó casi en trance, una neblina mental jamás experimentada llevándolo a sensaciones que hasta ese momento desconocía,

—Estoy aquí —contestó mientras lo abrazaba por la cintura y formaba una sutil mueca cariñosa.

El muchacho respiró pesado y acunó una mejilla antes de cortar la tierna piel, el suspiro que ella liberó sacudiéndolo hasta los huesos. Soltó el arma y sin perder un segundo acortó la distancia, finalmente probando los labios que tantos meses deseó consumir. La Targaryen se entregó al contacto y un gemido quedó ahogado cuando él usó la mano libre para tomarla del cabello, el calor del sol quemando como si estuvieran fundiéndose en fuego.

—¿Me amas como te amo a ti?

—Soy tuya, Daeron, de nadie más —murmuró inclinándose a descansar en uno de sus hombros—. Juntos haremos historia.

Sintiendo que la estrechaba y casi le quitaba el aire, Visenya observó las resplandecientes escamas de Vermithor y tembló de emoción ante la idea de cumplir cada sueño y objetivo al lado del Targaryen.

[princesssszzzz]

Rhaena and Daeron AU they sit around watching their family fight with each other and they laugh at them

[huramuna]

downpour - oneshot.

modern aegon ii targaryen x nanny reader minors dni, you will be smited.

this is for @targaryen-dynasty sleepover challenge 🤭 i got the babysitter au + the prompt 'why so shy?' i had so much fun with this, modern aegon is a menace and also a sopping wet cat.

word count: 4.5k

content: smutty smut smut (specifics under cut), aegon being a little shit (we love it), saltburn spoilers (lol), allusions to drug / alcohol abuse and rehabilitation, mullet aegon, jaehaera and jaehaerys are hel's kids but they have an unnamed / unrelated father, gratuitous use of song lyrics, probably a touch of power imbalance because of her job

murder on the dance floor - sophie ellis-bexter

warnings: oral (m receiving), face slapping w/ cock, degradation, dirty talk (this man never shuts up), face fucking / deepthroat, cum on face

“Jaehaerys! Jaehaera! Please don’t run in the house with muddy boots!” you called fervently, trying to collapse the umbrella with one hand, two teddy bears slung in the other. 

“We won’t!” they both called in unison, followed by the unmistakable sound of muddy galoshes squeaking over the marble floor. You suppressed the urge to groan as you entered the exquisite home through the french doors that led to the backyard. 

“Boots off, little ones!” you called again, kicking off your own shoes in a haste to catch the gremlins before they tracked grime all over madam Alicent’s home. You had been working at the Targaryen estate for the better part of a year as a live-in nanny for Lady Alicent’s two grandchildren– twins, Jaehaerys and Jaehaera. It was a wonderful job for the most part, as the twins were a delight and you had grown to have a strong friendship with their mother, Helaena. She was a bit dreamy-eyed and wistful, but was a wonderful mother nonetheless, even if she did have her melancholic days. 

The estate was huge and ancient, passed down from generations through Helaena’s father’s side, which was apparently a near royal bloodline from days long foregone. Viserys Targaryen, the father in question, was hardly ever home. He managed the family business (whatever it may be, you didn’t find it in you to ask– all you knew is that they were dirty rich) with his other daughter, Rhaenyra, from his first marriage. He had four children with Alicent, Helaena being the only one of the brood to still live at home.

 You’d met two of the others as well; Aemond, a lawyer in the family business who was, in short, all business and no play. He never regarded you, really, besides a quick glance or stiff nod. He had, however, slipped you a eight-thousand dollar bonus at Christmas time with a simple card that read;

Thank you for taking care of the twins and my sister. And keeping my mother sane.

- A.T

The other sibling, Daeron, was the youngest of the bunch, visited usually during holidays, as he constantly was studying abroad. ‘Sowing his wild oats’, as Helaena had put it. He was cordial to you and very much had a boyish charm, and Helaena loved to joke that he had a crush on you. When he had come home for New Year’s, he brought you a souvenir from Iceland, an authentic lopapeysa sweater, made from wool and sewn with a beautiful geometric design. 

“Awh, Daeron wants you to stay warm, lovey,” Helaena teased. 

“I-It’s just– her hands are always so cold, a-and the wool is supposed to help keep warm! The inner layer is insulating.” Daeron had stammered, the tips of his ears growing red. 

“Uncle Daeron has a brush!” Jaehaera squeaked, her words whistling through her tooth gap, she’d lost her first baby tooth just the week before.

“A crush, he’s got a crush!” Jaehaerys corrected softly. 

Alicent thought the whole thing very amusing.

That left one child you hadn’t met. You didn’t know much about him aside from small bits of conversation you’d picked up on between the rest of the family. Aegon. The eldest of all of them, and apparently the troublemaker of the bunch. You knew what he looked like from the portraits– blonde hair like the rest but with severely more bags under his eyes. Upon entering the home, one would see the chronological order of family portraits. 

It starts with Viserys, Alicent, and baby Aegon; the latter of whom is happy and chubby and bubbly. 

Then, it moves to the three of them, plus baby Helaena, with her wide blue-eyed stare at the camera. Aegon is still happy.

The next one adds the addition of baby Aemond– there is a glint of sentience in Aegon’s eyes, but he hasn’t experienced the crushing blows of reality yet.

You weren’t exactly sure, but as he got older, he became more morose– more bags, less light in his eyes. Then came the ear piercings, the tattoos, the head shaving, the bloodshot in the whites of his eyes. The portraits ended with this past year’s Christmas photo. Aegon was noticeably missing from it. You’d heard during one of Alicent’s phone conversations with her father that Aegon was in rehabilitation for a myriad of issues, and looking at his photos, you could only guess which one was the straw that broke the camel’s back. 

A particularly harsh clap of thunder broke you from your thoughts, coming back to yourself. You scooped up Jaehaera before she stepped on the carpet with the muddy shoes. “C’mon, let's get cleaned up for lunch, yeah? What do we want for lunch today, lovies?” 

“Grilled cheese n’ tomato soup.”

“No! I want mac n’ cheese.” 

The squabbling ensued, the twins arguing back and forth for a few moments before you butt in. “Alright, how about– whoever gets the floor the cleanest and puts their galoshes by the washroom the fastest gets to pick?” 

The twins squealed in delight as they absconded from your sight, effectively going to do your bidding for you. You would, however, just end up making both meals anyway. As you moved to the kitchen, the sound of the doorbell rang. You bustled to the door, not sure who to expect– there weren’t many roving visitors in and out of the estate unless Alicent was explicitly expecting company– which you had triple checked the calendar when you woke up that morning.

You opened the door, expecting to see a debutante or someone of Alicent’s social circle– ‘twas not the case. You recognized him immediately, seeing his mother’s face in his own. Aegon. He was muddy, dirt flecks splashed on his face as he stood under the stoop trying to get away from the pouring rain. His face was a bit healthier than you’d seen it, the dark circles were still there, but not as prominent. It was like a gloomy day, rather than a full blown storm under his eyes. He had the wisps of a beard starting on his jawline, and his hair was cut into a makeshift mullet, longer in the back.

“Who the fuck are you?” he asked, hands in his pockets. 

“Erm– the… the nanny. For the children.” you stammered, his tone catching you off guard. You glanced behind him, seeing a beat up dirt bike caked in mud– that was probably how he got here. 

“A nanny? You’re a bit young for that, yeah? My nanny’s were all wrinkly old prunes.” 

“Oh– uhm, come in, Mr. Targaryen.” 

He perked a brow at the name, but didn’t say anything. He beat the bottom of his boots on the doormat, which didn’t accomplish much. He immediately began to track mud on the floor. “Mum home? Hel?” 

“Lady Alicent is… upstairs,” you offered, following behind him at a quick pace. “Helaena is taking a nap– the storm–” 

“Yeah, I know ‘bout Hel’s issues with storms. Don’t need to tell me twice. So, you got a name, or are you just the nanny?” 

You gave him your name as you glanced at the clock– it was almost time for the children’s lunch and you hadn’t even put it on the stove yet! 

“Got any food around here? Fuckin’ famished.” he added then as he nosed around the kitchen, hands still in his pockets. 

“I’m just about to make lunch for the twins– uhm, I can make you something too if you’d like.” you walked past him, quickly putting some pots on the stove and starting the gas. You and the twins were on a strict schedule, and if they didn’t get their lunch on time, they would turn into hellions. 

“Sure. Whatever the kids are having. I’m not picky.” Aegon waved his hand behind his head as he disappeared from the kitchen and clomped up the stairs, likely to speak with his mother. You fretted for Alicent’s mental state once that was done, and you felt even guiltier for not giving her a heads up.

As the tomato soup heated on the stove and the water began to boil for the macaroni, you unlocked your phone– you were curious about Aegon and why he’d come back, exactly. Well, of course, besides the fact that he lived here (or did, at some point) he was still supposed to be in rehab for another three months. You went to instagram, rolling your eyes as you saw that his profile was on ‘suggested for you to follow!’ 

You clicked to his most recent photo, the first that he’d posted in over a year.

“Jesus christ,” you muttered under your breath as you put down your phone on the counter to stir the soup. 

“Don’t take the Lord’s name in vain,” Aegon teased behind you. When the fuck had he gotten there? “Soup n’ mac and cheese?”

“Tomato soup and grilled cheese for Jaehaera, mac and cheese for Jaehaerys.” you responded plainly, trying not to notice that he was practically breathing down your neck. You glanced over as he leaned on the counter, where you had left your phone. Unlocked. Like an idiot. On his instagram page.

“Curious about me, are you? I’m surprised you haven’t heard enough about me from my mum.” 

“I don’t like to pry into Lady Alicent’s affairs–” 

“I wouldn’t consider myself an affair, more like a one time fling, eh?” Aegon snorted, grabbing your phone. It took every fiber of your being to not break all sense of decorum you held to snatch it back from him. “You’re not following me– let’s change that,” he mused, beginning to scroll through your page now. “Lots of pictures of the kids here– ooh, a trip to the seaside. There’s no pictures of you on here, eh? Only of… my family n’ other stupid shit, like the ocean.” 

“I’m a live-in nanny, sir,” you grit out, stirring the soup with more force than necessary. You consider yourself a patient person, and have become accustomed to how people in the Targaryen’s circle made their jabs. High society and filthy rich people had their own language of insults– ones that you wouldn’t realize they were insulting you until much, much later. It was like a game with a slow burning poison. But Aegon, apparently, was different. There was nothing meticulous about his jabs, no filter, no slow burning poison. It was all punch and sting, like a bite from a rabid dog rather than a viper. “I usually attend family trips.”

“Live-in, huh?” he drawled, his arm leaning over the counter in such a laissez-faire manner that you could feel yourself scowling. “Don’t get much action then, I take it? Let’s see if there’s any nudie judies on here, then…” 

“N-no!” you broke then, all sense of manners flying out of your body as you struggled to take back your phone.

“Why so shy? Got something on here you don’t want me to see?” he staved you off, a hand planted firmly on your shoulder as he scrolled through your photos, making all sorts of gaudy faces. You didn’t really have anything overtly scandalous, maybe a few lingerie shots for an old boyfriend.

“Aegon, leave her alone. Give her back her phone.” Alicent’s voice cut through the room like a knife, stunning both of you.

He sheepishly gave you back your phone as she crooked a finger to her son, ushering him to a room on the farther side of the house. 

As you fed the twins their lunch, you overheard some yelling, arguing and heated voices. You only saw Aegon later when going to your room to get ready for bed. His eyes were teary and red. 

— 

The next few weeks went by with some normalcy— everything was as usual, except it was like you had a third child to care for; Aegon. Except this child didn’t listen at all and had terrible habits. He was constantly flirting with you, but also would weave in jabs at the same time— you couldn’t quite tell if he even liked you or not. Not that it mattered, anyway.

You were sneaking in your own lunch one afternoon, eating scraps from the twin’s lunch while they napped— basically just the crust you cut off of the grilled cheese and the small bit of soup left in the pot. 

“You eat like a mouse.” Aegon said, always managing to be there to annoy you. 

“Too much food makes me tired— I won’t be able to keep up with them if I’m sluggish.” 

“Could always drink a red bull or a monster, instead.” he offered, pulling out a cigarette and lighting it in the kitchen. 

“You shouldn’t do that inside. It’s bad for the children’s lungs. Lady Alicent says—,” 

“Well, it’s my fuckin’ house too, innit? I can smoke in here if I well and bloody like,” he growled, exhaling a puff of smoke into your face. “My mum must be paying you extra to be my nanny too, then? The way you’re up my ass all the time.” he flicked ash in your direction. 

You crossed your arms tightly over your chest. He was goading you, baiting you into a reaction. He was being insufferable on purpose. You could tell by his pearly white smile he currently had plastered to his face, like a smug little— 

“Never had a nanny so pretty, though,” he continued. “If I asked real nice, would you feed me soup? Dress me up? Give me a bath if I’m real dirty?” he got closer and you could smell him— the smell of marlboro reds and cheap aftershave that had become synonymous with Aegon blew out your senses until it was all consuming.

Your mouth parted as you tried to think of some witty response, some barb, some jab— but nothing came out. You just huffed and turned away from him in an attempt to hide your red cheeks. Why were you blushing? 

You could practically hear the cockiness ooze from him, his mouth perked into a cheeky smile as he stole one of the crusts. He knew he’d gotten to you. 

—

It’d now been over a month since Aegon moved back home and the building tension between you two hadn’t let up a bit— you constantly felt trapped and elated all at once. When you saw him, your chest fluttered slightly in anxiety and anticipation. What was wrong with you? 

It was a dark, gloomy day. The seasonal storms were in full swing, pelting the estate in rain and hail. Alicent, Helaena, and the twins were out on an escapade to Alicent’s father’s house— you guessed Aegon hadn’t gone. But, it was a huge house, so surely you could enjoy some of your time off without seeing him? 

A rumble of thunder shook the house, rattling its constitution— and then the lights flickered. Flickered… flickered… then… out. It was dark, then, even with your window shades open. You turned on your phone flashlight and tiptoed out of your room, going to see if perhaps you could smack the backup generator into working. 

You hadn’t expected to work today, nor see anyone, as Alicent had given you the day off. So, you were subsequently dressed in your pajamas— a hilariously oversized Bass Pro Shop shirt (a gift from your dad in America) and cat-patterned sleeping shorts. Your toes cracked and creeped on the floorboards with each movement, and to your chagrin, as you passed Aegon’s door, it opened. He was wearing a shirt that said “MILF: Man I love Fishing”, with just his boxer briefs on, which didn’t seem to bother him at all. 

“Oh. You’re still here.” 

“Yes?” 

“Sorry, thought you were gone with the rest. Sad, I can’t do the Saltburn thing now.” 

“The… what?” 

“The Saltburn thing? Dance around the empty mansion to myself with my cock out.” 

“What.” you responded with the most deadpan tone.

“Dance… with my cock out?” he repeated.

“No– I know what you said– but why?” 

“Why not?” 

You rolled your eyes, shifting the conversation. “So, the power is out– uhm, do you know where the backup generator is?” 

“In the wine cellar. Nifty, huh?” 

“... the… wine cellar. I can’t say I’ve been down there yet.”

“I know it like the back of my hand, c’mon then. I’m sure I can kick the old gen in the nads and get it to work.” Aegon said with surprising confidence, turning on his phone’s flashlight and half blinding you. 

You followed behind him, to which he hummed ‘Murder on the Dancefloor’ while doing a half-assed dance, apparently from some movie that was definitely something you hadn’t watched– you don’t remember the last time you watched a movie that wasn’t geared towards the twins. 

“So basically… he had the whole mansion to himself, and then he dances through it with his cock out, hanging massive brain, y’know? It's murder on the dance floor, you better not kill the groove,” he imitates the dance, sprawling his arms out in the doorway to the wine cellar and shaking his bottom a bit, which was, admittedly, nicely fit in his snug boxer briefs. You felt a strange heat flush to your cheeks.

“And this… is a… what? Comedy?” 

“Well, categorically no– I’m not a film aficionado. I guess it could be considered a psychological thriller, but I thought it was pretty funny,” he stopped before continuing into the cellar. “It gets pretty hairy in here, so stick close, okay? Ever seen The Conjuring?” 

“... yes, actually. Horror movies are kind of my favorite.” 

“Ah, a girl after my own heart,” he mused. “Well, think of the basement in that movie, but instead of a bunch of old useless shit, it’s a bunch of old wine.”

“And… instead of ghosts?” 

“Oh, there’s definitely ghosts.” 

“... what.” 

“Yeah, estate is haunted. You haven’t noticed?” 

“Shut up.” you murmured. You were a huge fan of horror movies while simultaneously being a huge chicken shit when it came to scary things– you were prone to hiding your face before the big jumpscare or running up the stairs from the kitchen when it was dark, just in case something was chasing you– and your feet had to be covered by the blanket at all times when sleeping.

“Aww, you scared?” Aegon teased, turning to you.

“I mean– ghosts are scary. Of course!” you offered sheepishly, pulling up the collar of your oversized shirt to cover your nose and mouth in an almost hiding manner– a nervous habit of yours. 

“I’ll keep you safe, love, no worries about that.” 

“... that’s what they always say, right? Then they totally leave behind their girlfriends to get stabbed by the killer or… eaten by the monster.”

“You my girlfriend now?” he asked, that stupidly annoying and somehow charming smug energy exuding off of him in waves. 

“Shut up.” you grumbled as you both approached the generator. It was covered in dust and hadn’t been touched or tended to in a long time, it looked like. “Do… you know what you’re doing?” you asked Aegon tentatively, watching as he inspected it.

“Me? Oh, fuck no. I never know what I’m doing, honestly,” he shrugged, giving the metal box a kick and haphazardly pressing some buttons. “No dice, sweetheart. ‘Spose you’ll have to dance in the dark with me for a bit longer, huh? But, if there's a ghost, you'll be... ghost food, or whatever.” 

You pinched your brow in annoyance. “I don’t understand you.” 

“What’s there to understand? I’m a pretty open book, you know.”

“No– you aren’t. You flirt with me but also… insult me? I don’t get it.”

“It’s called teasing– picking? Picking on? Getting the goat?” 

“What? So, like a little boy pulling a girl’s pigtails on the playground because he likes her? That makes absolutely no sense, Aegon.” 

“If you spend your time trying to find a reason for it, you’ll go insane. Why not just enjoy the point of it? I like you.” he breathed, suddenly very close to you. He set his phone aside on top of the generator, flashlight up. It illuminated the walls of wine and cast shadows of cobwebs and dust all around the both of you.

“What?” 

“Are you deaf– I. Like. You.” he repeated, his knees bumping yours as you were practically glued together, your back now against the ancient stone wall.

Your lips parted as you inhaled a breath– okay, you weren’t exactly expecting him to say that, or even like you at all– you figured the flirting was all hot air, a defense mechanism, something for fun, not… real. Your heart was pounding in your chest and you became all too aware of the fact that you hadn’t been touched since you got this job, maybe even before that– and your previous boyfriends never made you feel… flustered like this. You couldn’t form words as he, uncharacteristically cautiously, put his hand on your cheek. He was so close, so close– his body heat mingled with your inherent coldness and warmed you instantly. You weren’t sure what came over you, but you leaned forward, slotting your lips against his. What the actual fuck were you doing– you were kissing your boss’ son, her notoriously bad mannered, foul mouthed, sloven slob of a son, and you liked it. Your hand instantly went to the back of his head, fingers grazing through his choppy curls– even giving them an experimental tug, which he seemed to enjoy, by the indication of something poking you in your thigh. 

His lips moved against yours like a dance, and you couldn’t get the fucking song he was singing earlier out of your head– It’s murder on the dancefloor– you grasped at his hip, it was fleshy and pleasant, the tips of your finger slipping under the elastic of his briefs– But you better not kill the groove– his hands were exploring, too, under your stupid Bass Pro shop shirt, groping at your breasts with reckless abandon – If you think you're getting away, I will prove you wrong – the heat rose in your body until you couldn’t take it any longer, the two of you were practically eating each other alive in this dank, dusty cellar and it was undoubtedly the hottest experience of your life – I'll take you all the way, boy, just come along – your lips parted for a moment, still connected by a string of saliva, bridging the gap between the two of you – Hear me when I say, hey –

“On your knees for me, love?” he asked, his voice suddenly so deep and husky, his thumb skimming over your collarbone. 

You fell to your knees for him so quickly– how pathetic. He wriggled down his briefs, already leaking at the fat tip of his cock. He wasn’t overly long, but he was girthy, like a beer can. Your eyes widened, which he must’ve noticed, as his face was plastered with a shit-eating grin. Your mind immediately went to an image of a so-called ‘American delicacy’ (your father’s words, not yours) called Beer can chicken, in which a can of beer is shoved in the ass end of a chicken and grilled. It is apparently as delicious as it is horrifying. Your throat bobbed as you surveyed it, a tentative hand around the base. He shook his head, prying your hand from him.

“Nope, mouth only. Open up, be a good girl.” Aegon muttered, looking down at you, the light of his phone flashlight illuminating him from below– he looked like a God. Or maybe a devil. 

Your mouth parted as his hand guided you forward. You wholly expected him to nestle in your mouth, but he surprised you with a slap to your face with his cock. It didn’t hurt, just caused you to yelp in surprise. He smeared some of the pre-come across your cheek, then slapped the head of his length on your waiting tongue. It was somewhat degrading, what he was doing– but it lit a goddamn fire under your ass, the neurons of depravity in your body, wherever they may lie, were alight with each nasty little gesture Aegon gave you, before he finally slid home. It stretched out your mouth, prodding at the back of your throat. 

“What would everyone else think, hm? If they knew you were such a fuckin’ slut.” he growled, gathering your hair in his fist like it owed him money, beginning to fuck himself into your mouth, careful to pay attention to your body language to make sure he wasn’t working you over too much. He made sure to be extra careful with his toys, rather than break them.

Tears welled, spilling down your face as you let him use you, degrade you– and yet, he also praised you.

“–such a good girl for me–”

“–you can take a little more, there you go–”

“–prettiest throat I’ve ever fucked–”

You felt like you were on fire, set ablaze by arousal you’d never experienced before– was this what they sang songs about? Dirty, borderline pornographic songs but the point still stood.

You had to chalk it up to the barometric pressure of the storm, right? Aegon wasn’t your type— your type was… well-adjusted, non-addicts, non-bad boy, non-troublemakers. Aegon was the antithesis of what you were into. 

And yet— you were into him. You were into him in a pathetic, pitiful way. It made you cringe to think about but you couldn’t resist his puppy dog eyes, nor could you forget the way he was whimpering— fucking whimpering! You squeezed your thighs together slightly at the sound of it, at the blurry-eyed, teary sight of him looking down at you on your knees, eyes half lidded. 

He pulled out with a particularly throaty grunt, painting your face in his unnaturally warm seed, somehow careful enough not to get it in your eyes– small mercies. Your lungs inflated with oxygen once more as you caught your breath, trying to gather yourself. You felt the swathe of cloth over your face as Aegon cleaned you up with his ‘MILF: Man I Love Fishing’ shirt, which he had apparently taken off. 

“You good?”

You nodded slowly as he helped you to your feet, brushing off your knees with the clean part of his shirt. 

“Um– so,” he still held onto you, as if he was afraid you’d run away. “Do you want to watch a movie with me later, when the power is back on? Like, actually watch it– I won’t fuck your face, I promise.” 

“... are you asking me on a date?”

“Umm… yeah. I think.”

“Maybe we could watch Saltburn?” you offered with a shrug.

–

“Your mum texted me,” you whispered. “The bridge is temporarily washed out from the storm, they won’t be back ‘til tomorrow.”

“Do you know what that means?” Aegon said, suddenly giddy. You both had just finished watching Saltburn, and you finally understood what the ‘Saltburn thing’ was. 

“You know your mum has like ten security cameras set up around the house, right?” 

“Okay… and?”

“I’m not dancing naked in the hallway, Aegon.” 

“How about just in my room? Please?” 

You gave a sigh, beginning to take your clothes off.

“Siri, play ‘Murder on the Dancefloor’ by Sophie Ellis-Bextor.”

‘Okay. Now playing ‘Murder on the Dancefloor’ by Sophie Ellis-Bextor, as featured in Saltburn.’

It's murder on the dancefloor!

But you better not kill the groove, hey-hey, hey-hey!

It's murder on the dancefloor.

But you better not steal the moves.

DJ, gonna burn this goddamn house right down.

[queers-gambit]

"Plan To Make A Gift of It To My Lover"

prompt: ten years ago, Lucerys claimed Aemond's eye, and now, a Lannister will claim her debt.

pairing: Aemond Targaryen x Lannister!wife!reader

fandom masterlist: House of the Dragon

word count: 5.5k+

note: i use 'lover' because it sounds like the original line, 'mother'. also, what the fuck is this, Cherry?

warnings: very much not for minors! deranged characters? blood lust? depiction of grotesque, unhinged behavior. there's cursing, depiction of canon-typical violence and injury, show timeline and spoilers that lead into some VAGUE book references that might produce a slight AU timeline...? character death, obviously Team Green, so, there's some Team Black slander. half edited!

⚠️ season one, episode ten AND book spoilers

PLEASE BE AWARE I AM GOING TO MERGE THIS ONESHOT INTO A SMALL SERIES BUT WILL STILL LEAVE THIS UP

I AM CHANGING LANNISTER READER INTO A VELARYON READER

Rain water beaded against his leather trench overcoat, rolling off him like pellets to leave a scattered trail on the material. His boots splashed in the muddy terrain, dark castle looming tall in the stormy sky, and Mother Nature voiced her displeasure in the form of booming claps of thunder throughout the raging storm.

Long, straight hair turned unruly and crinkled in the torrential downpour; sticking to clothes and clinging to skin. His sword was latched to his weapons belt, bobbing on his hip with every stride he took to approach the Keep of The Stormlands, Storm's End.

"Identify yourself!" A guard shouted through the haze of rain.

You smirked, "Prince Aemond Targaryen, second son of King Viserys Targaryen, the Peaceful, and rider of Vhagar along with his wife, Lady Lannister."

The guards exchanged looks, then the other asked, "What business do you have here?"

"Official business that surely goes beyond your responsibility," you snapped. "We require an audience with your liege lord. Is Lord Borros in? Willing to receive? You'd do well to answer quickly, Vhagar isn't known for her patience - nor is my husband and I."

There was no dispute in leading you into the castle's throne room, members of court lingering in curiosity when they saw the One Eyed Dragon Prince and his Lady Lioness prowl through Storm's End. Lightning struck to flash through the cracks of the eery castle, creating an uneasy atmosphere and making Storm's End feel spookier then it probably was. Aemond smirked when you looked around the semi-empty throne room, the guards instructing you to stay put as their lord was fetched; you looking positively bored.

"You seem to have a natural liking towards our new status, do you not, my lioness?" He mused softly. "The way you commanded the guards to retrieve their Lord for us was very telling of your ease."

