#with a sapphire eye

[notyour-valentine]

There is a playlist on Spotify called "you are in love with Aemond but your Queen is Rhaenrya" and if that's not going to be me for the rest of the show

[nymphagrim]

CULT OF THE LAAAMMMMBBBBB all my babies, the lamb and bishops in the Sapphire Eyes AU I made here together cuz they're so cool and slay <3

[hoosbandewan]

EWAN MITCHELL as AEMOND TARGARYEN House of the Dragon S2E3 - "The Burning Mill"

[endless-ineffabilities]

sapphire-hearted (a miniseries)

Aemond Targaryen x f!reader

series synopsis: the reader, Aemond's closest friend and clandestine love, discovers the depth of his involvement with Alys Rivers. She is determined to cut him out of her life, but he has other ideas.

themes/warnings: jealousy, infidelity, angst, smut!! (18+), possessive arse Aemond, Aegon is comic relief (and King), reader is just as fiery and relentless as Aemond, toxic relationships, marriage is used as a weapon, the worst proposal ever (and the best)

taglist still open! simply comment here or on the latest chapter.

main masterlist

part one 🔹️ part two 🔹️ part three 🔹️ part four 🔹️ part five 🔹️ part six 🔹️ part seven 🔹️ part eight (finale)

[lauraneedstochill]

Aemond Targaryen + tumblr posts that are definitely about him part 2 (and one bonus gif about him and Aegon!) original posts: x, x, x, x, x, x, x + inspo / part 1

Aegon II Targaryen + tumblr posts that are definitely about him part 1 / part 2

[myladysapphire]

His Sapphire Princess (IX)

After the night in the brothel Rhaenyra is married to Laenor Velayron to protect the birth of her child. who in the years to follow is the only one of Rhaenyra's children that is believed to be his, she is loved by all in the red keep, even queen Alicent adores the girl, so when Rhaenyra proposes a marriage between Aemond and Rhaenyra's daughter Visenya, Alicent happily agrees.

The children having been best friends in their youths are more than happy to be wed but when the incident at drift mark occurs things change, will it be for better or worse?

word count: 2,455

CW: angst? some fluff (like they reunite and don't hate each other and decide to start over), tensions, refrences of past SA, not proofread!

Fem!oc x Aemond Targeryen

Masterlist | series masterlist | previous part | next part

disclaimer:  i do not own any of claim any of the A song of ice and  fire characters, all rights belong to GRR MARTIN, all characters are his except for my OC

a/n i hate this, but it's kind of a filler chapter anyway

Aemond

Aemond had been both eager and nervous for her return.

Though counting down the days, planning on how he would greet you, he also was scared.

He know she felt ignored by him, betrayed by how he had just stopped replying to her letters. Ignored her name days, ignored her completely.

But that was not entirely true.  He had wanted so badly to reply, writing letter upon letter, though some were just mindless scribbles. But not once did he find he wrote a letter worthy of her, worthy of the emotions he felt. He needed space and he had shown he needed it in the worse possible way.

He had hated how he knew some version of her, a guarded version. Her letters expressing less and less, over time just mere updates of her life before stopping altogether. And he hated that the version she knew of him was the scared little boy he had tried so hard to get ride of.

The version of Aemond he had gotten ride of, in all ways but with her. He wanted to be the old Aemond with her, but hated that he did. It was why he needed the space, the time to heal, the time to become the man he is today.

But as he stood in the training yard, staring at her as she talked to him, so ddiffernt, so cold.

He knew he made a mistake.

She was so different, she had changed, and not just her personality.

But her looks also. Gods she was the most stunning and beautiful woman he had ever seen, he had always thought it impossible for her to become more beautiful.

But her beauty was clouded by the look in her eyes, the anger, the hurt and the loneliness.

She looked so alone, even as she walked out the courtyard with her brothers, laughing. She same old melodic laugh that could capture a room. The loneliness ceased slightly when he looked into them, as if she was finally being seen.

He understood. There eyes always talked to each other, expressing their true emotions, it why he knew his eyes mirrored hers, but they also showed another emotion, regret.

Regret for reading your letters time and time again, annotating them as if they were quotes from his favourite novel. Regret from the stack of unsent letters he kept in his bedside draw.

Each filled with his thoughts. Most mindless scribbles, unfished letters ending with angry scribbled out words as words escaped him, as  fear filled him.

He had tried to write of the events in his life even detailing his fights with Ser Criston, his rides with Vaghar, the books he read. And yet he could never send them, fear of her seeing his liefe and not understanding why he needed the space, or fear that he would see the darkest parts of his mind grew as the years went on. The sweet kind boy she had once new fading, and a cruel, vengeful man taking his place.  

He had once longed to be a protector, her sworn sword, doing good in her name. now…now he revelled in fear. He loved how the woman would run at the sight of his sapphire eye, a sight he knew deep down she never would. He revelled in revenge, revenge by going to the brothel, the place of his hurt, and burning it.

It was ruthless, but the second he had done it, he felt free, healed.

And yet fear still gripped at him, fear of wheat you know thought of him.

Fear that she would not accept the new him, but as he had started at you he felt like the old sweet Aemond was still in there somewhere, but only for her, his Sapphire.

Watching her sway away he knew he had limited time, this week was the first week of their official courtship, but the week after they would begin the moon long celebrations for their wedding.

Celebrations were they would spend day after day, hour after hour together being the perfect couple.

And he didn’t want it to be an act.

He had returned to his rooms, opening his bedside draw, but instead of reaching for her letter he reached for his own, and realised what he wanted to do.

He waited, two days. Two days of agony.

He had somehow hoped those two days he would be able to approach her, talk to her. But now, all he could was watch her. Watch her spend day after day in someone else’s company

Whether it was one of the tens of ladies begging for her favour and chance at becoming her lady, or her brother Jace, or even Aegon.

Gods he had forgotten about Aegon’s obsession with her. He knew they wrote, Aegon often bragging about it. With Aegon telling him about her, their little jokes, their shared secrets.

Not that he was jealous, no. He was not jealous of how Aegon seemed to act as if they were betrothed to each other. For two days they seemed to walk everywhere together, sit with each other at dinners. Though her eyes were often searching for Aemond’s, Aegon’s eyes were always firmly planted on her. And whenever she wasn’t with him, he was like a lost pup, waiting for her to appear.

Those two days, though never alone they often found the other staring, their mouths would being to form words that they were never able to form. And so he finally built up the courage and sent her his letters.

Visenya

When she had received Aemond’s letters she did not know what to expect.

They had appeared on her dresser, all 112 of them. Though some were scrapes of paper with random thoughts scribbled across them. One just one word repeated, 110 times.

Her name written, again and again, in the same neat, perfect handwriting Aemond had always had.

She then realised what this was, an apology.

She found the first letter he wrote that was left unsent, and she felt her heart break.

Dearest Visenya,

I am so sorry, I can not say why it has taken so long for me to only now reply.

Prepahs it was the guilt.

I never should of come to Winterfell, You had been kind and sweet, but I fear your kindness is unwarranted. I do not desire pity, I regret coming that night, I regret allowing you to see me so weak and scared. My whole life I have sworn to be your protector, your sword. And that night as I cried in your arms I felt like a small child, I felt smaller than when I did when Lucerys tore out my eye. And I hated it.

I have tried to look past it, look at it in away where I do not come across a whiny little boy and I am nothing but ashamed.

I had hoped to write you, bragging of my successes and yet all I can do I wallow In self pity at how I acted that night.

It matters not that I bested ser Criston for the first time, or how often I ride Vaghar.

For all I can think about it the look of pity you gave me.I do not need nor want your pity, my sapphire.

You gave me a place to stay and a place to cry, but I shall make it clear to you that the Aemond you saw that night is long gone. And shall never return. He can never return, not for you not for anyone.

So sweet, I shall not answer your request to come to Winterfell, I need the space, the time and so do you.

I fear distance is what we need, though we may hate it, I need to become Prince Aemond, and not just scared little Aemond, the boy who lost is eye, the boy who cried in your arms.

Yours, whether I say it or not,

Aemond

Dearest Visneya,

It has been near six moons since I last wrote you, and you are writing less and less.

I have been cruel, I know. I have ignored you in the favour of bettering myself.

I do not deserve you, or your kindness even still.            

You seem to be doing well, a fact I envy not too see. But I myself am not.

I miss you more and more each day, I find myself looking for you ate very turn. And yet it has been over a year since you were at the red keep.

So much has changed, Aegon and Heleana are to wed soon, I have started training with a real sword.

I no longer wake in sweats from that night.

So much has changed and yet I have so little words to say, I hate it!

I used to have all the words in the world for you, never once fearing how you viewed me. For I knew how you viewed me then.

And now I fear you will judge me.

Hate me.

Resent me.

I fear I have become a stranger, and yet I have a dozen unsent letters all addressed to you, read and read time and time again your own.

I know you, and I fear you.

Fear your opinion of me, how you view me.

