Chunky The Death Cat

Hi! i'm Ashley! 21, bisexual, mother of 1. this is now my SFW (safe for work) blog. REQUESTS ARE OPEN. For all the kinky shit, please follow my other blog, danicalifornia625

[cathrrrine]

based on this incorrect quote i posted

how the svu characters would react to your “would you still love me if i was a worm?” text

Sonny Carisi

Amanda Rollins

Nick Amaro

Fin Tutuola

Rafael Barba

Olivia Benson

Elliot Stabler

Part 2!

[iwaasfairy]

┌─ “ ! „ ROGUE

tw. incest, spit, dom/sub stuff, reader is a textbook brat, size kink, i think i mention tummy bulge once, manhandling, jealousy, virginity, aemond is mean but pussy wipped, tiny lil bit of breeding and wifing up wordcount. 7.2k

a/n. local anime blog goes rogue and writes hotd smut. yes i know okay just look away if you only like anime boys, we will get back to out usually scheduled program soon i swear i sweaarrrrrr dont judge me i have such a fat crush, i sWear i am only doing it to stay sane iT iS MY CALLING ♡

aemond targaryen x fem!reader

The heavy cover of smoke and dusty sage circles up in slow rounds towards the ceiling, like a flock of vultures. Candles burn low in the heavy air of the room, and the long curtains allow just enough fresh air into the room for the scent not to be stifling. Aemond assesses the whole of his room for a few breaths as the chambermaid softly slips out without another word, and pulls the heavy door to a clicked close behind her. Like a fleeing animal, he muses, unclasping and placing his sword upon his desk. The girl has always fled his company as fast as a mouse in a trap. Not like he’s ever done her wrong. Not like how he knows his older brother continues to do.

A small puff of annoyance comes out of his mouth as he starts to peel back some of the layers of his daywear, and drops them over the back of the chair.

Oh well, at least he’s alone.

His room is cast in a soft, golden glow that melts every want for pretense into the floor. Slowly dripping off him like wax, it seems to reveal a bit more of himself with each heavy drop. He only really notices how tired he is of spending time at court when the time comes to abandon it for the evening. Exhausting, ‘s what it is. The mastering of every trade is the lesser of the evils, but the constant ass-sucking, the looks, the reading of the room— he has no want for it. The Queen assures this is the life of a prince. He protests that it’s a simple lie to play at royalty. And no one gets to mark their own vision correct. No one gets to grab the upper hand. Because that’s the life of a prince.

Aemond finishes undressing most of the heavy, leather garb for a looser fit. Then moves to sit into the chair beside his bed, as always, and lets his eye fall to the sets of books on the desk. Few of them are untouched. For an acquiring of knowledge that is purely showy at best, because he is only a second son. A downright shame. He rolls the tip of his tongue against the back of his teeth for a few moments, and instead pours the can of wine, holding onto the cup loosely, with slow sips. If only to have something to do.

The humming of the choir down in the bell tower reaches all the way up to his room, and gives the night an awfully dreary feeling, reminding of winter, of death, of the sniveling of people in the sept and those praying in the darkness. Not that he minds, or cares much— but he knows the sound well. Knows how it is the sign for Aegon to double the size of his own drink, the time for Heleana’s maid to start getting their children ready for the night, the moment his mother the Queen finally stops fretting for long enough to enjoy a moment of peace. And for you… He knows it’s a sound that makes you anxious, reminded that you’re alone for the next hours to come. And he supposes that makes the repeating, melodic chants the sign that he’s about to have company any second too, and for that he guesses he’s grateful.

Grateful for the warning, or for the company, he’s not quite sure. He swishes the burgundy liquid around the cup until he hears the familiar click of the door, and the heavy knock. “Come,” he doesn’t look up from the drink, instead perching it onto his lip.

“Her majesty the Princess, my Prince.” The guard doesn’t usher you inside as much as you waltz in, low dress falling every so softly over your frame as the man spares just a few looks and nods, retreats and closes the door back behind him without another word. Curt, quite unlike the older man. Aemond can only guess you’ve been at this for long enough now for the guard to have made peace with the fact that the Prince doesn’t care. And that whether or not he accepts, you’ll enter anyway.