"Perhaps. Though I do not like the reason we are here, flexing our status in the first place," you told him with a sharp look. "Surely, there's other alliances to be made, Aemond. Why marry you off to some plain-faced Baratheon bitch?"

"Because war's come for us and we must all sacrifice for the cause," he sighed, staring at you without so much as twitching; letting you approach until standing chest-to-chest. "We require this pact, my love, because we must strengthen Aegon's claim. To use Daeron and I as marriage pawns feels logical given our proximity to the King."

You snarled, "You told me yourself that Aegon did not deserve to be King. Now, we must sacrifice our marriage vows for his claim?"

"I know it is not ideal," he relented, "but it's our current reality."

"Only for now, I sense the tides will turn several times before this is fucking over."

"Hmm."

When Lord Borros finally arrived, he appeared disgruntled by the abrupt arrival of you and your husband, Prince Aemond. He was grouchy, but still welcoming enough; slumped in his chair, eyeing you both, mentioning, "This must be of grave importance to arrive in such a manner, with no warning."

"It is," Aemond answered smoothly, "because war has come to shadow Westeros once more, my Lord."

"Is that so?"

"King Viserys is dead," he informed clearly, "and as such, the natural succession would've passed to the King's named heir, Princess Rhaenyra, but King VIserys had a change of heart. Instead of his daughter, the King wanted his first born son, Aegon II, to ascend the Iron Throne after him."

"And that's to do with me...?"

"The Princess will demand your loyalty, Lord Borros," you stepped in, "to uphold a stale oath your father made decades ago. Come the day, you will be forced to pick sides; yet we simply would like to offer you terms of consideration before hearing Rhaenyra's."

"If the Princess is willing to offer terms, that is," Aemond punctuated.

Borros sat still, then leaned in slightly, "And what are these terms you wish to offer, girl?"

"My Lady-wife has earned the title Princess, my Lord," Aemond corrected sharply, "and will be addressed as such."

Borros nodded stiffly, "Of course, my apologies."

"No matter," you assured. "Tell me, Lord Borros, do you not have unwed daughters?"

"I do, a gaggle of them."

You smirked, "My husband, though not King, is of ancient and rich Valyrian blood. He is happy to uphold customs of his ancestors by taking another wife - so, we offer a marriage pact in exchange for your swords and banners."

"And what of you?"

"What of me?"

"You would just let your husband wed another woman?"

"Who am I to question the will of the Gods?" You mused, figuring you wouldn't tell him how Aemond had already promised never to bed the Baratheon girl. "Should they smile upon this union, so would I. My father, may he rest in peace, before his passing ensured to instill in me a sense of duty and honor, Lord Borros, and with this civil war, we might all do our part to see the end of it."

He hummed, eyeing you both. "All right," Borros half-agreed, "but which of my daughters, hmm? I've four of them - uh," he snapped, "what is this? Someone fetch the girls! Let the Prince see - he may choose to wed whichever he deems acceptable."

"Do we have a deal, Lord Borros?" You asked.

He nodded, "Pending the Princess' terms - my father did swear fealty to Princess Rhaenyra, I would do well to honor that by at least hearing her."

"A noble answer," you accepted.

It wasn't a long wait for his four daughters to arrive, an even shorter wait for Aemond to make a decision. There was Cassandra, Maris, Ellyn, and Flora Baratheon - all ripe for the picking. "Well?" Aemond asked you.

You shrugged, "This is your choice, you're the one who has to bed her." His lips twitched in amusement, eyeing the women stood in a straight line. "Fuck's sake - why not kiss them all and chose that way? Leaves less room for surprise later. Plus what're the odds Rhaenyra's sent her envoy? We should solidify Baratheon's loyalty now."

Aemond chuckled, looking each woman over carefully as a guard entered the room. "My Lord," he called, earning the attention, "another dragon has been spotted and is approaching the Keep."

"What did I fucking say?" You smirked at Aemond.

"Receive whoever it is," Borros permitted. "And you? Have you come to a decision? My girl, Maris, there, would make a clever wife."

"I've one clever enough wife and would be overrun with another," Aemond answered wistfully. "The Lady Flora is acceptable."

"Very well," Borros nodded, "and the terms of dowry?"

You watched as Aemond pulled Flora from the line of sisters, standing to the side as he examined her. He told Lord Baratheon the number of Gold Dragons he thought his daughter was worth, the two haggling lightly over prices before Borros accepted that with the threat of war, his son might become preoccupied, so, the seat of Storm's End would be inherited by Aemond and Flora's children.

Thunder rumbled as a deal was struck.

Boots marched down the stone hall and all conversation ceased to await the newcomer with taunt curiosity. Aemond subtly turned to look at you, ignoring his pretty new intended, as a procession of guards marched into the gloomy room. You boldly stared at the arrival, feeling your heart stall in your chest when you saw it was him... That bastard... The Strong Bastard that mutilated both you and your husband a decade ago.

"Prince Lucerys Velaryon," it was announced, marching coming to an echoing halt. Aemond chose that moment to turn and present himself to the young prince who haunted your every living and dreaming nightmare. He looked startled to see you both there, the guard ending, "Son of Princess Rhaenyra Targaryen."

Against the thundering storm, Lucerys spoke timidly - as if, any louder and his voice would squeak and crack. "Lord Borros... I brought you a message from my mother... The Queen."

"Yet earlier this day, I received an envoy from the King," Borros shot at the young prince. "Which is it? King or Queen? The House of the Dragon does not seem to know who rules it." He laughed at his own joke, but when none others joined, he asked Lucerys stoically, "What's your mother's message?"

The Strong Bastard just held up a scroll like the spoilt brat he was, a guard taking it from his fingers to walk it to the Stag Lord since the Prince deemed himself too important to hand deliver the message. Lord Borros sighed when he took up the scroll, looking expectingly to his court, then snapping, "Where's the bloody Maester?"

Lord Borros Baratheon could not read, you see.

So, you all waited as the Maester was retrieved; Lucerys sparing spooked looks at you and Aemond - the latter of whom just smirked in amusement. Luke couldn't truly see the disfigurement he caused, but your scars almost glittered in the flashes of lightning to assure him they were right where he left them. You turned to your husband, whispering in his ear, "Remember all those times when you promised me his eye as a gift? When shall we be presented an opportunity such as now?"

He shushed you with a restrained smirk, wanting so bad to entertain your banter - and daydream about doing to Luke what he did to you two. You told Aemond you didn't need Luke to bear a scar like your own, and that's when he promised to give you the Prince's eye.

The Maester arrived when Luke felt uneasy enough to palm a fist around the hilt of his sword, elderly man hobbling up to Lord Borros, taking the scroll, then reading it.

The Maester bent to summarize the letter to his Lord. You smirked at Aemond when Borros snapped, "'Remind' me of my father's oath? King Aegon at least came with an offer: my swords and banners for a marriage pact! If I do as your mother bids," he leaned forward on his throne, looking to the side, asking, "which one of my daughters will you wed... Boy?"

"My Lord," Lucerys trembled, "I am not free to marry. I'm already betrothed."

"I did not realize betrothal was weighed heavier than marriage," Borros sneered, indicating to you and Aemond, "which means you come with empty hands. Go home, pup, and tell your mother that the Lord of Storm's End is not some dog that she can whistle up at need to set against her foes."

There was a beat as his words sunk in.

"I shall take your answer to the Queen, my Lord," Lucerys informed, sparing everyone one last look before turning on his heel to vacate.

Yet he couldn't just walk away so easily.

"Wait," Aemond called out loud before you could, the Prince halting, "my Lord Strong." You grinned when Luke turned fully and then stepped forward to the edge of his guarded protection, a look of disbelief adorning his features. "Did you really think that you could just fly about the Realm," he continued, taking a few slow, stalking steps forward with you on his flank and Floris stepping further away, "trying to steal my brother's throne at no cost?"

"I will not fight you," Lucerys declared. "I came as a messenger, not a warrior."

You giggled to mock the boy's sword skill, wanting to hurt the boy's ego as much as possible. Your husband smirked at you before musing, "A fight would be little challenge." He paused to consider his options. "No," he told Lucerys, reaching for his eye patch and pulling the leather from his head. "I want you to put out your eye," He growled, staring at Luke, sapphire winking in the low torchlight; his arm coiling around your waist to keep you at his side. He explained, "As payment for mine. One will serve," and he flipped back his leather overcoat to reveal a dagger, yanking it free to toss across the distance at Lucerys. It clattered and skidded, the sound ominous between the claps and rolling booms of thunder. "I would not blind you," he told the boy. Then, as if concealing a smirk, he finished, "Plan To Make A Gift of It To My Lover."

The ground shook violently when Vhagar landed outside the Driftmark Dragon Pit. The air whooshed your hair back, little feet stumbling back a few paces into the rock wall, hair on the back of your neck standing on end when Aemond dismounted the beast. It wasn't as if you weren't proud or incredibly impressed by his ability to claim the oldest dragon in the known world, but you weren't a Targaryen and dragons made you uneasy.

You could understand animals had minds of their own, and while, yes, Targaryens were closer to Gods than Men because they fly on dragons, you knew they did not control the dragons. They merely domesticated the winged terrors, but you knew the animal could snap at any moment's notice. You didn't like being so close as to become an accidental casualty, so you waited in the mouth of the Pit to give plenty of room between you and Vhagar.

"Well? How was it?"

Aemond beamed at you, "Like nothing I've ever experienced before."

"She's much, much bigger up close," you eyed the dragon watching you both. She was too large in size for the Dragon Pit, but for you, it was a way back into the Driftmark Castle; so, Vhagar was left to her own devices as you and Aemond strode inside.

"You'll have to come flying with me."

"No, no, I like the ground very much. It's safer down here."

"You'll love flying, I can all but promise you."

"If the Gods wanted me in the air, they'd of made me a Targaryen," you teased, both entering the torch-lit passage. "Alas, I am not, so, I think it wise to keep my feet on the ground."

"I'll get you on dragonback with me one day," he smirked. "She's the oldest, you know, and the largest, too."

"I know," you beamed in amusement.

"And she's mine," he whispered, shaking his head and fighting off his grin. You looped your arm with his, giggling your praise over his display of bravery; entering the division foyer of the Pit only to spy Prince Daemon Targaryen's daughters, Baela and Rhaena, with Princess Rhaenyra's sons, Jacerys and Lucerys Velaryon.

"It's them!" One barked.

"It's us," Aemond sneered quickly, understanding confrontation when he felt it. You didn't like this... Something about this exchange felt very wrong; there was four of them, two of you, and you were not their blood relative - so, why be involved at all?

"Vhagar is my mother's dragon!" Rhaena seethed.

"Your mother's dead," Aemond reminded sharply.

You smirked, tacking on, "And Vhagar has a new rider now."

"She was mine to claim!"

"Then you should've claimed her!" You barked in annoyance. "You are not the only dragon-less Targaryen, but you're the one who expects to just be gifted one!"

Aemond sneered right after you, "Maybe your cousins can gift you a pig to ride. It would suit you."

This (rightfully) angered the girls. Rhaena charged and latched onto Aemond but was easily swatted to the ground. At that same moment, her twin, Baela, took the opportunity to jab her knuckle into your nose, sending you into the dirt. "Fuck's sake!" You snapped, Aemond clocking the injury and slamming his fist against Baela's cheek to send her into the dirt, too.

Aemond helped you to your feet as he snarled at the girls, "Come at us again and I'll feed you to my dragon!"

Jace charged, and from there, it was a blur of adrenaline. Before you understood, you were defending yourself from a hurricane of fists and feet; reaching up to grab hold of Rhaena's locs and yank as hard as you could. It gave you a small advantage to get up, see the three others beating on Aemond, and rushed for the fray.

The Prince saw you and pause his resistance to let you grab hold of Baela - also pulling her so hard, a loc or two might've been ripped from her scalp. Aemond kicked Jace, you sent the girls into the dirt, and Aemond managed to catch hold of Lucerys by the throat as he got to his feet. Aemond's hand found purchase on a large rock, standing above them all as you panted from his side; rock raised in threat.

"You will die screaming in flames, just as your father did!" Aemond declared, snarling, "Bastards."

Through his whimpering, Luke sobbed, "My father's still alive!"

For a moment, Aemond appeared disarmed, but then sneered, "He doesn't know, does he? Lord Strong?"

This upset Prince Jacerys enough that he brandished a concealed dagger from his sleeve; holding it at the ready, ignoring his cousin's pleas of his name. "Blade in play," you warned Aemond.

Luke was kicked away, Jace was dodged, disarmed, then shoved to the ground. You were all bruised, bloodied, beaten; thinking that despite twice the numbers, you and Aemond managed to hold your own pretty damn well. The Prince lifted the rock again, this time with his sights set on Jace, ignoring Luke scrambling in the dirt.

Pretty damn well until it was too late.

You screamed in absolute horror when a white hot pain flashed across your face when you meant to turn away from the fight. You went down, Aemond looked over in shock and confusion, and in that moment, Lucerys swung his brother's blade again. It cut through half of Aemond's face, the eye being severed in two; blood gushing between both your hands.

Of course, this was the time the White Cloaks arrived - but it was too late. The damage was done. You sobbed uselessly as the knights tried to help you off the ground, trembling violently as adrenaline wore off. You were instantly escorted to the castle's throne room where the Maester and other attendants met you.

Guards posted.

Blood soaked into cloth.

The Queen arrived with the Hand before anyone else - instantly demanding her son (and you) be attended to at once. She listened to the shaky account of events, but it was difficult to get an accurate picture as you and Aemond were both preoccupied with being medically attended to.

You held Aemond's hand as you were both cleaned up. There was nothing to save, Aemond's eye removed and your face being pinched and stitched. Nearly 200 years from now, one of your descendants will earn nearly the exact same scar during the Battle of the Blackwater; a mark that cut through the face from temple, over the nose, to opposite ear.

You listened to the spoiled brats spin their webs, opting to remain quiet in the presence of the King.

However, after Princess Rhaenyra finally showed up with Prince Daemon, after Lord Corlys Velaryon and Lady Rhaenys Targaryen arrived, attention shifted.

" - Didn't just mutilate our son, but the Lady Lannister as well!" Alicent raged.

King Viserys eyed you as if seeing you for the first time, slowly approaching. "My Lady," he spoke softly, "you have not yet said a word this evening."

"It is not my place, Your Grace."

"It is now," he permitted. "Speak, and tell me the truth of it. What happened tonight?"

You swallowed nervously, "The Prince Aemond claimed his dragon, Vhagar, Your Grace, and upon returning, the... Uh, well, the Princes Jacerys and Lucerys along with their cousins, Ladies Rhaena and Baela, were waiting for us."

"Waiting?" Viserys repeated.

"Yes, Your Grace, I believe they wanted to see who had claimed Vhagar," you offered.

"Who hit who first?"

With a sigh, you answered, "Lady Baela hit Prince Aemond first. A solid hook, for whatever it's worth."

Alicent now approached, squatting in front of you and asking, "How did you sustain such injury, Lady Lannister? Come... Speak the truth. Tell us the meaning of this."

"Prince Jacerys brought the blade, Your Grace," you mumbled, "but it was lost in the scuffle. It was Prince Lucerys who offered injury to both Prince Aemond and I."

You could've cried when Rhaenyra, as usual, managed to somehow spin your story into making her sons the victims. Despite being told the four ambushed you two, they weren't even reprimanded because their parents were all so angry that it truly distracted from the present situation at hand. In the end, Queen Alicent snapped and charged to attack, but the Princess Rhaenyra intercepted her before damage could be done.

The blade Alicent stole from her husband's belt was dropped - but not before the tip sliced into the flesh of the Princess' forearm. You were fuming, watching them all leave; you had been seriously maimed, and so far, you had been the one spoken to as if a criminal. Rhaenyra would need stitches, sure, and a broken nose was the worst of their injuries - but Aemond lost his eye, and you?

You felt as if you lost your life because who the hell would want you now? With this scar? This big, fat, noticeable scar that split your face? Sure, your Lannister name would get you places - but not everywhere. Considering your young age, this only left time for rumors to fester and for everyone to notice your injury; being no escape and no where to hide from ridicule.

For years, you would consider yourself damaged. For years, you would mourn yourself. For years, you would sharpen your mind, wit, and intelligence because if you couldn't bring standard "beauty" to the table, you wanted to be able to offer something redeeming.

For years, you would undergo emotional turmoil before your engagement to Aemond is announced; convincing yourself you did not deserve love because your anger made you likened to a shrew. You felt ugly on the outside, ugly on the inside; a product of your environment and experiences. When the promise of marrying your best mate was bestowed, the entire court was shocked by the 180 you both did; where once stony and stoic, both were now soft and kind - but only to one another.

To everyone else, you were both still stony and indifferent. But to each other? You and Aemond would move mountains.

Yet that night on Driftmark would haunt for you for the rest of your lives; no matter the promise of love, marriage, and a 'normal' life. Late nights would be held together, fantasizing about your revenge; considering the future in which you made Lucerys Strong pay for what he did to you.

"Plan To Make A Gift of It To My Lover."

"No," Lucerys barked, looking distraught by the sheer idea of what Aemond demanded. His answer made the amusement drain from Aemond's features, this was a man not often told no. His hand passed you his eye patch for safe keeping; the raging storm outside portraying the tension brewing in the throne room of Storm's End.

"Then you are craven as well as a traitor."

"Not here!" Borros understood fighting words when he heard them - not wanting the repercussions of a dead or injured Prince Lucerys, because, let's face it, Luke couldn't do damage to Aemond even if he tried.

Aemond literally sprang into action, releasing his grip on you, shouting as he strode forward. "Give me your eye," he stooped to snatch his dagger from the ground, "or I will take it, bastard!"

Lucerys brandished his sword for protection, but Borros launched out of his seat to intervene by shouting, "Not in my hall!" This made Aemond skid to a halt. "The boy came an an envoy. I'll not have bloodshed beneath my roof. Take Prince Lucerys back to his dragon... Now."

You smirked when Aemond just watched the boy flee the hall, hand flipping his dagger expertly before sheathing it. You met his gaze, holding prolonged eye contact to publicly show you were not afraid of him, his looks, his lack of eye, or adoration for him.

"Well, Lord Borros," you mused, turning to the Stag Lord, "looks as if you've chosen in this war."

He huffed, "We can discuss specifics later."

Aemond nodded, "We'll be off."

"Do not - "

"You said no blood shed under your roof," you reminded, "not above."

"The Prince is young and small - "

"We gave him a fair head start." Borros looked ready to rebuttal, but you snapped, "We're at war, my Lord. Either you let the dragons fight in the skies or it'll be your men fighting in the trenches. The choice is yours."

"See that? His woman bites harder than he," Maria scoffed to her sisters, only juuuuust loud enough for her voice to carry across the room. Then she snarled at your husband, "Tell me, Prince Aemond, was it just your eye Prince Lucerys took, or one of your balls, too? You threw a dagger at him and stopped when Daddy said stop," her eyes rolled, "those are not qualities of a man."

You were ready to attack. In fact, you started striding up to Maris when Aemond intercepted you swiftly with a suffocatingly strong grip. "We've more important matters," he reminded you, turning, and promising to send word to Lord Borros before disappearing out of the side door.

"How dare she," you seethed on your way to Vhagar. "That buck-tooth looking rodent dares insult you? Her own Prince? In front of others - oh, the nerve of that family!"

"Bigger picture at work here, love," Aemond mused as he fixed his patch back on, never one to address the things that were bothering him - like when someone hurt his feelings or bullied him over his missing eye.

But you were always ready to bite those that offered insult. You were a Lion in a golden cage, after all.

You grumbled the entire time, reaching Vhagar, launching as discreetly as she possibly could to scan the skies. It wasn't easy to find the Prince because his dragon blended into the storm so perfectly, but once the tiny beast was located, you were locked on. You rode behind Aemond in his saddle, both being harnessed to prevent any unseating; the combined weight never phasing his ol' girl. Vhagar understood they were in some kind of chase, and when she gave a grumble that rumbled over the thunder you flew through, Aemond gave her a command in High Valyrian to quiet herself.

You could see glimpses of Luke turning to search areas you had just vacated; loving this game of cat and mouse. You hoped the anticipation and anxiety of being watched was upsetting the Prince - just so he had a little bit of emotional trauma from this, you know? Just so he had a little taste of the emotional turmoil you had to suffer the past decade.

"Ready?" Aemond asked you.

You squeezed his waist before boldly reaching down to palm his cock through his breeches, hissing in his ear, "Do it, you owe me a gift."

Aemond grinned and directed Vhagar to circle around and fly forward until almost colliding with Lucerys - should he not've steered Arrax lower at the last moment. The close call was enough to make you both laugh, the sound traveling over the noisy nature. Aemond turned Vhagar again, trying to snatch at Arrax with her talons while your husband hurled insults and taunting phrases as his nephew.

With a small groan, you reached for a separate piece of the saddle to hold onto while Aemond drove Vhagar into a nosedive after the smaller dragon. When they came up to a cavern of sea rocks, Aemond was forced to pull Vhagar back before she could crash - but Arrax had no issue navigating into and through the canyon. You were forced to fly above it, searching for your prey once more.

Lucerys seemed to evade you for a time.

"What happens when we find him?"

"I will have the bastard's eye," he reminded you.

"Yes, but what if he resists?"

"Of course he will."

"So you mean to kill him? Is that the plan, Aemond?"

He did not answer you, looking over Vhagar's sides for his prey. He shouted in High Valyrian, "You owe a debt! Boy!"

Suddenly, from your left, Arrax descended upon Vhagar with a vicious spewing of fire that licked your flesh hatefully. Aemond flinched back into your chest, trying to shield yourselves from the heat of the flames, but it was too late. You cried out, whimpering with discomfort when the flames died; marring and mangling your skin. Prince Lucerys was heard scolding his dragon, and for a moment, you felt as if you could see the future because there was no way Vhagar was going to let that kind of disrespect occur and do nothing about it.

The ol' girl gave a rumble before bellowing after Arrax. She turned herself to where the other dragon had disappeared and started to push off as her owner begged and pleaded with her not to. "Serve me, Vhagar, no!" He commanded, desperate to keep his beast under control, but being evident these two wild animals were in an altercation all their own and meant to follow their instinct.

"We want his head still, Vhagar!" You laughed loudly, Aemond growling with a smirk.

"Do not encourage her!"

"Do not try to domesticate a 180-year-old dragon!" You gave a small whoop of excitement. "She's a Dragon of War, Aemond! Violence is what she knows!"

He grunted as he struggled with the reins. However, Vhagar ignored him and made her own turn, pumping her wings twice and then breaking into the morning sun above the storm. For a fleeting moment, it was incredibly gorgeous to be so high in the sky...

And then it was over before anyone could stop it.

Vhagar opened her mouth and gave one chomp around the body of boy and dragon. There was a shrill cry of fear before Vhagar's moan of content, then eery silence settled as half-consumed bits fell to the ground beneath.

"Well," you cleared your throat, staring at the bloody bits falling, "if it wasn't enough that Aegon took her crown, surely, the two of us taking her son will be the push Rhaenyra needs to meet us in conflict."

"No," he cleared his throat, "you were not here - "

"I was, I would not allow you to bear this burden on your own. To take the blame," you met his eye. "I encouraged this just as much, and Rhaenyra will know it was us - she'd never believe I was not involved."

"Can you not be logical right now?" He trembled, leaning his forehead to yours.

"Okay..." You whispered, "Well, could we go see if there's anything left?"

"That's morbid, my love."

"What? You're the one who promised me his eye. I know you didn't mean for this, but the truth is," you smirked, "you did. You knew what pursuing him would result in - your dragon doesn't understand your need for revenge, she understands eat or be eaten."

Aemond sighed, "Too soon for that phrase."

"Noted. Now, c'mon," you encouraged, giving his waist a squeeze. "I know you're curious to see what's left, too."

And he was, so Aemond directed Vhagar back down. It was difficult to predict where the body parts could've ended up, but seemingly, luck was on your side and you descended to the shore. There was a small scattering of remains, bits being washed up or away with every new lap of sea water.

You dismounted and started searching through the remnants, storm still outlandishly raging around you. "Love?" Aemond spoke from behind you, making you jump slightly. He smirked, "Got something for you, my Lioness."

"You do not..." He held up the messily decapitated head of Lucerys "Velaryon", your laugh surprising and genuine. "Oh, we're sooo going to Seven Hells," you sighed, shrugging, "but you know, it doesn't really get worse than what we've already done, so," you motioned for him to set the head down.

"Here," he agreed, using his dagger to harvest Lucerys' eyeballs from the skull you helped hold. When he was done, you chucked the head away before Aemond's bloody hands set both eyes in your cupped, outstretched palms; watching you weigh them.

"You know, Lannisters always pay their debts," you mused, smirk pulling at your lips, "but we also are always repaid our debts. How strange, to hold his eyes and think they were once functioning... In his head, of use, probably full of tears when Vhagar chased him in the sky."

"Hm," Aemond considered, then pointed to your hand. "It's with his eyes, I promise you, my Lioness, the fall of our enemies." He proclaimed, then musing, "Should we give Maris Baratheon one to prove ourselves?"

You smirked, "She said you must've lost your balls, right?"

"Almost positive Vhagar ate Lucerys' so we cannot present her with them."

"Damnit," you pouted. "All right, fine, sure, we might show the Baratheon's we mean war... But I'd like to keep them both, please."

"What are you going to do with them?"

"Put them in a jar and keep until I'm no longer angry about what he did to us..."

"So, his eyes are going on our mantle?"

"You bet your sweet balls," you grinned, twirling Lucerys Velaryon's Strong's organs in your hand like a pair of game dice.

requesting rules and masterlist

HOTD masterlist

[flowerandblood]

Brother, Lover, Son (Oneshot)

The Impossible Choice Series Special Chapter

[ Aemond • Targaryen x Baratheon! • female ]

[description: Aemond is sent to Storm's End by his father to be trained in the nature of battle and warfare under Borros Baratheon eye, in preparation for his future role as commander of his brother's army. He is to choose one of his daughters as his future wife, but Borros only allows him to choose between four of them when his true desire is awakened by his fifth and youngest child.]

[warnings: sex content, virginity loss, fingering, masturbation, kissing, smut, angst, sexual tension, domination, violence, kind of incest but not actually]

This oneshot is an alternate reality from The Impossible Choice Series where, according to Aemond's words in Chapter 49, he is sent to Storm's End by his father when he is still just a child. It shows what would happen and how it would affect Aemond and Lady Baratheon, what his relationship with Borros, Royce and her other sisters would be like. This chapter stands apart from the main story and is a big, long "what if". This is very long oneshot (over 15.000 words).

Part two of this oneshot: To desire, to love, to care Other oneshot form the same AU: Daugther, Lover, Sister

Brother, Lover, Son Inside Alphabet

Moodboards before you start reading and want feel the mood:

Aemond and Lady Baratheon • Storm's End Stronghold • Baratheon Family • Lady Baratheon Gowns • Aemond • Lady Baratheon Mother

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

Main story and my other fics: Masterlist

______

He was unable to understand his father's decision. The night after their conversation, after the King had conveyed his will to him he had cried with rage, lying with his face pressed against his pillow, his barely healed scar from Luke's cut burning and itching more than usual.