I fear-      

Most of his letters just ended, frustration finding him far to quickly, some were just mindless words and phrases.

Visenya,

I miss you I miss you I miss you I miss you I miss you I miss you I miss you I miss you I miss you I miss you I miss you I miss you I miss you I miss you I miss you I miss you I miss you I miss you I miss you I miss you I miss you I miss you I miss you I miss you  I miss you I miss you I miss you I miss you I miss you I miss you .

Some were hateful, words said in anger, at how she still cared.

Dear Visenya,

Stop writing me.

How long must I ignore you to realise I want not to know you as we once did.

How am I to become the man you desire we spend all our time writing each other, stuck in our silly little heads!

Then gossip filled the red keep, gossip that Cregan had asked for your hand.

Visneya,

please, my sapphire, I beg of you do not marry him!

Your mother bids it but I do not!

Please.

And then her letters had stopped and he left once last letter to her.

Visneya,

Please, don’t stop writing me!

I know I have not been a friend to you but a stranger but without your letters the world has stopped.

I now I am a hypocrite, a hypocrite who cannot find the words. Who never has been able to speak his feelings, but show them.

I know not of a gesture to prove I want you till, I crave you and I need you.

but please, I cannot live without you, knowing you, please.

Please!

forever your Aemond.

Gods, she thought, he had to been hurt. Though not by her, and she had resented him for it. Resented how he had opened up to her, and then abandoned her ignored her for so long.

She knew it was hard for, he was never one for words. Gestures yes, but words? They always frustrated him, he could never formulate his feelings and yet this, the scribbled erratic thoughts and letters, unedited and rushed. They showed so much but also so little.

She has spent the whole day reading those letters, seeing no one bar her maid delivering her meals. And had it not been for her mother coming to grab her for dinner, demanding her presence, she would have sat on her thoughts all day and night.

But as she was sat next to Aemond she realised she would have less time to think on what Aemond’s gesture meant and what it meant for them.

“Aemond” she greeted, flipping her hair to the side as she sat.

“Senya” he greeted in response, eyes firmly on her.

 She squirmed in her seat, unsure on where to start. “Senya” he said again, capturing her attention, as they made eye contact some tension left her body.

“why?” she asked, its all she could think of, why?

He coughed awkwardly, clearly not expecting this conversation now, “I was never one for words, Visneya. But gestures, have always been something I excel at.” He moved his head closer to her, their conversation too private for prying eyes. “ I never should have ignored you, I know realise, it hurt us both, more than I ever thought” he shifted in his seat “seeing the look in your eyes when you arrived and realising I had made a mistake”

She nodded, urging him on, as she began to plate up her food.

“I focused solely on myself, I was selfish, but I won’t lie to you, my sapphire”

My sapphire, she liked that.

“I have become selfish and cruel, I have become a man who craves fear, but not from you, never from you”

“then what do you want from me?” she asked softly, before nervously looking to make sure no one else was listening to their conversation. “you did not want companionship from me, you ignored me for years on end, and yet by the end of the moon we will be wed!” she took a breath “if you have truly become selfish, and cruel, how do I know that it is for your betterment? And how will I know that you wont ever make me fear you?”

“because I became that person, so that I never have to feel fear again, feel the fear I felt at Driftmark, at that… at that brothel” she sighed, taking her hand in his “ I want to be your protector, it is all I have ever wanted, and how could I become that if I remained that scared, naïve little boy?”

Everything he was saying was true, but it also made her realize she did not know him anymore.

She breathed in “perhaps we should start over? Get to know one another again?”

He nodded, “I would like that”

next part

Taglist

@cathy1514@iiamthehybrid@melllinaa@aleemendoza2425-blog@cassandra1995-blog1@deltamoon666@aelora-a@ryiana@isa-beenme@unique7676@adriennepoison@idontknow12346hello@taragryenmoony@blossomedflowerofluv @violet-potter @flrboyd @theanxietyqueen17 @zillahvathek @dark-night-sky-99 @apollonshootafar @leavesmealobe @deeeeexx @winter-soldier-101 @bunbunblogsblog

to be added to Taglist

[neytui]

How would you feel if you get a compliment for the first time in 300 years

[hotdaemondtargaryen]

EWAN MITCHELL TALKING ABOUT AEMOND AND THE HALLUCINATION SCENE OF DAEMON BEING AEMOND.

[plutonicbees]

why does nobody in the yj98 team have brown eyes. can they vote on who gets the colored contacts each week bc 5 people on the team with blue eyes is too many i fear.

[sapphire-writes]

Teacher's Pet (modern!HOTD)

read the second installment Lessons

pairing: professor!Aemond x student!Reader

summary: A night out during the spring semester of your senior year of university leads to a run-in with your former professor.

warnings: NSFW 18+ (explicit sex, unprotected, fingering, oral fem-receiving, overstimulation, titty sucking, praise, degrading language) mature themes, power imbalance

word count: 4.5k

note: I got a saucy little anon saying y'all needed a student x teacher fic from me, and to celebrate 3,000 besties I had to deliver!! thanks for all the love and support, you all mean the absolute world to me! Excited to keep creating for you all, ilysm 😘

You and your best friend Sara Snow grew up together, and spent nearly every waking moment attached at the hip. You know those friends you have that are more like siblings than friends? Sara was more like your twin. So when she stayed in your hometown going to Winterfell State, and you traveled to Citadel University, it was like you’d lost a limb. 

Which meant you had to visit each other as frequently as possible. Sometimes you’d travel back home and visit Sara, and other times she’d come to you. Sara preferred visiting you, she loved the wine bars and clubs of Oldtown.

“The vibe is just different here,” she says, sipping her wine, “I love it. Very chic.”

You’d chosen a new wine bar to explore this time around. It’s a super cute place, with low lighting and a chalkboard bar and tables, with chalk for drawing laid out on all the tables. Sara, being mentally 12 years old, had already drawn a veiny cock in front of you. You swipe it away with your hand.

“Rudeness!” she says, pouting as you destroy her artwork. 

“Stop drawing dicks,” you tell her and she narrows her eyes.

“You’ll have to kill me,” she teases, eyes flickering toward a blonde girl who passes on her way to the bathroom.

“You’re staring,” you tell her and she sticks her tongue out at you.

“She’s been staring at me for a while,” Sara tells you, grinning, “I for one, plan to get laid tonight.”

“I love that for you,” you tell her, smiling. 

“This guy at the bar, totally checking you out right now,” Sara says, sipping on her wine. 

Your face flushes and you turn your head slightly to look. Sara makes a noise of disapproval, setting her glass down.

“Don’t look,” she whispers, pushing some dark hair over her shoulders. 

“I’m not,” you hiss, tilting your head.

“You totally are,” Sara accuses.

“What’s he look like?” you ask.

Sara’s dark eyes scan the man, you watch them move seemingly over his form.

“Tall, platinum blonde, like seriously, must have an extensive hair care routine,” she says, nodding, “We love that, love a man with good hygiene.”

You snicker, living for her analysis. 

“He’s lean, but like you can tell he’s muscular,” she glances at you, “I know you’re a hand whore, and I can tell he’s got nice hands.”

“You’re so rude,” you accuse, blushing because she’s right. 

Sara scoots off of her seat. 

“C’mon, we’re going over there,” she tells you.

“Okay,” you agree and she links your arm pulling you from your seat.

You finally get a look at the guy and your stomach drops.

It’s your professor.

Not this semester, but last semester. Westerosis Literature taught by Professor Aemond Targaryen. A great class, hard as hell. He worked you fucking hard for that A. You mean to tell Sara but you’re still in shock as you come face to face.

“Hey there,” Sara says, smiling sweetly, “I couldn’t help but notice you checking out my friend, thought you’d like to buy her a drink? Maybe keep her company while I visit the loo?”

Aemond’s eyes rake over you, clearly recognizing you. You blush furiously, mouth gaping. 

“She likes Sauvignon Blanc,” Sara tells him, motioning to the bartender, “I’ll be back, take care of my girl.”

And with that, she flounces off toward the restroom.

“I’m sorry professor,” you tell him, nervously playing with your fingers, “If I had known it was you I wouldn’t have let her drag me over here.”

“Something tells me your friend would be hard to deny,” he tells you as the bartender comes over, “A glass of Sauvignon Blanc please, and I’ll take another gin and tonic.”

You flush as the bartender nods, getting your drinks. 

“She’s very persistent,” you tell him, nodding in agreement and casting your eyes to the floor. 

Aemond cannot keep his eyes off your glowing cheeks, the way your lashes flutter against them as you avert your gaze. 

“I can just take this back to the table,” you say, grabbing the glass of Sauvignon Blanc he paid for. 

Aemond shakes his head.

“You shouldn’t drink alone,” he tells you, patting the empty chair next to him, “Indulge me for a bit, will you?”

You look back towards the table you shared with Sara, though she has yet to return to it. She’s probably chatting up that girl she had her eyes on. You bring your gaze back to Aemond.

“Okay, if you’re sure you’re comfortable with that,” you tell him, slipping onto the stool. 