“You shouldn’t walk around the palace after dark,” your brother says, taking a sip of the wine before his eye ends up falling onto you without wanting to. “You’re the first person to blame when people start spinning rumors.”

“I don’t care about the opinions of ladies in waiting or the small council. I am not the Queen,” you simply reply, pulling your dress up to sit down on his bed beside him, knocking knees. “If you’re worried about rumors, you should hear what they say about you, big brother.” You’re not a bold person, but somehow, when it comes to him… every smart remark is able to fall from you like it’s a game. It amuses Aegon to no end, and even dares bring a smile to your mother’s face from time to time. Any of them expecting an outburst, to be sure, a fiery bite back or a quick smack to the back of your skull. And if you were another of his siblings, he supposes his family would be right. But somehow… it doesn’t bother him as much when it’s you.

Still not enough to have him silenced, though. His lip lifts into a grimace. “Enlighten me.”

“I won’t.”

Your feet are bare on the stone floor and your untied hair sways softly with each movement, and like this you sit by his side late at night, as you’ve taken to doing ever since half of your family moved back to Dragonstone. You’ve always gotten along better with people, were able to ignore your grudges better. An admirable trait, if not a weak one. He searches for something to say back to your resolute refusal, but fails. And lets out a sharp breath, glaring.

Whatever is going on in your tepid, little mind, you slowly place your feet upon his thighs, and shuffle a little closer. And his hands follow to come grab your ankles, half to keep you steady, but the other half in warning. It is a fact of your family that everything exists in pairs. Your mother and Sire for one, your eldest brother and his sister the future Queen… and you seem to have taken that to mean that you and Aemond exist in a pair too.

Always shoving past his barriers like it’s your birthright, with those big, searching eyes and a dopey, genuine smile that seems to belong more to a story book than the stern darkness that is expected of your family. A part of him wants to hate you for it. For being so callous when the rest of them are struggling to stay afloat. Unburdened by responsibilities, or haunted by dramatics. He could tell you he hates you too, but that wouldn’t do him much good. Not with you.

Still trapped by his grip, you stretch your hands to his face and place them to his cheeks, and he groans. “Take your hands off of me.” The irony of your soft skin playing beneath his fingers doesn’t go lost on him. “If I wrestle you to the floor and belt your little ass, you won’t be able to go crying to the Queen for it. I’m warning you.” You don’t listen, or care, before your hands slide to the back of his head and start slowly unbuckling the clasp of his eyepatch.

“Your eye is hurting again, isn’t it? You always get difficult when the chambermaids don’t clear out the smoke.”

He squeezes his hands harder around your little ankles. “You’re not a Maester, don’t speak of things like you know them,” he snaps back, only to move his hands to support your bottom when you push closer and press to slide into his lap for better access. Settling so comfortably against him, he doesn’t move his hands. “Shouldn’t you be learning your rhymes and asking the septa for some hot blankies instead of fussing over me-”

“-If you didn’t make your own little sister fuss over you, maybe I could.” You stubbornly peel the patch away to reveal the brightly glistening stone in the candle light, casting blue flickers all over the room. But he’s too busy looking at you to notice, ignoring the way your weight is pressed upon his lap. He has to ignore it. You tuck the pink little sliver of your tongue between your teeth as you let out a nasally breath, and your lashes cast dark, little shadows into the depths of your eyes. Sure enough, he can feel the relief the second you take a wet towel from the jar to the side and press it to the irritated skin, scar pulling and sore.

You’re awfully gentle with it. With him.

“I told you to take your fucking hands off of me,” he repeats, softer this time, watching as you still and he titls his head back to lean atop the chair, and helping you up onto your knees on his thighs. This way you’re fully above him, and with better access to his face, and you stay so very quiet. Unflinching. You suck your lip into your mouth for a second before releasing it, and then slowly start wiping again.

“You shouldn’t speak to me that way.” If you make a sport out of prodding, he makes a sport out of making blows hit.