"I've decided that you will spend a few years in Storm's End, preparing for your role as commander under the tutelage of Lord Borros. After what has happened you need a change of environment, son. It'll do you good."

He wept quietly, remembering those words for the hundredth time. He thought with grief that what he needed was not a change of environment, but a father who would come in time, save him from his nephew's cut, support him later in front of everyone, hug him and comfort him.

Meanwhile, despite the fact that he had managed to tame the largest dragon that now walked the earth, his father was getting rid of him.

He thought that the lack of an eye made him now forever defiant in his eyes and he wanted to hide him somewhere far away from the world, condemning him to oblivion.

His mother begged his father to change his mind, but he said that his son was already eleven years old and would soon be a grown man, and she could visit him whenever she wanted.

Whether he wanted it or not, a week later he was standing in the courtyard wrapped in his crying mother's arms – Aegon yawned, uninteresed, looking around, Helaena was staring at her hands, thoughtful, and small Daeron sobbed loudly, not understanding why he had to leave.

He only grunted, looking at them, not knowing what to say – he simply nodded, turned and walked away, not wanting to cry in front of everyone like a little child.

When he reached Storm's End on Vhagar a heavy rain was pouring down all around him, through which he could see very little. He struggled to land near the fortress, and travelled a long distance on foot before encountering guards who came out to meet him and led him straight into the great stone stronghold.

Frozen and with a pounding heart he stepped inside – the keep seemed huge and cold to him, his wet footsteps echoing loudly and disturbingly all around him.

He was led into a large circular hall and saw a tall, massive, bearded man before him. He was strongly built, his shoulder-length hair was as dark as his beard, his thick eyebrows furrowed in displeasure, which he recognised that he was the reason for.

"What is the meaning of this? Why haven't you given him dry clothes yet?" He almost roared at his guards, who only nodded, moving immediately back towards the corridor.

"Royce!" The man called out in a voice so tubular that it echoed loudly throughout the hall, making him swallow heavily. He tried to keep an indifferent face, but he could feel his legs trembling.

Suddenly, a boy, taller than him and reminding him a bit of Jace, ran into the hall through a side entrance. He had short, curly hair and big brown eyes.

"Lead Prince Aemond to his chamber. Let him rest, and then both of you come to the feast." He said in a firm, unobjectionable voice from which his heart trembled.

His father-king had never spoken like this and he did not know how to act.

Royce, however, did not seem at all bothered by his father's harsh tone. He approached him with a light step and bowed, looking at him curiously.

"Follow me, my Prince." He said, and he simply moved behind him, snorting quietly with his nose.

They moved up the grand, richly carved stone staircase. He was walking so fast that it was hard to keep up with him – they turned into one of the main corridors, then Royce opened a wooden door and invited him inside.

He stepped into his chamber and realised to his surprise that this room was even bigger than the one he had lived in the Red Keep – there was already a fire in the fireplace, the warmth of the flames making him tremble a little less. Royce looked at him and opened the dresser, pulling out a linen shirt and breeches, glancing at him.

"Get changed. Unfortunately such fine weather here is normal. You'll have to get used to it. The supper will begin in an hour, father doesn't like anyone to be late. Make yourself comfortable." He said and patted him on the shoulder, stepping around him and walking out, leaving him with an embarrassed expression on his face.

No lord had ever touched him so brazenly or spoken to him so directly, but yet he felt some kind of relief after he had done so.

He thought that perhaps such gestures were made between friends, brothers, and swallowed quietly.

This was not his family.

He had been sent here as if to some great stone prison.

After a few minutes or so, the servants brought trunks with his belongings, which had been brought in several carriages, and he changed into an attire he thought appropriate for supper. A plump, smiling woman then walked into his chamber and informed him that she would be his servant and that he could ask her for anything he needed.

He felt strange.

He knew they were kind to him because he was a prince, because his father and Lord Baratheon had decided that he would one day marry one of his daughters.

They could not offend or discourage him.

He pressed his lips together at the thought and decided that he would not fall for this cheap pity.

He wondered for a moment how he was supposedly going to get to the chamber where the supper would take place, but a few minutes before the appointed time Royce knocked on his door asking if he was ready.

They went there together.

They entered a great hall from the ceiling of which hung a huge candlestick, behind a long table stretched a fireplace from which a fire gushed, on an oak table spread a whole lot of dishes he had not seen before.

He noticed, surprised, that Lord Borros had already eaten, ignoring the fact that not everyone was yet at the table, nor that he, the Prince, had yet to sit down. He swallowed quietly, sitting down in the seat Royce had indicated to him, the curious glances of his sisters made him lower his head, embarrassed.

They were looking at his eyepatch, at his scar.

He wanted to hide, to disappear.

Suddenly he heard a squeal from under the table that Royce had just ducked under. He pulled out a little girl laughing so loudly he felt uncomfortable – he tried to pull away from her brother, but he held her tight and pinched her flushed cheek.

"This is where you hid, little rascal. I'm sorry, this is no longer your place, from now on Prince Aemond sits here." He explained to her, and she stopped squirming, looking at him with furrowed brows and tightened lips.

He glanced at her, thinking she was about to start crying as loudly as she laughed, but she glanced back at Royce.

"Fine. He can sit there, but you can't." She burbled, jabbing her brother in his arm with her finger, stepping under the table again and appearing on the other side, taking the empty seat next to her other sister, the only fair-haired girl, who sighed heavily as she looked at her.

"Sit down. Don't act like an animal." She said, correcting her on the seat, her younger sister looked at her resentfully but said nothing.

"What do you want to eat?" She asked her as if she were her mother, and the girl pointed her finger at the roast. Lord Borros' low, firm voice snapped him out of his reverie.

"Eat. Don't be shy. This is your home now." He said, glancing at him with his piercing brown eyes, putting some more meat from the platter beside him and handed it to him.

He swallowed hard, nodded and took a bit for his plate.

Throughout the supper he had been frustrated by the attentiveness of Lord Borros' daughters, except perhaps the youngest, who was too savage to concentrate on anything.

He had hardly slept through the night, curling up in his bed, trying not to cry from sadness and longing – he wanted to return to King's Landing, to a place where the sun greeted him every day, not rain and clouds, where was his library to hide in, his garden, his mother and his heritage.

He felt lost, lonely, forsaken.

His maid brought him his meal in the morning, warm milk with a platter of rolls and vegetables he liked.

He wondered how she knew this and whether Lord Borros had asked his mother about it before.

Then Royce came into his chamber and said that in an hour he would be training with his father in the courtyard and he could join them if he wished.

He wasn't sure he wanted to.

He was afraid of humiliation.

However, he recognised that Lord Borros could not see him as a weak coward, so he went downstairs, having previously dressed in the garments designed for sparrings, stepping into the courtyard from the side, through the cloisters, and stopped, looking at the view in front of him in disbelief.

Indeed Lord Borros and Royce were practising, both of them with wooden swords in their hands, all sorts of targets and shields around them, on tables surrounding them weapons he had not even seen in King's Landing.

What he did not understand, however, was what his youngest daughter was doing there with them.

"Stand firmer on your feet. Improve your posture." Borros shouted loudly at her as she pushed against Royce with vigour, her wooden sword even smaller than his, her dark hair tied up in a braid, determination and focus in her big, bright eyes.

Royce deflected her attack and with a single, powerful blow knocked her wooden sword out of her hand far away. She immediately ran after it, picking it up off the ground.

"Are you holding that sword or not?" Asked frustrated Royce, throwing his sword over his shoulder. "You need to have a stronger grip, focus."

"I'm trying!" She called out, running back to him and stopped, spotting him standing in front of the fortress entrance.

"Prince Aemond is here!" She exclaimed joyfully, and he blushed and lowered his head, embarrassed, feeling as if he had been caught in the act, even though he had done nothing wrong.

Borros and Royce immediately turned their gazes towards him, Lord Baratheon running the hilt of his sword over the sand.

"Come here." He said in a commanding voice, without any further pleasantries.

He pressed his lips together at the thought that Criston had always addressed him with respect, not forgetting his titles.

He swallowed loudly, walking towards them with his head lowered, pale, prepared for humiliation. Royce threw a wooden sword in his direction, which he caught in flight.

"Ready?" The boy asked him, and he nodded. Royce thrust at him suddenly, his blow swishing through the air, but he jumped back, spinning, trying to hit him from the side.

Royce blocked his blow and pushed him away, but he swished his sword once more, hitting him with all his strength on the shoulder. Royce hissed and recoiled, furrowing his brow, and he froze and stopped, swallowing loudly, looking at Lord Baratheon in horror. His daughter who stood beside him clapped her hands, a wide smile on her face. Borros nodded.

"Good. Royce, what did you do wrong?" His father asked, and Royce sighed heavily.

"I didn't dodge on my knees." He said resignedly. His father hummed under his breath.

"Exactly. How many times do I have to tell you. Footwork is key! Again." He ordered, Royce sighed, the expression of displeasure gone from his face.

They had had several duels with each other, already more evenly matched, Lord Baratheon after each one giving them remarks or showing them what they were doing wrong. He swallowed loudly as he turned to him.

"You have very good technique, but you are too tense in your shoulders. Relax them and your swing will be wider, you will be able to reach your enemy from a greater distance. Do you understand?" He asked and he nodded, unable to get the words out, his heart was beating like crazy.

His advice worked – he could feel in his hand that his sword was reaching farther, he hit Royce in the chest and he caught himself and hissed. Lord Borros came up and patted him firmly on the shoulder.

"Good. Just like that. Royce, legs." Borros said to him, and he felt his cheeks turn red, his belly filled with some kind of pride he didn't want to feel.

When they had finished and Borros said they could go and rest, he thought Royce would lurk somewhere in the middle of the fortress and beat him up for the warm words from his father.

Aegon always took it out on him later when he won some sparring organised by Criston Cole, saying that he had humiliated him in front of everyone.

Royce, however, seemed to have forgotten all about the training, hot and sweaty, saying he was thirsty and hungry. He told him they could go to the pantry together, and he nodded, although he'd never been in such a place before.

They went down into the underground – there were many servants walking around them, but they didn't seem to pay any attention to them, as if Royce's presence was normal for everyone. Royce went into one of the rooms and took two apples for them, on the way one of the servants asked him if they preferred to eat something warm.

"No." Said Royce, throwing him the other apple, turning back. They ate as they walked down the long, stone-cold corridors.

He wondered if he could ask him about it, but he couldn't hold his curiosity any longer.

"Do you have a library here?" He asked feigning indifference, biting into the sweet flesh of the fruit.

Only now did he feel the stress leave him, his stomach growling with hunger.

Royce looked at him puzzled.

"Yes, but it's rarely used. I can show you where it is if you want."

As promised, Royce took him to a gigantic room made up of huge stone bookcases filled to the brim with dusty tomes. Indeed, the place looked as if no one had looked there for a long time.

He knew that Lord Borros could not read, however, he wondered if his children couldn't do it either. He glanced at Royce and wondered if it was appropriate for him to ask such things.

So far Royce had been nice to him and was the only boy his age he could speak with about anything.

He figured he'd phrase the question so as not to give himself away.

"Don't you like books?" He asked casually, eating further, strolling across the room with him. Royce shrugged his shoulders.

"I like books about the war, but they have a lot of difficult words that I don't understand. My mother explained to me that they were difficult books for adults and that I could try to go back to them when I was older." He said calmly, and he swallowed loudly, glancing at him out of the corner of his eye.

Their mother was dead, but he wouldn't dare ask what had happened to her.

He hummed under his breath at his words and nodded.

"Sometimes I take books from here to read to my sister before bed. The youngest one you saw in the courtyard today." He said, taking one of the books from the shelf, looking through it without much concentration. He looked at him thoughtfully.

"Why is your little sister practising with you?" He asked, completely not understanding what she was doing there, having never seen any girl their age in King's Landing take an interest in such things before.

"And why not?" Royce replied with a question to question, shrugging his shoulders. He was surprised by this answer and did not know what to reply.

"She cried terribly when I didn't want to take her with me. She insisted on sword fighting and that's it. Didn't one of Aegon the Conqueror's sister-wives fight with a sword?" He asked, raising an eyebrow.

He pressed his lips together, refraining from saying that the Targaryens were not like other people and not to compare them, but he decided it was rude and left the subject.

From then on, he found his asylum in the forgotten library of Storm's End, where he spent his afternoons after training with Royce and writing off his mother's letters.

Although he still felt lonely, Royce was good company, not imposing on him, having his barriers, respecting his space – he wasn't spiteful and didn't look down on girls the way Aegon did, didn't beat him surreptitiously when his father wasn't watching, didn't play silly jokes or mischief on him.

He was a good friend.

He liked to climb up to the small half-floor of the library from which he had a view of the whole place, settling in there with a few books and something to eat, spending long hours there.

One day, however, he heard, startled, as the door to the room opened, and Borros's youngest daughter ran inside like a storm, approaching one of the bookcases. She struggled to pull some book off a shelf she couldn't reach, and he watched her efforts without a word.

He wondered if he should help her, and then decided he didn't need to do anything for her.

The girl finally took the chair and stood on it, this time grabbing what she wanted. He blinked as she got off the chair and sat down on it, looking through some sort of large, colourful book, he could see from a distance how many illustrations it had.

He thought curiously that he would take it as soon as she had gone, however, she sat down comfortably and browsed further, wiggling her legs that did not reach the ground.

He sighed quietly and flipped the page of his book, discouraged, and she then lifted her head high and spotted him. He squeezed his eye shut when he heard her get up suddenly and run upstairs to him.

He thought he could bid farewell to silence and peace.

"What are you reading about?!" She asked, sitting down next to him at the table above which her head barely protruded.

She opened a large but rather thin book in front of him, with an ornate red cover on which a dragon-like shape flashed before his eye.

He didn't answer her question, pushing the book closer to himself, beginning to look through it quickly.

"I'm reading this!" She squealed in pain, wanting to take it from him, but he pushed her hand away.

"Be quiet." He growled, flicking through page after page, feeling his heart begin to pound.

Tales of the ancient Rulers of the Seven Kingdoms.

Beautifully illustrated scenes of nuptials, dragons, battles, his ancestors on gilded, coloured illuminations.

In the Red Keep he had never seen such a book before.

He flipped its pages back to the beginning, wanting to start reading, but felt her hand tighten on his arm, her breathing uneven, as if she were about to cry.

"…I read it…." She mumbled, looking at him with big eyes full of tears, her face expressing as if she had never suffered so much in her life as she did in that moment.

"I'm reading it now. When I'm done I'll give it back to you." He said dryly, looking away.

He thought she was going to run off crying to complain to Royce or her father, pressing his lips together at the thought, but she drew in a loud breath, trying to hold back the loud sobs that were pushing at her throat.

"− and can I − uh - can I sit next to − and you'd read to me, and I − I − I'd like to −" She spoke incoherently and with difficulty, and he clenched his eye knowing that she wouldn't leave him alone. He sighed heavily, pushed her chair closer to him and moved the book to the side.

"Do you see anything?" He asked impatiently, looking at her, and she sat up on her knees to raise herself higher, looking at the open book curiously, her face completely changed its expression back to contented and gentle, although she was still red from tears.

"Yes."

He sighed heavily and began to read.

"Once upon a time there was a mysterious land called Valyria. It was known for its great sorcery and magic, and the most enchanted creatures of all had to be the almighty dragons, great flying reptiles breathing fire that resembled lizards in appearance. They had been invincible for thousands of years, sowing fear and confusion among humans who tried to tame them with prayers and gifts." He read in a calm voice and realised after a moment that she was listening to him as if enchanted, looking along with him at the text.

She glanced at him when he stopped reading, her gaze expressing joyful anticipation.

She really thought he was going to read the whole book to her now.

He didn't know how he felt about that thought.

It frustrated him that he had to exert himself for her just on her whim.

"Read on." She said softly, squirming on her lap in anticipation. "I really want to learn more about dragons."

He swallowed quietly at her words, lowering his head, looking blankly at the text in front of him.

Even though her sisters were trying with all their might to make contact and conversation with him, he could see them trying to avoid looking at his eyepatch, afraid they would say the wrong thing or offend him.

He was tired of it.

They pretended all the time.

But she wanted nothing more than for him to continue reading a story that interested her.

So he read on.

✦ - ✦ - ✦ A few years later ✦ - ✦ - ✦

When his mother sent him a letter that Helaena had finally given birth, he flew to King's Landing for a few days to see his nephews. He was pleased, although he did not particularly show it, that his sister had endured the hardships of labour well, being able to get out of bed almost immediately despite giving birth to two children rather than one.

He stood over the two beautiful, ornate wooden cradles in which the two white-haired infants lay and pressed his lips together, knowing that these innocent creatures had just pushed him in line to the throne.

He had inherited nothing.

All he had was Vhagar.

He knew everyone thought so − as he walked the corridors of the Red Keep he felt the stares of the lords and ladies of the court, he knew they were whispering about him. He appeared in King's Landing infrequently and always aroused a general curiosity that made him want to return to Storm's End at once.

There he didn't feel like an intruder, he thought with pain.

Despite his mother's pleas for him to stay for a few weeks, he decided that he would return to Storm's End as planned, remembering his promise to Lord Baratheon to return to the fortress before his Name Day.

The last supper he spent in the Red Keep was quiet and peaceful, the only people at the table who had the strength to speak were his grandfather and his mother.

Although the evening went on as usual, he could not get rid of the feeling that everyone around him was grey and dead, without energy or joy.

He recoiled from it.

Although he had always sought silence and solitude in Storm's End, suppers there were full of loud conversations and laughter, usually through the banter between Borros, his son and his youngest child, sometimes joined by Ellyn.

Cassandra usually pressed her lips together, looking at him with shame, perpetually worried that he was unhappy or embarrassed, trying to mother everyone, much to his frustration.

Ellyn was sweet and kind, but everything frightened her − she was close to tears when he and Royce had fierce duels during which she almost begged them not to hurt each other.

Maris was withdrawn and immersed in her thoughts, paying no attention to him after he had growled at her several times not to enter his chamber in his absence.

Neither of them frustrated him as much as Floris did.

As he walked down the corridor she tried to catch him under his arm, turning his journey from point to point into a romantic stroll. She constantly asked his opinion when it came to choosing a gown for the feast, to which he didn't feel like answering, uninterested.

Her approach tired him.

However, on the whole, he felt surprised and sad when he caught himself thinking that he was returning to Storm's End with relief.

He felt like a stranger, like an intruder in his own home and felt rage mixed with disappointment.

He returned on Vhagar to Storm's End late at night, flying in the middle of a terrible storm, entering the fortress all soaked.

He rolled his eye when he saw that Floris was waiting for him, dressed only in a slightly transparent night robe, holding some cloth in her hands.

"You're soaking wet, my Prince, let me help you." She said, looking at him with big eyes.

"No need. Don't follow me." He said dryly, heading to his chamber and locking himself in to make sure she would definitely not come after him.

He changed into dry clothes and collapsed on his bed, falling asleep almost immediately, hearing the loud thunder outside his window.

He woke up as always before dawn, looking tiredly at the grey, overcast sky – he murmured under his breath seeing that it wasn't raining and rose, putting on his breeches, dressing his boots lazily.

He liked to practice in the morning, in solitude, before everyone else was up – dueling with Royce was interesting and over the years they had formed a wordless, close bond, however he liked to train alone sometimes, wanting to surprise him later with an unexpected blow.

He stepped out into the courtyard and was immediately struck by the crisp, pleasant, refreshing air. He picked up one of the long swords and turned it around a few times in his hand, wanting to check that it lay well in his hand.

He shuddered and almost fell over when he felt someone suddenly jump onto his back.

"– brother! –" He heard a happy girlish squeal, someone's arms were embracing his neck from behind, her legs clenched around his waist.

"− fuck! − gods −" He hissed, feeling his heart pounding like a mad, looking back over his shoulder, although he knew perfectly well who he was going to see.

He felt her warm breath on his cheek, her pleasant floral scent filled his nose, her cheeks warm and flushed from the cold, her bright eyes shining with genuine joy at the sight of him.

She giggled seeing the look on his face.

"Where is your vigilance?" She asked amused and he snorted.

"Get off." He growled in frustration and pushed her away so that she had to slide back off the ground.

He looked at her frustrated, his lips pressed together into a thin line in shame.

"Can you finally stop doing that?" He said coolly, looking down at her, but she only smiled wider, putting her hands at her sides, not making anything of his words.

Only now did he realise that she too was wearing her training attire, tight black breeches, a buff white shirt, and over that an embroidered corset pleasantly hugging her waist, her long dark hair tied in a braid.

He swallowed loudly as he looked at her, wondering helplessly why he always lost his confidence in her presence.

She was driving him off balance.

"Forgive me. I couldn't help myself when I saw you." She said meekly, walking up to him with a light step, standing in front of him, her face gentle and happy.

She was glad to see him.

She was glad he was back.

He felt embarrassed at her words and looked away, pressing his lips together. She saw how tense he was and obviously felt remorse, because she lowered her gaze.

"I thought you'd come back last evening." She said softly, looking up at him again, her eyes big, sincere, warm.

She was always direct, always spoke straight from her heart, but there was no pressure or expectation of reciprocation, of an answer.

Her sincerity straddled him and he usually didn't know what to make of it, embarrassed and confused by her words.

"Something kept me in King's Landing." He replied briefly and dryly, looking at the hilt of his sword, turning it steadily in his hand, pressing its tip to the ground.

"I hope the Princess' delivery was quick and easy and that her children are healthy." She said softly, with genuine interest and concern.

"Mmm." That was the only thing that came out of his mouth. He felt an uncomfortable silence ensue between them, as it always did, but she seemed to make nothing of it.

"Will it bother you if I practise archery next to you?" She finally asked politely, looking at him expectantly, shifting from foot to foot.

"Do what you want." He said dryly, rolling the hilt of his sword in his hand and turned his back to her, striking one of the targets with its blade.

She answered him nothing to this, standing in silence for a moment, and then he heard her move as she approached one of the tables, taking from it the bow she always chose, given to her by her father. She positioned herself sideways to him, aiming at the shield from a long distance and hit the target immediately.

They practised like this in silence until Royce finally joined them.

She and Royce formed a very strong bond between them, which manifested itself in their constant conversations and closeness. He watched from the side as Royce embraced her, picked her up, leaned against her while standing next to her and felt embarrassed, never having been this close to Helaena himself, and even if he had been, he would not have had the courage to show it to her in this way.

She knew she couldn't afford the same type of closeness to him and didn't even try. She circled around him with an amused, joyful expression though, her eyes shining brightly at the sight of him, making him feel a squeeze in his throat.

He could not stop the rapid beating of his heart and the heat that spread through his body as her hand lightly touched his arm when she asked him something or wanted to comfort him.

She loved to surprise him, appearing in front of him out of nowhere, almost giving him a heart attack, and walking away laughing out loud at his expression, leaving him overwhelmed with embarrassment.

She repeated that his face was always stony and indifferent and that she was only checking how much she could get out of him.

The exchanges between them were usually unpredictable and chaotic – she never said what he expected of her and it made him perpetually tense in her presence.

He didn't even know when she stopped being a child, changing just like him, the height difference between them even greater than before.

It seemed to him as if she were a small wildflower that bloomed day by day, her shapes becoming more and more girlish, embarrassingly pleasing to his eye. Unlike her sisters, she didn't try to look older than she was – she allowed herself to mature slowly, without unnecessary haste, without killing her innocence, joy and lightness.

Pretty soon he began to see with horror that looking at her from the side was working on his mind, drawing reactions from his body that he was ashamed of.

He never lay with any woman, being like his mother a faithful follower of the Seven, believing that as a man he should be able to control himself and his desires completely.

He tried to avoid her, but at the same time he couldn't stop the squeeze of excitement in his stomach when she came to him in the library or during their joint training sessions – he never knew what she would do, what she would say, so he pretended to be indifferent, trying not to think about how hard his heart was pounding.

Nevertheless, he did not know what drove him to follow her one evening when, returning from the library, he saw that she was running down to underground crypts in nothing but her nightgown and robe tied loosely around her waist with a candle in her hand.

He thought he'd go and scare her like she had done to him, to make her feel what it was like.

That he'll teach her a lesson.

He followed her quietly, watching his every step, feeling like a predator trying to stalk its prey – he saw the faint light of her candle right in front of him, saw her silhouette standing in front of one of the crypts, her head bowed in thought.

He didn't know what possessed him to grab her by her neck with his hand, embracing her waist with his arm and pull her to him so violently that her body slammed into his, a sudden, high-pitched squeal escaped her mouth.

"Fucking unpleasant, isn't it?" He hissed into her ear, feeling her whole body tremble, her breathing accelerated and terrified – his hand tightened on her neck, the closeness of her body made his manhood pulse hard in his breeches against her buttocks.

"I wanted to see if you are able to make other than a happy, laughing face." He whispered mischievously into her ear and felt a shiver run through her body, her hand clamped on his arm.

She turned her head towards him, her eyes big, terrified, red, full of something he couldn't describe, her lips parted wide.

They were both breathing unevenly – they had never stood so close to each other before, a silence fell between them that terrified him.

A silence full of tension.

Say something, he thought, say I'm a nasty bastard, hit me, push me away.

He swallowed loudly when he felt her put her hand on his, her skin soft and warm.

"Today it is ten years since my mother passed away." She whispered in a trembling, soft voice, looking down, and he felt his heart stop.

He lifted his gaze to the sarcophagus with the large stone statue standing on top of it and recognised in it the face of a woman holding a book in her hands.

He felt an instant of shame, of guilt, of embarrassment wash over him.

He let go of her, pulling away from her, feeling his heart pounding like mad, terrified that he had gotten completely hard from their momentary closeness.

What was he doing?

He swallowed loudly, feeling like running away, sinking into the ground, disappearing, but he was unable to move.

"I come here often to pray to her to watch over us. Over our whole family. Over you too." She said in the end, and he swallowed silently, staring at the stone floor, unable to look at her, overpowered by shame.

"I'm sorry for what I did to you. I'll never do it again." She whispered and turned away, moving towards the stairs, leaving him with the burning candle.

Since then, she has never startled him again.

Lord Borros celebrated his Name Day sumptuously, inviting first his subordinate lords and vassals to a great feast in Storm's End, and then setting out with his entire retinue for several days hunting in the forest.

He and Royce walked into the great hall together through a side entrance closest their table, set perpendicular to the tables where the other lords and guests were seated.

"I'm sure old Lord Errol and Lord Seaworth will get into a fight again. The wine is bad for their minds and they get mad. I don't understand why Father always seats them so close together." Royce said amused, sitting down in his seat.

His face involuntarily stretched into a smirk at the memory of how Borros had to separate them when Lord Errol started slamming Lord Seaworth's head against the oak table, demanding an apology.

"Were they by any chance companions on one of Father's expeditions?" He asked indifferently as he sat down next to him and swallowed hard noting how the word father had involuntarily slipped from his lips.

Not 'our' father.

Not 'your' father.