“Because that paper was cruel and unusual punishment, even for you,” you tell Aemond through a laugh.

You’re on your third glass of wine, the hours ticking away as you converse with your former professor. Sara has made herself scarce, though she’s been texting you. 

“You did rather well if I recall correctly,” he says, with a sly smile on his face.

You roll your eyes, taking another sip. You’ve always been a good student. 

“Only because I dedicated a week of sleepless nights to that assignment. Seriously, you should be paying for my therapy after that,” you tease, leaning your cheek against your hand. 

You’ve gotten closer to him during the night, your knees brushing against his thigh, heel clad foot mindlessly rubbing against his calf. You’re not sure if it’s the wine or the ease of the conversation that has you feeling so comfortable around him. 

“Send me the bill,” he jokes back, a soft chuckle rumbling in his chest. 

“I’ll put it in your mailbox tomorrow,” you giggle, taking another sip, “You know, I was really disappointed when your Essosi Literature class was full this semester.”

“Is that so?” he asks, sipping his gin and tonic, raising an eyebrow at you. 

“Now I’ll never have the chance to take it,” you continue, “Unless you teach a summer course, otherwise your popularity has thrown off my entire plan of study.”

“My apologies,” he insists, grinning at you, “My popularity, you say? I thought I was a hard ass.”

“Oh you are,” you assure him, “But that doesn’t mean you’re not popular.”

“How so?” he pushes, a long finger dancing around the rim of his empty glass.

Your eyes follow the circle he traces, up the veins on the back of his hands. How have you never noticed how sexy his hands are? You’ve never been this close to him, his lectures always held in one of the large lecture halls on campus rather than the more intimate classroom settings. You wet your lips, desire pooling in your belly before you meet his eyes once more. 

“You know,” you tell him, unable to keep the secretive smile off of your face, “I mean, you must know.”

“Know what?” he murmurs, staring at you with such intensity it makes your thighs tremble. 

You brush a strand of hair behind your ear, chewing on your lower lip. This will be your last glass of wine, you feel too giddy, too at ease in the presence of your professor. You’re going to regret this little flirtation in the morning, you can feel it in your bones. But the alcohol is liquid courage, and you’re a senior after all. Once this semester is over, you’re out in the real world, done with Citadel University. 

“You’re popular with the ladies of campus,” you tell him, “and the men, and everyone else.”

Aemond quirks an eyebrow at you. 

“Oh really?” he asks.

“Of course, I mean you’re the youngest tenured professor, you are a hard ass grader but your lectures are so enticing, and it helps you’re easy on the eyes-”

You choke as soon as the sentence escapes you. A freudian slip if you’ve ever had one. Aemond’s mouth quirks up into a wolfish grin.

“I’m so sorry,” you tell him, covering your mouth.

“It’s alright,” he assures you, but you’re off on a nervous ramble.

“That was seriously so shallow of me and inappropriate to say-”

“Y/N,” he says, resting a hand on your knee, “It’s alright, really.”

You laugh nervously, enjoying the feeling of his hand on your leg. You can feel the heat it emits through your tights. His hand is huge, and you lose yourself in the moment wondering how it might feel against the bare flesh of your thighs, you neck-

“I should see if Sara texted,” you tell him, reaching for your phone.

You’re greeted by a dropped pinned location and a text from Sara saying she went home with the blonde from earlier. Lucky bitch. 

“And she’s left me,” you say aloud. 

“Everything alright?” Aemond asks.

“Yeah, yeah. This has been great,” you tell him, “Thank you for keeping me company, but I should probably get home, call an Uber.”

“Let me drive you,” Aemond insists, “It’s no problem.”

You bite your lip. You shouldn’t do this right? He’s your professor, your teacher. 

“Are you sure?” you ask and he nods.

That’s how you end up in the passenger seat of his mercedes, the dark leather seats warm and inviting. You know you’re staring as you watch him drive, long fingers gripping the wheel, the other hand resting on his knee. 

As you pull up to your apartment, you swallow the lump that has formed in your throat. You almost want to invite him up. He watches you closely, as though sensing the words swimming around your head. No, you're not doing this.

“Thank you, professor, I appreciate it,” you tell him, leaving it at that. 

“I think I embarrassed myself big time Sara,” you tell her groaning on the phone. 

There wasn’t much time to debrief the night before Sara had to head back to Winterfell. You brought yourself to the campus coffee shop, settling in to complete some homework while you had some free time. 

You’d been staring at your laptop screen, and the empty word doc that was pulled up, for the better part of an hour before deciding to call Sara. 

“You did not,” she insists, “I don’t care if he is your professor, he was totally into you.”

“He was just being polite.”

“I know polite, and I know eye fucking. Professor Big Dick was the latter,” Sara insists.

“Sara!”

“You know I’m right,” she tells you.

“Fuck,” you tell her, placing a hand against your forehead.

“Look, if you’re that worried about it, go talk to him,” Sara says, “Drop by his office or something, bring him a coffee and tell him you’re sorry.”

“You don’t think that’s weird?” you ask, nervously chewing your thumb.

“I think it's weird you didn’t suck his dick when he drove you home,” she answers honestly.

“Bye Sara,” you tell her.

“Love you too bitch,” she says, making a kissing noise into the receiver. 

You decide to take Sara’s advice, bringing Aemond a coffee as an apology for your behavior. You walk through the building; it’s quiet with no classes, not many people pass you on your way to the faculty offices. Most doors are closed, but you see Professor Targaryen’s door is ajar, signaling his presence. 

You’d been to his office one time before, dropping in for office hours the previous semester when working on your midterm. He grilled you hard, and you left feeling frustrated but with a strong desire to please him. You always did crave academic validation. 

You knock on the door, greeted by Aemond’s gentle timbre telling you to enter. He’s seated behind his desk, a book open on his lap. He’s wearing gray slacks, a simple button down shirt and his silver hair is pulled away from his face in a loose, low bun. His violet eye lights up as you enter, blue sapphire prosthetic winking in the afternoon light that filters through his window.

“I don’t mean to intrude,” you tell him, closing the door behind you.

You walk further into the room and place the coffee cup on his desk.

“What’s this?” he asks, closing his book and placing it on the desk. 

“An apology from a tremendously bright student?” you tell him, smiling nervously.

“What do you need to be apologizing for?” he asks, picking up the coffee, inspecting the order on the side.

You chose black to be safe, not knowing this is how he preferred his coffee. Aemond takes a sip, humming appreciatively. 

“I just really didn’t want to make you uncomfortable, I know I was a little tipsy, and I hope I didn’t cross a line or anything,” you tell him. 

Aemond stands, picking up his book and walking over to his bookshelf. It’s stacked with books, classics and other contemporary novels. 

“You’re very thoughtful, Ms. Y/L/N,” he comments, sliding the book back where it belongs. 

“Thank you, professor,” you tell him.

“If anyone should be apologizing, it’s me,” he tells you, walking in front of his desk.

He leans his back against it, resting his palms on the edge. 

“Why would you apologize?” you ask, tilting your head with curiosity.

“Well, if anyone’s responsible for making our interaction inappropriate it's me,” he tells you, jutting out his sharp chin, “I’m your professor, you’re my student.”

You flick an eyebrow up at him.

“You were my professor,” you tell him, “I’m not in your class anymore.”

“Still, that power imbalance doesn’t just go away,” he insists, eyes meeting yours.

There it is again, that look. The one with such intensity it makes your knees weak. You can see his tongue poking his cheek as though he’s contemplating something. Your breath catches in your throat and you nervously wet your lips. 

“I’ll make sure it doesn’t happen again,” you tell him, “No more flirting with strangers at wine bars for me.”

“I’m not a stranger,” he says.

“You know what I mean,” you tell him. 

The air between you is warm and inviting. It’s like the bar all over again, you can feel some invisible force pulling you closer to him with every word you exchange. It’s so effortless, this playful banter, you fall into it easily with him. You have to stop, have to stop before you cross another line. 

“Anyway, take the coffee,” you tell him, “and let me know if you decide to run that summer class, cause I’ll totally take it.”

“You’re graduating,” he teases.

“They’ll let me hang around, I can be very persuasive,” you insist, kicking yourself for the insinuation.

Aemond lets out a breathless laugh. 

“I’m sure,” he says smirking. 

You stare a moment longer, appreciating how his tall, lean frame looks resting against his desk. Your gaze drops to his hands again. His hands. You blink, steadying yourself, but he’s definitely noticed the mental lag you had. 

“Goodbye, Professor,” you tell him, “Have a good rest of your day.”

You turn walking toward the door. You reach for the handle, pulling it open slightly before a hand reaches above your head, pushing it shut. He keeps his hand on the door as you turn around to face him. 

“Don’t leave,” he murmurs, bringing his opposite hand to trace a line down the side of your face, before cupping your cheek.

Your breathing turns ragged as his thumb strokes your cheekbone. He’s so close you can feel his breath on your lips, and smell his cologne. His hand strokes the doorframe, following into down until he reaches the handle, flicking the lock into place. 

