#maelstrom fic

[maelstrom007]

New Face, Who This?

Don't mind me, just playing in the sandbox that is @ghouldjams cod fae au. Mal switches things up, as they are wont to do, and trips up a certain fae in the process. Featuring ghouls oc Witch who I adore.

Mal looked at themselves in the mirror. They turned this way and that, but something just felt. . . off. Pursing their lips they sighed, changing into the fifth outfit that morning. Ugh, still not right. 

“Maybe it’s time for a change,” they murmured. When was the last time they did this? Twenty years ago? Maybe more? Yeah, it was time to switch things up. 

Stripping bare, they stared at the mirror once more. It was always easiest if they could see what they were doing. To start Mal focused on their face, studying the wide jaw and square face they had become accustomed to for the last however many years it’s been. Reaching forward toward their reflection, fingers splayed, they twisted their wrist. Mal’s reflection fractured, tesselating out in patterns and colors like a kaleidoscope, before suddenly snapping back into place. 

The face staring back at them was much softer, rounder around the cheeks with a charming mouth. Some things remained unchanged, like their fiery red hair and their bold eyebrows. For whatever reason they always stuck around. 

Moving on to the rest of their body, they wanted to move on from the sleek and slim rectangular build. In the end, they went for something a little more filled out, hints of muscle and practical strength within a sturdy frame. They’d have to workout to maintain it, they were using magic afterall, not working miracles.

With the excitement of a new canvas, finding an outfit was easy, opting for a long sundress. The lack of sleeves accentuated the new muscles in their arms nicely, while also complementing their new more feminine face. A last little splurge of magic allowed their hair to grow just long enough to place in a messy bun. 

As usual, the day was rather slow, mainly spent at their combination check out and consultation table project planning for recent clients. Creating patterns, planning dye lots, etc. etc. Their project ledger wasn’t completely full yet, so their curtains were pulled wide open, and a sign that said ‘Welcome, during business hours’ hung from the door. 

This meant that a certain handsome fae could slip in with no resistance, immediately waltzing up to the counter with a confidence that should have been annoying, if they weren’t in such a good mood. 

“Well hello, I - oh.” He started his greeting, but stumbled mid way through as Mal looked up from their ledger. 

They raised an eyebrow, “Hello to you too.”

Confusion was visible on his face, “Sorry, I was just expecting someone else.”

“And who would that be?”

“The last time I came in, maybe a little over a week ago, there was someone else here. Kind of small, very cute, with shaggy red hair almost the same color as yours.”

“Hunting for information, are we?”

A boyish glint sparkled in the others eyes as he leaned over the counter, “Now that I think of it you two look quite a bit alike. You two wouldn’t happen to be. . .siblings, would you?” 

Before Mal could even begin to think of a way to respond to that Witch glided in through the door, the wards tingling in delight and recognition of their clever creator. “Oh my gosh you will not believe the tea I have for you today, I heard that -” 

It only took Witch a second to notice the changes, and only a few more to piece together what Mal had done, “Wow!!!! You look great! I love what you’ve done with your hair, and that dress looks gorgeous on you, did you make it yourself?” 

Gossip forgotten, Witch ran up to dote on Mal, feeling the material and gushing over their new look. After a few minutes of this, the fae man coughed gently. 

“Shit! Sorry, I’ll let you finish up with your customer,” Witch said.

“Oh, I’m not a customer,” he said.

“Then what are you?”

“A nuisance,” Mal said, “a nosy one at that.”

Witch snorted, but said nothing. 

If he took offense to Mal’s comment, he didn’t show it, “All I want to know is who that fae is that I talked to a few weeks ago. About yea tall, pretty hands and shaggy red hair kind of like yours? Tell me, is red hair and attractiveness a job requirement? Or am I just incredibly lucky?” His lopsided grin would have been annoying if it didn’t look so good on his face.

Witch opened her mouth, “M-”

At the sound of their name starting in Witch’s mouth, Mal gave her a desperate look in warning. Even though ‘Mal’ wasn’t really their true name, it’s not something that they gave out left and right, let alone to loitering mystery fae. 

With barely a stumble in her speech, she corrected herself, “My friend here runs this shop by themselves. And damn well at that.”

He chuckled, “Well then, aren’t you full of surprises.” This time, Mal didn’t miss the once over he gave them. When their eyes met, his golden eyes looked molten hot. 

A blush rose to their cheeks unbidden, and Mal brought their hands together in a decisive clap, “Well! If you’re not a customer I must ask you to leave immediately as is shop policy,” a delicate line of fine print illuminated itself in recognition on the welcome sign, “Good day to you sir.”

The typically controlled and smooth wards were swift and erratic as they buffeted the mystery fae towards the door, however he resisted them as much as he could, “Tell me your name! What may I call you?” He called out frantically, attempting to brace himself against the wards unseen force. 

Mal raised their hand to aid in one final push to send him out the door, but paused as their eyes met once again. There was a desperation and sincerity in his features. Before Mal knew what they were doing they opened their mouth. 

“You may call me a fox, sir hunter, for that is all I am to you.” 

“And a lovely Fox you shall be,” he said, before he was sucked out of the door and summarily deposited on the street, curtains closing with a solid thwunk. 

The silence was thick in the shop before Witch broke it, voice strained with barely contained laughter “~You may call me a fox for that is all I am to you~”

“Shut upppp”

“Well, he’s a handsome hunter, I'll give him that.” 

Mal put their head in their hands, “He’s a nuisance and nothing more.” 

“Suuuure.”

They giggled desperately, “He is!! He comes waltzing in saying that he doesn’t want anything and then I kick him out cause he’s loitering!”

“God Mal you’re insufferable, he’s flirting with you you idiot.” 

“He is not.” 

“If you say so. But you best believe that I am going to bring this up over dinner because never in the time that I’ve known you have I seen your wards react like that.” 

Mal raised their head, eyebrows furrowed, “Dinner?”

Witch gave them a confused look, before letting out an exasperated sigh, “I forgot to say it out loud huh.”

“Yup.”

“Well, your ass, my house, I’m making dinner cause I haven’t had you over in ages. Be there or be square.” 

“I wonder if I could actually turn myself into a square.”

“Dammit Mal.”

[liminalweirdo]

3, 17, and 18 for the writer ask thing

3. What work are you most proud of (regardless of kudos/hits)?

My shyan mutual pining, mental illness roadtrip fic Maelstrom, probably. I guess I'm actually pretty proud of my Ginger Snaps Sam/Brigitte fic, The constellations reveal themselves one star at a time but I think ultimately it's less 'proud' and more 'thankful' because it's how I found one of my best friends.