Just father, he reassured himself in his head.

It didn't mean anything.

"Yes, they were best companions, but you know how it is. When there's no war they get bored, so they create reasons for themselves to fight." He said with amusement, reaching for his wine-filled cup, taking a sip from it. He nodded his head.

He was unable to describe what kind of relationship he had with Royce – he never acted as if he was lower or higher than him, never let him feel his jealousy of his father, never took it out on him for his failures.

Royce simply accepted his presence on the very first day he appeared in Storm's End, and this state of acceptance continued through the years.

He couldn't imagine spending time with Aegon in the way he did with Royce. Royce, unlike him, knew exactly how much he could drink and when he should tell himself enough.

He did not read as much as he did, however, he was a man of intelligence, like his father often throwing in apt remarks – Royce was a good observer, better than him, so in a way they complemented each other on a daily basis.

He looked around the room – Lord Borros was discussing something with concern with his servant, apparently about the order in which the dishes were served or a problem with the wine, which, after all, could not be lacking in his house.

His gaze traveled further and he swallowed loudly, feeling his heart hit harder when he spotted his youngest daugther conversing with Ellyn, a wide smile and joy on her face, her eyes glowing.

He noticed that she didn't wear gowns like her older sisters who followed fashion of King's Landing – the neckline of her gown did not begin until below her breasts, which were covered only by her undershirt, the sleeves of her gown buff and partly slit, tied with bows from under which the white material of her nightgown shone through, her hair tied in an elaborate braid.

Her attire was so impressive to him because she usually dressed similarly to them whether she was training with them or attended her father's hunts.

Lord Baratheon's other lords and vassals gave her paternal affection, often laughing that Borros had not one son, but three.

Comparisons to men, however, did not take away her confidence, for she seemed to subconsciously understand that all her femininity and girlhood was released when she laughed and smiled, her face always gentle and warm.

He began to notice with frustration that men liked to make speak with her, finding her an interesting and entertaining companion, unafraid of uncomfortable topics. She would occasionally meet his impatient, tense gaze and he would then turn away, tightening his lips, feeling like a fool.

He pretended not to feel relieved and satisfied when, usually after a while, she sat down next to him, turning to him with some question, her knee pressed against his.

He took a deep sip from his cup, looking away.

Lord Borros finally arose and began his speech, thanking those gathered for coming, mentioning some important battles and people, before formally inviting everyone to eat and dance. With music blaring around them, Royce handed him a plate of roast meat that had literally just appeared on the table in front of them.

He tried to pretend he didn't see young Lord Wylde approach Lord Baratheon's youngest daughter asking her to dance, to which she agreed with a soft, wide smile. He tried not to glance surreptitiously as they circled around each other in the dance, her movements nimble, gentle, innocent, her hand barely touching his.

He took another sip of wine, feeling the artery in his throat pulsate, his heart pounding hard in his chest.

He felt relieved when the dance was over and they bowed to each other, but he tensed, however, clenching his hand into a fist as he noticed the young boy leaning over her, whispering something to her ear.

He felt anger.

He felt frustration.

He felt tension.

He tried to reassure himself with the thought that she was innocent and naïve, and he was making sure nothing happened to her, like the good big brother he actually wasn't.

"What happened?" Royce asked, clearly seeing the tension painted on his face, and he grunted low.

"Young lord Wylde seems to have taken a liking to your sister." He said offhandedly, feigning indifference, hoping Royce would take an interest in the matter for him. He, however, blinked, glancing at them, then shrugged his shoulders.

"My sister is wise, she can handle him if he's too insistent. Let her have her fun." He said lightly, taking a sip of wine, finishing off the leftover meat on his plate. He averted his gaze, feeling a squeeze in his stomach at his words.

When he saw out of the corner of his eye Floris standing up from her chair he also immediately stood up, knowing that she was going to torment him by speaking about topics that he was completely uninterested in.

Royce only laughed out loud when he told him he was going to go out into the fresh air for a while, knowing exactly who he was running from.

He went out a side entrance and heard Floris come up behind him, so he changed his plan and instead of the cloisters he headed for the library, knowing that she hadn't peeked in there and certainly wouldn't even stop to look.

He walked into the dark room and climbed the stairs to the half-floor where he always sat when he was a child, sitting down on the ground against the wall, running his hand over his face.

He wondered what was actually happening to him, feeling tired and discouraged.

He knew that eventually he would have to choose one of Borros' daughters to be his wife, but the Lord of Storm's End had let him know that he was to choose from four, not five.

"As I understand it, you will not consider her. She is still so young and childish, she would not do well in the Red Keep or as your wife. You know her nature: it's like locking a wild bird in a cage. For the rest, I am sure you are certainly interested in more mature women." He said and patted him on the shoulder with some expression of masculine tenderness from which he felt a tightening in his throat. He nodded only, unable to look him in the face.

He couldn't admit to him that thoughts of her invaded him at night, when he touched himself, when he fucked himself with his hand.

That he imagined she came to his chamber in the middle of the night, scared, innocent, warm, and he took her, slowly and tenderly, placing wet kisses full of desire and devotion on her soft face, listening to her sweet moans, assuring her that she was safe in his arms.

He squeezed his eye shut at the thought, swallowing loudly, feeling his cock pulsate hard at the thought.

He jumped up terrified when he heard the quiet creak of the door and cursed in his mind thinking that it was Floris who had finally found his hiding place.

However, he saw in the faint light of the torch from the corridor that the figure who was looking up at him from below was wearing a completely different dress.

He felt his heart begin to beat like mad, a cold sweat on the back of his neck.

"Brother?" He heard her quiet, worried voice, she spoke almost in a whisper, as if she was afraid someone would hear her. His voice caught in his throat.

He couldn't get anything out.

Go away, he thought pleadingly, but she stepped inside and closed the door behind her.

She walked slowly upstairs, lifting her gown with her hands to avoid trampling on it, and knelt down next to him on the floor with a loud rustle, her scent immediately hitting his nostrils. He turned his head away, terrified, feeling that he was already completely hard, his chest rising and falling anxiously.

"Are you unwell?" She asked uncertainly, glancing at him, but he didn't dare look at her. He shook his head slowly and heard her swallow quietly.

"Do you want me to leave you alone?" She asked again after a moment, and he pressed his lips together, feeling that his whole body was fighting not to throw himself at her, his breath heavy and anxious.

He answered nothing.

"I missed you." She whispered at last, and he felt a squeeze in his heart, a pain as if someone had stuck a needle in his chest. "When you're gone something is missing. Royce too…"

"Stop it." He growled colder than he would have liked, frustrated and terrified.

"Why are you telling me this?" He asked impatiently, looking at her suddenly, breathing hard, his hand clenched into a fist as if he was about to hit her.

He saw her frightened, warm gaze, saw that she couldn't understand him, what frustrated him and what pleased him.

She swallowed loudly, surprised by his sudden outburst.

"You think I want to listen to this? I'm not your brother. Have you forgotten who I am already? Do you feel better when you forget that you should bow before me?" He exhaled in one breath, feeling the poison gathering in his heart fly out of him like a bloodthirsty wave, drowning everything around them, including her and him.

He felt a pang of remorse as he saw her face contort in pain, as if he had slapped her across the face. She blinked rapidly, tightening her lips, pulling away from him slightly, raising her arms as if in a gesture of defence, her body breathless all over. She swallowed quietly, her mouth quivering as she spoke her next words.

"To me, you will always be my brother." She said in a trembling voice, and he felt anger and hopelessness at her words.

He did not want to be her brother.

Not when she wasn't a Targaryen.

Not when he wanted to fuck her.

She squealed loudly as his hand brutally clamped down on her hair and pulled her close with a sudden movement so that she just slammed into his body, falling over, catching his arms to keep her balance. They both breathed loudly as they stared at each other for a long moment, he felt his head spin from the smell of her.

He felt a shudder pass through him as her hand touched his scarred cheek, his erection swelled painfully hard, leaving him breathless. Shivers ran down the back of his neck as her fingers slid slowly down his skin to his lips, pulsating and swollen. He pulled her face closer, making their foreheads touch.

He glanced at her lips, soft, pink, full, and then again at her eyes, warm, misty, surrounded by her beautiful dark lashes like a veil. His hand inch by inch drew her closer and closer, he could feel her accelerated, hot breath enveloping his face – the tip of his nose ran over her soft cheek and they both trembled, a quiet, sweet sigh escaped her lips, her fingers ran down his cheek.

When his lips brushed hers they both froze, looking at each other with misty eyes, breathing loudly. He waited for her reaction, for her to pull away, to shake her head and tell him no, but she didn't move an inch, her whole body quivered, her mouth parted as if invitingly, encouragingly. He leaned towards her, his thirsty, puffy lips pressed against hers, soft, fleshy, wonderfully moist.

She whispered his name quietly, and he kissed her again, each time more surely, more deeply, drawing her closer, her hand tightening on his cheek. Their hot, swollen lips danced with each other with a sticky, wet clicks that sent shivers through him, his free arm hugging her waist and pulling her closer, forcing her to sit on his lap.

They both panted into each other's mouths feeling their hands travel uncertainly over their bodies, his fingertips touching hair, the nape of her neck, her cheeks, her waist, repeating it all over again.

His manhood twitched in his breeches so hard that once in a while a low, helpless groan of pleasure ripped from his throat straight into her mouth, her lips responding timidly to his caresses, her hand trailing through his hair and down his neck.

Aroused to the limit, with a pounding heart, he tentatively slipped the tip of his tongue into her parted lips as if to see how she would react, whether it would be too much. He felt her tremble all over and draw in a loud breath, her fingers clenching tighter on his hair.

He repeated the flicks of his moist tongue and got the same wonderful reaction out of her – he moaned loudly when he felt tips of their tongues come into contact and lick, a strong shudder ran through his body, his hands tightening on the material of her gown.

They both flinched and pulled away immediately, looking at each other in horror when they heard someone grab the doorknob and then the door swung open with a loud creak. They both stood up, swallowing loudly, noticing Royce who was frowning through the lack of light and only saw them on the balcony a moment later.

"I've been looking everywhere for you. What are you doing here?" He asked surprised and amused, seeing their faces.

"I felt unwell. The wine made me sick." He choked out wearily, avoiding her, feeling like his heart was about to leap out of his chest, running down the stairs.

"I'm better now, let's go." He said, stepping out into the corridor, trying to stop his body from shaking and the sights he saw before his eyes.

He was glad his tunic was long enough to cover what was going on inside his breeches.

Her soft lips pressed against his, her hand in his hair, her flowery, fresh scent, her warm breath, her tongue licking his.

He swallowed loudly, stepping back into the great hall, immediately bombarded with questions from Floris as to where he had gone for so long. He didn't answer her, sidestepping her, sitting down in his seat, taking a few deep sips of wine to calm himself.

What had he done?

Fuck.

Fuck. Fuck. Fuck. Fuck.

What if she tells Royce? Or Father?

He ran his hand over his chin at that thought, feeling a tightening in his stomach, glancing nervously at the entrance.

He thought Borros would kill him if he found out.

A moment later, she and Royce also walked into the room, her face pale, though she tried to smile.

She didn't tell him, he thought with relief.

Their gazes met and he immediately looked away, feeling her soft, wet tongue between his lips again, his cock throbbed painfully in his breeches, demanding to be relieved at last.

Never before had he come so quickly fucking himself with his own hand as he had that evening – the loud, low groan of relief and delight that broke from his throat was silenced by the pillow into which he pressed his face, his body trembling in spasms. He involuntarily whispered her name as he slowly came down from his peak, his eye tightened, a quiet panting came from his mouth.

He was disgusted with himself and what he had done.

He was disgusted at how pleasant it felt.

She was so innocent.

In the morning he felt crushed by remorse, by the fact that he had frightened her, that she herself did not know what had happened between them.

That she thought for certain he wanted to take advantage of her, to profit from the pleasure of her body and nothing more.

He knew she would go hunting with them, she always went, helping Borros instead of his servants.

He did not know how he would look her in the face.

He decided he would try to go to Lord Borros and convince him somehow to let him stay in the fortress.

"This is time for you and your children." He said to him, Lord Borros' servant was just helping him put on a tunic of thicker, warmer material designed for being outside in cold temperatures. Borros snorted at his words.

"My four daughters are staying and that I can understand, but you? Both my sons are to participate in the hunt." He said more commanding than stating. He looked at him, pretending to feel nothing at his words.

"I am not your son."

Borros pressed his lips together at his words – he waved his hand impatiently and ordered the servant to leave them alone. After a moment, the door closed behind him and a tense silence fell between them. Borros looked at him, wrinkling his wide, dark brows.

"You are not my son by blood, but I raised you. I made you a man. You and Royce are to come with me. Do you understand?" He asked low and clear, with the impatience characteristic of him when he was frustrated. He swallowed loudly and nodded his head.

You are not my son by blood, but I raised you.

I made you a man.

He did not want to admit to himself how much relief he felt at his words.

He no longer knew who he was and who he wasn't.

A dragon prince would never be an mere stag.

However, why was it that whenever Borros spoke in his presence he felt a respect and awe for him that made him unable to stand up to him?

That he didn't remind him of who he was, how he should address him?

Part of him wanted to be Royce's brother, wanted to be Borros Baratheon's son.

But he also wanted something else.

Someone else.

He wondered, riding his mount beside Royce through the dense forest whether she would agree if he asked for her hand.

Would she give up everything she loved for him and leave with him to the Red Keep, to the inheritance that was his by blood and law.

He swallowed quietly, ashamed of the direction his thoughts were taking.

He was desperate.

When they arrived in the field where the large tents slowly floated, he spotted her from afar, speaking quickly with his father about something. He lowered his head, terrified, dismounting from his horse, thinking only of what he had done the night before.

However, as Borros approached them in her company, he began to speak about where they would be going and what they were hunting, his voice focused and pleased with the weather and the fact that it was not raining.

He swallowed loudly, glancing at her out of the corner of his eye. She turned her head away as soon as she noticed he was looking at her.

She didn't tell him, he thought with relief and regret at the same time.

Perhaps if he found out the truth and required an explanation, he would have the courage to take her for himself and demand her hand.

He was not surprised when Borros ordered that all three of them and a few companions from his old days would accompany him on a deer hunt.

His youngest daughter was, as usual, armed with a bow, much to her father's delight hitting a partridge from long distances. Borros patted her firmly on the back so that she bent under the powerful strokes of his broad palm.

"Very good." He said lightly, walking on, ordering them to move north. He saw her give him a quick glance and then immediately turn her head away, tightening her lips, all red, and run after her father.

The hunt was a success and they returned to camp with enough meat to feed all comers. Large bonfires were lit in front of the tents, the cooks skinning and quartering the animals before his eyes. Royce and he sat down under one of the trees, exhausted.

Royce called out to his sister when he spotted her from afar to rest with them, and he felt a twist in his stomach, looking away, feigning indifference.

His younger sister approached them uncertainly, trying to converse lightly with her brother about something, her hands clenched on her lap. After a moment, Borros called out to his son from a distance, saying that he needed his help, so he got up at once and ran towards him, leaving them alone.

They both turned their heads away, unable to look at each other, a protracted, uncomfortable silence all around them.

He looked at the sun setting in the distance which he could see between the trees, feeling his heart pounding hard.

It seemed to him that what had happened between them earlier in the night was just a figment of his imagination.

"I will not disturb you, my Prince." She said in pain, lifting herself from the grass, and he looked at her surprised, his jaw clenched in a held breath at her words as he watched her walk away.

My Prince.

When Royce returned he told him he needed to drink some wine.

He drank more than usual, watching her from afar like a predator, seeing her cast him an uncertain, frightened glance once in a while.

He was frustrated and full of anger that he didn't know what to do with.

He decided to go to bed early, drunk, tired and discouraged. Royce urged him to stay up, that the campfires would burn late into the night, but he had neither the strength nor the desire to feast.

He moved towards his tent and went inside, slowly undoing the buckles of his tunic, pulling it off and throwing it indifferently on the grass beside his bed.

He heard someone come inside and thought it was his servant, so he loudly dismissed him, but the person who had walked inside did not move from his place.

"− brother −" He heard her quiet, uncertain voice and froze, his body went through a shiver.

He turned slowly to her over his shoulder, his gaze expressing shock – his mind was foggy, his hands involuntarily clenched into fists.

"What are you doing here?" He asked coldly. She swallowed loudly, her large, warm eyes full of terror and uncertainty.

She opened and closed her mouth several times but nothing came out of her throat, she rubbed her fingers against each otehr in a nervous gesture.

"− I − what happened yesterday −" She mumbled out, but he interrupted her in mid-sentence afraid of what she wanted to say.

"− forget about it −" He replied, turning away from her, untying the his breeches, wanting to get rid of them before lying down on the sheets. "− something else? −"

She turned her head away, embarrassed and hurt by his words and what he was doing, swallowing loudly, her brow furrowed as if in pain.

"− I want you to know that I won't tell anyone about this − that's all −" She whispered turning away and walked out, leaving him with a pounding heart and a feeling of overwhelming shame.

He ran his hand over his face and, in a gesture of anger, threw all his dishes off the table, which fell to the ground with a loud clang of steel.

Why did it have to be her?

He put his palms on the table, leaning his head forward, unable to calm himself, breathing loudly through his mouth.

Why couldn't it be Ellyn?

She was sweet, pretty, modest, well-read, quiet.

So why?

He came out of his tent like a living fury and stormed aggressively into her tent, heard her squeal of surprise as she jumped up on her bed, covering herself with a furs, sitting up in only her nightgown.

She looked up at him with her mouth open and her eyes wide as he ripped the furs from her hands, revealing her body peeking out from under the thin white material in front of him, her breath caught in her throat as he lay down on top of her, pressing her body against the bedding, his cock twitching hard between her thighs.

"− brother − what are you −" She whispered terrified, shivering all over, clasping her hands on his shirt.

"− tell me to stop −" He breathed out grabbing her trembling thighs in his hands, lifting them slightly and spreading them out in front of him, panting along with her, looking at her face full of disbelief. "− tell me to stop or I'll take what I want −"

He said in a raspy voice, his tongue invading between her swollen lips bringing out a helpless, drawn-out, surprised moan, her hands still clenched on the material of his shirt. He ran his hard, throbbing manhood hidden under the material between her thighs and she trembled all over, whimpering into his mouth.

He pulled away from her with a loud, wet click, looking at her like a madman, panting loudly along with her, parting her lower lip with his thumb, his hips rolling against her body in a slow back and forth motion.

"− say it −" He whispered weakly, looking down at her, her face flushed and red, her lips parted in a ragged breath, a quiet moan came from her mouth each time he rubbed against her womanhood again.

"− please, make me stop − please −" He growled out helplessly, but her lips only parted more at his words, her thighs spread wider in front of him, her soft hand running over his hot cheek.

He squeezed his eye shut, feeling her lower lip brush his, her hips tentatively began to respond to his movements, rubbing against him, driving him wild. He felt like he was about to explode.

"− please −" He panted into her mouth, the tips of their tongues licking each other, a sweet, lingering mewl came from her lips. His trembling hands slid from her thigh to her buttocks, squeezing them uncertainly, he sighed in delight feeling how indecently soft her skin was.

"− please − please −" He gasped in a trembling voice, but her hands weaved into his hair and drew him closer, her fingers trailing down his neck, slipping under his shirt, running over his bare back, leaving goosebumps in the areas of her touch. They both began to moan quietly and pant into each other's mouths, their kisses messy and loud, wet, sticky from their saliva.

"− marry me −" He exclaimed helplessly, lifting her nightgown higher, revealing to him the bare skin of her thigh and what lay between them. Slowly he slid his hand there, trembling along with her, her body quivering at his words, a loud sigh escaping her lips.

"− say you'll marry me −" He whispered, running his nose over her cheek, sliding down to her ear and then to her neck, placing slow, wet kisses on her skin. They both moaned helplessly as his fingers ran over her fleshy, slick folds, so intimately hidden, so now exposed, her expression of complete trust in him.

He sighed wearily when he felt her moisture on his fingers, warm and sticky, again and again running his hand over her puffy slit, her skin there hot, pulsing with heat. He felt her fingers tighten on his back, writhing beneath him each time his palm ran over the little bud hidden between her folds, a helpless sob escaping from her throat, her lips parted wide, droplets of sweat running down her skin.

"− Aemond −" She whimpered pleadingly, as if she were crying out to him for help, as if she were asking him to save her. He trembled all over at the sound of his name spoken so directly, so unashamedly, intimately, he felt as if his cock would explode with arousal.

He began to deliberately stroke her where his touch was driving her mad, his fingertips spreading her moisture all over her plushy womanhood, his swollen lips clinging to hers again, trying to silence her increasingly loud moans.

"− hush, my little one − someone will hear us − shhh −" He silenced her by sliding his tongue deep between her lips, almost to her throat, her hips began to rock faster and faster towards his hand, searching for any source of friction.

"− Aemond − what are we doing −" She mumbled quietly between sticky kisses and the licking of their tongues, his fingers massaging area around her pearl in a circular, sure motions, running over her hot entrance once in a while. He tentatively slid the tip of his finger into her throbbing, moist insides, and she trembled all over, drawing in air loudly.

"− what husband and wife do − what we're going to do every night −" He breathed out into her mouth and a quiet, sweet, surprised moan escaped her throat, he felt her wetness flowing from her slit into his palm, he felt her body on edge, her thighs were quivering all under his hand, her hips pushing greedily against his hand. He slid his finger into her with a wet click of her juices as his thumb continued to tease her puffy bud.

"− I − gods, it feels so warm − it tickles me so much inside −" She mewled, panting loudly, clearly feeling the tension gathering in her lower abdomen, and he thought with delight that she was about to come on his hand.

"− say you'll marry me −" He said in a raspy voice, watching as her body wriggled in front of him him in pleasure, her mouth wide open, her eyes looking at him in a way from which he felt like just throwing himself on top of her and sliding inside her.

"− I will − I will, please −" She cried out and suddenly froze, leaning back, pressing her cheek against the pillow.

An exasperated, pleading, startled moan erupted from her throat, she clenched her eyes shut as if what was just going through her body was too much − waves of pleasure shook her body, and he watched the sight in disbelief, seeing female fulfilment for the first time in his life.

His hand involuntarily slipped out from between her thighs and slid into his breeches, gripping his painfully hard erection. He forced her to look up at him by clamping his hand over her cheeks and he pressed himself into her lips, panting along with her, squeezing his fat cock intensely and quickly. He felt his fulfilment approaching embarrassingly fast, her scent, the touch of her lips and what he saw was enough to keep him on edge.

"− my sweetest − gods − oh, fuck −" He growled out into her mouth panting hard as he felt his hot spend spill over his hand, a wonderful relief and pleasure filled his whole body and lower abdomen − he could hear her loud breathing, her hand gently stroking his hair and cheek, calming him, soothing him.

He collapsed on top of her at last, panting hard, not believing it had really happened.

They lay like that, both of them breathing loudly, not saying a word, all around them the voices of drunken men arguing with each other and discussing loudly. He could feel their bodies trembling, hot with fulfilment − he pressed his face to her cheek, his lips against her ear.

"− do you want me to leave? −" He asked in a trembling voice, terrified of what he had done, what she would think of him now, what their father would think if he found out. He felt her small hands tightening on his shirt, her hand running through his hair.

"Stay with me."

So he stayed.

When he woke up, her warm body was snuggled against his chest, her fingers tightened on the material of his shirt as if she was afraid he would change his mind and leave her in the middle of the night.

He embraced her with his hands, his face snuggled into her hair, his nose filled with her wonderful scent.

He had never felt so fulfilled before.

So peaceful.

So safe.

He only gently disentangled himself from her sleeping embrace before dawn, not wanting anyone to see him leaving her tent and jump to hasty conclusions.

He also needed to speak to their father.

He had never before seen Lord Borros so furious as when he told him he had made his choice.

His foster father prowled around the tent like an enraged animal as he sat in a chair, tense, playing with his fingers.

"She's just a child. I thought you had more sense." Borros hissed at him, and he threw him a cold, displeased look.

"She is no longer a child. Would you rather she married a stranger instead of giving her to me? To your son?" He asked, his voice trembling uncertainly at his last words. Borros looked at him furrowing his eyebrows.

"I will not hurt her. She will be safe with me." He said calmly what he really thought. Borros snorted at his words.

"In King's Landing, between one fire-breathing dragon and another fighting for crown and power? I don't want to see my youngest child perish in the flames of Targaryen greed!" He exclaimed in a low breaking voice, and he felt a pain in his chest, swallowing loudly, taken completely by surprise by his words.

I don't want to see my youngest child perish in the flames of Targaryen greed.

"It's her or none, Father." He said coldly, clenching his hands into fists, not looking away even though he wanted to.

He heard Borros growl with rage, furiously turning to his servant to summon his youngest daughter at once.

He felt discomfort at the thought that perhaps she had changed her mind.

That she had only agreed under emotions, and now regretted it.

He was unable to look at her when he heard her walk into the tent, Borros immediately turned to her, his voice raised and impatient.

"Prince Aemond asks for your hand, daughter. Did you know about this?" He asked menacingly, referring to all the confusion he had caused with his decision. He felt his heart pounding as he waited for her words, his hands clenched into fists.

"Yes. I...I have already agreed." She whispered so quietly that he barely heard it. He swallowed loudly glancing at her finally, she was pale and frightened, looking at her father pleadingly, terrified of his anger.

"You have no idea what you agreed to, child." He said, half furious, half terrified, running his hand over his face, shaking his head, still pacing around the tent, unable to control himself.

"I do not want anyone else." She mumbled with difficulty, looking pleadingly at her father on the verge of tears. He felt heat in his chest at her words and pressed his lips together.

I do not want anyone else.

Without opposition from his daughter, Borros really had no choice. When they confirmed several times that they knew what they were doing and that it was what they wanted, he gave up, heartbroken, and ordered to summon a scribe, wanting to send a letter to King's Landing.

Neither he nor she had the courage to tell anyone what had happened.

Word of his decision spread like wildfire, however, and he had to deal with a barrage of questions from Royce, shocked and unsure if he was doing the right thing.

"But why her, brother? She is so young. I mean…I was sure you'd choose Ellyn." He said, scratching his chin, just as embarrassed as he was by this conversation. He didn't know what to say to him.

"I think I knew it from the beginning." He muttered, running his hand over his face in shame, all tense, glancing at Royce, who stared at him in disbelief.

His reaction was nothing compared to the despair and bitterness that gripped his sisters.

Cassandra took it best, with dignity, though her face twisted in pain as their father informed them of his decision at the evening feast. Maris turned pale and pursed her lips, but said nothing. Ellyn let out a loud, breaking sob, got up and left, unable to look at him.

Floris asked if he was mocking them.

He looked at his betrothed, pale and on the verge of tears, weighed down by what was happening around her, by what he had condemned her to.

"The King and Queen have decided that the nuptials will take place in two months." Their father continued, ignoring his daughter's brazen questions. Floris interrupted him again.