“I thought we weren’t doing this,” you whisper, hands clenched into fists at your sides. 

“Then why’d you come here?” he purrs.

“I was being nice,” you tell him, as he brings his other hand to your waist, pulling you against him.

“Such a good girl you are,” he whispers and then his lips are on yours. 

Your hands fly to his neck instinctively, pulling him as close to you as possible. His mouth feels so perfect against yours, the mingled taste of spearmint and coffee sharp on your tongue as you greedily drink him in. Your hands fist the back of his shirt. 

You’re practically gasping against his mouth as his hands move to cup your ass, before he bends his knees to lift you up by your thighs. You wrap your legs around his slender waist, continuing to kiss him all the while, moaning as he slips his tongue into your mouth. 

He turns, walking you away from the door and placing you on the corner of his desk, hastily brushing his arm to move loose papers and knick knacks out of the way, sending them crashing towards the floor. Not that either of you care. Your hands work quickly, tearing at the buttons on his shirt, revealing his chest. Your nails rake down his abs, reaching for his belt. You’re desperate and you don’t care, you need to feel him inside you. 

Aemond removes his lips from yours, laughing breathlessly at your eagerness before swatting your hands away. 

“Let me,” he murmurs, sinking to his knees in front of you. 

His hands travel up your thighs and you squirm against his touch as they disappear beneath your skirt. You feel his dexterous fingers loop through your underwear pulling it off of you. You assist him, bunching your skirt in your hands revealing your dripping cunt to him.

“So wet for me,” he purrs, “Are you always like this?”

“Fuck,” you mewl as his tongue flicks out, tasting the wetness between your folds.

He hums with appreciation, as though tasting a fine wine. Aemond pressing his face into you, nose nuzzling against your clit, sending spark waves of pleasure dancing upwards toward your navel. His tongue swirls around your center, dipping into your tight heat. 

“Did you sit through my lectures with your pussy dripping like this?” he asks, voice rough with desire. 

You squirm against his mouth as he wraps his lips around your needy clit, suckling gently and flicking his tongue around the sensitive nub. Your hand flies to the back of his head, foot digging into his shoulder blade. 

His hand squeezes your inner thigh roughly, before slapping the tender flesh causing you to cry out. 

“Oh gods,” you moan, head tilting back in the throes of pleasure. 

“I bet you did,” he answers his own question, smirking at you. 

He moves his attention away from your clit momentarily, dragging a finger through your folds. You can’t see his hands but you can picture them, his long, skilled fingers as you feel him sink one into your tight heat. 

Your spine curves, pushing your pussy closer toward his face as his finger searches for that special spot inside of you. 

“Oh fuck, fuck!” you cry as the pad of his finger pressing against the spot inside of you that paints stars behind your eyelids.

Aemond glances up at you, watches as your brow creases with pleasure, and your mouth forms a perfect O shape. 

“There we go,” Aemond purrs, wasting no time and slipping another finger inside of you. 

Every crook of his fingers has you trembling against him, his pace relentless as pressing against your g-spot. He brings his attention back to your throbbing clit, increasing the pleasure building in your abdomen, tingling up your spine. His tongue laps away, little kitten licks against the sensitive button drawing you closer and closer to orgasm with each flick. 

Tears well in the corners of your eyes and your nails dig harshly into his scalp, not that he seems to mind. Aemond simply groans against you, the vibrations only adding to your pleasure. 

“I’m gonna come,” you pathetically whine, shaking against the desk.

“That’s a good girl, c’mon,” Aemond insists, slipping a third finger inside you.

The wet slurping of your soaked cunt echoes in the room as he never relents the stokes of his fingers, the flicking of his tongue. It’s all too much and the tightly wound coil of pleasure inside you snaps with a strangled sob. As your high washes over you, all the tension in your body releases. 

Only Aemond doesn’t stop.

“Professor,” you moan, feeling the wave cresting inside of you again.

His fingers are soaked, easily sliding in and out of your greedy cunt. 

“Please, please, it’s too much,” you beg, slumping against the desk.

“But you’re such a good girl,” he insists, “You deserve one more, give me one more.”

“I can’t- holy shit!” you squeak, as his lips suck your clit.

You’ve never been treated like this before. One orgasm-if you’re lucky-has been your experience with your past lovers. But you can’t deny him as his fingers work their magic, his tongue swirls around your puffy clit. 

“Yes you can,” he purrs, and of course he’s right as you feel yourself thrown over the edge of pleasure once more. 

“One more,” Aemond insists and you feel tears leaking down your cheeks.

“Professor I can’t-” you tell him, and he shushes you.

“One more, on my cock, huh?” he asks, unbuckling his belt, “Yeah, you like that idea baby?”

Your eyes light up, and you push yourself on your elbows to watch as he reveals his impressive length. Sara’s always told you guys who are lean are usually well endowed. Boy was she right. Your eyes widen taking in his length, as he grips it in his hand, pumping it. You bite your lip, watching precum leak from the reddened tip.

“I changed my mind,” he says roughly, dragging you toward him like a wolf with its prey, “Two more, you’ll give me two more.”

Your eyes are round as he drags his cock through your folds. You wiggles as he drags the tip over your clit, up and down, using your arousal as lubricant. 

“You’ll cum just like this,” he says, continuing the movement against your sensitive clit.

You’re squeaking and moaning embarrassingly, wriggling like a trapped kitten as he holds your thigh tightly with one hand, while the other continues to rub the head of his cock against your clit. Your third orgasm builds quickly and crashes over you just as powerful as the first two, leaving you gasping for air. 

“So pretty like this,” Aemond murmurs, bringing a hand to the back of your neck to kiss you. 

You whimper against his mouth and his hands move to your shirt, breaking the kiss only to pull the material off of your head. You reach around to unclip your bra, leaving your breasts free and hanging heavy with need. Aemond brings his attention to them immediately, his erection pressing against your thigh as he circlies your nipple with his hot mouth, sucking on your breast. 

You’re babbling uncontrollably at this point as he switches, suckling at your neglected other breast before aligning his cock with your soaked entrance. 

“You sure?” he asks, hesitating for a moment. 

“I’m on birth control,” you manage to gasp, “I’m sure, please, please.”

Aemond grins wolfishly before sinking into your wet heat. His jaw slacks as your pussy greedily accepts him, warm walls holding him firmly inside as he stretches you out.

“So fucking tight,” he murmurs, slowly dragging out only to thrust back in, balls slapping against your ass. 

Your head is full of cotton at this point, unable to form coherent thoughts as he plows into you. His hands rest securely on your lower ribs, as your own hands grip the back of your thighs, allowing your legs to bend at the knee. Your back is arched off of the desk, head thrown back and mouth hanging open in pleasure. 

“You like that?” he asks.

You can’t find it in you to reply, answering only in a breathy moan. Aemond merely chuckles.

“Awww did I fuck you stupid, baby?” he teases, causing you to whimper.

He feels so fucking good, sliding easily in and out of your tight walls, the sounds of lewd, wet slapping filling his office. It’s filthy, it’s erotic, and it’s so so bad of you but you can’t help but love the position you’ve found yourself in. 

“I think I did,” he continues, “Poor, silly, baby thought she could handle it her professor fucking her.” 

Desire and humiliation tingle up your spine, spreading across your body like wildfire at his taunts. The pitch of your moans increase as he brings his fingers to play with your clit. 

“She’s all cockdumb now,” Aemond croons, squeezing your breast.

He releases your breast to bring a hand to grab at your chin.

“Look at me,” he demands, and you do so with tears in your eyes.

The head of his cock bullies against your sweet spot, rubbing the tender spot with precise devotion. 

“You’re going to cum all over my cock,” he tells you, “Soak my cock like the good little girl you are.”

He keeps his hand on your face, forcing you to look at him as he plows into you and your fourth orgasm rolls over you. It’s intense, almost painful with the pleasure it brings you as your walls clamp down against his cock. 

“Fuck, baby,” he moans as you tighten around him and he chases his own release.

“I’m going to fill this pretty pussy up,” he tells you, and you feel him spill inside of you, warmth flooding through you. 

You stay connected for a moment, relishing the feeling of him inside of you. You’re incredibly sensitive from the overstimulation as he begins to pull out, moaning slightly with the loss of contact. 

Aemond grabs some tissues, gently wiping down your inner thighs and beginning to clean you up. He glances up at you as you attempt to find your bearings.

“Holy. Hell.” you tell him, breathing heavily. 

Aemond smirks.

“Was that too much?” he asks, a note of concern in his voice. 

You shake your head. 

“That was amazing,” you tell him, shyly looking away. 

You grab your bra, putting it on and reaching for your shirt as he stands. You clip your bra, pulling your shirt over your head as he hands you your discarded panties. 

“Thanks,” you tell him, standing on shaky legs.

You nearly fall over putting your panties back on, Aemond’s arms catch you, helping you stand. 

You chuckle nervously. 