“I am your big brother, I’ll speak to you as I wish. And I wish you to know what an insolent little cunt you are.” It’s out before he stops to think about it, and you instantly let him know it lands. By slipping off of his lap with a huff and tossing the rag onto the table, while accidentally knocking over the cup and spilling it over the table. You don’t stop to see the damage you cause as you stomp toward the exit, and he’s up and pulling at your dress before you can get far.

“Get off of me, Aemond,” you screech as he wraps long arms around your waist and you let your entire weight hang into them, squirming to get out. “You’re so annoying! Agh-uhh—Seven Hells!”

He can’t help the grin that slips on as he clenches his jaw, and doubles down. Because that’s what he does. You know it, and he knows it— and you go round in circles. “I could tell your septa you’re a misbehaved brat.”

“You’re a gross pervert, you—Ugh, f- You get your dirty hands off of me.” You spew the words like hot venom in his face when you make it halfway out of his grip and dig your nails into his arm and go to bite at his hand, before he manhandles you to the cold floor and bars you from moving under his hard grip. “Ae- Aemond! You’re the worst!” One arm almost pressing onto your throat, and the other over the soft of your stomach, as he takes a few breaths. Your own equally winded, as you start blinking like crazy to avoid the onslaught of tears that is to follow. “Aemond, let go.”

“Pervert?” he raises his brows now that you’ve stopped struggling, and gives you a look that reads ‘really?’ as underlying question clear as day. One you’re not inclined to answer, because you bite your bottom lip as glare at him as a drop rolls down your temple. You’re hot in the cheeks, hair a mess with the struggle, and your body feels ever so small under him now. Reminds him that he’s been told you’re too small to defend yourself by his mother, his father, and even their uninvolved craven of a brother. But you sure don’t act like it. Even if they are right.

“Just get off of me, you’re heavy.” And there it is. When he invades too far and too aggressively, and you stop pushing back to win it, it’s suddenly like it's a matter of life and death in your mind. When you declare the game is no longer to be won, there’s not a single move that’ll sate you. The signs are easy to read. The way you avert your eyes from him is one of them, and the crinkle between your brows as you stare resolutely at the door like you’re hoping a guard will just burst in to save you. When he doesn’t move quickly enough, you change your tune. “Will you please get off of me? I want to go to bed.”

Aemond lets out a sound between a laugh and a huff, and rights himself a little, but keeps hold of your shoulders pressed to the floor. Making him feel bad is another of those magical traits you have, that he hates about you. Leave it up to his youngest sibling to make his stomach feel heavy and empty, like he hasn’t eaten in days. A hungry beast declaring war at seeing you this way. “Hate me again, do you?” he asks without much fire, and your eyes go hard, and mouth a thin line.

“All you want to do is try to hurt me,” you hiss back when his fingers creep up to wipe the silvery line of tears along your cheek, brushing hair away from your face and taking you in as you are. Before you finally look at him again as the hall outside the door stays quiet. You’ve gone through this same song and dance too many times, cried wolf a bit too often. The guards don’t want to risk disturbing him with that temper, he knows they whisper it behind his back.

But it’s of no difference to you, because if looks could kill, you’d have one brother less by now. You manage to worm your arm out of his grip to wipe your own eyes again, before lowering your tone. “If you hate me so much, feel free to kill me sooner rather than later.” As if he’d let just anyone do what you do. As if he’d be so close to someone he hates. He has only you. Still your chest rises and falls with a heavy motion. “At least I wouldn’t have to marry some ugly, old lord if you did.”

In moments like these, he remembers. You’re a burning wildfire with enough fuel to light up an entire city; and you have no intention of doing any less than the rest of them. But stupid. And ignorant. He gets up and takes his heavy body off of you to see the mark where his arm presses so hard into your collarbones, already starting to bruise. “You’re an idiot,” he simply says, and gets up from the floor and up from you. You stare as he does, but keep your mouth shut. And Aemond swears to himself and averts his eye from you to readjust his pants, with suddenly more interest in the canopy of the bed than the soft, warm body of his little sister. “Get out.”