17. Your favorite character to write this year?

Oh, this is hard, but it's probably Patrick Hockstetter because he bloomed into this character I totally didn't expect in and like the dawn and he really means a lot to me, and he's super fun and interesting to write.

18. The character that gave you the most trouble writing this year?

Josh fucking Templeton in I'm fine and you're fine, because all the characters in Super Dark Times are hard af for me to write. I think it's partly because we actually see so little of Josh in the film, and because the film really only shows us these characters after a significant, life-changing trauma, so you only get a glimpse of who they are before it's just them as Characters Under Intense Psychological Stress.

[seastarryclouds]

Finally posting this cause cringe is dead

[zombubble]

Chat have we just gotten to the last chapter (before the epilogue) of draft one?!

Yes, we have uwu.

Endings are hard.........

[longlostlorian]

maybe this is a silly thing to be excited over in the scheme of things but Astronave (Maelstrom's Spanish publisher) is sharing some early pages on instagram!! I love learning languages and so it's been a HUGE dream of mine to have a translated edition of something I've made... I'm so happy with everything I've seen of their work on it!! Spanish edition is out in June and the original English is out right... NOW!!

[wraithsoutlaws]

From the soft otp prompts & for the bbs ☺️ 3 & 4!

3) Write about your ship holding hands in a tense moment / 4) Write about your ship holding hands in a happy moment.

*.*.*.*.*.*.*.*.*.*.*.*.*.*.*.*.*.*.*.*.*.*.*.*.*.*.*.*.*.*.*.*.*.*.*.*.*.*.*.*.*.*.*.*

Blood exploded from Dagger’s mouth and he saw stars for the second time as Dum Dum knocked him on his ass. The constellations mocked him in a dim flicker above. For a moment he couldn’t move. That chrome fist shattered a tooth–not for the first time, though depending on the outcome of the night, it could be the last. He didn’t think Dum Dum would kill him. He may have underestimated him until now.

Before his vision had time to clear, he felt himself ripped upward, heaved into another punch that left him coughing, choking on his own blood.

“I trusted you–” Dum Dum spat. His voice sounded like a car crash, and he hit just as hard. Dagger’s skin split open above the eye, and his left optic turned suddenly to static. The seven red lenses staring down at him overtook what was left of his blurry vision. He could barely make them out in detail, just the bleeding glow around him like watching the world through a rain soaked windshield. “You never gave a shit about any of it!”

His tone shifted. There was a human crack in the words that sounded foreign on the otherwise mechanical growl of his voice. Dagger felt it like a knife in his chest, wedging him open. Something else he wasn’t used to.

His lungs heaved with heavy breath. Voice wet and ragged. 

“You ever hear about the scorpion and the frog–”

Blood sparkled on chrome knuckles and Dagger’s hand came up on instinct to stop the incoming blow. The impact radiated down his arm but his fingers tightened and he held true. It might be the last time he’d ever feel that touch. Part of him wanted to remember. A fingertip brushed across the scarred metal of his hand and Dum Dum went still, like for a moment the rage fell way to something softer.

They were never very good at softer.

Dagger’s grip tightened suddenly, savoring the feel of him one more time before he sent his free hand flying into Dum Dum’s face and knocking him sideways.

He forced a smile tight over dripping red teeth. Wild as a dog. 

“Is that the best you got, tin man?”

*.*.*.*.*.*.*.*.*.*.*.*.*.*.*.*.*.*.*.*.*.*.*.*.*.*.*.*.*.*.*.*.*.*.*.*.*.*.*.*.*.*.*.*

Dagger scanned over the horizon, flat land dusted with the setting sun. He’d purchased the lot on a deal. Holding a man at knifepoint makes negotiations smoother–something he’d learned long ago. Twenty miles out and you’d hit Vegas, but it was quiet here and empty. Nothing but sun-bleached barren road, forgotten and neglected by anyone who wasn’t Raffen. He had no problem dealing with Raffen. They’d learn soon enough where they sat on the food chain. 

His eyes dimmed automatically against the golden light as he tried to picture the sprawling carnival set so clearly inside his head. It’d take time, years maybe, but it was doable.

He heard the dirt crunch behind him and turned. Even those blaring red eyes paled in comparison to the sun. 

“You ever imagine I’d go legit?” He asked as Dum Dum stood beside him, stretching out the cramps in his legs. The truck sat on a ridge a few feet away, a veil of dust filling scratches in the paint. It was a long drive out, but they were home.

He shook his head, tone flat. “I never imagined you’d live past thirty-five.”

“Well, I am a man of surprises.”

“Hard to figure, though.” Dum Dum took a step forward. “You finally choose to spend a fortune and it’s five miles of fucking sand. ” 

He knew Dum Dum didn’t share the same longing for the wide open. He watched him scratch at the vents of his cyberware, brushing out the dirt trapped inside. 

“You just ain’t picturing it,” Dagger said, determined. He threw an arm over his shoulder and pointed him toward the west. “That right there’s where we’ll have the stage. Good music, not that fucking laser pop electric shit.”

He heard a laugh at his ear, and turned to the right, pointing out an especially flat section of desert. “That’s where the haunted house will go. Behind it will be the coaster. Biggest one on this side of the continent.” He was grinning now. The structures were clear in his vision. It finally felt real.

“You sound like some shitty salesman.” Dum Dum quipped.

“Bite your fuckin’ tongue,” Dagger shot back with a playful grin. He walked a few steps over, leading Dum Dum with him, where he drew a line in the sand with the tip of his boot. 

“And this will be our door.”

“Our door?”

“Our trailer.” There was an innocence in his voice he couldn’t quell. 

Dum Dum looked at him, smile creeping over his lips. 

“I figure you’d prefer solid walls to a tent.” 

He examined it again quietly. The image in Dagger’s mind was so vivid, had been for a long time. Longer than he realized now that he was here, and it wasn’t the stage or the haunted house that made the bats in his gut fly wild. It was him. And it wouldn’t be the same if he was gone. Dum Dum stepped through the imaginary threshold and looked around, gazing at the promise of what might be. 

“Place is a fucking mess,” he joked, as if standing in the middle of a crowded room.

The bats fluttered through him gentle.

“Some things never change.” He joined him inside, surrounded by the shared daydream. His hand inched toward him, glancing off the edge of his fingers before a pinkie linked gently around his own. The rest followed like dominoes. It was the only time Dagger’s chrome hand felt like flesh again. Dum Dum’s grip tightened around it.

Some things never change.

Some things do.

“C’mon,” Dagger said, hardly more than a breath. “I’ll show you where the bed goes.”