"My Prince, is it true? Did our father force you to make this decision?" She asked in disbelief, it was clearly beyond her mind that he could make such a decision of his own free will. He took a sip of wine from his goblet and set it down with a loud clang of steel.

"Quite the opposite. Your father tried to dissuade me from this decision, to no avail." He said coldly, his eye fixed on the one he desired, the one he chose – she looked at him, her eyes sad and terrified.

He pressed his lips greedily to hers, pinning her against the cool stone wall of the corridor as soon as they were alone, wiping tears from her face as they ran down her cheeks, absorbing her every silent sob.

"Tell me you haven't changed your mind." He gasped into her mouth, brushing them and caressing them with a loud, sticky clicks. She threw her arms around his neck and returned his kiss with such ferocity that he moaned low into her throat.

It was her answer.

To his relief, his betrothed wished their lives to go on as before – she didn't make him take romantic walks together on the cliff's edge, didn't expect flowers, letters, or other evidence of constant interest and love from him. Everything she wanted she could see in his gaze, which did not leave her for a moment.

Affection.

Thirst.

Desire.

He didn't have the courage to tell her how much he already wanted her all to himself, how much he wanted her to be the mother of his children.

He couldn't find the words to describe the heat and pride that overwhelmed him at the thought that she would be his wife, that he would be able to touch her shamelessly in front of everyone.

That he would be able to pick her up, embrace her, lean over her, touch her warm cheeks and hands the way Royce did.

No one but them knew that they both sneaked out of their chambers late at night and went to the library, shutting themselves up there, slowly discovering the pleasures and secrets of their bodies. He let her small hands slide his eyepatch off his head, let her place warm, tender kisses on his scar, holding her close.

They lay down on sheets and fabrics that they had scrupulously hidden under one of the shelves behind the books, finding lying on the stone floor very uncomfortable.

He did not dare to pull off her nightgown, wanting to show her respect and make her feel safe, but the mere sight of her naked body through the translucent material was enough to stimulate his senses completely and drive him mad.

He let himself kiss her soft, plump breasts through the thin fabric and she let out sweet sighs of delight every time, her hand stroking his hair as she pressed his face closer to her chest, signalling him not to stop.

He had no experience with women before her, so he wanted to understand exactly what gave her fulfillment, what touch or movement of his fingers made her spasm, what his words whispered in her ear made her suddenly come on his hand with a sweet sobs of pleasure.

He felt embarrassed and aroused when she whispered to him one night if she could touch him there.

Their lips connected and parted in sticky, lustful kisses as her trembling fingers untied his breeches, timidly slipping her hand underneath them. They both froze and inhaled loudly as her fingers traced againt his long, throbbing length, a low, helpless, guttural moan escaping his lips.

"− fuck −" He gasped into her mouth, surprised at how intense the sensation was, how pleasantly soft and gentle her hand felt.

He saw her timid gaze fixed on his face, her cheeks red with shame at what she was doing, at the feeling of his hard, twitching cock under her fingers.

"− do you want me to stop? −" She asked softly between their tender, sweet kisses.

He responded by taking her hand gently in his, squeezing her fingers around his manhood, guiding her up and down, his erection throbbing painfully hard in her embrace.

"− no −" He whispered in response, panting with her, his hips involuntarily rolling to the rhythm of her hand, searching for any source of rubbing.

"− how will it look like − on our wedding night? −" She asked softly, her voice slightly trembling, looking at him with dreamy eyes, what she was doing apparently aroused her as much as him.

His cock pulsed harder in her hand at her question, leaking from his precum − he licked his lips involuntarily, imagining what he would be able to do with her.

He didn't know how to describe it without scaring her.

"− I − ah − I'm going to touch you between your thighs − and then −" He gasped, pressing his lips together, feeling shivers all over his body, his hips rocking faster and faster in her hand, which squeezed his thick cock with a steady, firm strokes.

"− fuck − and then I'll put this inside you −" He whispered in a shaky voice into her mouth as he pressed his forehead against hers, gripping his hand tighter over hers on his erection.

He heard her draw in a sharp breath, she stared at him wide-eyed, unsure of what she thought of what she had just heard.

"− will it be painful? −" She asked with fear, and he kissed her again, slipping his slick tongue between her fleshy lips, drawing a soft moan from her. He broke away with a wet click, looking at her with his mouth slightly parted, feeling the heat and tension growing in his lower abdomen.

"− no − I − I'll do anything to not cause you pain −" He mumbled helplessly, their lips pressed together again in a lewd, sticky kiss, her breath heavy and uneven.

"− can you − can you do it now? − just for a try −" She whispered softly and he froze, staring at her in disbelief, his heart pounding like crazy.

"− I − we shouldn't before our nuptials −" He muttered hesitantly, though his whole body was screaming for him to throw himself at her and just slide it inside her. She swallowed loudly at his words.

"− I know − I just − I wish I knew what it felt like − so I wouldn't be afraid −" She mumbled helplessly and his heart clenched, a million of his thoughts fighting together at the same time in his head. He propped himself up on one elbow, laying between her thighs, gripping the fabric of his breeches.

"− just for a moment − agreed? −" He said in a trembling voice, his whole body quivering. She nodded quickly, breathing heavily, trustingly allowing him to lift the fabric of her nightgown higher.

They both gasped loudly as he slid his breeches down enough to release his hard, throbbing manhood. He leaned over her soft, warm face, placing a gentle, tender kiss on her lips, directing the fat, pink head of his cock to her wet, throbbing slit.

"− spread your thighs wider − yes, just like that −" He praised her, brushing her lips again, terrified of what he was about to do, yet feeling like he was about to explode with lust and desire.

They both moaned in surprise as he pressed his length against her entrance and slid a little inside her − she was so tight and hot that he was out of breath, her lips tightened, as he forced his way deeper into her harder, her eyebrows arching in discomfort.

"− fuck − breathe deeply − relax − does it hurt a lot? −" He whispered in a trembling voice looking at her, with remnants of his free will refraining from any movements. She shook her head.

"− n-no − I mean − a little − just − it's so big −" She mumbled out, a blush of embarrassment on her cheeks, her gaze warm, her lips puffy and pink with emotion. He licked his lips involuntarily at her words, feeling pride and shame at the same time.

"− you did this to me − always make me so fucking hard −" He exhaled in a trembling voice, his hands sliding down between her thighs, gently parting the folds of her entrance with his thumbs, trying to help himself and her. He felt her draw in a loud breath and clench her eyes shut.

He heard her swallow hard and begin to breathe loudly through her mouth, inhaling and exhaling, her body shivering all over under him. He felt her walls stop pressing down on him so panicky, and he pushed deeper into her, sighing loudly, her mouth parting wide at the feeling of so intense filling. Hearing no objection from her, he thrust his hips again, entering her all the way in with a loud groan.

He stared down at her, breathing hard, letting her get used to this strange, intense feeling, and then he pulled out slowly only to thrust into her again. They both gasped loudly as he began to move inside her, slowly, hesitantly, telling himself he would stop soon.

"− you're so warm −" He panted in a trembling voice, delighted at how amazing it felt to be squeezed from all sides by her hot, tight, fleshy wet walls, all sticky with her moisture, feeling a woman's insides for the first time in his life.

Her mouth parted wide and she mewled loudly as slowly his hips began to accelerate, thrusting his thick cock into her with a loud, sticky slaps, a quivering, low gasp of pleasure emanating from his throat.

"− Aemond −" She mumbled helplessly, her body trembling with each of his thrusts, panting louder and louder with him, her hands clenching on his sides. He threw her legs over his back, wanting to feel her deeper, streching her throbbing insides to the limit with his length. She sobbed loudly at the feeling, throwing her head back.

"− just a little longer −" He panted with difficulty, feeling only pleasure, only wonderful tension and her pulsing walls that brought him closer and closer to fulfillment.

He knew he should stop, but instead he fucked her harder and harder, feeling her walls clenching on his cock, sucking it inside, sticky, wet sound of flesh slapping against flesh echoing through the stone room.

He knew he was on the verge of fullfilment.

"− don't stop − please, don't pull it out −" He heard her whimper underneath him from which his lips parted wide in shock, her body going into spasms each time he slid into her again, pressing her walls, clearly giving her immense pleasure with these movements.

A helpless groan ripped from his throat at her words, as he slammed into her with a sharp, quick thrusts, clamping his hands tightly on the soft, sweaty skin of her hips. He felt a shudder run through him as her hips began to respond to his thrusts, coming up to meet him.

"− I have to, little one − shhh −" He whispered into her mouth sliding his tongue between her lips, licking their swollen, fleshy texture, the taste of her saliva spreading across his palate like the sweetest juice.

"− I − I'm about to −" She mumbled with difficulty, her thighs responding greedily to his every thrust, rolling and rocking, as he panted loudly along with her, feeling her core begin to tighten and pulsate against him.

"− go on − come on my cock, sweet girl −" He cooed encouragingly, wanting nothing more than that, to see her fulfil, himself being on the edge, his thrusts messy and sloppy.

His words were enough to make her insides clench around his length tightly, then again and again, letting out of him an almost animalistic groan, her body leaning back as if trying to escape from him. He had to cover her mouth with his hand to silence her loud, high-pitched sobs.

"− you did so well − oh fuck, little one −" He growled out, with the remnants of his strong will sliding out of her, coming hard on her nightgown, his warm seed spilling over her nightgown while he was still squeezing himself with his hand.

She stared at him with wide eyes, breathing heavily, her whole body trembled from the fulfilment and waves of pleasure that continued to flow through her. He swallowed loudly, looking down at her with misty eye, licking his lips.

"− did it hurt? −" He asked in a shaky, low voice, and she blinked and pursed her lips in embarrassment.

"− only − only at the beginning −" She mumbled softly and he hummed under his breath, proud to see that he had given her pleasure, that she enjoyed what they had done as much as he did, and tied his breeches back up.

He leaned over her and brushed her lips gently, tenderly, her mouth swollen and wet with arousal − he ran his thumb over her hot, rosy cheek, looking at her with a pounding heart filled only with his affection for her.

Only with love.

"On our wedding night, not a drop will be wasted."

_____

Note from the author:

Lady Baratheon and Royce call Aemond brother, but this stems from their desire to shorten the distance between them. Calling him 'a prince' already seemed too staid at one point for them, and addressing him by his first name was unthinkable. However, it is only she and Royce who do this, their sisters still addressing him as 'my prince', not wanting to call "brother" their possibly future husband - which is why Aemond is so frustrated when Lady Baratheon calls him this, as if she is willfully rejecting him as a candidate for the role.

Aemond calls Borros "father" but does not see him as a replacement for Viserys. Viserys is his blood father, who has given him a legacy of which he is proud and with which he completely identifies. Borros, however, is a father figure to him, someone whose opinion Aemond counts with, whom he respects and values for what he has done for him over the years. Aemond has an affection for Borros that he was never able to develop towards Criston.

Despite Lady Baratheon and Royce's very close relationship, they did not relegate Aemond to the background or distance themselves from him. According to Lord Borros and his friends, they formed a trio. Royce was always where Aemond was, loving to watch his mischievous reactions to various events, and Lady Baratheon was always where Royce was, so they usually ended up together.

Aemond usually pretended he didn't care about their company, but the truth was that he got impatient when they disappeared from his sight for too long, simply getting bored without them.

Part two of this oneshot: To desire, to love, to care

Other oneshot form the same AU: Daugther, Lover, Sister

_____

I can't express my love for this reality, I could keep writing this oneshot but I would make a book! This is probably my most beloved fanfic baby. Leave it some love if you enjoyed it! I'm so curious what do you think. 💐

_____

Taglist

@its-actually-minicika @notnormalthings-blog @nikstrange @zenka69 @bellaisasleep @k-y-r-a-1 @g-cf2020 @melsunshine @opheliaas-stuff @chainsawsangel @iiamthehybrid @tinykryptonitewerewolf @namoreno @malfoytargaryen @qyburnsghost @aemondsdelight @persephonerinyes @fan-goddess @sweethoneyblossom1 @watercolorskyy @astral-blossoms @randomdragonfires @apollonshootafar @padfooteyes @darylandbethfanforever9 @fudge13 @snh96 @rwdkarla @echos-muses @ipostwhtifeel @letmeloveyouuuu @yentroucnagol @valeskafics @tempt-ress @ahristata @menaosama @queenofshinigamis @dark-night-sky-99

[idkyetxoxo]

Daeron Targaryen || Masterlist

This masterlist is solely focused on Daeron Targaryen, all written as xreader pieces without any specific physical descriptions.

All works have warnings stated before but please read at your own risk!

— ALL ONESHOTS BELOW ->

Fan favourites: 🌟 My favourites: 💓

Doomed 🌟 💓

• Violence, injury

Star-crossed lovers, the only daughter of Rhaenyra and the youngest son of Alicent, destined to be together but doomed from the start, bound by love and fate to an end neither of them could escape.

Flawless

• None

A commoner and a prince defy societal norms but as their secret affair is exposed, they grapple with intense emotions and the fear of their love being destroyed. They must choose whether to defy the world for their love or succumb to the pressures tearing them apart.

Ashes of Betrayal 🌟

• Violence

Secrets unravel and tensions ignite between brothers, Daeron's forbidden love for her puts them all at risk. With loyalty and betrayal hanging in the balance, her fate is sealed by forces beyond her control, leading to a devastating clash between love and cruelty.

The Last Flames 🌟

• None

In the ruins of their shattered families, the last Targaryen and Velaryon are forced into a marriage. As they navigate grief and guilt, they discover unexpected tenderness and feelings as they grapple with the ghosts of their pasts and the burgeoning love between them.

Pleasure 💓

• Sexual content (oral f!receiving)

What begins with years of contempt and resentment ignites into a surprising, passionate confrontation that blurs the lines between hatred and desire, challenging their darkest secrets and unspoken yearnings.

Cruel Games

• Violence (slap)

Trapped in a dangerous web of deception, she once admired Daeron, but now faces the brutal truth—she was never more than a pawn in his heartless play. As betrayal cuts deep, she must confront the cold emptiness left behind and the shattered pieces of her heart.

Secrets

• None

A Targaryen prince and a Velaryon princess grapple with a forbidden love that defies their families. When their secret is discovered, tensions soar, forcing them to confront the risks of their passion and the cost of loyalty. Will love prevail, or will family ties shatter their dreams?

Remember Me

• Injury

Caught in an arranged marriage, she finds her loyalties tested when a figure from her past returns. After a tragic confrontation erases her memories of him, she must navigate the echoes of lost love and uncover the truth of her heart amidst the shadows of her past.

For works involving other characters from House of the Dragon, please check out my House of the Dragon General Masterlist.

[humanpurposes]

Come So Close That I Might See, part i

Desperate to secure her position, Aegon's wife turns to Aemond for help // Series Masterlist // Main Masterlist

Aemond Targaryen x OFC

Warnings: 18+, language, infidelity, smut (p in v, female receiving oral), breeding kink (kinda), and also a bit of fluff.

Words: 4800

A/n: this is my first oneshot! I've been sitting on this for literally months and finally got round to editing it. Also available to read on AO3.

Every breath Lucia took was like ice in her throat.

Her fingers came to toy with the Valyrian steel band around her ring finger. She wasn’t sure how much more she could take. Five years of whispers behind her back, agonising audiences with the Queen, the Hand and her Westerling and Lannister uncles. “The realm needs a son,” they all said, as if she hadn’t known that the moment she had said her vows to Aegon fucking Targareyn.

Her husband knew what he was doing. He had all but confessed countless times how he resented his position, how he did not wish to be crushed under the weight of duty despite the ambitions of his mother and grandsire. 

She knew her duty, to give King Viserys another grandchild to dote upon, give the Hightowers the heir they needed, and secure her own position as the wife of a future King.

For Aegon, a child would be a burden, another duty to squander. He demanded use of her hands and her mouth of the few occasions he bothered to visit her bedchamber, but otherwise he was content to pounce upon the nearest serving girls or fuck his way through Fleabottom.

Five years of humiliation.

She anticipated what talk might stir with the arrival of the King’s guests at court. A great feast had been planned, to celebrate the new additions to their family. Helaena and Martyn Hightower were due to arrive from Oldtowen to present their daughter, Rhaella, while Princess Rhaenyra had delivered her second son with Daemon, another silver haired Prince, named in honour of the King.

She delighted in seeing Helaena again and could hardly contain her excitement when she saw a flash of cobalt blue in the sky that marked the arrival of Daeron and Tessarion. The Prince and Princess had been both sent to Oldtown so soon after Lucia’s marriage to Aegon, but she missed them more than she did her own siblings in the Westerlands.

Then came the party from Dragonstone, Rhaenyra, Daemon, and their small army of children. Aemond had tested her memory before their arrival; Jacaerys, Lucerys, Joffrey, Baela, Rhaena, Aegon and Viserys.

Aegon was nowhere to be found when they were welcomed into the throne room. Lucia half hoped the captain of the city watch would come to her with news that his corpse had been found on the floor of a tavern. Instead she stood between Queen Alicent and Prince Aemond.

When the three boys with Velaryon blue cloaks and unruly dark hair bowed before the King, Aemond leaned into her ear. “That’s the bastard I have to thank for my sapphire,” he whispered.

Aegon eventually made an appearance at the feast later that night, sauntering in as the main courses were brought out. He already had a glazed look in his eye and dark purple stains in the corners of his mouth. Lucia shared a pointed glance with Aemond as her husband took his place beside her.

She did not have to suffer Aegon for long. Once the music picked up and the dancing began, Daeron was the first to lead her to the floor. Then, from the other side of the table, Jacaerys took Baela’s hand and joined them, the four of them dancing, twirling and laughing together, regardless of the scowls that came from Prince Daemon and Otto Hightower. Then came Lucerys and Rhaena, and after them followed Helaena and her husband. 

After a few exhaustive rounds, Lucia thought she might need a glass of wine to recover her strength, until her eyes fell to Joffrey, looking a little abandoned. She took his hands and led him through a dance, which mostly involved them spinning in circles rather than following the steps. The boy looked up at her in awe as she twirled them around the floor.

“The Strong boys” were not so bad, she thought, they were gracious and lively, but in the back of her mind she couldn’t quite forget the terrible scar that slashed across Aemond’s face. She looked back to him as she danced. She expected to see that stoic, silent fury she had become so accustomed to, instead he looked rather… she settled on amused. His eye was softer than usual and his lips curled ever so slightly into– not quite a smile but it was hardly a frown either. 

And each time she turned her head he was already looking at her.

She felt the whole thing had been a success. Until Lord Tyland came to her the morning after Rhaenyra’s departure for Dragonstone.

He barged into her chamber, standing over her as she took her breakfast. “We cannot delay any longer.”

“Good morning to you too, uncle.”

“How often do you share a bed with your husband?” He hissed.

Lucia swallowed her mouthful of blackberries. “Not often.”

“Speak plainly,” he demanded. “You are the wife of the King’s oldest son, you are not entitled to privacy.”

Clearly. She took a breath. “He will not come to my bedchamber, if he can help it, only if he is too drunk to remember he despises me. And then he… is never able to fulfil his marital duties.”

“This cannot go on.”

“And yet it has been the case for four years, uncle. Aegon simply does not wish to make me a mother. You may seek to ask the Queen to lecture him, but I am not the one at fault.”

“That is simply not good enough.”

“So what would you have me do?”

“Whatever it is you must do. You have seen how disputes of succession cause instability, and without an heir, Aegon’s position, our position is not secure.”

She knew little of the arrangement between the Hightowers and the Lannisters. Perhaps her family thought her too young to understand when the pact of loyalty was made, and yet they were happy to let that alliance rest upon her shoulders. As long as her womb was empty, she would remain a Westerling orphan to the eyes of the court.

“She will never give Aegon a son,” she had heard one of the Tyrells say, “the King should cast her aside, make her a septa and marry the Prince to one of our girls.”

She spent the rest of the day in the gardens, walking for hours until she came to the rose garden. There was a bench, concealed amongst bushes of red, pink and gold flowers, looking out over Blackwater Bay.

Had the small council truly been so startled by the very presence of Princess Rhaenyra in the capital? Even with the rumours surrounding her three eldest sons, her extensive family was a show of strength and stability, something she and Aegon had so far failed to provide.

The sun seemed to go black for a moment and there came a colossal roar that shook the foundations of the city. She looked up to the sky to see Vhagar soaring out over the water. She couldn’t make out much of her rider, save for a small glimmer of silver hair.

An idea came into her head. 

She tucked her knees into her chest and began to gnaw at her lower lip until she tasted blood. She sat there, frozen in thought until the sun began to set and a chilling evening breeze swept in from the sea. Her gown was relatively thin, a day dress for Spring, but she did not shiver and she did not flinch.

As twilight approached, she heard footsteps crunching against the gravel path.

“You’re expected for dinner,” Aemond’s voice came from behind her.

She rose from the bench and came to stand before him, close enough to smell the leather on his jerkin and the faint scent of smoke in his hair.

He frowned and brought his thumb to her bruised and bloodied lip. She watched his eye as he inspected it, gently swiping and tugging. “What’s this?” He asked in a soft and scathing tone.

“It was my own fault,” she muttered, “I didn’t realise I was doing it.”

He pulled back with a dissatisfied “hmm,” but his gaze soon softened. “The Queen was getting rather worried.”

Lucia weaved her arm through his and began to lead him back towards the castle. “We should not keep her waiting then.”

*

Aemond followed Lucia into the dining room and settled in the seat across from her, beside Daeron. Helaena and Martyn Hightower were not present, apparently Rhaella had managed to come down with a cough and they would not leave her side. 

The King had decided to dine with them this night, a rarity. Mostly they sat in silence, the Queen occasionally attempting to make conversation. She asked Aemond how Vhagar had been that morning. He said “very well mother,” and drew his fingers along his knife. She turned to Daeron and asked how his studies were progressing. He said “very well mother,” and went back to eating. 

“Sunfyre is well too, dear mother,” Aegon added sarcastically.

Aemond caught Lucia’s eye as she tried to stifle a small smile.

“Rhaenyra is with child again,” the King said, “I do so desire a granddaughter.”

His mother pursed her lips. “You have a granddaughter, dear husband.”

“And perhaps I desire more.”

Aemond watched Lucia as she toyed with her duck breast, tearing apart the meat but never putting it near her mouth. He had watched her rather closely over the last five years, as her life had become a well rehearsed act, feigning smiles and indifference when she needed to, but he always saw right through her.

When Aegon glanced at her, she kept her gaze down and tightened the grip on her fork. 

“I might ask Helaena to stay a while longer in the capital,” the Queen said, “so we might spend some more time with our grandchild.”

“Do you presume the presence of my sister’s babe will offer us some encouragement?” Aegon sneered.

The table paused. No one dared to breathe, except Aegon, who took a long draw from his cup and finished it with a gasp of satisfaction. He glanced around at the bewildered faces of his family. “Is something the matter?”

Aemond kept his eye fixed on Lucia as she drew her lip between her teeth. Her cheeks glistened in the low candlelight as tears began streaming from her eyes. She stood quickly and calmly, and was out of the room before Alicent could even utter a single word.

The room fell to silence.

Until Aegon decided otherwise. “Do you think I upset her?”

Aemond made a point of hitting his fist against the table as he followed her.

She was in the corridor, standing with her back against the wall and her hands clasped behind her. At the sound of a single footstep her eyes darted to him.

He came to stand before her. Her cheeks and eyelashes were still damp, but she had stopped crying. 

The Queen’s furious shouts began to bleed into the corridor.

“Are you alright?” He asked.

Lucia nodded.

He offered his hand. “I’ll walk you to your chambers.”

She looked up at him with those wide and glistening eyes as she placed her hand in his. His heart ached to feel her skin, their fingers curling over each other, his thumb settling against her knuckles. She felt cold, but he would have been content to stay within her hold, as long as she would allow him to.

She stayed close as he led her through the stillness of the Red Keep, her skirt brushing against his leg with every stride.

Ser Arryk Cargyll waited outside her chambers, and she slipped from his grasp as easily as she had accepted it. She stopped as the guard opened the door though, and turned back to Aemond. “Would you stay with me?” 

Aemond held his breath, hoping neither she or Ser Arryk would somehow notice his heart drumming furiously in his chest.

“Not for long,” she added, “but I wish to speak with you.”

“Of course,” he said, and followed her inside.

The Princess’ chambers were not entirely unfamiliar to him. With Aegon’s elusive nature and Helaena and Daeron’s absences, it only felt natural that he and Lucia often found themselves in each other’s company. She enjoyed the library as much as he did and as she had developed interests in riding on horseback and marksmanship, he was all too happy to entertain her. Her chambers were not a place he visited often, not unless he wished to return a book, or take her on a walk through the gardens before dinner.

The room was immaculate, and it smelled like her, bittersweet and warm.

She stood before the fireplace. The glow of the flames flickered across her face and caught the faint strands of gold in her dark hair.

“Aegon will not give me children,” she said. 

He kept his expression soft. “What makes you think that?”

With every word she spoke, the gentle facade began to fade, the light and shadows of the fire only added to the look of fury on her face. “He knows a lack of an heir undermines his position. He will happily fuck whores and sire bastards but he will not fulfil his duty to me, his wife. He is a coward.”

Gods, she was beautiful when she was furious.

Her lip was still red and swollen. Before he knew it his thumb was against it again, hypnotised by the way her lip moved under his touch. His eye drifted up to hers. “On that much we can agree,” he muttered.

She took a slow step into him, bringing her hand around his wrist, gently pulling him away.

His heart stopped. Perhaps he had overstepped a line.

But she leaned in further, until their noses touched and all he could see was her. He felt her other hand settle against his jaw on his blind side. She leaned in further still, and pressed her lips into his.

He froze for a moment, but as her lips moved over his, he found himself unable to tame his impulse, the impulse that he’d been fighting for little less than five years. He allowed himself to melt into her softness, her warmth, the bittersweetness and the sharp taste of her tongue.

His hand snaked down to her waist, and only when he squeezed her flesh through her gown did he realise what he was doing. 

He knew what he should do. He should leave her, lock himself in his chambers and forget her. Forget her smile, her wit, the way his heart felt brighter when he watched her dance, the way he craved her sparse touches and her eyes finding him across the chaos of a crowded room.

Everything about her was perfect, his brother’s wife.

In his hesitation he retreated slightly. He could hardly think, hardly breathe…

And her voice cut through the fog of doubt in his mind. “You could help me.”

“How so?” 

Keeping her hand on his jaw, she brought the other to trace the highest silver buckle on his jerkin. Her thumb stroked against his cheek, featherlight over his scar.

And suddenly he understood.

He clamped his hand over hers. “It would be treason, Lucia.”

Her eyes were longing, pleading. “No one would need know,” she whispered, “there would be no question of parentage.”

His heart felt heavy. It would be a complete and utter betrayal of his family, not just Aegon, but his mother, his grandsire, and a risk to everything. They’d be no better than Rhaenyra, trying to pass a bastard off as an heir, and yet, there would not be much room for doubt, so long as the child had silver hair.

But suppose he gave in, bent to the will of those pretty eyes and perfect lips, only to stand aside for Aegon to claim what he would never deserve. 