You get up from the floor with slow movements, too slow for his liking, and he walks back over to grab your arm and hoist you up onto your feet as you cling onto his tunic. But though he wants to keep you as far as he can away from his sanity in moments like these, he doesn’t resist when you linger so close he can count your lashes, and feel your puffs of air on his lips. He keeps your dress sleeve fisted into his hand as you stand up onto your toes and pull his shoulders more down to your level, until you can nearly brush your noses and you press a kiss to his lips. Soft and warm, it makes his heart knot and roll around in his chest, and makes your little hands squeeze around his shoulders. “Aemond…”

He dips again, and connects that smart mouth of yours to his without second thought. Another long kiss is met by a soft rumble of his chest, and he is halfway to leaning into you further when you drop back onto your heels. Leaving his mouth tingling with heat. “Ser Arryc is waiting for me to return to my chambers.” You fix your dress and wait for him to slowly peel his fingers out of the fabric, before sucking hard on your bottom lip as you turn about here and there in sudden nerves. “Well, good eve.”

And then he’s left alone for the night, with the memory of your body pressed under him, withering, fighting, crying. And no one to plead him to stop as he twitches in his pants.

+

As younger siblings dare do, you have an intrinsic ability to set his nerves on end. Born and bred for it even, he’d dare say, as he lets his gaze trail after you. The dragonpit is no place for one of your disposition, and though perhaps the same could be said about Helaena, there’s a few cards laid differently between you both. Youngest sibling, and having grown up without any dragon to speak of. Blame the lack of eggs to distribute to the last of Viserys’ children. Helaena also doesn’t possess the uncanny and endlessly bothering capacity to make his blood sour in his veins with a simple look.

His older sister doesn’t really bestow a care to any of you, while you— care about being loving way too much. He can feel his brows start to pull almost distractingly as you prance around with wide eyes and flit about next in and out of the covered hall. Sunfyre is the current object of your affections, and Aegon’s glittering smirk as he watches you coo and bathe him in compliments has his hands tightening around the handle of his sword where it hangs against his side. “She’ll soon fetch a handsome collection of suitors, don’t you think?” his mother asks innocently, distractedly, as he juts out his lips in slight annoyance. She’s gone from distant and sheltering, to exceedingly fretful these last few years.

Aemond hums a vague noise, but doesn’t bother to look away from your soft shape set against the big beast— and how you shine up like a penny at his oldest brother with compliments. He clicks his tongue, and his mother distantly continues from his side. Out of all the people for you to fawn over… all the beasts to be impressed by— he attempts to focus on the conversation aimed at him, but glares around the field instead. At the guards who feel a bit too comfortable casting glances your way, or a brave squire taking a bit too fond a notice. Every second of it makes his jaw set tighter. “Your grandfather the Hand would rather see her married off sooner than later but— Oh, Aegon,” his mother suddenly speaks with a slight worry.

You’re climbing onto the dragon. No, Aegon -the fool- is making you climb up, putting his grimy hands under your bottom and just about heaving you towards the saddle himself.

“Aegon, stop that,” his mother tries again, starting to make her way down the stage as the eldest turns to look at them both, “your sister can’t be up there by herself. She’ll get hurt-”

“-I’ll get her.” For once he’s glad for his mother’s ever present concern, and hurries past to walk up to you. You, with your hair sun kissed in the evening light, and your cheeks and lips full of mirth as you glance over at your mother first, and then him. His brother’s staring up your dress by the time you’re standing fully on his shoulders, and doesn’t even bother to wipe the grin off his face, tongue peeking out in full enjoyment— Aemond doesn’t have time for this absolute mockery. “Get down,” is all he has to say, for your pretty, flushed face full of excitement to blank. You suck your bottom lip into your mouth as you stare back at him for a few seconds… before slowly starting to slide back toward him.

“Oh, Aemond, don’t be a bother—”

His hand is wrung in his older brother’s tunic before he has time to blink, glaring absolute venom his way, nostrils flaring. Alicent calls for him from a distance, but the plea goes unheeded. The fabrics of your dress are halfway obstructing Aegon’s face as you try to get down, but there’s still plenty of room for a dagger to be fit somewhere into it, a thought rings; one he banishes with some fight. Instead he simply reaches a hand for you to grab, and motions you to get down already. You jump and wobble upon landing, and he grabs your wrist tight when you try to run off. But he still hasn’t stopped glaring at Aegon, to his own surprise, chest rising and falling a bit too quickly to be normal. “You try that again-”

“-and you’ll what, little brother?”