[seijorhi]

So, in Maelstrom, Nai’s… eagerness… at the end. What was that stemmed from? As in. What made him do that at that exact moment, and not wait? Did he wish to be the readers first? Was he angry that she tried to run, and did that to simply hurt her? I know Vash wasn’t going to help if he happened across the scene, so what would he have done if Nai told him to join in? Would he have cared that the reader was in pain? Did… Nai care?

anger.

he's pissed that she'd leave him, that she wants to leave. they're family, they're made for each other – how could she try and sneak off as though that means nothing?

nai operates on the core principle of us (he and his siblings) vs. them (literally everybody else). i think i mentioned in another ask that yes he wants power, but he'd let july and all of no man's land burn if it meant ruling over the ashes with his family. they have the divine blood, it's their right, their heritage, it's what they're owed. the reader being a part of that is non-negotiable.

it's a lot of pent up anger and aggression and hurt and... well, he's been repressing a lot of other urges as well that he's suddenly more than free to act upon. he wanted to fuck her, he wanted to scare her and yeah, he wanted to inflict a bit of pain too (pain is, after all, an excellent teacher). he wanted her to break, which isn't to say that he doesn't care in his own very fucked up way, just that knives' version of love is... complicated.

now vash on the other hand would just adore wiping away her tears right before guiding her mouth towards his cock so he can fuck her face. he might frown and throw in a few half hearted admonishments, maybe tell his brother to slow down or be a smidge gentler, but make no mistake he's absolutely getting off on it. it's more than being complicit, it's wilful. if nai being mean and hurting her means she won't leave, how can he truly take issue with that?

(and doesn't she just look so pretty all teary eyed and begging?)

they'd both die for her, kill for her – knives would wipe the board clean if she so much as asked, but before anyone and anything else, she answers to her brothers.

[anticidic]

Back to your regular scheduled Beast angst in this next chapter 👀👌 might pull an all-nighter and post it at some ungodly hour like 4 am because I'm really vibing with this

If not, should be out tomorrow at some point at a more reasonable time!!

[thekuraning]

me when i get a brain blast at work about the fic chapter ive been stuck on

[vulpisnocturna]

give a read to my newly published story, Maelstrom -Kakumei Monogatari (A story of revolution)

SNS centred with Akatsuki, Kakashi and Shisui as the main side cast

Prologue is quite short, but I tend to keep chapters between 5k and 7k :)

[maelstrom007]

The Newcomer

From @ghouljams cod fae!au, Mal gets bugged by someone new.

Mal sat on the floor of their shop, large stone mortar and pestle between their legs as they ground madder roots for dyeing. Their mind was carefully blank, constructing the most neutral emotional state as possible, so as not to impart any one particular intent on the dye goods. In a lot of cases, Mal had to harvest and process things prior to knowing what they would actually be used for. This meant they’d had plenty of practice over the years in imparting as neutral an intent as possible on the goods they kept stocked.

The sound of the madder root slowly grinding into a powder against the aged stone was a familiar one, and Mal could pick out exactly when the powder was good enough by sound alone, going gradually from the popping and crushing of whole roots to the gentle hiss of smooth powder between ancient stones. But it wasn’t there yet. 

Mal felt a presence brush against the open curtains outside their shop, before there was a gentle knock at the door. They were in the zone though, mind blissfully blank, and felt no urgency to get the door. Afterall, the madder wasn’t finished yet. Large chunks still remained interspersed amongst the finer powder, which just wouldn’t do. 

By the time they were done, enough time had passed to cause the shadows to noticeably shift in the shop. They only felt a little bad at the prospect of having lost a customer, afterall their commission log stayed quite full these days. Cleaning up, Mal poured the fresh madder into its glass jar and found a spot for it on the large, over cluttered shelves along the wall of the shop. Preserved and processed dye plants from all over the world found their cozy home among these shelves. 

They felt the gentle brush of a presence against the wards of their shop once again, making them jump slightly. It felt familiar, like the one from earlier in the day, but that seemed unreasonable. Who would have waited this long? Witch could let herself in, and this felt different from that codependent pair, Love and Ghost. 

When Mal opened the door, they saw a handsome fae idly playing with the fabric of the exterior shop curtains. At the sound of the door he whipped around, as if caught with his hand in the cookie jar, and smiled sheepishly. 

“Sorry about that, the craftsmanship is just amazing I couldn’t help myself. Did you make these?” 

“I did,” Mal said, “are you the one from earlier?”

“Oh yeah, I didn’t mind waiting though, you seemed busy.”

Huh. “Are you looking to come in?” 

His smile brightened, “If you don’t mind. I’ve heard such good things about your work.” 

“You’re welcome in, for this transaction,” Mal said, opening the door wider and feeling the ward surround him like a bubble as he slipped inside. He looked around the shop with wonder, full to the brim with textiles, fiber, dyestuffs, and more. Seemingly forgetting they were there, he strolled around the shop gently touching and admiring everything on display. 

Eventually Mal’s patience wore out. They cleared their throat, losing their train of thought for a second when he swiftly turned his head, giving them his full attention. His eyes were a warm brown, almost yellowish in the afternoon light, and his gaze felt heavy with. . .something.

Quickly recovering, they said, “So, did you have something you were looking for?” Mal really wanted to say ‘What do you want’, but decades spent getting coached by friends on ‘social niceties’ taught them that that would seem ‘rude’. He joined Mal at the high counter top that doubled as a crafting and consultation station, resting his elbows against it and settling in. His eyes were even more brilliant up close. 

He sighed through his nose, pursing his lips in thought before saying, “No, not really.”

Mal’s eyebrows furrowed, “What?”

He shrugged, “There’s not really anything I’m looking for right now.”

“Then why did you come in? Don’t you have something you want? A new obscura, protective wear?” 

“Nope,” he said, popping the ‘p’. A small smile bloomed on his face, seemingly amused at their confusion. 

“Then why are you here?” 

He swung his arms open wide, once again taking in the splendor of the shop, “Like I said, I’ve heard such good things about you and your work, and I've peered into your shop once or twice while I've been out and about. I just had to come in and. . .”

Once again he dropped down onto his elbows, leaning over the counter slightly. His eyes quickly flickered up and down, before staring straight into their eyes, “. . .see what all the fuss is about.” 

Mal hummed, oblivious to the once over and took a look at the clock, “Well, I hope your perusal was satisfactory, the shop is closing soon. For future reference it would be helpful to have some kind of idea when you come in.” 

As the clock struck the hour, the ward that had bubbled around the newcomer constricted slightly and his eyes briefly flashed with shock and alarm. It wasn’t a dangerous pressure (yet), but it was uncomfortable and seemed to be pressing most towards the direction of the door. 

He flashed Mal a dashing smile as he walked backwards towards the door, aided by the ward to keep him from knocking anything over, “I’ll be seeing you around then.” 