“You sure you’re alright?” he asks, his arms still holding you.

“Yeah,” you assure him, “I should go though.”

“Of course,” he tells you.

You move toward the door but pause, turning to look at him. He’s just finishing buttoning up his shirt.

“Was this…was this a one time thing?” you ask.

Aemond looks up at you.

“It should be,” he tells you.

Your heart flutters in your chest, and a smirk tugs at your lips.

“That’s not an answer,” you tell him.

He smirks at you.

“No, it isn’t,” he agrees. 

You hold his gaze a moment more. 

“I’ll see you around, professor,” you tell him, unlocking the door and leaving his office. 

You walk quickly, heat pounding, desperate to get back to your apartment and call Sara. You hop on the campus bus, holding tightly to the railing, trying to ignore the dull ache between your legs, and the warmth of Aemond’s cum that is still trickling down your thighs. 

Boy are you fucked. 

note: I hope you liked it my loves! Again, thank you, thank you, THANK YOU!! For all your support and love. I'm truly so lucky to have such amazing support on this site and a place to post my silly little stories. I LOVE YOU SO MUCH!! until next time besties 😘

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[huramuna]

beware the sapphire peak - chapter 1.

aemond targaryen x wife reader x alys rivers a period piece, set in 1902.

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wordcount: 2.6k

you're a young, american lady who is an aspiring author. you are wooed by a mysterious and charming savant from england. swept off your feet, you're whisked away to his family's ancient estate, Dragonstone Hall. but with all stories, secrets are hiding around every corner, and your suitor is no different. a crimson peak inspired mini series. (this will likely be about 3 parts)

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content: smut, angst, gaslighting, unhealthy relationships, manipulation, alys in her girlboss gatekeep gaslight era, no use of y/n, afab reader, pre-established alysmond, this isn't going where you think it is (it might be), infidelity-ish, polyamory

to death we dance - salem's heir • the flower duet - sabine devieilhe & marianne crebassa

“You were nearly late, miss,” one of the butlers murmured in your ear. “The music’s just started.” 

“There is a quote about being fashionably late, isn’t there?” you mused, taking his gloved hand as he helped you up the steps. 

It was a banquet for your father’s business, a celebration of having struck gold (oil) and turning a huge profit. Or, in your words, an excuse for the high and mighty to get plastered and dance the night away. Your fist clenched upon the train of your dress– a lovely evening gown in eggshell white, with hand embroidered lilacs and lavender petals on it, spindling up your bodice like a trellis. Your usually somewhat unruly hair was tamed into a braided and pinned up-do, with an expensive broach poked into the bun of hair in the shape of a falling wisteria branch. 

Your father was the first to greet you, peeling away from the gaggle of portly oil barons. He kissed your cheek. “You look lovely tonight, my dear. A vision in purple, I must say.”

You smiled back at him. “Yes, well, you all but wringed my arm to get me to attend– and you shall hold up your end of the bargain… right?” you hummed softly, batting your eyelashes. 

He let out a small sigh, nodding. “I will send your manuscript to the publisher– the editor in chief is here tonight, if you’d care to mingle. Amongst… many other eligible bachelors, I might add.” 

Your father had spent the better part of the last three years gently trying to pair you up with a suitor for marriage. He was a patient man, as he had droned on about so many times before, but his patience was waning. You were twenty-one years old, and apparently, that was a ghastly sight– to be twenty-one and unmarried with no promising prospects. 

Of course, you couldn’t care less. You were more focused on finishing your manuscript in that time– you had a knack for writing and reveled in works of fiction that tended to lean to the darker sides of things. It had finally reached a point you were somewhat happy with, and had convinced your father to chat up his well connected colleagues so you may be able to send the first draft to a publisher.

The price for that, however, was to entertain suitors. At a gala. Dressed and primped like a Thanksgiving turkey. It was all so dreary to you– the ladies stared at you and whispered, citing you as the dreary one. 

Breaking away from your father with a tiny smile, you began to mingle– as well as you could, anyhow. You were awkward and a bit sheltered and it showed. However, once you said who your father was, dollar signs would flash in the eyes of the men you were speaking with, and they would push forward in the conversation. You weren’t ugly by any means and could become a good wife to some young entrepreneur– but you didn’t want that.

You were about fed up with it all three hours later, your nails clinking against the glass of champagne you were nursing for the better part of thirty minutes. Your look of slight annoyance managed to stave off any other wanton suitors– until another man approached you. You had exchanged some glances with him during the night, but you didn’t recognize him. He was tall, exceedingly taller than any of the other men there. His blonde hair, so pale it was almost white in hue, was cinched at the nape of his neck in a clean ponytail, falling between his shoulder blades. He was in a custom-fitted three piece black and green suit– you could tell from how perfectly it was hugging him, in all the right places.

A familiar heat came to your cheeks as you watched him saunter over to you with an intent in his pale blue eyes– eye? One of them, you noted as he came closer, was slightly off-color from the other and moved a bit slower. Likely fake, you thought. The light casted over the planes of his face, chiseled as it was, illuminating the slightly raised, puckered skin near the fake eye in a distinctual scar. He looked just like the perfect inspiration for a protagonist in one of your novels– or mayhaps an antagonist. He seemed to skim the line between the two in appearance alone.

Curious.

“My lady,” he greeted as he finally broke the air of silence between you, his arms placed behind him in a very calculated manner. “Are you enjoying yourself this evening?” he asked then, a brow perked. His accent wasn’t American– that you knew for certain– likely something European. 

“As much as I can, sir,” you responded coolly, despite being caught slightly off guard by his sudden and overwhelming presence– a dark cloud in a perfectly tailored suit. “I hope that the…” you cleared your throat, trying to sound a little more confident than you likely were. “The… event is to your liking.” you mustered a smile, diverting your gaze to your champagne, hoping there may be the secrets to being a good conversationalist somewhere within the bubbles.

He chuckled, the sound low and husky. It caused a shiver to go up your spine. “The event is well and fine, my lady. Are you… the proprietor of the gala tonight? I wouldn’t expect a beautiful thing such as yourself to plan something like this.”

You glanced up at him beneath fettered lashes. He was complimenting you and insulting the party at the same time. “No– I am not. I’d never choose such… dreary musicians for an event like this. They’re playing for a wake rather than a party– that would be my father’s doing.” you slipped it into the conversation, that this was your father’s party, trying to gauge if this handsome stranger was after what all of the others were.

Surprisingly, his expression, smooth and cool with the barest hint of a smile perking at his naturally upturned lips, didn’t change. “Dreary,” he repeated, “Melancholic, gloomy, monotonous, vapid– all good words to describe the state of affairs.”

“You have quite the expansive vocabulary, Mister…” your voice trailed off, an inadvertent way to ask for his name.

“Targaryen– Aemond Targaryen. And you?” he reached his hand out to shake yours – how incredibly formal– as you returned your own name with a wide-eyed stare.

“Targaryen. As in… the ancient bloodline? Descended from dragons, close to royalty, Dragonstone estate Targaryen?” you asked, mouth slightly agape. From what you knew of them, they were as close to the height of English royalty, real royalty, as there was in the current year, 1902. Their wealth alone, minus all of the titles, made your father’s look like a pissant trust fund. 

“The very same. You’re familiar with my family?”

“Ehm– familiar, more so I’ve heard of you all. Your family’s name comes up quite often in my father’s social circles. And I am quite nosy.”

“And what do you think?”

“About… your family? Mr. Targaryen–” 

“Call me Aemond.”

“Aemond– I don’t really know much besides the height of your prestige– and your family’s estate, Dragonstone. My father brought me back some photographs of it from his trips over the pond. It’s quite beautiful.”

“Your father brought you pictures of our home?”

“N-not just yours! I collect photographs of old estates, mostly ones from Europe. I like to use them for inspiration for my… stories. I’m a writer– a novice, mostly.”

“A writer? Have you published anything I might know?” 

“Oh, God no–” you laughed, covering your face slightly with your hand. “I’ve not yet been published. I actually sent my manuscript to… or will be sending one to a publisher soon. Hopefully.”

“What do you like to write?” he asked then, leaning a bit closer to you as if he was actually enjoying conversing with you. “Romance? Children’s fables?” he teased softly, his one eye gleaming. He was quite handsome, you thought.

“I like horror– mysteries, gothic fiction. I’m quite enamored with the… macabre and weird,” you admit. “I hope that doesn’t frighten you.” 

Aemond grinned, his teeth shining, canines pronounced against his thin lips. “Oh, yes, it does frighten me. But, all good horror stories should frighten their readers, yes? I expect you’re a fan of Vampyre? Perhaps Dracula?” 

“Both are good. My favorite, however, is Frankenstein. Mary Shelley is a genius. The Castle of Otranto is also wonderful and the pioneer of the genre. I remember trying to read it when I was younger and being scared of the dark hallways at night. Later on in life, those dark hallways enthused me enough to write about them– hence my… fascination with old houses.”