He could feel himself on a knife’s edge, to stop, or to linger and let his desire consume him. He wasn’t sure what scared him more.

“You don’t know what you’re asking of me,” he breathed, but with every moment he felt himself leaning deeper into her touch. 

“Aemond,” she said his name like a spell and brought their foreheads to rest against each other. “There is hardly an aspect of my life which is under my control. If I should have some choice in this matter, then I would choose you.”

“Over him?”

Her breath echoed over his skin as she whispered, “above all else.”

His grip of her waist tightened, noticing the way her breath hitched as he traced his thumb over the fabric of her gown. 

“Aemond,” she whispered, bringing her lips to the corner of his mouth, “I want this, please.”

He caught her lips between his, kissing her with all the want he had spent years trying to suppress. 

His sudden urgency seemed to take her off guard but she met his efforts with just as much fervour, now with both hands cupping his face and fingers teasing over the soft skin of his neck, pulling him in further and further.

Lucia began to groan, falling into him arms and grinding her body against his.

He pulled away and took her hands in his. “Patience, Princess,” he hummed, and led her to stand at the foot of her bed.

Her eyes trailed over his jerkin while she ran her teeth over her lip.

“Turn around,” he ordered and she followed.

Cautiously but effortlessly, he undid the braid keeping her hair from her face. He ran his fingers through it, until he gathered it over her shoulder, exposing her neck to him.

He breathed in the bittersweet warmth as his hands traced over her body, over her torso, along the curves of her waist, the soft pouch of her stomach.

“Tell me,” he whispered, grazing his lips over her cheek, “how does my brother fuck you?”

“He doesn’t,” she uttered, watching his hands as they roamed, “he takes his pleasure in other ways, but never in such a way that would lead to a child.”

It was a dangerous confession to hear. If he wanted her before he was almost ravenous now, starved and fulfilled by every breathless gasp, every little twitch of movement in her body, desperate to feel her, claim her.

He hummed hungrily, and began to drag a hand further down, skimming over the fabric that covered her centre. “And would you like to be fucked, Princess?” 

She nodded.

“I said–” he pressed his hand firmly between her legs– “would you like to be fucked?”

“Yes,” she whimpered, writhing and leaning against him at the friction, “please, I want you to fuck me.”

He smiled into her. How could he ever deny her when she asked so nicely?

His fingers traced over the laces of her bodice before he began to pull them apart, agonisingly slowly, but he relished the anticipation and the little hitches in her breath. Once it was off, he moved to the clasps and drawstrings of her skirt, letting it pool around her ankles.

He offered a hand so she could step out and went to lay her clothing over a chaise. When he turned back to her she had removed her shoes and stockings, left only in a corset and a linen shift. 

He allowed his eye to rake shamelessly over her. He had never seen her in such a simple state, without the ornate gowns or the jewellery, her hair loose and tousled about her shoulders, the bare skin of her arms as she held her hands behind her back, her teeth running over her lip– a nervous habit, he realised, one that had somehow managed to evade his notice after all this time. He was the same with his hands.

He came closer and drew his fingers through the laces of the corset, while her eyes looked up to him. He made no protest as she reached up to slide off his eyepatch. 

She looked between his violet eye and the sapphire, and smiled dreamily. “My beautiful Aemond.”

His heart was shattered and welded back together. Hers. 

He watched her as she began to undo his belt and the buckles on his jerkin. Once it was off he pulled his undershirt over his head, leaving his chest bare. She traced her fingertips from his collar, over the hair of his sternum, the lines of his abs, until she let her fingers snag at the waist of his breeches–

He grabbed her by the wrists and pushed her to lie down against the mattress. “All in good time,” he promised with a glimmer of a smile. He released his hold of her wrists. “Keep your hands where they are.”

He dragged his hands down over her scarcely covered body, to gather the hem of her shift and bring it past her waist. He almost growled at the dampness of her small clothes, and pulled them from her legs, uncaring of where they fell. He gripped her thighs, prising her legs apart to reveal her glistening cunt to him.

He brought his thumb through her folds in slow, upward strokes, swiping over her bud just enough to make her squirm before he withdrew again.

“We can’t be too loud,” he whispered, “can you keep quiet for me?”

She hummed impatiently. “Yes, Aemond but oh–”

Her voice faded into a sweet moan as he licked through her. He liked the teasing, dragging his tongue to her entrance and savouring her taste before he moved up, flicking over her clit until her hips were moving against him. He pressed a wide palm over her stomach to keep her in place while he brought all of his attention to where she needed him most.

When he slipped a finger into her she groaned, pressing and biting at her lips to keep herself quiet, but her breath betrayed her pleasure, haggard and heavy. 

He could already feel how tight she was, stroking slowly against her tender flesh while his tongue circled over her pearl. And through it she kept her hands in place, just as he had asked.

The hardness in his breeches was starting to strain now. He couldn’t wait to feel her around his cock, soft, wet and warm.

Her hips started to buck again and her cunt twitched around his finger.

“Are you going to come for me, Princess?” He muttered against her.

Her voice was breathless and hazy. “Yes… I want to, please… please…”

“Not too loud,” he muttered, pushing a second finger into her, “you don’t want your husband to find out, do you?” 

She clasped her hand over her mouth, shaking her head as he pushed her further and further towards her high, until her body tensed at her release. He stifled his own moan against her flesh as she clenched around him.

She was utterly breathless, sprawled before him, drenched and dripping onto the mattress. He thought he could have kept her like this for hours, drawing orgasm after orgasm from her, savouring the sound and the taste of her pleasure.

But he had already stayed long enough, and he had no intentions of giving the guard something to be suspicious of, especially not when his family had seen him chase after her from the dining room.

Another time, he promised himself. For now he knew what she needed.

He finally rid himself of his boots and his breeches, freeing his hard and weeping cock. With her wetness still on his fingers he began to stroke over himself.

She watched him with wide eyes and parted lips, coming to sit up with her palms behind her.

Suddenly he stopped. “We don’t have to,” he said quietly, “are you sure this is what you want–”

Lucia came to her knees before him, silencing him with a soft and gentle kiss to his lips. Her hand brushed down his front to replace his hand around his cock, sending white hot shocks of pleasure rippling through his body.

“I want you, Aemond.”

His restraint snapped. He tugged her shift up over her head and then his hands were everywhere, gripping at her breasts, her hips, her rear, while she continued to tug at his cock.

Somewhere in the mess of hunger and lust his mouth moved along her jaw, teeth, tongue and lips grazing over her skin. “Lie down.”

Lucia stared back at him, resting her hands against his chest.

“I said, lie down.”

The darkness of his voice had her shuffling back until her head fell against the pillows. 

He came to kneel on the mattress and hovered over her, his silver hair falling around her face and brushing against her breasts. Finally he lifted one of her legs and hooked it around her waist, lining his tip against her entrance. “I’ll be gentle,” he said, pressing a kiss to her temple.

With that he began to press into her. He immediately felt how resistant she was to him, even with her slick, but inch by inch, he buried himself into her.

“You’re so tight,” he growled, “so tight for me, my sweet girl.”

Her back arched against the mattress as her eyes fluttered close and her face began to twist.

“Tell me how it feels,” he said, his voice rough as he fought the urge to fuck her quickly, thoroughly. She’d suffered enough these last years married to his cretin of a brother, he wanted to be the end of it, he wanted her to feel safe and adored, as she should have always been.

She brought her arms around his neck and her other leg around his waist. “Deep,” she whined, “so deep… so good…”

“Open your eyes," he pleaded, "let me look at you."

She pulled her face from his neck and opened her eyes, those perfect eyes, as deep, dark and endless as the night sky, glazed slightly with tears of bliss.

He could feel her easing into his size now, and he was getting restless, still gentle, but pushing in and out at a heightening pace.

He’d been wondering what she might be like longer than he cared to admit, dreaming of having her skin against his, his name on her lips, clawing at the memory of her when he entertained his carnal desires with his cock in his hand. And now, holding her, fucking her, having her beneath him and begging for her pleasure was beyond what he could have ever imagined. He felt euphoria with every thrust in her, so tight, so perfect, so willing. 

While one of her hands gripped the side of the pillow she lay against, he guided the other down between them. “Stroke that pretty clit for me,” he said, “I want to see you cum again.”

Her voice was a slur of moans and curses. “Please, Aemond, please.”

“I’ll give you what you need,” he hummed, “my perfect girl, I’ll always give you what you need.”

She came with a pleading cry, milking him of his own release. He kept thrusting until he had spilled himself completely inside her, biting down on her shoulder to muffle the sound of his pleasure.

He pulled away to watch his seed drip from her twitching cunt before he dove in with his tongue again, pushing it back into her.

He felt her fingers in his hair and glanced back to her dazed expression. They stayed there for a moment, gazing once again into the eyes they each craved. 

Until he crawled up the bed to lay beside her, pulling her into him, bodies intertwined under the bedsheets.

She traced a finger over his scar. She had never known him without it, never known the weak, naive child he was before Driftmark. “I used to be terrified of you,” she said.

He hummed a small laugh. “You hardly spoke to me for almost a year.”

“I always thought you were formidable, always absorbed in your studies or your training. That and the eyepatch.”

“It is better than what lies underneath.”

Her fingers came down to his cheek, turning him to face her. “No, I think I prefer you like this.”

He held her a little tighter. He knew he’d have to pull away, eventually, but for now he was content to have her in his arms, the girl who hadn’t cowered when he had finally shown her his scar. The girl with wide brown eyes, who looked upon him as he was, broken, marred, damaged, and had managed to find beauty.

[icarusignite]

Master Post

˚₊· ͟͟͞͞➳❥ Hey, Ace here, hope you have a good time on my page!

˚₊· ͟͟͞͞➳❥ (she/her), Ravenclaw, INTJ, fanfic writer of many fandoms, self-taught artist, kpop/anime enthusiast, feminist, procrastinator extraordinaire.

˚₊· ͟͟͞͞➳❥ Tiktok/wattpad/AO3/instagram: ace_asterisk

˚₊· ͟͟͞͞➳❥ AO3 | Wattpad | Carrd

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(all fics are reblogged onto there)

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House of the Dragon

Series

˚₊· ͟͟͞͞➳❥ An Eye for an Eye Masterlist (Aemond Targaryen x OC)

˚₊· ͟͟͞͞➳❥ Before the Sky Falls Masterlist (Aemond Targaryen x OC)

˚₊· ͟͟͞͞➳❥ For Whom the Bell Tolls | HOTD World War 2 AU

(Soldier! Aemond Targaryen x Nurse! Reader)

Oneshots

˚₊· ͟͟͞͞➳❥ I hate you I love you (Cregan Stark x Fem! Reader)

The five times you told Cregan Stark you hated him, and the one time you actually meant it.

˚₊· ͟͟͞͞➳❥ I want to fly with you on dragonback (and eat only cake) (Alicent x Rhaenyra)

Basically the title. Rhaenyra finally gets to take Alicent on that dragon ride and eat cake....and maybe kiss the girl she loves.

˚₊· ͟͟͞͞➳❥ Like an old melody, my heart resumes (Daeron x Fem! Reader)

Parts: 1 / 2  / 3

After years apart and with several misunderstandings between them, you meet Prince Daeron at what is meant to be his betrothal feast. When secrets and unspoken desires come to light, you and Daeron are faced with a choice: to let go of the past and embrace a love that has always burned between them or allow your tumultuous history to keep you apart.

The Last Kingdom

Oneshots

˚₊· ͟͟͞͞➳❥ The only heaven I'll be sent to is when I'm alone with you

(King Alfred x POC! Fem! Reader)

Parts: 1 / 2

You are a prominent scholar from Baghdad, visiting Wessex to learn more about English culture and try to help its ailing monarch with your medical expertise. However, conflict arises when you find yourself falling for the Catholic king, knowing he cannot give you what you deserve.

˚₊· ͟͟͞͞➳❥ Valhalla Bound  (Finan x GN! Reader)

During the ransacking of Rumcofa, you save Osferth thus exchanging his fate for yours. aka you die and Finan's reaction to that

˚₊· ͟͟͞͞➳❥ Night Terrors (Sihtric x GN! Reader) 

Sihtric has a nightmare, and he accidentally snaps at you. What comes after is the most awkward confession of his life and you are oblivious af.

˚₊· ͟͟͞͞➳❥ Praying's just a poor man's way of begging 

(Sihtric x Fem! Reader) 

You are Earl Ragnar's youngest daughter and the boy you've spent many pleasant afternoons with as a child was none other than Sihtric Kjartansson. Reunited after years apart, will the two of you be able to face the truth of your feelings or will it all end in heartache?

In this labyrinth of time, our souls entwined

(Modern AU Finan x Fem! Reader)

Finan and his friends witness a bar fight during their night out and Finan feels a magnetic connection to the hero of the fight. This can be read on its own but it can also be seen as a continuation of my earlier fic Valhalla Bound where you died and now your reincarnation meets Finan's in another world and that's why you seem so familiar.

˚₊· ͟͟͞͞➳❥ Go ahead and cry, little girl (Aethelstan x Fem! Reader)

You are Sihtric’s daughter from his first wife. Your mother dies after he leaves her for his current wife and you blame him for his death. Aethelstan is yoiur dearest childhood friend.

Ateez

Series

˚₊· ͟͟͞͞➳❥ Danse Macabre Masterlist (Jeong Yunho x OC)

Oneshots

˚₊· ͟͟͞͞➳❥ Pirate Ateez Masterlist

Percy Jackson & the Olympians

Oneshots

˚₊· ͟͟͞͞➳❥ I don't want your sympathy (i just want myself back)

(Luke Castellan x GN! Child of Hypnos Reader)

Terribly injured after returning from his quest to the Garden of Hesperides, Luke Castellan turns to the only person who can help him sleep.

Criminal Minds

Oneshots

˚₊· ͟͟͞͞➳❥ Steady Your Heart in Mine (Spencer Reid x GN! Reader)

Exam season brings you a lot of stress and Spencer Reid is there to walk you through it. Established relationship, descriptions of anxiety and panic attacks.

Lockwood & Co.

Oneshots

˚₊· ͟͟͞͞➳❥ I thought I dreamed her (Lucy x Lockkwood)

˚₊· ͟͟͞͞➳❥ I love you forever, I'm not a dreamer (Lucy x Lockwood)

The Ballad of Songbirds and Snakes:

Series

˚₊· ͟͟͞͞➳❥ These Violent Delights Masterlist

[presidenthades]

HOTD Oneshot: Swords, Sheaths, and Pearls

AO3 Link

Rating: M

Word Count: 2.1k (complete)

Summary:

Daeron burst into Aegon's childhood bedroom, which had been repurposed into an unofficial study. Aegon and Aemond looked up from a map of the city that they were bickering over.

“How does one pleasure a woman?” Daeron asked urgently.

Or: Joffrida Velaryon and Daeron Targaryen decide they’re ready to have sex. They ask their older siblings for advice.

Notes: Set sometime in the nebulous future of the AHFOD-verse. No smut, just sex ed and a lot of oversharing.

[jaimeslanisters]

dominoes cascading in a line — the meeting

Aemond Targaryen x Lannister!Reader

You beam, bright and happy, and he wonders if the real treasure in the Rock wasn’t in its gold or its wealth but rather in the daughters it produced. or moments in aemond's life with a lady of house lannister

crossposted on ao3 masterlist word count: 2.1k notes: surprise! i'm starting a companion piece of oneshot moments in the pawn in every lover's game (my current ongoing fic) from aemond's pov! this will be updated sporadically so enjoy this first one (:

Aemond is ten when his mother announces that Daeron will be fostered in Oldtown by their Hightower kin. Daeron is seven.

As an adult, his memory of the incident will fade like an old picture; the colors will lose their shine, details will vanish, the pain will dull. But one thing he will never forget is how Daeron hadn’t cried.

He had trembled, his eyes had gone wide, and he had seemed so small, even smaller than he already was.

But he hadn’t cried.

Daeron didn’t cry when they had packed his things or even Mother had gotten the habit of bursting into tears at the mere sight of him. He hadn’t even cried when their father had shrugged off his leaving, merely giving his youngest son a more than awkward pat on the head and empty platitudes.

He didn’t cry.

Not until Helaena had mournfully informed them all that she couldn’t go with them to drop Daeron off since some daughter of Lord Lannister was coming to King’s Landing to keep Lord Tyland Lannister company and to be her companion. She had to stay to greet her. Mother had insisted.

Daeron had sobbed then. Big, glassy tears had poured down his face as he had gasped loudly for breath. Helaena, fighting her usual aversion to touch, had wrapped her small arms around him, awkward and stiff, but Daeron hadn’t minded, burrowing himself into her arms and wailing.

Aemond had sworn then and there that he would hate the little lady of House Lannister coming to be Helaena’s companion. She could be his sister’s friend. She couldn’t be his.

During the entire trip to Oldtown and his entire stay, Aemond had created a vision of the Lannister girl to hate. She’ll be mean. She’ll be snooty. She’ll sneer at Helaena and her bugs and mock her to the other ladies in court. She’ll laugh at him and his lack of a dragon, whisper about how he is no true Targaryen if he can’t claim his own House’s sigil.

Perhaps she’s only coming to the capitol to marry. That’s the only reason a noble girl would leave her family’s seat of power behind and travel after all. Maybe she’ll even marry Aegon and they’ll have cruel, nasty babies together and they’ll laugh at Helaena and Aemond for the rest of their lives.

By the time he returns to the Red Keep with one brother and without another, he swears that he’ll hate the daughter the Rock has sent and he always will. He repeats this in his head as he heads to Mother’s sitting room, where Helaena always spends her time, and he convinces himself that she won’t be there because she must be cruel and vapid and mean to keep Helaena away from Daeron. He tells himself that he’ll hate her.

Then he meets you.

When he slams the door open, prepared to comfort his surely heartbroken sister, he finds you. The slam of the door startles you and, with a small shriek, you nearly drop a jug of water, catching it awkwardly so that the water spills all over the front of your pretty gown, soaking it.

He stares. You don’t look at him for a moment, too busy staring down at the jug in stunned disbelief, but when he calls out to ask if you’re alright, you turn to face him.

And Aemond swears his heart skips a beat.

He’s seen pretty girls before. Of course, he has. They’re everywhere in the Red Keep. From serving girls to noblewomen, there’s beauty to spare in the capitol.

But you’re different. There’s a moment when he knows your mind hasn’t realized that he’s a Targaryen, when he’s just a boy that made her spill water on herself, and you scowl fiercely, looking as if you would bare your teeth if you could. It’s a short moment but a glorious one and Aemond feels his cheeks flare with heat against his permission.

Luckily, it looks like you’re just as caught off guard and you duck into a curtsey, calling him my prince.

The form of address has never sounded so nice.

“I think I’m at a disadvantage,” he says after a moment, feeling as if he’s failing a test he didn’t know he was supposed to take. “You know who I am but I don’t know who you are.”

“Oh!” You say, looking terribly flustered, and Aemond fights down a smile, struggling to stay focused. He swears he has control, swears he’s being absolutely normal about all of this, but then you do say your name and his mind freezes.

Lannister. Lannister. Lannister.

Your House name runs circles in his mind, mocking him, teasing him. You’re the lady he’s sworn to hate.

He barely has time to process when you continue talking and it’s only through years of etiquette training that he hears you.

“My uncle Tyland is your father’s master of ships. And… at the risk of sounding impertinent, my prince, I’m afraid you’re mistaken.”

He blinks at that, feeling that all too familiar humiliated flush creeping up his neck. The worst part is that he doesn’t even know why being wrong in front of you would embarrass him so badly. “How am I mistaken?”

Aemond has seen the Hightower in Oldtown, looming high above the port city, topped by a massive orange flame, an impossible wonder. He’s seen Sunfyre, gleaming and golden as he flies through the sky, a moving marvel rather than a ferocious beast. He’s seen the Iron Throne, the thousand swords taken from Aegon the Conqueror’s enemies, ugly but striking, the very seat of House Targaryen’s power.

And somehow none of them compare to your smile.

It’s humiliating, it’s shameful, it’s the truth. Your smile lights him up from the inside, warming him up entirely, and he wishes it wasn’t real. What if you’re cruel? What if you’re mean and selfish?

You keep smiling at him and, for just a few moments, Aemond tells himself that maybe you won’t be. He has to believe it, if only to just finish this conversation. “Now you know who I am but I don’t know who you are. I know you’re a Targaryen prince, that much is easy to tell, but there are three of those. Are you Prince Aegon? Or perhaps Prince Aemond? You could even be Prince Daeron, having decided that Oldtown isn’t to his taste.”

At least she’s not dumb.

He looks at you, looking for any sign that you’re setting him up, but, finding none, he finally smiles back. “I’m Prince Aemond. It’s a pleasure to meet you.”

If he thought your smile was beautiful, it’s nothing compared to your laugh.

“Small mercies then,” you say after a moment, beaming at him. “Your sister told me that you and I would get along.”

“She did?” He asks, head spinning. “Me? And you? But you’re so…”

Well mannered. Pretty. A true lady. I’m the second son in a family where even the first son receives nothing. No one is excited to see me.

“She said you liked to read? And study?” You say, cleaning your hand with a wet rag, and Aemond notes with a start that your finger is bloody. “I’m no great scholar but I like to read the histories of the Westerlands and the other kingdoms. It’s important to know our past to be best able to predict our future.”

For a moment, Aemond hears his grandfather’s voice, lecturing as he hands him book after book about politics and the Seven Kingdoms.

You must succeed where Aegon fails, the Lord Hand says in his mind, stern and unyielding. You will be his strength where he is weak.

Aemond had taken that to mean that he must study everything.

Caught off guard, Armond can only manage out an awkward, “You like histories?”

“Of course,” you reply, wrapping your finger with a spare piece of cloth. “Perhaps you can share some of your favorite books with me? I’m about to go meet Princess Helaena in the gardens. You could join us?”

That shocks him the most out of everything.

Being smart was one thing. Being kind was another.

But asking him to spend more time with you? Knowing that he’s Aemond Targaryen, the forgotten second son? Perhaps if he were Aegon, the rightful next king, or even Daeron, sweet Daeron who hadn’t even cursed you when you had stolen Helaena away from him, but he was Aemond. Just Aemond.

He can’t help it. He blushes. He blushes more than he has ever blushed before in his life and he ducks his head, wishing he wasn’t. “I would be honored, my lady.”

You beam, bright and happy, and he wonders if the real treasure in the Rock wasn’t its gold or its wealth but rather the daughters it produced. “I’ll meet you in the gardens then! Please allow me to get changed and could you inform Princess Helaena that I’ll be late?”

“Of course,” he stammers, embarrassed at his own weakness, and you smile once more at him, giving him a curtsey as you leave in a swirl of soaked fabrics.

He doesn’t know how long he stands there, feeling as if Balerion the Black Dread has bathed him in his flame, burning him away and leaving nothing.

Eventually, he does make his way down the gardens and, when he finds Helaena, crouched in the dirt with her hands cupped around an earthworm writhing in the moist soil, he forgets that he’s been gone for several moons.

“Is your companion kind to you?” He blurts out, skipping the emotional reunion completely in his daze. She’s lying. She has to be lying.

Sweet Helaena, however, doesn’t mind, looking up at him with glazed eyes. “Beasts of the sky, beasts of the rock, feed well the land,” she says in that odd way she always does. Before he can say anything, however, she blinks hard before smiling at him. “She’s nice. She likes embroidery. Whenever I ask, she reads me my favorites. I hope she’ll be my friend and not just my companion.”

Aemond watches her, looking for any hint of a lie, but Helaena never lies. Never ever.

He drops to the ground next to her instead, shaking his head to clear his thoughts as best as he can. He talks to his sister then, about Oldtown and Daeron and her bugs in their glass enclosures. He almost forgets.

Then you come again, carrying a heavy book, one that he instantly recognizes.

Mother had given it to Helaena on her eighth nameday — a Maester’s guide to the different beetles in the deserts of Dorne.

After getting the customary greetings out of the way, you slide to the ground, uncaring when your new dress gets covered in dirt and bits of grass. Head bowed over the book, you flip through with a practiced speed, landing on a chapter about the golden scarabs that crawl in the shadows of Sunspear.

You read with a calm and steady tone, perfectly enunciating every word, never faltering or stammering. Closing his eyes, Aemond leans back and listens, the words floating away so he only focuses on the sound of your voice, the melody.

He’s warm in the sunlight.

It ends too soon with the shrill call of Helaena’s septa ordering the pair of you to your daily lessons. Quickly, you snap the heavy tome closed, rising to your feet a beat faster than Helaena.

“Oh, before I forget,” you say, spinning to smile down at him. “What’s one of your favorite books? I’d love to get to read something other than just about the Westerlands.”

The answer pops out without his permission. “The Watchers on the Wall. Some of it is legends but it’s about the Nightfort. You know, the Rat Cook. Symeon Star-Eyes. The Night’s King.”

Your eyes gleam. “My mother used to tell me and my sisters about the Rat Cook to scare us into behaving. She said it happened to King Tywell II and if we weren’t kind to people, they might make us eat our children in a pie like him too.”

“Some say it was a king of the Vale instead,” he replies. “I hope it wasn’t your ancestor.”

“Aye,” you laugh. “I hope it wasn’t him either. I’ll be sure to read the story. Maybe I’ll be able to convince myself it wasn’t him either.”

As you leave, leading Helaena down to the frowning septa assigned to teach the both of you, he prays you won’t read the book. That you’ll take your pretty smiles and your quick replies off to Aegon to charm. He has to focus. He has to be the strength of his family and there’s no room or time for any lady.

Even still, a part of him hopes that he isn’t so unlucky.

[dedicatednotobsessed]

Little Plaything [Aemond Targaryen x Reader Smut oneshot]

Other HOTD stories

Dedicated to my bestie ✨ @mrsdaemontargaryen ✨ Even though this is Aemond smut and not Daemon, she still supports me through all my writings. 💚 I still love her even if she is on the WRONG side 🤪😂🖤

Summary: Being a lady of the court, there was a chance on becoming the next princess of the Seven Kingdoms if you were lucky enough to be chosen by the King and Queen as a suitable option for one of their sons. You had been tasked to get to know the third child of King Viserys and Queen Alicent, yet he has other plans for you….

Warnings in this chapter: Contains graphic sexual content.

Gif doesn’t belong to me 💚

Being the daughter of a lesser lord, you had never dreamed of making it close to being to a lady of the court. Your father had made sure though that you did not fail as your duty being his daughter and try to marry one of the sons of King Viserys and Queen Alicent while you stayed in King’s Landing.

Aegon was already married to his younger sister, Heleana and the only other option was Aemond. There was a younger brother by the name of Daeron, however he was residing in Oldtown being a squire to Lord Ormund Hightower.

Aemond was known to have a reputation of being an aggressive person and someone with a short temper. He had been known to drive suitors away from those two factors alone, yet you were not willing to give up.

You knew the way to the training grounds all too well, having watched him on several occasions. He had caught your attention with the way he handled a sword and bested Ser Criston Cole more than once. You were not afraid of him, in fact, you were more impressed with him. His aggression was especially something you have never seen and it intrigued you more than it frightened you.