He winked, and the door shut behind him with a satisfying click.

[wizardnuke]

holds your face gently between my hands. you are aware that essek is nonbinary right. like canonically. they/them pronouns have been used for them on multiple occasions he's a he/they. canonically. do you understand

[twistedtummies2]

A Few Upcoming Fics/OCs

Just so you all know, I wanted to create a little list of planned stories I have for “Twisted Wonderland,” which will introduce various OCs of mine. Keep in mind, these are not the ONLY TW stories I have in my head or plan to do in the near future, there are plenty more. These are specifically the “Chapter Stories” - similar in structure to things like “Friends in High Places” and “The Sinister Serpent” - which are made in a formula similar to the way chapters in the Main Story work. This is the order in which those stories will be published, and which OCs they will feature or introduce. “The Scarlet Pirate” - Chapter Story for James Killian and Smitty McCarthy (based on Captain Hook and Mr. Smee). Features Nakoda Spivak as a major supporting character. “Belly of the Whale” - Chapter Story for Maelstrom Baleno (based on Monstro); features James and Smitty as supporting players. “Defying Gravity” - Chapter Story for Theodore Hamilton (based on the Wicked Witch of the West); currently planned to feature Billy Geant as a supporting player. (I have not decided on what to do with Maelstrom as potential supporting player yet.) “Heart of Stone” - Chapter Story for Grit Gravelle (based on the Nome King); features Theo as a supporting player.  Sometime before “Defying Gravity,” I also plan to write a short story called “No Good Deeds.” This will be a sort of “Vignette” story, set during Beanfest (taking place at the same time as an earlier piece of mine, “Of Pirates and Monsters”), which will introduce both Theodore and Grit. I ALSO have plans for at least two “Event Stories,” at least one of which will likely feature at least one of my OCs. However, when these get published is entirely up in the air. One will be based around a racing-type event, with different students from Night Raven having control over different vehicles, inspired by a combo of the obscure live-action movie “Midnight Madness,” and the non-Disney cartoon series “Wacky Races.” (Might throw a little reference to “Mr. Toad’s Wild Ride” in there, too, we’ll see.) The title for this concept is still pending. At the moment, this Event will not likely feature any OCs. The other will be a St. Patrick’s Day special Event, which I currently plan to entitle “Wearing of the Green.” It is inspired by the movie “Darby O’Gill and the Little People,” and will feature a new OC antagonist: Bannor O’Brien, based on King Brian Connors from the source film. The only certainty aside from that with the story is that Malleus will play a major role; I may or may not include at least one of my OCs in the piece. If I do, I don’t know who it will be or what role they will play. PLEASE BE AWARE OF THIS: I have no idea when I will actually be able to properly work on, let alone complete, ANY of these projects. It could be a couple of months, it could be a whole year or more. Just know they are ideas in the works, and that this is the basic order in which my current OCs of note will be introduced. And again, also remember that there will definitely be other stories in-between things, of one sort or another. Just be aware that these are plans and OCs in the making. :)

[st0r-fruit]

I will not shut up about this

THE MALE CRUSH IS ROUNDABOUT GUYS,,,NIGEL BRAITHWAITE,,,,

I TAKE NO CRITICISM. END OF DISCUSSION !!!

(slash j)

HEY BESY8E OMHG

COYLD I REQUEST MAELSTROM WITH LIKE A SHORT MALE READER CRUSH??

hcs pls! omg ur wroting is lovely

|Gunnar Maelstrom With A Short, Male Crush|

a/n: aww tysm!! and omg it's been so long since i've written for this evil old man haha ty for this request! also, i myself am not male so i cannot give insight on the specifics of that :/ however this was definitely written with a male reader in mind!

pairing: professor gunnar maelstrom x male! short! gunnar's crush! vile teacher! reader

post type: headcannons

requested: yes!

word count: 0.5k

warnings: crimes!!! and evil men being in love with evil men!! also i made the reader a teacher also lol

being the new teacher at vile academy is no small feat

you deal w troublemaking students CONSTANTLY

+ remarks from other instructors about your style of educating

but there's always someone you can confide with

professor gunnar maelstrom

ever since shadowsan's betrayal, you were the next-best choice

you've been incredibly useful and diligent with your skills as a vile thief, but when it came to teaching the future of spies, you were still an amateur 😔

you have more of a direct style of teaching. though you excel in the topic of your learnings, it's more simple to do rather than to explain.

gunnar helps you with teaching students !! the two of you have many combined classes together!!

actually how he realized fell for you <3 he was already head over heels but just watching you

how passionate you were speaking about how psychology can be involved with your class

the determined and optimistic look on your perfect, kissable face

gunnar was drowning in your sheer brilliance

and at that moment he realized that you had him wrapped around your thieving finger

expect to get the Daily Remark™️ about your height

nothing to truly upset you but definitely snarky enough to make you get that cute look on your face

he'll never let you know but this man. has no idea. what on earth. he is doing. and that is a fact.

you're his first crush in most likely decades; him being to dedicated to the life of crime to have a love life of his own

he cannot flirt to save his life, but he's not nervous or anything around you! so expect him to ask you things and act a little...unusual

however this is the professor maelstrom when ISNT he a little unusual

i'm imaging it's just you both in the teachers lounge. it's dead quiet, you and gunnar doing your own things separately.

when suddenly and out of completely nowhere:

"do you have a preference for men, (codename)?"

just random, out of the blue little ways to get to know you like that CONSTANTLY when you're alone together

if you're uncomfortable with his personal questions he'll stop dw!!

ask him abt himself.....he loves talking (especially to you <333)

him gazing longingly across any room you're in

if any mission requires a teacher to go, he's insisting the two of you go

him doing psychological tests on you to pick apart your brain get to know you better !

please omg....ask him fun facts about sea creatures he'll pass away on the spot if he finds out you share a love for marine life as well

he's dreaming about taking you on an aquarium date but shh!! it's a secret!!!

everyone who hasn't been a vile agent for >2 years knows he's sweet on you

him being teased from the other teachers bc of this

he'll roll his eyes at them, but not deny what they're joking about

besides, you're worth it

you're worth everything to him <3

© BXTTXRFLYBXDDIE

[swordgrace]

𝐀𝐒𝐂𝐄𝐍𝐃𝐀𝐍𝐂𝐘.

༺ aemond targaryen x fem!reader.

SYNOPSIS: in the aftermath of rook’s rest, you seek aemond out to inquire about his wellbeing. instead, you find him somewhere else — somewhere unexpected. (set after S2 EP4).

༺ FORMAT: one-shot — not requested.

༺ WORD COUNT: 5.2K.