“Don’t fight,” you quickly quip in, tugging softly on his pinky as Aemond’s mouth corners tug up, and he squeezes the fabric tight enough around his own brother’s neck to hurt. He leans in, ignoring your pulling and begging to really tower over Aegon. And Sunfyre gets restless beside them, scaring you even more. “Aemond, please. No harm was done.”

Aegon’s face turns a harsh ruddy color with each passing second, and Aemond’s never enjoyed a sight quite so much. “Shall we see how you do without your eyes, brother?” He releases all at once, just in time enough for their mother to miss how he steps back and gives you a look to keep your lips glued shut. If Aegon wants to tell, he’s at least smart enough to keep quiet, for now. The woman looks between the three of you in worry. But he has no intention of explaining. He couldn’t, really. The absolute blinding rage dies down enough for him to suck the sourness off his tongue and take your hand better, lacing fingers. “I’ll take her back to the keep.”

The Red Keep has never felt smaller as you don’t say anything until you get all the way to your chambers, staring resolutely at the floor. And though his mood hasn’t changed, there’s part — parts of him, that want you to just look his way like you usually do too much of. Your guard is quick to open your door, but stares a little too long when he lingers. “You may go see upon the King, Ser,” he says curtly, and before he can care enough to watch the man leave, closes your door behind you both. “Are you an absolute imbecile, that you’d let Aegon disrespect you in front of everyone?”

“It wasn’t anything to get upset over, he wasn’t hurting me!” you bite back as you do, making him crowd you against the door.

“Oh, no,” he rolls his eye, “he was only about to do much worse later!” You stay pressed between his body and the door as you stare up at him and hold your hands to his chest, both of you breathing hard. But you don’t back down, don’t roll over and apologize. And that bothers him. It shouldn’t, and yet… “Hah,” the sound of it is hard and sharp as he lifts your hands above your head in place with his own. Your lips are a puffy, flushed color, and eyes so focused on him that it momentarily distracts him. Before the feeling of you against him comes back full force, as always. Try as he might, he can’t escape you. “You like that sort of perversion, then?”

“I don’t know what kind of perversion you speak of.” You’re whispering now, long lashes spread over the haunting appearance of you below him. Swallowing hard, chest rising and falling. Hell, the way you look is entirely deviant, but he still leans in despite knowing better. You smell faintly of dragon, but the majority of it is still that soft, sweet innocence that drives him to grab at your chin and force your face to his. And your free hand reaches for his cheek, cold fingers brushing his skin. Your lips brush his as he allows himself to sink just a little lower, letting you moan into his mouth. “Aemond… big brother, please.”

“What do you think you’re playing at?” He lets the soft kisses be placed onto his lips in between the words, resolve growing weaker by the second. How did he get here? And why? Aemond isn’t like Aegon, so why does the sight of you all soft and needy below him have him so hot in the face. Heat burning all along his neck, chest, down to his… cock. He knows very well your poor mother would riot at his taking of your virtue. Because unlike Aegon, she knows he knows better. But you press your mouth against him again, and let your soft, little tongue push against the crack of his mouth with another moan— all while arching against him.

“Haven’t you thought about it?” He’s only half aware his hand is grabbing a handful of your ass and pulling you up against his hips as your lips make those little noises against his, lifting you so you can wrap your legs around his glutes. The pressure of your body grinding up against his is entirely wanton, your eyes glossy and lips even glossier. “Taking me to wife?”

“You’re set to marry a lord—”

“I want to marry you. Don’t you want to marry me too? Have me abide by your side, call me ‘yours’?” Your hands slide into his hair, pulling at the hair at the base of his skull just enough to have his tongue push back into a kiss and take the warmth of your mouth as his own. Hotly, with a demanding rumble of his chest you’re kissed- the sweetness of your mouth and warm, squirming tongue against his. It’s intoxicating, setting every hair on his body upright. He grabs your cheeks to keep you in place even when you try to pull back, kissing longer, deeper— like he could die in it. He probably could.