You heard the swords clashing as you made your way down the stone steps, lifting your skirts a bit so you did not fall. Although it was not the colors of your house, the Queen had insisted on you wearing green- the color of House Hightower. A small smile came onto your lips at the sight of the familiar silver haired boy who donned an eyepatch. His moves were swift and fierce, Ser Criston barely had time to react as Aemond was quick to disarm him.

A giggle passed your lips while you clapped for the victor, his single violet eye connecting with your eyes, a small smile forming on your lips. You came to watch his training everyday and you often visited him. At first he was annoyed with the constant company, yet he seemed to grow to enjoy it.

“That was quite impressive, my Prince,” You spoke up walking closer with a small smile.

Aemond looked over you while putting his sword back on the rack. “Thank you, Y/N,” He replied with a nod.

Without another word, he turned to head back into the Red Keep. You sighed and looked down, but quickly followed him, your stubbornness overpowering his.

His strides were fast, yet you were quick to fall into step with him. You clasped your hands behind you, a small hum passing your lips. It was quiet between the two of you, Aemond turning towards you when you arrived at his bed chambers.

A small smirk came onto his lips, looking down. “Would you like to come in Y/N?” He asked suddenly. “For a little chat.”

You were surprised at the offer; most of the time he had slammed the door on your face before you even offered him some company. You nodded and slowly followed him in.

You stood by the doorway, watching as the young prince walked over to the fresh pitcher of wine that was placed in his chambers only moments ago.

“Don’t think that I do not know what you’re up to,” Aemond spoke up suddenly, his eye staying on his cup of wine.

“W-what do you mean, my Prince?”

Aemond let out a small chuckle. “You have been coming to me every day, watching me,” He began, downing his drink. He set it down, turning to you. “I am not stupid, Y/N. Your father sent you here to try and marry you off to one of the Princes of the Seven Kingdoms and since Aegon is married and Daeron is in Oldtown, you only have one other option….”

You backed up when he began walking closer to you, staring up at him when your back pressed to the wall. “I-I don’t know what you’re talking about, m-my Prince,” You stammered out.

Aemond reached out and suddenly grabbed you by the chin so you could look up at him. He leaned down, his lips brushing up against your ear.

“Do you understand why I have not chosen a bride yet?”

His voice sent chills through your spine as he slowly pulled away to look back down at you. You shook your head a bit in response. In this moment, you did not feel fear or intimidated as your heart pounded quickly in your chest. There was a feeling there; a feeling of lust.

Aemond smirked lightly, his thumb running over your bottom lip. He took his other hand to pull out his dagger and reached behind you, cutting the strings to your corset.

“I have not chosen a bride for the simple fact that I was waiting.”

Your eyes stayed on his as his hands moved down, slowly tugging your dress down. “W-waiting for what, my Prince?”

His smirk only widened a bit, a glint in his violet eye. “I wanted to break them in before I chose them.”

You were a lost for words as Aemond leaned down, leaving kisses on your neck while he fully pulled down your dress, leaving you in your underdress. You leaned your head back as he bit down on your skin, one of his arms shaking around your waist to pull you closer.

You wrapped an arm around his neck, the other tangling in his silver hair, gasping at the hard bite. He chuckled and let his kisses trail down while he used his other hand to push down your underskirts before he wrapped his lips around your right nipple.

The sensation of him sucking on your nipple caused another moan to pass through your lips, trying to suppress them as he switched between your breasts. He worked your underskirts down fully, his hand wrapping around you and groping your bottom, pulling you close as he did so.

He slowly moved his kisses from your breasts and back up your neck, peppering them along your jaw before he stopped at your lips. He pulled back, cupping your cheek lightly with his free hand, his other still on your bottom.

“Does this mean I am worthy enough to be your bride, my prince?”

“Oh we’re not done yet, sweet one.”

There was an undertone to his voice, one you could not detect. Your eyes fluttered closed as he leaned down, kissing you deeply on the lips. You returned his kiss hungrily, your hands moving down to untie his vest. You released the kiss for air, helping him with his tunic.

He pulled you close by the back of the neck, his lips chasing yours once more while you got his boots and breeches off. He placed his hands on your thighs, hoisting you up and you wrapped your legs around his bare waist.

He turned the two of you around, easing you down onto the bed without breaking the kiss. You only released the kiss when he did, hovering over you while lightly pushing your legs apart. He looked down, his hand running over your stomach before he moved it to your inner thigh.

You watched him intently, reaching up for his eyepatch but gasped when he suddenly grabbed your wrist.

“What were you planning on doing?” He asked, having broken out of his trance on feeling your body.

“I-I—“ You stammered and gasped when he suddenly grabbed you by the throat.

“Only my wife will see my wound,” He growled leaning down so you were face to face. “You have not proven that yet, Y/N.”

He kept his hand wrapped around your throat, his hand going back to moving around your body. You furrowed your brows as he moved his hand down and began to rub you. You leaned your head back the best you can, biting your lip gently and gasped when he stuck two fingers inside of you.

He moved his two fingers around before he continued to rub you, a moan passing your lips. He squeezed your throat lightly as another moan came out the faster he went.

“That’s it, my sweet one,” He whispered out before he took his fingers out.

You did not prepare yourself as he put himself inside of you, a loud moan passing your lips. His grip on your throat released to move both of his hands to your waist so he could make his way inside of you. There was a red mark around your neck, but you did not care if he left any marks in that moment.

Aemond gripped onto your waist tight, grunting the further he went inside. Your back arched back as he began to thrust inside of you, your moans becoming louder and louder. You knew that if you were ever to be betrothed to the Prince of the Seven Kingdoms, you were to be pure, yet, in this moment it did not matter.

Your hips moved with his, his thrusts rough and hard. You wrapped your legs around him once more the faster he went, gripping onto his bedsheets. You felt something swell within you the faster he went, both of you breathing heavily.

His hand wrapped around your throat once more, grinding his hips into yours. His grunts became louder, your arms wrapping around his back and moving your legs down. You scratched his back as you began to reach your limit. You furrowed your brows.

“A-A-Aemond,” You moaned out, feeling yourself shake a bit.

Aemond leaned down, kissing your jaw lightly. “Hush, sweet one,” He whispered, his breathing labored as well. “We are almost there.”

You nodded and let out a loud satisfied moan when he did moments later, having reached his limit. Aemond breathed heavily, slowly pulling out. He laid his head on your breast, the both of you beading with sweat. He closed his eye while kissing the top of your breast lightly, groping it lightly.

You breathed out, looking up at his canopy bed. Your hand moved to the back of his head, blinking a bit. You did not know how to feel about having done this, yet, you knew you enjoyed it.

“Well, my Prince,” You breathed out. “Am I worthy to be your wife?”

Aemond lifted his head, his smirk coming back onto his lips. He pushed back a strand of your hair and leaned up kissing your jaw lightly. “I think you have proven yourself, Y/N,” He whispered with a small smirk.

[princesssszzzz]

Sneaking Away

Modern!AU Rhaena is in an arranged marriage to Garmund. She goes to the family summer home to meet Aemond when he comes back to Westeros and memories of their youth bring them together again.

Read on AO3

Pairing: Rhaena x Aemond

Warnings: Targcest, OOC Daemon

Word count: 7.4k

Rhaena's heart raced with a mixture of excitement and apprehension as she and Daeron made their way back to the family's main property. It had been a year since she laid eyes on Aemond. Daeron, always the attentive listener, absorbed her worries about her young marriage to Garmund, a fate she found suffocating. Forcibly married and after this meeting with her father, she knew she had to do her duty to be a wife to this Garmund. Rhaena sighed and peered forward watching Daeron twist and turn the car through the hills as she explained how she'd been avoiding the man she was supposed to call her husband. The car hummed, setting the stage for a reunion she's been eagerly anticipating with Aemond, but also dreading. She felt so conflicted.

The Targaryen family's high status dictated these arranged marriages, but Rhaena couldn't shake off the unease of being forced into such a union, especially in her freshman year in college. Daemon had whisked her quickly out of school and rushed her into the wedding gown. It was now May, school was over and she wouldn't be allowed to return. She was supposed to do her duty and become a mother, going to live with Garmund at the end of summer.

If her own mother were alive, this wouldn't have been allowed. At least not so soon. Alas her father is a widowed wealthy man, independent and concerned only with the family's legacy and station in society. Her uncle Viserys' sudden passing last year had gravely shifted the dynamics in the family, leaving her father Daemon in charge. Something everyone had been dreading. His propensity for not getting along with anyone had everyone avoiding coming to the main property, but now all the excuses to be away had been exhausted. Rhaena, Baela, Daeron, and Aemond were called back to make sure they were "doing their part" for the family business.

Rhaena had semi successfully ignored her father's favoring her older sister most of her life, but he gained sudden interest in her when she and Garmund turned 18 and it made her feel queasy. The young woman wished she would go back to being overlooked and insignificant before she caught her father's eye to serve his needs. Garmund Hightower's father is the second richest man in the country, quickly climbing towards being the first and Rhaena knew her father was plotting. He's been not so subtlety pressuring her to quickly have a child with Garmund. Rhaena sighed, trying to clear her thoughts as Daeron pulled up to the large gravel driveway, turning down the music.

"Alright we're here." They turned to look at each other, knowing what they were both thinking. Daeron just tried to give a reassuring smile.

She felt Daeron and Aemond understood her. Daeron had been completely shipped off to boarding school, graduating and finally returning home after his father died.He barely remembered his father and with his mother already deceased, his only emotional connection to the family was Aemond and Rhaena. The only two family members he's spent the most time with. Aemond being the one visiting him all the time when he got bored when his older siblings left the country after their mother's death. Rhaena remembered back to her father celebrating and toasting one night that he no longer had to deal with his ragged sister-in-law. He was fully in control and everyone had to go through him for the family business deals and fortunes. Even Aemond.

As she stepped out of the car, Rhaena took a deep breath, ready to face her father again. Her heart fluttered with a mix of emotions at the thought of Aemond. Memories of their stolen moments together before he went overseas flooded her mind, a love that had to be buried deep within her, She knew Aemond was already inside and had no idea how he would react to her marriage in his absence. She never told Baela about her secretive relationship with Aemond. Baela would kill Aemond. No matter what, she and her boyfriend Jace would never like him. Too much bad blood from childhood fights, and Rhaena believed her father's dislike of Aemond had rubbed off on her sister. Their childhood family friend Jace never got along with him. Never have and never will. Rhaena glanced over at Jace's parked car, knowing he and Baela were already inside. Those two weren't married yet, and Daemon didn't even try to force Baela's hand in marriage. He knew his daughters. Rhaena would give into the match to please her father, Baela would marry Jace no matter what.

As close as she had grown with Daeron being the same age as him and going to the same college, she couldn't tell him about her and Aemond's relationship either. He wouldn't even believe her, probably just laugh at her and dismissing it as her silly girlhood crush or her playing around. She had the opposite personality of Aemond, with completely different interests and hobbies. To anyone else, it just makes no sense. Daemon's favoritism towards Baela, and his disdain for Aemond only added to the complexity of Rhaena's situation. The clandestine bond she shared with Aemond in the past was a forbidden flame that she had to shield from the prying eyes of her family. The fear of her father's wrath and the repercussions of having her true feelings exposed gnawed at her, making Rhaena tread carefully in the delicate dance of secrets and longing.

She and Daeron walked up the large staircase, opened the door, and walked inside. As Rhaena navigated the treacherous waters of expectations and familial obligations, the smell of Aemond in the home was obvious to her. She blushed and slowed her steps so Daeron wouldn't see the color of her cheeks shifting. The unspoken connection between her and Aemond simmered beneath the surface of her skin, a forbidden love that could unravel their worlds.

With every step down the long marble-tiled hallway, Rhaena steeled herself to see him, knowing that her heart harbored a secret that could either liberate her from the shackles of duty or condemn her to a life of yearning.

She saw her father's angry face first. Rhaena and Daeron slowly crept into the opulent sitting room, the air thick with tension that seemed to crackle. Rhaena's heart sank as she saw the storm brewing on her father's face, a storm directed at Aemond who stared into the fire seeming unbothered by her father's temper.

"I can't believe you would do this." Daemon's voice was sharp, cutting through the silence like a knife. "You ruined a perfect alliance for our family."

Aemond's expression remained stoic, a hint of defiance in his one visible eye as he shifted his head to meet Daemon's gaze head-on. "I won't be controlled like some pawn in your game, Uncle. I chose my path regardless of your plans. I'll do my part in the growth of our Essos branch, that's all."

Rhaena shifted uncomfortably being unnoticed by both men, her heart torn between her groomed loyalty to her father and her feelings for Aemond. She wished she wouldn't have walked in during an argument. Attempting to diffuse the tension with her voice soft, she spoke up.

Rhaena quietly cleared her throat and clasped her hands together "Father?"

Aemond stilled before his gaze flickered towards Rhaena, his one visible eye holding longing and frustration. He had missed her more than he cared to admit, and seeing her now reignited a flurry of buried emotions within him. Yet his face remained emotionless, Aemond still aware his pissed uncle was in the room. Rhaena, on the other hand, felt a rush of warmth and nostalgia wash over her when Aemond glanced over, her heart fluttering in a way that only he could provoke. For a fleeting moment, the world around them seemed to fade away, leaving only the two of them standing in a bubble of shared history and unspoken words. It was Aemond who broke the silence first, his voice low and tinged with irritation at Daemon's usual dismissive demeanor towards Rhaena.

"Rhaena," Aemond's tone was tense yet filled with an underlying tenderness as he stood slowly, "It's been far too long." He turned towards his little brother and nodded. "Brother, you're slightly taller."

Daeron scoffed and gave a quick boyish laugh at his brother's mocking tone when Rhaena's heart skipped a beat at the sound of Aemond's voice, a rush of emotions flooding her being. She stepped closer to him, her eyes searching his face for any sign of the connection they once shared, the connection that had been kept hidden from the prying eyes of their family.

"Aemond," she whispered, her voice barely above a breath, "It's nice to see you again." She's fortunate to have the pleasant reputation she has. No one ever questioned or cared about her warm greetings to Aemond, her father knowing Baela has a much different greeting for him.

"Rhaena." Daemon cut off her thoughts with his back-to-business tone. He was still annoyed with Aemond. Her father roughly stood up, petty and bothered that Aemond was now standing and appearing larger than him. His gaze quickly left Rhaena, before squinting at Daeron.

"Hmmm.....Daeron," Daemon began, his voice carrying a tone of authority. Rhaena didn't miss he'd almost forgotten the boy's name again. "I've arranged a match with the youngest Martell girl down south."

Daeron sighed unsurprised, while Daemon glanced at Aemond briefly flashing anger before looking back at the younger, much more pliant boy who wouldn't argue with him. Rhaena wasn't shocked to hear this. She wondered how it felt to have been in a normal family, with no relationships set up abruptly like this. She never bothered explaining any of this to her friends at school. They wouldn't get it. It was slightly different with her uncle as the head of the family. He at least tried to be loving while her father just barked orders and conjured up different schemes.

Daeron's eyes flickered with a quick moment of hesitation before he spoke. "Uncle, I... I feel a sudden illness coming on. May I be excused?" he asked, hoping to avoid the discomfort of the conversation about his own arranged match to a stranger.

Daemon brushed him off with a wave of his hand, already moving on to something else. "Fine, go rest," he spoke in a calmer tone, finally seeming to relax more.

As Daeron hurriedly left the study, Aemond's brow furrowed contemplating the mention of a Martell match for his brother. However, his thoughts were quickly interrupted by Daemon's next words.

His uncle's voice echoed through the room venomously as Daeron left Rhaena standing alone near the entrance, feeling exposed. "My dear nephew, it seems our sweet Rhaena has found herself in the clutches of young wealthy Garmund Hightower. If only everyone was as simple as Rhaena with my matches," Daemon smirked at Rhaena, a glint of amusement dancing in his eyes as he nonchalantly picked up a pen, twirling it between his large fingers.

Rhaena felt heat creeping up her neck. Aemond stilled again, peering at Rhaena with an unfamiliar look before he shot a steely gaze at Daemon, a silent challenge in his eyes daring the older man to continue his jest. The tension in the room thickened, like a storm brewing on the horizon, as the implications of Daemon's casual remark hung in the air and cast a shadow over Rhaena and Aemond.

Aemond's heart had skipped a beat, a mixture of shock and rage bubbling within him. Rhaena, his cousin whom he shared a complicated bond with, was married off while he was away. But Aemond, ever the master of composure, masked his emotions behind a stoic facade.

"Married?" Aemond inquired with a forced calmness, eyeing Rhaena while cocking his head to the side. His long hair swayed behind him. "To Garmund?" he added, though the question felt like a heavy weight on his chest.

He thought back to Garmund his cousin on his mother's side. He didn't like Garmund before, having gone his entire life paying no attention to the younger boy. But now the dislike exacerbated into something much more extreme. As the tense atmosphere lingered in the room, completely missed by Daemon, Rhaena could feel the weight of the room pressing down on her. She searched for a way to escape the uncomfortable conversation and Aemond's eyesight. With a quick glance back towards Aemond, she mustered up an excuse.

"I-I... I just remembered something urgent I need to attend to," Rhaena stammered, her cheeks flushed with embarrassment. "Excuse me, please."

Without waiting for a response or acknowledgement from her father, she hurriedly made her way out of the room, feeling a rush of childishness wash over her. Aemond's gaze followed her, his eye reflecting a mixture of emotion. He stood there silently. Daemon consumed in his own world, was now engrossed in a phone call. With a dismissive wave of his hand, he signaled for Aemond to leave. His attention was now focused elsewhere.

Alone in her summer room after semi running down the halls and up the stairs, Rhaena let out a shaky breath. The walls offered up solace in their silent embrace. The weight of the situation still hung heavy on her shoulders, but in that moment of seclusion she allowed herself to be vulnerable. To feel the emotions that had been brewing beneath the surface.

Rhaena sank into the warm, comforting embrace of the bath, letting the fragrant rose bubbles envelop her like a soothing cocoon. The water's gentle caress eased the tension in her muscles, but it couldn't soothe the turmoil in her mind. As she leaned back against the porcelain, her gaze drifted out of her bathroom and into her bedroom, taking in the familiar sight of her childhood dolls neatly arranged on a shelf.

A pang of nostalgia tugged at her while she stared at worn teddy bears, their button eyes staring back at her with a sense of timeless innocence. Rhaena's thoughts wandered back to simpler days when her biggest worry was which game to play with Baela or how high she could swing on the property's ancient oak tree to show her mom.

The weight of adulthood and the burden of responsibilities suffocated her spirit. She longed for the days when the world was a playground and her father could be drowned out. The laughter of Baela and Jace sneaking into the kitchen to steal snacks echoed in her mind, a bittersweet melody that brought both comfort and sorrow.

With a heavy sigh, Rhaena closed her eyes, allowing herself to drift away on a tide of even more sacred memories. In this moment of solitude, surrounded by the ghosts of her past, she yearned for the simplicity of her girlhood, where the only thing that mattered was the next adventure with Aemond.

As Rhaena's mind meandered through the corridors of memories, she found herself drifting back to the summers spent in this grand house. It was a place where the walls echoed with the laughter of cousins playing in the sprawling gardens, and the air was always filled with a tantalizing scent. One particular summer stood out vividly in her mind, the summer that marked a turning point in her relationship with Aemond. It was the summer when a misunderstanding led to a grave accident that changed their dynamic forever. Before he had never even acknowledged her existence. The memory unfurled like a delicate tapestry before her eyes. Rhaena vividly recalled the night she woke everyone up in a frenzy, accusing Aemond of stealing her mother's beloved cat. In the chaos of the darkened house, Aemond was left missing an eye, pissed off even more than usual, and a permanent scar on his face.

Guilt gnawed at the young Rhaena's heart as she saw the chaos of the house unfold before her. She was too young to understand the complexities of how many of her family members did not get along before then. In the days that followed, she made it her mission to bring Aemond snacks and comfort, a silent gesture of apology and camaraderie. Aemond didn't necessarily have a choice, with him not being allowed outside while he was healing. He was stuck in the house with Daemon's youngest while everyone else was free to roam around and play outside. As they sat together in the sunlit corners of the house, his attitude towards her shifted into something else. It started with sharing whispered conversations, spending hours in the library, and stealing moments of laughter. A bond began to form between them woven from threads of understanding.

That summer became a turning point, a chapter in their intertwined story that spoke of forgiveness, empathy, and the unbreakable ties that bound them together as more than just family. Rhaena knew that amidst the shadows of the past, there glimmered a ray of light—a reminder of the bond she shared with Aemond, forged in the fire of childhood misadventures and sealed with the sweetness of shared snacks and whispered confidences. Aemond and Rhaena’s childhood bonding was a welcome distraction from Daemon’s behavior. When Aemond left the country at 19, she was reminded how horrible her relationship with her father was. Rhaena knew from watching wholesome families on TV that her family was not normal, especially Daemon’s borderline abusive behavior. She would often spend hours in her mother’s garden daydreaming about having a good father. A father who didn’t curse and call people cunts. A father who treated her like a princess and played in the playground with her. A father who didn’t scoff at her still having stuffed animals and Barbies at age 10. A father who would never see her as boring. She would often come to Aemond when they were younger, complaining to him about Daemon and he would agree with everything she said, replying with nods and 'uh huh'. Rhaena would giggle when he occasionally responded to her bizarre stories by inventing new curse words to mutter at her father.

Laena thought it was odd at first, why a girl like Rhaena wanted to hang out with her older cousin, a serious boy who was into much different types of games than her. She wanted to play with dolls, he wanted to take Nerf guns outside and explore the woods behind the family’s 50-acre property. They compromised and Rhaena took her dolls outside and walked alongside Aemond as he pretended to go hunting. After the eye incident, he was not allowed a real weapon to run around with.

‘As long as Rhaena has someone close to befriend other than her sister’ Laena thought.

Alicent thought it weird but chose to ignore it and be at peace with how the young girl was so much different than her vile father. She was secretly glad he had someone to spend time with to get away from his foul older brother.

Rhaena knew she could rant to Aemond, say anything about her father and Aemond didn’t like him anyway so he would never tell an adult on her or reveal her secrets. That’s how it shifted from playing to much more grim conversations. Complaining sessions about how they couldn’t stand their fathers. Rhaena started it, Aemond eventually opened up slowly, throwing rocks outside with Rhaena and occasionally blurting out how he hated his father and what Viserys did to bother him that day.

Rhaena sat further back in the warm bath, the water still soothing her body but not her racing thoughts. She leaned back, reminiscing about their first innocent kiss as children in the woods. It was a fleeting moment, a simple peck prompted by a scene in a movie she had seen.

She remembered how nonchalant he'd been, playing in the woods like always until she impulsively decided to mimic the kiss she saw. Stepping on the tips of her toes to reach the ever-growing Aemond, she planted a quick peck on his lips, he stared back at her saying nothing as she smiled at him but he still didn't respond. What she missed in her haste was the sigh and smile that flickered across Aemond's usually stern face before she dashed back to the house, called in by her grandmother.

As she soaked in the bath, the memory brought a bittersweet smile to her lips. It was a moment of innocence, a spark between them that she couldn't quite understand back then. And yet, it lingered in her mind, a glimpse of something deeper beneath their shared complaints and secret confessions.

Rhaena still couldn’t get over Aemond calling his father by his first name. It seemed so disrespectful. Eventually, Aemond started to rub off on her and she thought ‘Daemon' when talking to her father but didn’t dare say it out loud. Father would suffice until he passed away. Rhaena enjoyed living vicariously through Aemond and appreciated his audacity. She laughed at how him and Baela never got along, yet how similar they could be at times. Daemon never noticed or cared that his daughter was spending so much time with the nephew which annoyed him the most. If he did, he didn’t say anything. After her mother’s death, that was when Rhaena started to appreciate his ignoring her. She could quietly sneak off for hours. If he ever questioned where she was, she would always say she was off reading in a cozy nook somewhere. He didn't care anyway.

As much as Rhaena loved her sister, and they were so close, she didn’t want Baela to see certain sides of her. She would feel embarrassed. With Aemond, she could say anything. As they were getting older and he felt annoyed by her childish antics as he called them, he would ignore silly things she said or respond with sarcasm and scoffs. Rhaena thought it was funny because was still listening anyway.

‘He’s only pretending to be annoyed.’ Rhaena thought. She smiled to herself, realizing the older boy was not bothered with her like her father was.

When the family gathered together at the big house. Rhaena started to notice the age difference between her and Aemond. He was years older and they spent less and less time together the more they aged. She realized he wanted to spend more time around people his age and do adult things, but he was too nice to ever ask her to go away. He let her linger around his room during the summer and would give her hints.

“I’m going to smoke now.” He never smoked in front of her, hiding the stinky cigarettes from his father and claiming he didn’t want to be a bad influence on Rhaena. He pecked her forehead as she reluctantly got up out of his bed, breaking their comfortable cuddle and turning off the movie they had been watching.

“This stuff will give you cancer. It kills.” Placing the cigarette in his mouth and waiting for her to leave before lighting it.

“Stop smoking it then.” Rhaena just widened her doe eyes, confused and worried. He just chuckled at her and she would leave, going to read a book or to bake pastries.

Later he would walk past her at dinner, and the strong whiff of tobacco would hit her. She didn’t mind the smell though, and it started to relax her despite the obvious contrast the gruff scent had to her floral body sprays. Aemond left her when he was 18. Following his older siblings out of the country and attended university overseas. Rhaena was heartbroken, and busied herself in schoolwork and extracurriculars, bidding her time for his summer visits.

She became all the more aware of her father’s behavior again without Aemond’s distractions. Baela had left for university a year after Aemond, going to a further away school to be closer to Jace. Now she was alone with her father and it gave her anxiety. Daemon got irritated so easily and Rhaena fell into her introversion, feeling more comfortable just being quiet, smiling, and doing what her father asked of her to appease him. He was always arguing with someone, on business calls yelling into the phone. But things got better after Alicent died months later, Rhaena didn’t realize how much Aemond's mom seemed to bother her father but she did feel bad for Aemond, she spent the entire funeral watching him grieve with his siblings.

His temper quickly came back after her uncle died last year. Rhaena sighed, knowing this is just how it’s gonna be with her father forever. She was a legal adult now, and couldn't let this bother her forever.

Reluctantly, Rhaena opened her eyes, the reality of her current situation crashing back with cruel clarity. The water was at room temperature now.

The grand dining hall of the family's estate was filled with the clinking of silverware and the murmur of conversation. The long, ornate table was adorned with fine china and flickering candles, casting a warm glow over the gathered faces.

As the elegant dinner unfolded in the grand hall, the ambiance was disrupted by the sound of the heavy oak door creaking open. All eyes turned towards the entrance as Rhaena hurried in, her cheeks flushed with embarrassment at arriving late. Aemond's gaze lifted towards her, his one good eye capturing her every movement. There was a fleeting moment of stillness as their eyes met, a silent exchange. Rhaena's heart skipped a beat as she caught Aemond's intense stare, the weight of their shared secret hanging heavily between them. She averted her gaze, feeling a rush of guilt and longing swirl within her. Despite the tension in the air, a sense of familiarity and longing sparked in her chest.