༺ WARNINGS: SMUT (mdni) , spoilers for s2 ep4, public sex / risk of getting caught, knifeplay, imbalance of power, rough sex, darkish!aemond, dom!aemond, p in v sex (unprotected), oral (f!receiving), fingering, brief tiddy sucking, groping, biting / marking, hair pulling, choking, fucking right in front of the iron throne, inaccurate high valyrian, brief dirty talk, lots of aemond’s inner thoughts, breeding kink if you squint, aemond is extremely possessive of the reader to an unhealthy degree.

༺ AUTHOR’S NOTE: to preface, I am working on requests, this just happened to make its way out of my brain before anything else did. This was inspired by the single shot of Aemond standing in front of the Iron Throne in the S2 EP5 trailer, you can tell how desperate I got as soon as I saw it. Anyway, I hope you all enjoy! There will be a Jace fic dropping tomorrow, too! ❤️

𝐓𝐇𝐄 𝐈𝐑𝐎𝐍 𝐓𝐇𝐑𝐎𝐍𝐄 — a seat of power constructed by Aegon the Conqueror in the aftermath of a bloodied war, forged from thousands of surrendered swords.

In the days of Aegon the Conqueror, it was said that the Throne was sometimes too high to climb, a jagged labyrinth of blades melded by dragon’s fire, a throne fit for any ruler. Men impaled themselves upon one another’s blades for it, turned against one another, endless betrayals and treacheries ensued all for the sake of the endgame, to see themselves upon the Throne.

Brother turned against brother — you didn’t expect anything less from Aemond, whose desire to exact revenge boiled just beneath the surface. The Battle at Rook’s Rest had proved a slaughter on all fronts, between the decimation of both Cole’s armies and the castle they laid siege upon, to the death of the Princess Rhaenys and her dragon, Melys.

Whispers spread through the Red Keep in regards to King Aegon’s condition, bones crushed beneath the weight of Sunfyre, who plummeted from the skies in a ball of fire. His flesh was scorched, half of his body melded to the Valyrian Steel armor he wore, burnt beyond recognition.

If they were to be believed, King Aegon was gravely wounded — and if a fatality ensued, who would then bear the mantle of King?

A restless dusk gripped King’s Landing as the surviving soldiers from Cole’s armies arrived at the city gates, King Aegon amongst the wounded. In what you considered to be a mass panic and hysteria, Maesters rushed to diligently attend to their King, who seemed to be meeting a simmering grave inside of his armor — it would be his tomb if they weren’t careful.

Merely a handmaiden and servant to nobility, the antics of your masters didn’t interest you — you were wholly preoccupied with your own survival and self-preservation, amongst other things. It was said that Aemond and Vhagar had swarmed the battlefield and come to King Aegon’s defense, but by the time they had, Aegon had been swallowed by dragonfire.

Part of you had difficulty believing that Aemond truly attempted to save his elder brother, given Aemond’s embittered sentiments. Your relationship with the Prince had transcended all bonds of propriety — and if anyone were to find out, they would likely have your head for sullying his virtue.

Nevertheless, as chaos swarmed around you, you knew exactly who to seek out. Queen Alicent had little desire to be hounded by handmaidens while her eldest son struggled to hang onto his own life, something you could understand. Instead, you made for Aemond’s chambers, the route embedded into your mind.

You sought him — all of him. His lilac hue, a maelstrom of forlorn emotions, and his silvery tresses, like cascading silk, embedded themselves into your mind. His cunning countenance and beguiled expression were like hot-iron brands cast onto your thoughts, tormenting you with each waking moment.

As you stepped closer to the Throne Room, no longer guarded by Kingsguard, you saw the great door ajar — no King atop the throne. You wondered if he would live, Aegon — a drunken, broken man who preferred his cups and whores over ruling — or if he would perish.

You knew who would sit the Iron Throne, should Aegon fall.

A heavy darkness had befallen the throne room, fitting for the many tragedies, like the gloom of a shadow haunting all who dared to enter. Curiosity gripped you as you stepped inside, a place well above your station, yet you wondered if there was anyone inside.

The doors remained shut, save for the one you slipped through, the gap slim. Flickering braziers provided some illumination to such a grandeur hall, but it seemed so dour and lifeless without the presence of the day, without subjects fluttering in and out. Instead, it provided an ominous sense of dread, as if luring those inside with dark omens and false promises.

A familiar crown of silvery tresses stood at the very center, before the throne — he didn’t need to turn around for you to know who it was. He seemed entirely unscathed by the battle at Rook’s Rest, hands carefully folded behind his back, posture poised and dignified.

Aegon’s dagger flashed within his right hand, clutched tightly at his side. You wondered how he had acquired the blade so swiftly after a tragedy — but you knew. You had always known of Aemond’s nature, of his restrained resentment towards his brother, the King of the Seven Kingdoms.

“Aemond.” Your voice reverberated throughout the throne room, carrying a fair distance as you closed the door behind you. The studded mahogany groaned in protest, yet bent to your will as it closed with a noisy thud. Admittedly, you were surprised to see him here, and not in the comfort of his chambers.

He didn’t move, rigid and still as you quietly approached, dresses sweeping across the smooth stone beneath you. His violet hues remained transfixed upon the Iron Throne, a throne that would soon be his, if fate favored him. So many swords, so much strife and conflict that forged such a chair — so much bloodshed.

Aemond often wondered what the weight of the crown would feel like upon his brow — and even then, he knew he would wear it better than Aegon ever could. He had stood by the wayside for far too long, learned in his studies and a talented swordsman, wondering if it would all have some reward, some payoff.

Now, his opportunity was swiftly approaching.

Whatever anger he’d often kept leashed, it had struck out, like the bite of a poisonous viper, sinking into its prey with all its bitter viciousness. It was the same tempestuous rage that had lashed at Lucerys Velaryon, and now it had struck his brother, Aegon the Magnanimous.

A stupid sobriquet for a stupid man — a drunken fool. Aemond would simply pass it off as an unfortunate accident, with Aegon carelessly stepping into the line of fire whilst tangling with the Queen Who Never Was. Swift decisions had to be made on his part, his brother a victim of such action.

Any silver-tongued words that would placate his Mother, he was prepared to let them fly. Aemond knew enough to know that the consequences would be slim, and those of true action and cruel intentions would take Aegon’s place — men like himself.

Soft footfalls fell across black stone, and you called his name again, like a siren’s song luring the sailor into deeper waters. “Aemond.” It was saccharine, dripping with genuine warmth that the Prince was simply unaccustomed to.

The unexpected lull of your voice broke his fixation, and he looked to you with a gaze full of desire. It was a farcry from the frustrated, despondent man you’d encountered days prior following the incident at the brothel. There was a newfound fire within his eyes, a confidence restored — a sense of triumph.