When you’re allowed to pull back you roll your hips against him with a slight smile, and pant against his mouth. “Isn’t that why you love laying on top of me?” His breathing ceases automatically, chest tightening a little more. All he ever hoped was never to hear it out loud. Don’t breathe life into it and it won’t exist, right? See no evil. Your little smile grows a little more as you kiss him again, and he doesn’t pull away, though he should. Your daring tongue moves down his jaw to his neck instead, licking along his pulse as you push. Can’t help but stick your nose where it doesn’t belong, right, a family trait? “Doesn’t that get your cock hard, big brother?”

He takes a stuttered breath as he turns and you cling onto him, walking over to the bed to lay you down and place his large hand over your mouth. “Shut. Up.” You lick the inside of his hand, and he hisses before grabbing your thigh instead, tight enough for your pretty little face to turn into a grimace, and you pull his hair a little harder. Doesn’t matter. He’s nose to nose with you, his own little sister, the one who was always so fond of him it was annoying as sin— as every bit of pretense evaporates by the second. “Do you even know what you’re talking about when you say that?”

“I know what Aegon taught me,” you breathe back against his lips, and it’s this -not any of the other stuff, though that should have done it too- that has his blood turning green with jealousy and has him shutting you up with a kiss, hands sliding up your body over the tight bodice. You’re burning underneath him, lifting your back from the mattress as he crawls further up the bed and over you. You’re so flimsy and small beneath him that it should be laughable. All it does is make his cock so much harder in his pants, as your noises ring above the smacking of mouths and tongues and teeth. Your little fingers press into his shoulders hard and needy. “Mhm-Ae-mond.”

He pulls at the clothing under his hands until you squeak and it rips, one of the too-many layers you’re wearing dropping to the side. He pulls back to stare at you and the way you’re biting your lip, eyes flicking from him to his pants. His cock is chubbed up against the fabric as much as it will allow, and starting to get too tight for his liking, but as you reach out a hand, he smacks it away. Instead he slides a hand under your head to pull your hair and you make a little noise of displeasure, until he leans back in. “When you talk like that it makes me want to smack you around. You understand that?” You whine into the silence, but don’t fight back as he makes your head nod. “You know what I am?”

“B-big brother-”

“Then treat me like it. Open your mouth.” For a few seconds and deep breaths through your nose, you seem to debate it, but whatever you see in his eye eventually has you obliging. He collects a good glob of spit and has it land onto your tongue, and you cry out something unintelligible— but let him slide his thumb into the wet mess of your tongue as your lips get even shinier with all the wetness. Before he can say anything though, you wrap your lips around his digit and whimper. It’s a little too disarming, and his cock twitches hard in his pants. Balls heavy and length straining against the confines. He lets out a little breath, before pulling back out of your suckling mouth to grab himself through his pants. “Shit.”

Your voice sounds so much more high pitched and girly when you speak again, a strange sort of mockery of him over top of you, but it works. Fuck, if it doesn’t. “Please, please, please, big brother.” You whine his name and press tens of little kisses to his mouth, he feels how his balls pull against his body at the display. You get impatient though, start pulling the top half of your dress down to reveal your shoulders and then, with another little noise, your tits. He’s ahead of you though, pulling you down more and leaning in to lock his mouth around your puffy nipple to suck hard, have you curling off the bed with pitiful whimpers. “Big brother, mh-ah- big- br-brother.”

He starts working the drawstrings of his trousers to get them down as quickly as possible too, moving to the other tit and taking as much of it into his mouth to lave his tongue all over it. You sound almost beside yourself with pleasure, kneading at his shoulders and neck like you’re losing your clouded, little mind for him. He gets out of his pants enough to kick them off the rest of the way and lay his much larger body on top of you, back to your face to kiss you with slow, deeper kisses. Then he pulls back, for only a moment of true emotion, to grab your blushy cheeks between his fingers and stare. “Are you still…”

You go limp, and embarrassed and flushed with heat all at once, and squeeze his hips between your thighs like it’s meant to hurt. All it does is push your covered cunt against his rock hard cock and make him take a sharper breath. “Of course I am-” you bite out though, digging your nails into his shoulders a bit harder like you’re just wanting him to keep going. “What- that not good enough for you?”