Aemond's expression remained inscrutable, curiosity and perhaps a hint of something more hidden beneath his stoic demeanor before he turned back to his conversation. Rhaena took her seat after rushing to peck her grandmother on the cheek and give a cordial greeting to Otto Hightower.

As Rhaena settled in, she couldn't help but notice the playful banter happening between her sister Baela, her husband Jace, and her cousin Daeron, with Aemond seated nearby. Baela's laughter echoed through the hall as she teased Daeron about his latest college escapade, earning a chuckle from Jace.

As the jovial atmosphere continued to dance around the dining table, Baela couldn't resist teasing, her mischievous grin lighting up her face. "Daeron, Rhaena told us you tried to cook dinner in your apartment last week. How many pots did you manage to burn this time?"

Daeron chuckled, feigning offense. "Only a few, cousin, but I'll have you know that I've improved! I only set off one small kitchen fire this time."

Jace chimed in with a playful jab at her. "Well, at least Daeron's kitchen disasters are more entertaining than your attempts at making homemade pizza. Remember when you accidentally put chemicals in the dough?"

Baela blushed, shooting a mock glare. "I thought it was water." She shrugged it off. "Besides, it's not like your experiments in the lab always go smoothly, Mr. 'Oops, I accidentally created a mini-explosion.'"

Amidst the laughter and gentle ribbing, Aemond had been silently observing when raised his glass, a twinkle in his eye. "To the family, where even your mishaps and blunders bring us closer together. Cheers." Daeron scoffed.

"What do you mean your, don't you mean ours? Include yourself, bastard." Baela and Jace snickered among each other as Aemond rolled his remaining eye, not wanting to incorporate himself into mishaps and blunders.

Rheanys shot her granddaughter a look, giving a silent warning about using curses at the dinner table. She turned back to Otto, before cutting her eyes at Aemond.

"No announcement?"

"He told me he had something to share, but Daemon knows." Otto gruffed at the far end of the table, now trying to ignore Daemon. Working with his older brother was much easier. Rhaena was sure if Otto didn't share family members and have so many connections that hated Daemon, he would have been fired by now.

As the dinner conversation ebbed and flowed, Daemon cleared his throat, fixing a pointed gaze on Otto. "I was going to wait until after dinner but since you're all here, did you know that your grandson here went off and got himself hitched before graduation?" The words hung in the air, causing a collective gasp to ripple through the room.

The loud clinking on her plate wasn't enough to take attention off of Aemond. Rhaena's eyes widened in shock, her hand instinctively dropping her knife and fork. Aemond's jaw tensed, his one good eye narrowing as he shot a warning look at Daemon. "I told you not to bring that up, old man," he growled, the tension palpable in the room.

Daeron, ever the jester, couldn't resist a quip to try to lighten the mood. "Well, well, brother, leaving us all in the dark about your secret escapades. Who's the lucky lady?" He winked mischievously, eliciting a chuckle from Baela, who nudged him playfully. The 'lucky' of course being him throwing sarcasm back at his brother.

Rhaena felt a wave of desolation wash over her. Aemond had always been somewhat of a mystery to her even with their closeness, but the thought of him being married and keeping it from her stung. She stole a glance at him, her heart aching with a tinge of longing she couldn't quite place.

As tensions simmered in the dining hall, Aemond took a deep breath as he locked eyes with Otto. "You knew, didn't you?" Aemond's voice was laced with accusation as he pointed a finger at Otto. "You were in on it, weren't you? This whole charade of arranging a marriage without my consent."

Otto's expression remained stoic. "It was for the good of the family, Aemond. You shouldn't have run off. Your mother would have wished—"

Aemond cut him off with a bitter laugh. "She wished? Don't pretend this was anything other than a ploy to control me, to force me into a life I never wanted!" His one eye blazed with defiance as he turned to Daemon, who sat back in his chair with a smug grin.

Daemon's voice dripped with condescension. "You were always a rebellious one, Aemond. But this marriage was necessary for our family's future. You can always annul, and you should be grateful for the opportunity."

Aemond's temper flared at Daemon's words as he carefully avoided looking at Rhaena. "Grateful? For being treated like a pawn in your schemes? I won't stand for it, I married my professor Alys. I'm leaving, Uncle. I'm taking what's mine and I'm going to Essos, far away from this suffocating web of control you've all spun. I told you both I'll do my job over there and that's it."

The room fell into a stunned silence at Aemond's declaration. Rhaena watched on, her heart torn between sympathy for Aemond's plight and fear of the consequences of his defiance. Daemon's face darkened with rage, but before the older man could respond, Aemond pushed back his chair, the scraping sound echoing through the hall.

With a final glare at his uncle, Aemond strode out of the room, his footsteps echoing down the hallway. The stress lingered in the air, thick with Daemon's anger, as the family grappled with the aftermath of Aemond's bold decision to break free from the suffocating grasp.

Rhaena made her way back to her room after the tense dinner, the echoes of Aemond's bold departure still reverberating in her mind. The flickering candlelight cast shadows along the corridor, mirroring the turmoil within her. The summer house that held so many fond memories felt so cold and dark now.

She recalled the aftermath of Rhaenys, Otto, and Daemon's discussion after Aemond left. The tension had been palpable, each word spoken laced with hidden agendas and unspoken threats. Rhaena felt a pang of betrayal as she remembered how her father had orchestrated the whole charade, manipulating their lives like pieces on a chessboard. Aemond saved himself, and didn't think twice about leaving her behind.

Daeron called down the hall with a somber expression. "Rhaena, come out with us for a drink. It might help clear your mind," he offered, concern evident in his voice.

But Rhaena shook her head, her heart heavy with the weight of her emotions. "Thanks, but I'm too tired tonight," she replied softly, mustering a weak smile to reassure him.

As she reached her room, the door creaked open, revealing a sanctuary of solitude amidst the chaos of her family's machinations. She listened to Jace's loud car pulling off while she sat on the edge of her bed, the events of the evening swirling in her mind.

With a heavy sigh, Rhaena gazed out of the window, the moon casting a silvery glow over the courtyard below. In the stillness of the night, she allowed herself a new moment of vulnerability, the weight of her conflicted feeling pressing down on her like a heavy cloak. Laying down on her bed, the soft rustle of the sheets enveloping her, Rhaena knew that the path ahead would be fraught with uncertainty and difficult choices.

Aemond's footsteps echoed softly down the dimly lit corridor of the hall, the flickering lights casting dancing shadows on the stone walls. As he approached Rhaena's door, a faint sound caught his attention, a delicate symphony of stifled sobs.

Quietly opening the door, Aemond's remaining eye immediately fell upon Rhaena. She was laid on her bed, her face buried in her hands, shoulders trembling. The sight tugged at his heart, stirring an unfamiliar ache within him.

"Rhaena," he called quietly, his voice a gentle whisper cutting through the silence of the room.

Startled, Rhaena quickly tried to wipe away the traces of tears from her cheeks, hastily attempting to compose herself. "Aemond, what are you doing here?," she managed, her voice strained with forced calm.

Aemond approached her bedside, his gaze full of concern and regret. "Rhaena." He paused, wanting to make sure his next words were the right thing to say to the crying girl. She raised her hands, trying to hide face behind her long pink sleeve.

"Don't hide your pain from me," he replied, his tone tinged with genuine empathy.

Aemond sat down next to Rhaena, his posture initially rigid as he struggled with his own emotions. In an attempt to offer comfort, he started off with a tone of feigned toughness, a defense mechanism he often wanted to resort to in difficult situations.

"Rhaena, you can't be like this. We're adults now, things are different" he advised, his words tinged with a hint of sternness.

Rhaena looked up at him, taking her face off the silk pillow. Her eyes glistened with shed tears, and for a moment, it seemed like she would heed his advice and put on a brave face. Just forget about everything, do her duty, and move on. It was a burden placed on her once she was born a Targaryen.

But the weight of her burden proved too heavy, and her façade crumbled once more, her sorrow spilling out like a dam breaking. She should have known it would end like this. Aemond would get tired of her like her father did, and leave.

"I can't, Aemond," she whispered, her voice filled with a raw vulnerability that pierced through his defenses. "I feel so trapped... I don't know what to do."

Aemond's resolve wavered at the sight of her despair, the walls he had built around his own emotions crumbling in the face of her pain. With a sigh, he let go of his tough façade, his expression softening as he reached out to gently brush a stray tear from her cheek. His pale cold fingers warmed on her face.

"Rhaena..." he murmured, his voice laced with a tenderness that surprised even himself. "I know I may not always show it, but I care about you. It's not you. I just had to..."

As Rhaena looked up at him, a glimmer of hope flickered in her eyes, a silent acknowledgment of the bond that was slowly forming between them in the midst of their shared turmoil. In that moment, Aemond realized that perhaps, in each other, they had found the strength to weather the storm that threatened to engulf them both.

But Rhaena snapped at him, "Don't condescend me. You don't like me. Maybe you never did. Were you just bored? Just spending time with me to get away from Aegon? Are you still upset about your eye?"

As Rhaena's words struck a chord within him, Aemond felt a surge of emotions rising within him, a tumultuous mix of guilt, love, and an inexplicable desire to protect her from the pain that consumed them both.

"I never meant to hurt you, Rhaena," Aemond began, his deepening voice laced with a raw honesty that startled him. I married Alys out of convenience, out of a deal we made..." He paused to take a breath, looking away from the girl. "It was about escaping the suffocating."

“I was going to tell you but….your father.”

Rhaena's eyes widened in surprise at his confession, a glimmer of understanding shining through her stressed face. Before she could respond, Aemond faltered, the weight of their shared pain crashing down upon him. In a moment of vulnerability, he suddenly leaned in, his lips finding hers in a desperate, tender kiss.

The world around them seemed to fade away, leaving only the echo of their shared breaths mingling in the hushed air. In that fleeting moment, their hearts spoke a language of their own, a silent plea for solace in a storm of chaos. Aemond pulled back, his eye meeting hers.

"I love you Rhaena." As Aemond gazed into Rhaena's eyes, his heart ached at the pain reflected in them. He gently brushed away the remaining tear that lingered on her cheek, his touch a soothing balm to her wounded soul. "I love you," he repeated softly, his voice filled with a depth of emotion he had never dared to show before.

Rhaena's breath caught at his words, her heart fluttering. She felt a rush of warmth flood her body, a sense of comfort enveloping her in Aemond's embrace. But amidst the comfort she found in his arms, a shadow of fear lingered in the depths of her gaze.

"I don't know what to do," Rhaena whispered, her voice laced with trepidation. "My father, he demanded that I have a child with Garmund. He said it's a duty, a responsibility I must fulfill."

Aemond's brows furrowed in a mixture of anger at the mention of Garmund, after he'd tried so hard to forget about him earlier. That boy.His jaw clenched as his arms tightened around her, a fierce determination to shield Rhaena from the shackles of a loveless union. "No, Rhaena you don't have to," he said firmly, his voice tinged with a hint of possessiveness.

A flicker of hope lit up in Rhaena's eyes at Aemond's words, a spark of courage igniting within her fragile heart. She reached out to cup his face, her touch tender yet resolute. "And what about us, Aemond?" she asked, her voice trembling with emotion.

Aemond's gaze softened, his eye locking with hers in a pledge. "I'll figure it out," he vowed, his voice unwavering. He had already packed his belongings after storming out, but he didn't want to leave without Rhaena. "We'll deal with him. You don't have to let that craven touch you."

He leaned down to kiss her again, easily moving her fragile body with one arm to position Rhaena beneath him. As Aemond's lips met Rhaena's once more, a wave of tenderness swept over her, mingling with a hint of bittersweet nostalgia. It was as though they were transported back to simpler times. He wanted to chuckle at how his body didn't fully fit onto her much smaller bed.

With gentle touches, Aemond began to undress Rhaena while kissing her neck, his movements a promise of protection and understanding. Each piece of clothing shed felt like a release, a shedding of the expectations and obligations that had been imposed upon her. Rhaena closed her eyes, allowing herself to be enveloped in the familiar warmth of his presence.

The faint scent of cigarette smoke lingered in the air, a subtle reminder of Aemond's rebellious streak that she had always found oddly comforting. She knew he had smoked while in his room earlier, not bothering to blow the smoke out the window like he used to. It was a scent that spoke of late-night conversations and shared secrets, of moments stolen away from the prying eyes of their family.

Aemond stilled for a second, leaning back to take in Rhaena's body. As they laid there, they were intertwined in a dance of intimacy and solace. In that fleeting moment, she allowed herself to forget the looming shadows of Garmund and the weight of her father's expectations, choosing instead to revel in the connection she had with Aemond.

He moved down to taste her, going from her nipples down to her wetness and Rhaena gasped. Her arms moved to cover her mouth from the loud moan that threatened to escape. She felt her body tense as he began to reach up to caress her breasts. Aemond leaned against her side, allowing her to wrap her legs around him. She felt safe in his arms, as if she was protected from everything in the world that could harm her.

A small, shy laugh escaped her lips, a trace of a memory coming to mind. A time when they had been so young, with the world and their destinies seemingly at their feet. Aemond's smile seemed to reflect her own, a flicker of warmth lighting up in his eyes as he looked up at her. He climbed back up, leaning down to whisper something in her ear, a secret that only they shared, a promise to be true to one another in a world that seemed determined to tear them apart.

"Aemond." Rhaena writhed and sighed his name, the whisper barely hear over his deep groan as he pushed inside her.

And so they started to dance, the music of their bodies intertwining in a symphony of love and despair. As Rhaena surrendered to the embrace of Aemond's passion, a fleeting sense of peace washed over her, a glimmer of hope that whispered in her ears.

Aemond continued to work himself into her, his movements slow and tender. In the face of their shared pain, they found solace in the connection that transcended their reality.

As Aemond gazed into Rhaena's eyes, she looked back at him with a tenderness that melted his heart. He finally knew. He couldn't pretend anymore. He knew that in Rhaena, he had found a soulmate, a confidante who would see beyond the flaws he had allowed to consume him admid of their shared passion.

Rhaena felt the words bubble up from the depths of her soul, a confession she knew she had to make. Breathlessly, she whispered, "Aemond, I want to have your baby."

The words hung in the air, heavy with unspoken truths and the weight of their forbidden love. Aemond's eyes widened in surprise, a mix of emotions flickering across his features. In that vulnerable moment, Rhaena saw a glimmer of understanding dawn in his gaze, a shared acknowledgment of the tangled web fate had woven around them.

With a trembling hand, Rhaena reached out to cup Aemond's cheek again, her touch a silent plea for him to see the depth of her desire, the fierce yearning for a future that defied the confines of their reality.

Amidst the symphony of their entwined bodies, Rhaena felt a surge of empowerment rush through her. She knew that in choosing to bear Aemond's child, she was seizing control of her destiny, carving out a path of defiance and love in a world that sought to dictate her every move.

As the echoes of their whispered confession lingered in the air, Rhaena and Aemond found themselves bound not only by the threads of passion but by a shared determination to rewrite the script of their lives, one heartbeat at a time.

[saerras]

my writing

Multichapter:

No Rest For The Wicked (finished 328k words)

Aemond x OC retelling of the Dance of the Dragons with an alternative ending

(sequels)

The Queen’s last Dance, or the Prince’s Atonement (Oneshot)

The Queen in the south (Oneshot)

(prequels)

No Rest For The Wicked - Tales from Dragonstone (three oneshots 26k words)

-

The King and the Prince of the Stepstones (finished 62k words)

Aemond is Daemon's secret bastard son

When the World Was at War We Kept Dancing (WIP 17k words)

Daeron Targaryen meets Addam of Hull years before their eventual fate during the Second Battle of Tumbleton

A crown or your lonely heart. (WIP 6k words)

Baelon x Viserra

Oneshots:

Like gods at the dawning of the world (5k)

Aemond dies above the God's Eye, his soul however finds no rest

Ghost of a King (3k)

Prince Aegon Targaryen slouches through Flea Bottom and encounters the strangest things, some which might have cursed him forever

Ficlets:

The very good Queen (2k smut)

Alysanne x Jaehaerys

Oh, to be Queen (1,7k)

From the promt: Aegon IV marries Daena instead of Naerys

The Sun's Star (1,5k smut)

Arienne x Darkstar

I Had A King (<1k)

A character study of Aegon II during his feverish dreams

[theothermaidoftarth]

I was tagged by @gwenllian-in-the-abbey. Please keep these writing tag games coming, they’re so fun! 

How many works do you have on AO3?

3 works

2. What’s your total AO3 word count?

56,829

3. What fandoms do you write for?

House of the Dragon/Fire and Blood/ASOIAF

4. What are your top 5 fics by kudos?

I only have 3 fics so far and from ascending to descending order, the kudos count is: Sorrow, The Favoured, and Song for Evermore

5. Do you respond to comments? Why or why not?

Yes. I like to engage with my readers, especially as I’m not writing niche areas so don’t get very many (the reason I dusted off this tumblr a couple months ago, in fact). So I like to show my appreciation of their appreciation

6. What’s the fic you wrote with the angstiest ending?

Sorrow, sort of. It’s just angsty all around (poor Baela)

7. What’s the fic you wrote with the happiest ending?

It has to be a tie between The Favoured and Song for Evermore — they have the same ending in the sense that both sets of couple have gotten together and have the world ahead of them

8. Do you get hate on fics?

I haven’t on ao3 (ff.net though…)

9. Do you write smut? If so what kind?

Yes. Non-explicit (not too sure how to answer this one, haha, I’m not big into the smut scene generally #justacethings)

10. Do you write crossovers? What’s the craziest one you’ve written?

I haven’t on my ao3 (unless blending book! and show!canon could count)

11. Have you ever had a fic stolen?

Not that I know of

12. Have you ever had a fic translated?

No

13. Have you ever cowritten a fic before?

No

14. What’s your all-time favourite ship?

Daeron “the Daring” Targaryen x Baela Targaryen — I’ve said it before on here but they are my reverse gender Braime! And (book!)Brienne x Jaime is hands down my top otp of all time, in any fandom

15. What’s a WIP you want to finish, but doubt you ever will?

Not related to a published fic (yet). But an ASOIAF au where Brienne of Tarth was born into House Baratheon, canonical blonde looks and all. I’m a massive Brienne fan and I wanted to see what would happen if I took her and made her one of the foremost ladies in the realm, in the public eye even more than other noble ladies due to being the king’s sister after Robert’s Rebellion. And how I could do it while retaining as much of her canon personality as possible, and incorporating the inevitable butterfly effects of a blonde Baratheon girl born while Aerys was on the throne. Such fun. I have about a third of it written and sort of know how I want to finish it but I’ve stalled majorly on the middle parts of the story — the butterfly effects are quite something to wrangle through and make a reasonable, logical plot out of. As such it’s been sitting in my notes for about two years (long before HoTD aired which I mention as some people in-world in the fic believe Brienne is a bastard and she’s compared to the Strong boys — she’s one hundred percent trueborn but genetics just kinda let her down: she looks like a blend of various relatives, and does look like her parents but, aside from eye colour, build and height, the resemblance is subtle and overlooked by most). It was originally supposed to be a oneshot (story of my life). Something tells me I should just write and post that oneshot but I do like the expanded themes that I’m able to explore in a multi-chapter (which is why I have so many unposted, half-finished wip multi-chaps in general clogging up my notes, and why I mostly write and post oneshots). Right now I’m working on a long oneshot which follows the basic premise but takes one of the Brienne pairings from it in a different direction to the original. So an AU of an AU. (The pairing is Brienne x Willas Tyrell for anyone interested.)

16. What are your writing strengths?

My character work. 

17. What are your writing weaknesses?

Being concise. I sometime ramble a little as I get into the character’s head too much and so it takes away from the plot sometimes, from the punch of the dialogue, so I’m trying to improve on that while still keeping the gist of what I want to convey

18. Thoughts on writing dialogue in another language for a fic?

I do not usually (as I’m far from fluent in High Valyrian) but if I was writing from a real-world language, I would give context clues as to what was said nearby.  As a reader I’ve always found it confusing and immersion breaking to see untranslated dialogue in the body of the text, especially if there isn’t a translation provided in the endnotes. So I don’t like to do that myself since I like to write what I’d like to read.

19. First fandom you wrote for?

House of the Dragon (ff.net is a different story)

20. Favourite fic you’ve ever written?

Song for Evermore. I just wanted more show!Baela appreciation (and honestly more depth to her as a character since hotd so far is not it) and I was intrigued by how Daeron could be introduced and incorporated while keeping relatively to show!canon where he hasn’t even been mentioned once. I wondered why that was in-world, and how things would change if he had been introduced in s1 — the boy described as the gentlest of Viserys’ sons, the one who was charming and kind but not a leader and with a dash of darkness beneath the surface, pulled out when those he loves are in danger. What were the family dynamics at play around him, both in the Red Keep and Oldtown? How would his presence potentially change things? 

Add in my love of crack/rare pairs and my idea (and word count, haha) snowballed from there. I didn’t incorporate or fully develop every idea or headcanon I had as I’m saving that for other Baela fics, in particular another Baela/Daeron fic and I didn’t want to be too repetitive (though since they are in a hinge poly with Aemond in the other one, things are already quite different there, that’s for sure).

Tagging: @richardsthirdnipple @mejcinta @daylander1000

I’m not sure who else writes on ao3 who hasn’t been tagged already by another mutual (which happens so much with tag games, so I never know who to tag, haha) but whoever hasn’t been and wants to participate, feel free to tag me in your post! 

[a-song-for-ages]

Yall know what?

Because life (mainly ; uni) is a little hectic rn, I'm gonna write a series of soft!aemond targaryen oneshots (oc is gonna be a velaryon oc, named daenerys because I always name them this, and also, she'll shift between being the oldest/youngest along with personality traits / characteristics etc)

This is just because I need an outlet and some comfort from our favourite war criminal / green baddie

Might just also write some shots for daeron as well

[cambion-companion]

Aemond Fanfiction Masterlist #1

A compilation of my Aemond Targaryen fics I have written thus far.

Link to Masterlist #2

My Favorites ✨️

Slung over the shoulder | Aemond x wife!reader

Pinned | Aemond x reader | enemies to lovers

A Mommy's Boy | Aemond x reader

Not when I've spent my entire life loving you | Aemond x reader

Captured | Aemond x fem!reader SMUT

Milk | Aemond x fem!reader SMUT

I can't help but love you, even when I try not to | Aemond x reader

Jealousy | Aemond x Lannister!Reader

Dad Aemond 🍼

A soft morning | dad!Aemond x fem!reader

Finding out you're pregnant | Aemond x fem!reader

Tired parent kiss | Aemond x reader drabble

Don't lay a hand on her | Aemond x pregnant!reader

Riding Vhagar | Aemond x pregnant!reader

A difficult choice | Aemond x pregnant!reader

Drunk Drabbles 🍷

Comedy of Errors Part 1 | Aemond x Reader

Cheating during chess | Aemond x wife!reader

Tipsy Aemond drabble | Aemond x wife!reader

That's my lap | Aemond x reader

Would you love me if I was a worm | Aemond x reader

Spicey Fics 🌶

Lost in Flea Bottom | Aemond x fem!reader

I desire you | Aemond x fem!Lannister!reader

Beneath the Table | Aemond x fem!reader

Never do that again | Angry!Aemond x fem!reader

A sleepy comfort | Aemond x fem!reader

Warm within you | Aemond x fem!reader

Period sex | Aemond x fem!reader

Riding the Dragon atop the Dragon | Aemond x fem!reader

I hate the word squirt | Aemond x fem!reader

Pregnant and needing | Aemond x fem!preg!reader |breastfeeding kink

Dark Waltz | Aemond x f!reader | comfort

Weavings in Moonlight | Aemond x f!reader

Consequences for your actions | Aemond x f!reader

A Warm Bathtub Ride | Aemond x f!reader

Sweet as Honey | Aemond x f!reader

Dragon Rider | Aemond x f!reader

Just A Taste | Aemond x f!reader

A Heated Awakening | Aemond x f!reader

NSFW Alphabet | Aemond x f!reader

Baby Hungry | Aemond x f!reader

Distraction from Studying | Aemond x fem!reader

Drabbles 💭

Returning after battle | Aemond x wife!reader

Giggly kiss | Aemond x reader

I can't do this without you | Aemond x reader

Sticking up for Helaena | Aemond x reader

Last Kiss | Aemond x reader | angst

Comfort for period pain | Aemond x fem!reader

Jealousy backfires | Aemond x reader

Only One Bed | Aemond x reader drabble

Validation | Aemond x insecure!reader drabble

To be loved | Aemond x reader drabble

Kiss of life | Aemond x reader drabble

Against the wall | Aemond x reader drabble

Desperate kiss | Aemond x reader drabble

Don't kiss your opponent | Aemond x reader drabble

Morning Kisses | Aemond x reader drabble

I Almost Lost You | Aemond x reader drabble

A Lover's Kiss | Aemond x reader drabble

To be in your Arms | Aemond x reader drabble

I Missed You Kiss | Aemond x reader drabble

Whispers of Are You Sure | Aemond x reader drabble

A Jealous Kiss | Aemond x reader

Relax, my love | Aemond x reader massage drabble

Oneshots ✍️

I would marry you in a heartbeat | Aemond x reader

Spray of blood | Angry!Aemond x wife!reader

Brotherly shenanigans | Aemond x wife!reader and then there's Daeron

Aegon slaps reader's ass | protective!Aemond x wife!reader

10 things I hate about you | Aemond x fem!reader

Don't have to hide from me | Aemond x sorceress!reader

Do Not Touch | Jealous Aemond x f!reader

Cassandra Baratheon x Aemond Oneshot

Friends with Benefits | Aemond x Reader

Two nerds in a room..they might kiss | Aemond x Reader

I Miss Screaming and Fighting and Kissing in the Rain | Aemond x Reader

Unbowed, Unbent, Unbroken | Aemond x Martell!Reader

He took me to a brothel when I was thirteen | Aemond x reader

The first "I love you" | Aemond x reader

A Secret Love | Aemond x servant!reader

The World Will Know | Aemond x insecure!reader

Confronting Him about Luke | Aemond x Strong!Reader

Seeing the Sapphire | Aemond x reader

Accidental Injury | Aemond x wife!reader

Little Women AU Part 2 | Aemond x reader

Continuing Fanfics 📖

Comedy of Errors Part 2 | Aemond x Reader

And Winter Came Part 1 | Aemond x Stark!Reader

And Winter Came Part 2 | Aemond x Stark!Reader

And Winter Came Part 3 | Aemond x Stark!Reader

Seeing his darker side Part 1 | Aemond x reader

Aemond x genius!reader Part 1

Collaborations! 👥️️

Roses in his Hands, Fire in her Veins

More to come! Inbox is closed for oneshot requests, though please feel free to send in quotations, drabbles, scenarios, questions, etc. :)

Thanks for the support friends!