Admittedly, you were rather perplexed by this invigorated side to Aemond — that wild gleam within his lilac eye only seemed to grow in intensity as you approached him. “I heard the news of what happened to your brother,” You began, pondering his reaction. “You have my deepest sympathies.”

The admiration he had for you only seemed to blossom, knowing that you were simply keeping up appearances for his sake. Aemond’s mouth tilted into the ghost of a smirk, feigning melancholy despite the truth of his own actions. “It was a horrible thing, what happened to the King,” He uttered, glancing toward the throne. “I wish for his swift recovery.”

A facade was a mere understatement — you could almost taste the smug bemusement that rested within Aemond’s tone. The slight quirk of his mouth, the manner in which he spoke — his sympathies for Aegon were nonexistent.

“As any good brother would.” You replied, stepping closer until you stood before the Iron Throne, gaze falling upon the thousands of swords swarming the seat, blades of many shapes and sizes. You wondered about the people behind each sword — who swung it, what their lives must’ve been like.

A brief hum escaped Aemond, who observed you hawkishly as you approached, violet hue greedily drinking you in as he had many times before. You had stood so faithfully by his side, never admonished him for the brash actions taken against his family, never deemed him pathetic for what happened at the brothel.

He cared little for your station, little for your status as a lowborn — if he sat the Iron Throne, he could have whatever he wanted. It didn’t matter if you were a commoner, Aemond could envision you as his wife, a Queen — no longer bowing to the whims of greater men and women who cared little for you.

“Did my Mother dismiss you this evening?” Aemond questioned, digits tense around the pommel of Aegon’s knife — now his. Seeing as he was no longer fit to carry the weapon, it was only just that it pass to his brother, his next of kin.

“She did,” A gentle exhale escaped you, one that allowed you to maintain your composure. Being in Aemond’s presence seemed to make you dizzy with desire with each passing moment — not a new sentiment, but an intoxicating one. “I was coming to find you, to see if you were well after the battle.”

Shamelessly, Aemond became quite aroused at the thought of you wandering about the Red Keep with the single-minded desire to see him. His blood ran hot after the battle — the surge of adrenaline did not lessen in your presence.

His jaw tensed slightly as he appraised you, taking a step closer, brazenly closing the distance between you both. He could smell your perfume, the warm bouquet of flowers and a touch of honey. “How thoughtful.” His voice dropped to a low purr, dripping with the first inklings of lust.

Your breath hitched, words turning to ash upon your tongue as your fingers curled into your dress. Aemond enticed you in ways that no man had before — and he saw you, a woman beneath the gowns of a servant. The hammering of your heart within your chest had stirred something powerful — your want for him consumed you like a tidal wave.

Before you could utter his name, he descended like a starving wolf to kiss you, open-mouthed and bleeding lust. You shivered, wanting to coax him into returning to his chambers before things became heated. His hand dropped to seize your hip, hauling you closer to him until no space was left between your bodies.

You reciprocated his kiss, able to hear a faint growl of approval building up within his throat. It was fiery and hot, with little concern of who might see you. Aemond was growing emboldened, brazen knowing the power he now held within his grasp.

“We should return to your quarters,” You whispered, a strained whimper tearing past your lips as Aemond kissed your jaw, sucking at the flesh of your neck. “Aemond, we can’t — not here.” Your breathy pleas fell upon deaf ears — what better place to claim you than before his new throne?

“We can,” Aemond murmured, pushing your tresses aside as he claimed your throat, laying waste to your flesh in his rabid kisses and hungry bites. “The rest of the Keep is preoccupied.” His reassurance was threadbare at best, but you were beginning to slip off of the deep end, fingers clawing at his tunic.

“What if someone sees?” Fear trickled into your voice, a subtle fright that Aemond found to be enticing. You worried for your own skin — he could understand that. A moan escaped you as Aemond nipped at your jugular, squeezing at your hips.

You failed to comprehend that he would protect you, shield you if needed. He did not need to justify his obsession for you, just as Aegon never offered any justification for his nightly whore hunts. Aemond seemed quick to soothe your worry, hand clasping at the nape of your neck.

“Then I will have their head,” His delectable purr dropped an octave, scratching the itch within your head. “You needn’t worry, ñuha dōna. I can do whatever I wish.” Aemond assured you, a great fire burning within his lilac hue. The leather of his eyepatch concealed the listless sapphire beneath.

He only needed to serve himself — his family cared little for him, and the world was often against him. He looked forward to facing Daemon whenever the time came, should he be bold enough to challenge him. Aemond dismissed it all — Aegon, his mother, Criston Cole — the only thing that mattered were the both of you.

Aemond’s streak of possessiveness had grown into something uncontrollable, a festering desire to keep you close, spiraling into obsession. You were many things to him, many things he coveted for himself.

After a moment of hesitation, you decided to make things tempting for Aemond, loosening the bodice of your dress. His breath hitched, the noise subtle if one wasn’t observant enough. He seized the back of your head once more, hungrily pressing his lips to yours, consuming you in another heated kiss.

A dour portrait of dusk hovers around the Red Keep, its shadowy tendrils slinking into the throne room. Only moonlight and dying braziers are your guide, and Aemond is at his prettiest whenever he’s touched by the silvery rays. It strikes his narrow visage, paints his silky tresses in pale light.

He is closer to a god now than he is a man — fortunately, you were willing to return to religion if it meant that Aemond was who you worshiped. As much as you liked to believe it was the foundation of your relationship, he thought of it alternatively, the roles reversed.

Your digits slip beneath the overcoat he wore, marred by speckled dirt and brimstone. His broad, sinewy shoulders are concealed by his tunic, and he seems vastly overdressed compared to you, still wearing your servant’s clothes. Aemond had gotten you a dress to wear with him before — you never wore it otherwise.

There is a certain intensity in the way he kisses you, as if each embrace might be your last. In the aftermath of a battle, you understand such sentiments, given the fate of the King and the Princess Rhaenys.

A growl reverberates within the depths of his throat as he pries his mouth away from you, gesturing toward the flight of obsidian steps that ascend toward the Iron Throne. “There,” He uttered, more of a command than a suggestion. “Lay down.”

A shudder rolls down the length of your spine, followed by an onslaught of goosebumps that snake across your flesh like a fever. Your stomach churned with anticipation, filling with the sensation of sloshing heat, burning brighter as each moment passed.

Without question, you step toward the throne, noticing the sharpness of some blades, the dullness of others. You find your footing upon the last step, feeling Aemond stalk closer. The rustling of his belt makes you shiver, only to find the steely chill of the Conqueror’s knife pressed against the dip between your shoulder and neck.