But he’s quick to shake his head, and press a few spare kisses along your ear, finally being able to let out a little grin at your flustering. “You’ll let me take your maidenhood?” You’re back to whining his name in that overly girly, pouty voice; and he sucks at the shell of your ear for long enough to have you shivering below him. Your little breaths and noises are too fucking cute. And the way you’re pawing at your dress to get it up your body is even cuter. “Beg big brother Aemond to have you. Take you.”

“Just do it already,” you mumble though, and your eyes tear up at the corners.

So fucking cute. He shrugs the eyepatch off too, half for comfort, half at the grabbing of your hands. And pulls back just in time to see how much it pains you to admit it out loud, and rubs his fingers over your wet, pebbled nipples while your eyes flutter and your hands go open and closed at the feeling. He keeps one hand busy by unlacing part of your dress, as the other pinches each nipple until you suck your lip into your mouth and can’t stand it anymore. “Please, big brother? ‘Mond, please-uhh. Please, please do it? W-want you to.”

His lips curl up again at your admission, as he takes you in a few more seconds, grinds his center against your thigh while he’s at it. His cock is leaking enough pre to make a wet spot on his undergarments, red head twitching every few seconds. If he’ll wait any longer he might explode— until you finally give up and wrap your arms around his neck and pull him back close to you in total embarrassment. “I saved myself for my big broth-errr—” you whine like a child, burying your face into his neck, “so please! Only wanted my big brother to- I swear. Only love my Aemond.”

This way you don’t see— just what it does. This way you don’t notice it has him hook, line and sinker, and he grunts out loud as he has to grab the base of his cock tight not to shoot hot ropes of cum all over your thighs. He lets you press your tits into him as he shudders over you, and you make a little noise as he suddenly yanks the dress down your body, over your thighs and kicks it aside. “Off, get this off…” You open your teary eyes to see him plant another kiss onto your face, down your neck and to your tits as your chest heaves against him. Your panties are absolutely soaked, and he’d make a crude comment about it if he was any more lucid— but…

He can’t possibly think about anything but sliding his heavy cock inside your little cunt. “Fuck, fuck… you want to fuck me?” His fingers slide over the wet patch as your mouth cracks open a sliver, before peeling them off you with impatient yanks. You nod wildly into it in response, and let him press another kiss onto your mouth to tangle your wet, squirming little tongue with his. It’s vile, the way he thinks about fucking you like this. But it’s all that overtakes him, rutting his leaking cock against that wet little slit. And his fingers have to push in a little to make it halfway into your wet pussy, softly scissoring you apart as your mouth opens more. “You’re dripping all over my hand,” he breathes into your mouth, and you close your eyes and pull your lips into a tight little line.

“‘M sorry.”

“You imbecile.” The dry, non-humoured chuckle is unexpected even to him, as he pulls his wet fingers from between your legs to slip them straight into his mouth and his eye rolls into the back of his skull with a low groan. His fingers go back to rub at that wet slit, as you moan and whine his name like it’s a prayer. His cock bobs heavily between his legs while he fingers you in the heat of the shared bed, and you mumble noises against his skin.

“Aemond, Aemo-ngh.. big, you’re— r-big.” You’re panting, and shivering as his fingers slide in and out and get wetness to drip all the way to your ass, all over the inside of your thighs. Not even to talk about the pride burning along his neck at the way you’re clinging to him like you mean it. Your cunt stretches each time he moves them in and out and spreads them apart, staring at the way your little pussy clenches around his thick, long fingers with each pump. “Big brother—”

“Like that?”

“Mhm-” you’re nodding like a madman, and thighs shaking a little, but your tears are still glistening at the corners of your eyes, “I- f-feels good, bu-but you’re- going so- deep.” He doesn’t tell you that what you’ll be fitting in there in a few seconds will be much bigger, and only lets you drench the bed and wait for you to push back into his hand for that wet ‘pap, pap, pap’ sound and his palm can rub over your little nub. The sapphire in his eye socket makes obnoxious flickers on the walls, that only seem to cheer him on. Not for nothing, watching his baby sister cream all over his fingers like you are. “O-oh,” you say after a while, allowing him to curl his fingers all the way into you and your spongey, perfect spot to make your lower body curl so needily. “I… feel weird, Ae— feels- good- hng.”