“Old homes certainly do have their fair share of secrets, don’t they?” he paused, straightening his lapel slightly before leaning back in towards you. “And do you believe what they say? That Mary’s husband wrote it and published it under her name?”

Your brows knit together in slight irritation. “Of course not. Why would he need to do such a thing? I hope you don’t mind me saying, but men already have enough advantages as is– publishing under a woman’s name instead might be considered a disadvantage.”

“Will you be publishing under your own name?” 

You blinked, taking a sip from your champagne. It was something you considered and went back and forth upon. “I haven’t decided. I have a pseudonym ready just in case.”

“Do tell– so I know what name to look for on the shelves within a year.” 

God, was he ever charming– and without even trying, really. He was well-spoken with a voice that was soft and almost whispery. It made butterflies bubble in the pit of your stomach– now that was a feeling you weren’t familiar with. “Dorian Gray.”

“Cheeky woman.” he mused. “Fancy a dance, Miss Gray?”

“... I suppose I could be swayed.”

–

Your dance together, to say the least, was a success– it started month’s worth of courting after. Aemond took you on the most splendid nights out, wining and dining you like you were a gorgeous, interesting debutante. It was exhilarating to say the least and made you feel… truly wanted– especially since his family was exceedingly wealthy, your father’s wealth couldn’t have attracted him. 

He took you to the theater, out to wondrous restaurants, and bought you various gifts like jewelry, writing supplies and outfits to wear when you went out.

It all felt very much like a dream to you– something beyond your usual, weary routine that had hardly ever changed since your mother died when you were eight years old. You’d recused into yourself then, the dark hallways that scared you so fiercely just before her death now seemed welcoming. You thrived in the dark, like a moth. 

But now, you felt something more akin to a butterfly, bathing in the sun’s light. 

It wasn’t a great surprise when Aemond asked your father for his blessing to marry you. Your father, who had harped you for years to get married, was suddenly apprehensive. 

He pulled you aside, arm around you. “Do you like this boy, dear?”

“Y-yes, father– very much so.”

“I’ll be honest, sweetheart. I’m not exactly keen on letting my only daughter go off with… some man–” 

“He isn’t just some man, father! He’s a Targ–” 

“Don’t interrupt,” he chastised firmly. “I’ve had my people look into his family further– it’s a whole mess, issues with succession, backstabbing, incest, the whole nine yards,” he took a measured breath. “But I’ve heard nothing but good things about… Aemond. But… you’d be so far away. You’d be off living in the annals of England, a whole boat’s ride away.”

“This is what you wanted, father! For me to marry, for me to be happy! This is the happiest I’ve been in… so long. You must see that?”

The creases in your father’s forehead relaxed as he regarded you for a long moment, before turning to Aemond, who was waiting patiently off to the side. He let go of your shoulder and walked to your beau, staring at him sternly. “Will you treat her right? Give her everything she deserves and more?”

Aemond perked up slightly, rubbing the side of his forefinger with his thumb in a seemingly nervous gesture. “Of course, sir. I’ll give her everything I have and more. She will be regarded as a Lady– the Lady Targaryen of Dragonstone Hall, and she wouldn’t be treated with any less respect than a Lady deserves.”

Your father’s gaze narrowed, taking it all into careful thought. “... very well. You have my blessing, son. But, one whiff of even a tear from her eye on your account, and your nads are forfeit. I may not be as well-off as your family, but I’ve got a lot of friends in a lot of places.”

– 

The marriage was a quick affair, as your father, and now Aemond, knew you had no patience for pomp and frills. Aemond gave you a beautiful ring with an absolutely gigantic sapphire inlaid in the center, citing it as a family heirloom from centuries past. Your father saw you off onto the boat, bawling his eyes out. You’d never seen your father cry– not once. 

As husband and wife, you both agreed to wait to celebrate your wedding night until you arrived in England at his family’s estate to your marital bed.

The trip overall was a little under a week’s time upon a luxurious liner, where you both enjoyed champagne and each other’s company. You craved your husband, and he craved you in the same, but you each wished to keep your agreement intact. But it was increasingly hard, as you held one another close each night and his need for you was clearly pressed to your lower back.

Dragonstone Hall was a few hours' carriage ride north of the port and was nestled upon a high-ridged cliff. It was as gorgeous as the pictures had depicted, even moreso. It was ancient, imposing against the skyline and mingling to the clouds, where sea birds and ravens alike swirled above the towering watch towers that were supported by stone walls with vines grasping to them like lifelines. 

It was gorgeous, gothic and most definitely haunted– a perfect place for a woman of horror such as yourself. 

Aemond helped you out of the carriage, a hand placed upon your waist as he guided you beyond the gates. Your eyes were wide with wonder, taking in the scenery like a breath of fresh air. Tears threatened to spill over suddenly, as you were just overwhelmed with everything going on. You were married to someone you loved, who loved you– and were the Lady Targaryen of Dragonstone Hall. 

“Something wrong, my love?” Aemond whispered into your ear, his lips tickling your lobe.

“N-no– I’m just… very happy.”

He wiped the tears away with the pad of his thumb, clearing your vision. You glanced up at one of the windows on the third story of the castle. Someone was staring back at you.

A lady. Her hair was red, her skin almost translucent. 

You must’ve been imagining it, surely. Looking to another window, another visage appeared.

Another– this time with dirty blonde hair, her blue eyes ghastly and bloodshot. She was practically see through. 

You pressed closer to Aemond, blinking profusely– it must’ve been the exhaustion from the nights on the boat catching up to you. Once you rubbed your eyes, you looked back; the figures were gone. 

As you approached the main door of the estate, another face caught your eye. 

Another woman– with dark hair and sullen, emerald eyes. They pierced through you like two heavy jewels, making goosebumps prickle atop your arms. She wasn’t ghastly or undeathly like the other two, and when you rubbed your eyes, she was still there.

She was still there, very much a living person in the flesh, with flowing blood and a beating heart. And she was beautiful.

[nymphagrim]

A funny little comic based on the fact nari would more than likely be offended by how peacefully I run things with my cult LOL

Also, I have decided that when narinder is peering through the crown, he has the ability to create a "form" that only the lamb can only see and hear when he wants to get a closer look at things. He's unable to interact with anything, but the lamb very losely, and is completely bound to the crown :>

[ugh-my-back]

Been thinking of them, what's new

[myfandomprompts]

Prince Aemond Targaryen, the Kinslayer, Protector of the Realm, Blood of the Old Valyria, Rider of Vhagar. (4/?)

[myladysapphire]

His Sapphire Princess (X)

After the night in the brothel Rhaenyra is married to Laenor Velayron to protect the birth of her child. who in the years to follow is the only one of Rhaenyra's children that is believed to be his, she is loved by all in the red keep, even queen Alicent adores the girl, so when Rhaenyra proposes a marriage between Aemond and Rhaenyra's daughter Visenya, Alicent happily agrees.

The children having been best friends in their youths are more than happy to be wed but when the incident at drift mark occurs things change, will it be for better or worse?

word count: 4.127

CW: MDI, 18+, oral (f reciving), violence, angst, incest, not proofread!

Fem!oc x Aemond Targeryen

Masterlist | series masterlist | previous part l next part

disclaimer: i do not own any of claim any of the A song of ice and fire characters, all rights belong to GRR MARTIN, all characters are his except for my OC

(smut is between the dividers by @zaldritzosrose)

The reminder of that week Aemond rarely strayed from Visenya’s side, at first it started with daily dragon rides. Vermithor and Vaghar riding side by side.

It had been the first time they had flown on their respective dragons, when before Aemond had claimed Vaghar, Visenya often took Aemond on the back of Vermithor, and now seeing him atop his own dragon was a strange experience. He looked so strong and proud. He was born to be a dragon rider.

Long gone was the shy and nervous Aemond, who feared never riding a dragon of his own, the boy who would hold his dragon egg over the fire day and night in hopes it would hatch. Now he seemed to share a deep bond with Vaghar, though she had joked that perhaps the old dragon had mistaken him for her first rider, Queen Viseyna.

“It would make sense, you both had long silver hair, Valyrian features-“ she had started as they walked the halls of the keep, having returned from their dragon ride.

“I am sure she doesn’t think me to be the conquer” Aemond dismissed, shaking his head, “ as much as I am flattered at the notion, I am sure Vaghar can tell the difference.

“Really? She is what, 150? Surely riders blur together after a time” She jested.

He hummed “And how are we sure Vermithor does not mistake you for old King Jaehaerys?”

She gasped in shock, “are you calling me and old man?” She laughed, “no offence to our great grandsire but, I highly doubt we had much in common, bar our Valyrian features”

“Was that not your driving point for me being mistaken as Visenya?” He hummed.

She scoffed in jest, “It was a compliment!” She insisted, walking towards Aemond, “Do you not remember our lessons? How you said if you were to have a wife you would have one like Visenya, a fierce warrior?” She hummed.

“I do, and tell me, sweet Visenya, have you become a fierce warrior?”