Aemond closes in behind you, caging you against his chest, like a predator swarming hapless prey. His narrow nose brushed along your soft tresses as he dragged the tip of the knife from your shoulder to ribcage. “Shall I cut this from you?” He uttered, digging the Valyrian steel into the fabric of your dress.

Swallowing the growing lump within your throat, you brace yourself for the bite of the knife, for the unruly tear of fabric, but it never comes. Instead, Aemond’s mouth pressed vigorous kisses against your neck, hand seizing you by the throat.

“Ao sytilībagon naejot nyke.” Aemond purred, feeling you turn within his grasp. Desire oozed between you both, an onslaught of carnality soon to follow. His lilac hue flickered over your countenance, drinking in your beauty with unrestrained rapture. You belong to me.

From what little High Valyrian you’d learned in the time you’ve been with Aemond, you strung enough of the sentence together to know what he meant. “Iksan aōhon.” A soft whimper emerged from between your parted lips, noticing the way his pupil dilated with amorous intent.

I am yours.

A flame of obsession roared within his gaze, enough to burn you alive where you stood. Aemond reveled in your submission to him, drank in your devotion — a devotion that would prove fruitful, should he ascend the throne. The tip of the knife prodded into your sternum, and you absentmindedly leaned forward.

Aemond captured your mouth once more, laying claim to you — his paramour. There was nothing sweeter than your desperate mewls and reciprocated passion, the succor of your mouth, the saccharine scent of your perfume.

The both of you descended to the floor, icy and stony as it prodded into your back. He knelt between your legs, gaze momentarily flickering between the shadow of the Iron Throne and your mesmerized visage. Aemond kissed you again, nipping at your lower lip before rucking up your skirts, pushing them toward your hips.

With one knee, he bullied his way in between your thighs, breaths heavier, wrought with anticipation as he lowered his mouth to your collarbone. In one smooth tug, he loosened your bodice, wrestling with the coarse material as he buried his face into your silky skin.

The throes of passion filled the air — short gasps and labored pants accompanied by the constant shuffling of fabric. “Aemond,” You moaned, watching as he bit the leather of his glove, removing the garment in one jerk of his head. Flesh to flesh, he moved to drag his digits along your weeping slit. “Aemond.” Urgency crept into your voice, strung-out by need.

“Hm,” His cajoling hum sent shivers down your spine, heat sloshing around within your stomach. Arousal pooled between your thighs, nectar sticky and gathering swiftly. “What a delicious gift you’ve given me.” Aemond uttered, slender digits continuing to stroke at your cunt, his pace agonizingly slow.

Lifting his fingers to his lips, he let them rest upon his tongue, gathering your juices to taste. A satisfied grunt of approval escaped him, one that made you meld into the floor. It was an uncomfortable surface, yet any thought of discomfort dissipated the moment Aemond’s lips pressed against the inside of your knee.

Instinctively, your hands flew toward his crown of silken tresses, digging in with an ironclad hold. Aemond released a low hiss of satisfaction, pressing hot kisses along the inside of your thigh. He dipped lower, breath fanning across your cunt.

His tongue raked hot embers across your aching core, delivering a series of deliberate strokes that were sure to make you squirm. Aemond preferred to savor you, consuming every drop of your nectar as if it were the finest of wines.

“Aemond!” Your voice rose above the cacophony of lewd noises ensuing below, noisy enough to reverberate throughout the throne room. It worried you, the potential of someone finding you with the Prince-Regent between your legs, but pleasure began to outweigh logic.

His name felt sweet from your mouth — if Aemond had it his way, he would make you say it a thousand times over. The sharp bridge of his nose buried itself into your mound, cock twitching within the leather of his breeches.

Another breathy moan left you, stomach pooling with a rush of molten heat. It oozed between your legs as your arousal fell upon the Prince’s tongue, much to his delight. He did not waste a drop, mouth traveling wherever he pleased, lapping at every inch of your cunt.

The Iron Throne overshadowed the both of you, a jagged mess of swords surrounded by dusk. Slats of moonlight trickled in from the stained glass above, falling across his visage, violet hue sparkling with lust. His lips greedily kissed at your clit, causing your hips to lurch forward.

“Look at me.” A pointed demand spoken from an edged tongue, one that commanded your attention without wavering. With a strangled moan, you turned your head to him, furthering the fire within your belly. Your doe-eyed stare locked onto him, lips falling apart.

As your eyes flickered over his poised features, your hand tightened within his tresses, coaxing him closer toward the apex of your thighs. Aemond wasn’t sly at suppressing the delight he felt in that moment, greedily lapping at your cunt.

You watched, enthralled by the ministrations of his mouth, the flick of his tongue, the tantalizing efforts made to draw you back in. His features were carved like marble, by the steady hand of a sculptor — godly, in the best way possible.

Aemond hoped that your blissful cries would alert the guards — perhaps, all could bear witness to his carnal delights, know that you belonged to him and him alone. His lips crawled to a sluggish pace, made only to torment you as he peppered feather-light kisses against your clit. The lack of pressure nearly made you wretch, digits curling into a fist.

Every fiber of your being felt as if it had been set ablaze, washed within the fires of his affection. He knew your body well, as well as he knew his own, tongue dipping to have a taste of your core as it lightly jutted against your entrance. You whimpered, the noise pathetic and pitiful, yet overwhelmingly eager.

“Please,” You moaned, breathy and clawing for some shred of release, canting your hips forward. Aemond retreated, just enough to leave you writing upon the steps before a sly chuckle reverberated between your thighs. His torture of you was playful and intimate, intended to make you beg. “Please, Aemond!”

How could he deny you when you sounded so sweet?

With a soft hum, Aemond returned to devour your cunt, drink from the nectar that oozed between your legs. His hands situated themselves against your thighs, nails digging in enough to leave behind traces of angered crescent marks.

The heat between your legs intensified, arousal stinging your bones, body bent underneath Aemond’s will as he lapped at your core. His lips were accompanied by his spindly digits as two fingers prodded at your entrance, feeling the crescendo of your whimpers before sinking themselves into your tight cunt.

Squelching intermingled with that of brazen pants and your myriad of moans, a cacophony of lust that permeated the throne room. It felt sinful, to defile the steps of a seat of power, but that shame swiftly contorted into bliss — it felt good.

It felt good to be desired, for Aemond to feel not an ounce of regret or remorse for being with you or for the carnage his actions wrought. The darkness that festered within his eye only grew, once a flickering shade, now growing into something sprawling.

At last, his lips pursed around your clit, stimulating that sensitive clutch of nerves. Your back arched from the stone, thighs rattling like falling leaves as he brought about your ruin. His digits viciously pumped in and out of your cunt, preparing you for the act that was to follow.

His tongue lashed across his lower lip, not wasting a drop of what sweetness you provided him with. Aemond’s mouth hastily abandoned your cunt, yet the curling of his fingers seemed to make up for the loss of pleasure. You felt his wet lips purse around the pebbled peak of your breast, suckling like a greedy babe.

Aemond’s senses drowned in desire, cock throbbing within his trousers, desperate to be inside of you. It wouldn’t be much longer now as he bit and kissed your chest, letting the work manifest as love bites, evidence of his carnal want for you.

“I need you, Aemond. I need you inside of me.” The suddenness of your words left him reeling, a snarl stirring within his chest as his teeth gnashed into the soft flesh between your breasts. You longed to feel his cock lay waste to your cunt, for him to fuck away his anger, his frustration.

Hastily, his hand flew to the ties of his breeches, loosening the threads of leather. You grabbed the front of his tunic, enough to effectively grab his attention as you pulled him in for a hot kiss. Passion bled through, and you could taste yourself upon his tongue as it danced with yours.

The warmth of his cockhead prodded against your folds, already slick with your cum and his own. It was messy, an entanglement born of desire, of the will to possess one another — a claim eternal. Aemond’s hand snaked toward your hip, the other keeping himself afloat before he snapped forward.

His cock invaded your cunt without any sluggishness to it, the deliberation gone entirely. A wild shimmer glistened within his eye, a domineering edge that seemed to wrestle with itself. Aemond wanted to submit to you, but in the wake of Rook’s Rest, adrenaline and a desire for power simply wouldn’t allow it.

As he fucked you like a hound, as Aegon had colorfully put it, Aemond could see you seated beside him, a crown upon your brow, Queen of the Seven Kingdoms. A commoner, crawled from dirt and from nothing, into his arms — into a seat of power that none would dare challenge.

Fantasy consumed him, making him mad with lust. He wanted to crawl beneath your flesh, reside there, hear your heart hammering within your breast. He seemed pleasantly surprised when you claimed his mouth, your tongue advancing past his parted lips.

With your skirts having fallen to the swell of your hips, you hitched one leg around him, hand clawing at his back, between his shoulders. “Aemond,” You moaned, overwhelmed by his barrage of erratic thrusts. His stamina was something to witness as he kept a rather vigorous pace. “My King.”

A low growl stirred within his throat, a stark warning not to continue with your current line of thought. Aemond bit at your lower lip, prompting you to moan into his mouth, but you surprised him again when you reciprocated. Things were intense, far more fiery than they ever had been before.

Battle made him hot — such a sensation wasn’t aided by your presence, intensified tenfold. With Aegon wasting away inside of his chambers, steel melting into his flesh, swarmed by flocks of Maesters, Aemond felt no remorse — none at all as he fucked you before the Iron Throne.

He felt no remorse when he ordered Vhagar to burn his brother, he felt no remorse when he brought you into his bed — and he would feel no remorse when he ascended the throne and made you his Queen.

His cock furiously battered away at your cunt, the lewdness of flesh and intermingled breaths being the only sounds that mattered. That lilac hue of his studied your countenance, the devotion and rapture that rest upon it, your complete and utter joy. Aemond had been blessed with the loveliest creature — you.

The stretch you felt as Aemond invaded your nethers was a pleasant one, your walls tight around his length as he continued to fuck you. Face to face, chest to chest — there was no room left for deception, nowhere left to turn to. With a groan, Aemond kissed you yet again.

“Kesan mazverdagon ao ñuha dāria.” I will make you my Queen; he growled into your ear, biting at the shell, the act enough to make you whimper. He filled your cunt with his cock, the only one that it would ever take. In the heat of the moment, he bit at your neck, hand gripping your thigh so hard that it was bound to leave bruises.

Darkness swallowed the hallowed halls — braziers flickering out completely, leaving only moonlight. Even through the silvery haze, Aemond’s face remained a picture of living perfection, his brow creased with concentration.

The fervor of his pace began to slow, cock throbbing with an onslaught of arousal, one that flooded his body with waves of bliss. He wasn’t neglectful of your needs, swiftly placing a hand between your bodies, thumb rubbing circles around your clit.

Heavy footfalls of guardsmen resonated from outside of the sealed doors, a nightly patrol, prompting you to shiver from worry, but Aemond did not stop — and he wouldn’t. His blazing eye bared down upon you, glistening with the sheen of lust, of obsession, a man starved of the love and devotion he so desperately chased.

Your lips felt swollen, a byproduct of Aemond’s biting, of the many shared kisses that had turned into hunger. You were ravenous for him in ways that you had little knowledge of, scraping the surface of what desire truly meant.

Silky, pale tresses fell through your digits as you threaded them within his hair, gripping it in fistfuls as you continued to kiss him until every wisp of air was stolen from your lungs. Aemond did not relent, continuing to adopt a rhythmic pace of fucking you, cock halfway out before he thrust forward again and again.

As the both of you approached the precipice, falling into a white-hot abyss, you could hear him murmuring something in High Valyrian, strings of sweet praises and compliments. His thumb continued to circle your clit even after you had your release, milking his cock with an onslaught of your nectar.

Aemond grunted, forehead nudging against yours as he snapped forward one final time, cock sheathed inside of you as he found a warm place to spill his seed. The recklessness of it was of little consequence to him — an herbal tea could remedy it, yet the thought of filling you with an heir became tantalizing.

Not yet — not now.

If his seed were to take, it would sow discord across his house, and there was enough of that already. Aemond huffed, gathering his composure as your whimpers dwindled into soft pants. His claws sank so deep into you, talons wrenched into your heart, your body, everything.

He placed a kiss upon your brow, a subtle gesture that reminded you of his lingering duality. Aemond pulled himself out of you with an onslaught of stickiness, a mess that would only be remedied by a long soak in the bath — something he would need you for.

Your chest felt tight, both from exhilaration and the intensity of it all. As you adjusted your skirts back into place, Aemond gently coaxed you to your feet, pressed close against you as he stared at the throne. “Perhaps, once I ascend, we will have to make use of the throne.” His salacious purr made you shudder.

“There is no law forbidding us from acting upon that now,” You challenged, and Aemond had to restrain himself from acting upon such a lascivious impulse. For as coy as you could be, you were just as lustful as he was at times, a quality that he greatly adored. “Your Grace.”

As much as the teasing title seemed to provoke him, Aemond grabbed your hips, lips twitching into his familiar smirk, a near-permanent expression. “Aemond,” He corrected, pressing a kiss against your jaw. “For now, I will need assistance with drawing a bath.”

The Throne’s harrowing shape cast its shadow as the both of you abandoned the dark halls and into the light of Aemond’s chambers.

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