“You think I would have spent years in the north, where woman are encouraged to train with shield and sword, or with Daemon on Dragonstone and not be taught at least the basics?” She asked.

“I suppose I should have guessed” he said as they approached the entrance to the training yard, “mayhaps you could show me your skills?”

She smirked, leading the way.

Luckily she wore her riding leathers, allowing her more movement than her typical gown, with trousers and tunic she was offered the same mobility as Aemond, though he was much taller than her. As they stood sword in hand ready to face the other, he seemed to tower over her, and even his steps seemed more graceful as they began to curl each other, waiting for the other to make a move.

He eventually acted first, his sword clashing with hers as her quick reflects deflected his attack.

Their swords clanged against one another, neither making a move as each attack was deflected or treated with its own attack in kind. It wasn’t until Visenya decided on a new tactic that an attack (though with training swords) was truly struck. She stepped back, circling him before turning her body in a quick flourish, her sword bashing his, and her swords tip pressing against his chest.

He hummed, seemingly impressed, though not for long as he quickly regained momentum of his sword and attacked her sword with his own, the sword nearly flying from her hand and she once again moved in a flourish, this time to defend rather than attack.

They circled each other once again, their swords drawn, waiting for the others next move.

An audience had gathered now. Sending him a smirk she started  her next round of attacks.

Their swords clanged loudly thought the courtyard, their bodies swerving each attack, barley dodging each others sword.

They seemed to circle the other for hours, though only minutes passed. Their eyes locked, their glaze seemed taunting, teasing. She bit her lip, causing his eye to be drawn to her lip, his gaze heated.

She used this opportunity to knock the sword from his hand, and bring in her her own to his neck.

Applause sounded around the courtyard.

She laughed, lowering her sword.

“I hope you do not wish to join our wedding tourney with those skills.” She joked.

He hummed, “you are impressive” he mused, taking their swords and placing them on the rack. “Mayhaps you should enter the tourney”

She laughed “and loose the chance to win the queen of love and beauty? I think not”

He smiled, “I shame I hate tourneys, or I would have assured you the crown”

“You do?” She asked, face dropping a little, “I always thought them romantic”

They started to walk back through the keep, set to return to their chambers before their engagement feast tonight, “I suppose Cregan will at least enter, and he shall crown me upon his victory.”

“Cregan? Cregan Stark?” He sneered the question “you still talk to him?” Jealousy clear in his tone.

“Of course, he is my dearest friend”

“But your mother wished to marry you both.” “So? He has had a wife and a son since then, and I, in case you have forgotten thought to stay betrothed to you!” she glanced at him, his face was set in a sneer, jealously clear in his features. She laughed “the love I have for him is simply platonic, I can assure you”

“Hmm…perhaps I shall enter the tourney, it is only right I crown my betrothed personally”

She laughed “of course, Aemond.” She said once they reached the door to her chambers, “I shall see you at the feast”

That nigh the halls of the red keep were packed full of lords and ladies from throughout the realm. The feast was grand, with food from the best cooks from throughout the realm, no expense was spared, with the most famous bards playing her favourite songs, and the ladies and lords dancing and laughing as they all filled their stomachs with food and wine.

And yet as she stood saying pleasantry after pleasantry, answering the same questions again and again she did not find any joy. She had not eaten or drank a thing, despite the feats being hallway through, and Aemond had still yet to arrive.  

The few moments she had spent escaping her quests were spent comforting Heleana as she had quickly grown overwhelmed with the noise.

Heleana had tried to stay as long as she could, but the second the first hour ended, Visneya saw it fit for her to leave. She loved her aunt, her sweet friend and though she hated the lack of her presence at her ceremony, she hated seeing her discomfort more.

She felt a sense of loneliness with her gone. Finding her eyes dancing around the room in search for a friendly face, for Aemond’s face.

And yet the closest she got to Aemond, was Aegon.

Aegon’s eyes always followed her, words always seeming to be on the tip of his tongue anytime she neared him. He had quickly gotten drunk, sat in a corner with his friends, Leon she believed one of them to be called. And yet she could feel his eyes on her. Watching her.

For years he had been the closest she had gotten to Aegon, having become a dear friend and confidant, but seeing him in person, he was entirely different to the Aegon she knew.

He was still obsessed with her, more than ever. His eyes always on her. Or Always finding her when she was alone.

But Aegon had changed drastically, he was a drunk and a terrible husband. Ignoring Helaena in favour of whores and wine, she had not seen a nice word shared between them. Her was a good father though, with the twins often in his company, when he was sober that was.

And though his eyes seemed to invite her over, she stayed put. Continuing her endless conversation with some Redwyne lord.

“Senya!” she heard a voice boom, and suddenly she was turning around the see Cregan Stark.

“Cregan!” she boomed back, excusing herself from lord Redwyne. “I thought you would not be here till tomorrow!”

“aye, we were meant to arrive later this evening, but decided to rush here. Couldn’t miss your feast now could i?” he spoke, smiling.

“I am glad, I have missed you.”

“aye, as have i.” he said, before starting to look around the room “nowhere is this betrothed of yours? About time I made an introduction.”

She scoffed, “I do not know!” she shook her head, “he hasn’t shown up yet”

Cregan send her a confused look, “and here I thought I was late! How can he be this late to his won feast”

“how should I know?”

“well I suppose this means you have yet to take to the dance floor then?”

She smiled, “why is Cregan Stark asking me to dance?”

He laughed, “aye, about time I did.”

She laughed taking his outstretched hand.

“tonight has been dreadfully dull” she spoke up, as they took the floor, “I was hoping for some kind of commotion”

He laughed, “well from the look on your uncle Aemond’s face I would say one might be coming soon.” “oh, Daemon always looks like that, always looking for a fight” she laughed, as they continued their dance.

The pair caught up, though with their constant letters there was little to catch up on, though Cregan seemed happy with her and Aemond finding away to reconcile. He had known her angst, her years of feeling alone and had hated how she had been forced to leave the north. She seemed to fit in perfectly in the north, with her snow kissed hair, she seemed to blend in to even the summer snow.

As the dance came to an end, the doors opened and Aemond finally strolled in. Visenya slowly separated herself from Cregan, as Aemond approached her.

Her carried a gift with him, and a smirk.

“betrothed” he said in greeting.

“Aemond” she greeted in return, “you are late” she scowled, moving them away from the prying eyes of the gathered lords and ladies.

“Apologies, I… I had something to do.” He presented her his gift, a jewellery box “here, one of the many gifts I plan to give you.”

She looked unsure as she grabbed the box from his hand, opening it she saw a sapphire necklace.

The necklace had five layers, the last three encased with sapphire jewels. A  large sapphire lied in the centre, with smaller sapphires placed side by side it, encased in their own ring of gold.

She gasped as she opened it, “its beautiful”

“just like you, my Sapphire” she smiled shyly, motioning Aemond to place it on her.

She had forgone a necklace tonight, finding little need for it, but as Aemond placed this necklace on her next her attire felt complete, as if she had forgone the necklace in preparation for Aemond, though he had left to hints to gifts.

“come” she motioned Aemond, gripping his arm as she led him to the table. As always their family sat on one long table, facing out onto the crowd, her grandsire sat in his chair, adjacent to the iron throne. On his left sat Alicent, and on his left sat her mother Rhaenrya.

As the family all moved to sit, though Heleana’s seat was left empty. Her grandsire stood to speak.

“I am most joyous to welcome you all here today.” He smiled, looking over to where she and Aemond sat. “today we celebrate the betrothal of my granddaughter, Princess Visenya, the future heir to the iron throne, and my son Prince Aemond, her future consort.” Applause sounded, as the king continued “today we celebrate the start of their celebrations, before they marry at the end of the week!” more applause sounded, “tonight we feast and fill our bellies and tomorrow the tourney shall start!”

Aemond looked over to where Cregan sat at the news of a tourney. He sent him a smirk, though not that Cregan seemed to care as he simply laughed at the princes jealousy.

“Aemond” she started, grabbing his hand as the room once again filled with music, dance and laughter, “do you wish to dance?”

“no” he spoke quickly. Causing her to thrown.

“oh” she said dejected. He looked over at her, frowning at her own frown.

“I do not like to dance, my Sapphire”

“of course” she said, as she started to fill her plate.

She turned to face Jace, who wore a scowl.

“is something wrong brother?”

“no, just I had thought the wedding celebrations were to happen over a moon”

“no, you are staying a moon, but I marry at weeks end.”

He sent her a dejected look, as if he had some plan that was now ruined. He quickly replaced his frown with a smile, “would you like to dance?”

“yes!” she said gleefully, sending Aemond a look as he scowled.

She and Jace must have danced for five songs before finally retuning to their seats. She was out of breath as she started to speak to Aemond. But Aemond wasn’t listening.

No, his attention was solely focused on the pig that had been placed before him and the laugh on Lukes face.

He slammed his fist against the table.

“Aemond” she whispered, “please don’t”

He looked at her, sneering. Though it was not directed at her, at least she hoped not.

"not in front of all these people Aemond, please"

He ignored her "I would like to make a toast to my family, for today we reunite after years apart, I hope our bond will grow...hmm.. Strong" he stopped, looked at Luke and Jace, then continued'' I have missed my nephews, I hope that we will once again be able to rebuild a strong... bond we shared in our youths"

Naive to what had just happened her Grandsire cheers, happy at Aemond seeming making amends.

Her brothers were struggling to keep calm knowing a public reaction could be all the confirmation the court needed for the rumours to become the truth.

Jace flinched, realising what Aemond’s speech was saying and how the court could take it, so he declared his own toast "thank you, uncle. I cherish the memories we shared in out youth, and now in honour of your betrothal to my sweet sister" he stops, stares at her, thinking his words through " i-i raise this toast to you to wish you and my sister congratulations, may your marriage be fruitful, and your bond remain strong" he sneered the last word, hating the very word.

She stood up "thank you dear brother" she says to Jace before turning to the hall "today is a joyous day, and it is only the beginning of what I can only hope will be a marriage of unity for our house” she seemed to displace the tension that was building in the room, with a small round of applause sounding.

Glares were sent around the table, and though their guests acted naïve to it as they all went about continuing in the festivities, they all seemed to be waiting for a fight.

She looked down, a nervous look filling her face as she started to pick at her food.

Dread filling her body as she saw Aegon move down the table, wishpering something in his ear. And before she knew it Jace was punching Aegon square in the jaw.

Gasps were sounded from the crowd, bets being placed as she saw the exchange of bags of coins between tables.

Aemond stood up, pulling Jace of Aegon, only for Jace to turn around and punch square in the jaw.

A chuckle escaped him, unbothered by Jaces punch and simply pushing him to the floor.

The guards move forward, separating the pair as Luke attempts to get to Aemond

She scoffed as Aemond laughed at the state of her brothers.

She looked around the room, many of the guests had started their own fight, many were trapped, trampled, punched and kicked. Guards trying their best to separate them.

If Visenya had bothered to stay longer, perhaps she could have seen the outcome of the night. But the second the king dismissed the hall, she had left. Not bothering what had happened or was going to happen. The only thing she cared about was going to sleep and dealing with the problems in the morning.

She was awoken a dawn to the sound of a wall being pulled open.

Sitting up in her bed, rubbing the sleep out of her eyes she came face to face with Aemond, a sheepish look on his face and a bouquet of Azaleas, her favourite flower.

“Aemond?” she asked, trying to wake herself up “what are you doing here?”

“i- I came to apologise” he looked down, almost sheepishly, “my actions…I regret them. I acted in jealousy and anger and I have come to beg for your forgiveness.”

“What you did last night, in front of all those people…It was reckless and idiotic.” She shook her head “I would have expected such a thing for Aegon, but you? I cannot say it didn’t hurt. To hurt my own brother, to tease their legitimacy, it was ridiculous and i… I know you have changed but I did not think you cruel”

“have I not told you I have grown cold? I did not jest when I said it, and though I do not harbour kind feelings to your family….i shall not act upon them again, though my behaviour, I can not say it will not happen. I am jealous and reckless. If I am offended I will not sit by and let myself nor you be insulted.” He moved towards the bed.

“I- I understand that Aemond, but please keep your anger away from the prying eyes of the realm”

“I will, I am sorry, truly” you reached for the flowers in his hand, sniffing them and smiling at the gesture.

Her duvet had fallen to her waist, leaving her chemise on show. With the hot weather she had worn a thin, near sheer chemise to bed, one that made no efforts to hide her from.

She blushed as Aemond looked at her, his eyes drawn to the outline of her breasts.

“Aemond?” she asked, trying to capture his attention, he looked up, a blush of his own on his cheeks as he moved forward and kissed your lips.

It was the first kiss you had both shared, though it was clear that he had more experience than she did, as his mouth quickly dominated hers, his tongue pushing into her mouth, causing her to moan softly.

She fell back in the bed Aemond falling with her.

The kiss was soft and yet full of passion.

“Visneya” he whispered against her lips as her pulled back from her. “I need to taste you”

She hummed, “i- you wish to…”

He smirked, pulling the covers of the duvet fully back, and moving to position him self down her body. He looked up at her as he played with the hem of her chemise.

She smiled, moving to lift it up and bare her wet cunt to him.

He moaned at the sight, and quickly buried himself between her thighs.

He licked her slit teasingly, realising in the moans he let out at the feeling of his tongue against her slit. She grew wetter and wetter with each motion of his tongue, her moans increasing as he started to focus his attention on her clit. Gripping her hips he started to  gave small yet fast licks at her clit, his eyes meeting hers as she gripped the bedding, moaning in pleasure.

He started to move his tongue faster, moaning at he taste of her.

“Aemond” she moaned as she reached forward and gripped onto his hair, grinding her hips into his face, causing him to groan.

Her movements became erratic, her peak fast approaching.

Aemond buried himself further into her thighs, determined to make her cum all over his face.

And soon enough he felt her legs squeeze his head as she finally peaked.

“gods” she moaned, lying back.

Aemond smirked, look over her pleasure ridden face, “Am I forgiven now?” he asked teasingly, his own response was a slap on the arm, causing him to laugh.

He had left her rooms once her maid came to wake her, promising to return for breakfast. Where he once again brought her a bouquet of Azaleas.

Breakfast had passed quickly, and before she knew it she was making her way to the royal box for the first day of the tourney.

She had made a favour in hopes Aemond had meant what he said about entering the tourney and crowing her the queen of love and beauty.

She had chosen blue and white ribbon, she herself, though not the best with needle and thread, had embroidered dragons across the fabric, trying her bets to capture the likeness of Vaghar and Vermithor.

The Tourney was to be a three day affair. With men from throughput the realm filling the lists. The winners of each round would go against the other winners the following day, and on the third and final day the winner the winners would once again face one another until a victor was declared.

The first day was often long and uneventful. That was until it was Aemond’s round. He was pitted against his own brother Aegon.

Aemond had galloped into the arena, atop a white horse, his armour black and red, with the Targaryen crest carved across his chest.

Her rode up to the royal stands, Visenya sat front row with Heleana on one side and Belea then Rheana on her other. The rest of the family sat behind them, Deamon was not there however, having entered the tourney himself.

Aemond approached them, his horse stopping before Visenya, "my betrothed, I am sure to win this tourney with your favour".

She sent him a smile as she walked over to him placing her favour on his lance. “of course, I wish you luck, my prince”

"I do not need luck, my sapphire, not with your favour”

Visenya knew of Aemond skill, and Aegon’s lack thereof. He did not need skill for this joust, but for tomorrow he would.

He charged at Aegon, and though they both new Aegon cared not for the tourney, having been forced to entre by Alicent once she heard of Aemond’s entry, he was not expecting Aegon to try, and yet it seemed he was. As Aegon charged at him, aiming for his torso.

Their lances clashed one another’s as Aemond was forced to bend back to avoid being hit, and direct his own lance at his brother his lance flung to the side, Aemond’s grip was weak, but stayed he manged to stay in place.

They circled back, charging each other once more , this time Aemond’s lace, aimed under the horses head, causing the horse fell back and Aegon to fall.

Defeated and unbothered Aegon simply lay there, waiting for his brother to drag him up, laughing at his loss.

Aemond continued to win, having been victorious against Loren Lannister and Damion Veleryon as well as many aspiring knights. He eventually found himself in the final round, the last day of the tourney. And his opponent, Creagan Stark.

Aemond was fuelled with jealousy.

He had heard Visneya cheering for Cregan, her compliments of his skill and her teasing on how he would surely crown her if Aemond was not victorious.

Aemond had charged at Cregan, and Cregan, never one to back down from a challenge only acted with the same force as he did.

They were both thrown from their horses, before calling for their swords and declaring one on one combat.

The arena held a bated breath as the pair faced off.

Unlike when Visenya had spared with Aemond their was no circling, not waiting for the other to make a move. Instead Aemond simply attacked. His movements were fast and relentless, but Cregan was undeterred, easily defending himself against Aemond’s strikes.

In fact it was Cregan who disarmed Aemond, knocking him to the floor.

But Aemond did not accept defeat, pouncing on Cregan landing punch after punch.

With Cregan pinned, it was declared Aemond to be the winner, though it took the guards dragging Aemond away to stop the fighting.

He smirked as he once again took to his horse, grabbing the crown of love and beauty and riding up to Visneya, crowing her and pulling her down for a kiss in front of the crowds.

“you were a bit brutal, where you not?” she whispered as they broke apart, looking over to Cregan, who despite the broken nose seemed fine, and unbothered with his loss. In fact he had even joined the cords in the cheers.  

Aemond looked over to Cregan, shrugging “he seems fine to me”

She laughed, moving back to sit back in her seat.

NEXT PART

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[hooked-on-elvis]

Elvis Presley in Live a Little, Love a Little (1968) — Dir. Norman Taurog