Your little pussy is so wet everything’s glossy and needy, and his two fingers can finally slide in and out without much more resistance; though your noises would hardly convince him otherwise. Mewling and whimpering like you’re going to cry any second— it has him rock hard and so fucking sensitive. “I need you to keep that little cunt open for me, okay?” He presses the words into your mouth before rubbing his fingers over your puffy, needy clit; and you make to wrap your thighs around his glutes to keep him right to you— not that he’d go anywhere. “‘ll put it in. Have my cock filling my little sister up.”

He pats his cock against your clit a few times, before nodding at it. “Keep your thighs open, come on.” He doesn’t wait up for you to act as he pushes the leaking tip against your pretty, clenching hole and leans over you to nose at your neck, grabbing at your perky, pretty tits to pebble up your nipples more with each swipe, before kissing you again. He can’t help it, can’t get enough of your moans into his mouth, filling up the room. He pushes in, the slowest he can bare as your hot fucking pussy envelops his cockhead and you moan and whine. “Oh, dear g— goin’ to fuck my little sister for real,” he breathes back, too much to keep it in.

“Ah, ah, ah— Aemond- Aw, oh-hmn- ah.” Your desperate little noises are impossible. Sliding in deeper with each breath, over filling that tiny pouch of your tummy like he was always meant to be inside it. His arms strain not to fuck right into you hard and fast with the way you’re wiggling and curling against him, slick a soft pink when he pulls back to thrust in deeper. “Big bro—ther,” you whine it long and needy, as it has him sliding into you until he bumps up against the walls of your tight fucking cunt. So tight it’s making his balls pull up, entire body so hot it’s almost unbearable. Your one Targaryen claim to heritage. His little sister.

“Love you, big brother, l-love you.”

“Ugh, shit, you’re so tiny. So tight, hot— and wet,” he’s rambling to himself more than to you as he rocks himself into that spongy spot in you, watching your body try to take all of him in. Your eyes are a little lidded, glistening and so pretty and desperate as he pulls back and into you again, hitting your cervix once more. You shudder, and he can’t help but press onto your tummy to make the fit even tighter. It’s too much. Your clenching walls around his big, hard cock— that tight, wet little cunt clinging onto him each time he pulls back, your face as he takes you. “You’re only mine,” he hisses, “only mine, you understand? Gon’ make you my wife and make you carry my heirs. Waiting to give your maidenhood away to the better brother, right?”

“Hng, yes- yes, yes! Please!” You kiss him first, before grinding hard against him and pulling at his hand. “Aemond, Aem— b- I feel- weird-” you admit, smacking your lips and desperately curling your toes against his glutes. “Big bro-ther-agh-h—”

He can’t possibly stop now, frown instantly digging into his brows as you cling to him. He doesn’t bother to even pretend to care as his cock kisses your pussy walls and his white pubic hair rubs over your overly sensitive nub, but you keep on whining for him. “Weird how?” He pulls his face up from your neck only to watch how your cheeks are flushed and your eyes flick all over his face, your tongue jutting out. And suddenly, it doesn’t take you explaining for him to press his rough thumb to your clit and rub rapid circles into it, for you to start going all tense. “This? You want to come for me like a good, little whore?”

You can’t speak. Only clench your eyes shut as he keeps rubbing- and grabs your face with his free hand. “Look at me. Look at me as you get to come on big brother’s cock.” You physically can’t open your eyes through your tears, but he demands it anyway, and watches as you go a bit cross-eyed at the perfect pressure. Your cunny clenches so hard around his cock it hurts, but he doesn’t stop his hips and the loud sound of skin meeting skin. “No one loves you like I do,” he says it like a prayer, whispering into the silence as your mouth drops open and you let out some broken noises, “no one.”

And you desperately claw at his back and tangle your fingers into his hair to pull, your legs tightening around his thighs to get his steady, brutal pace to slow down even a little— but nothing stops your orgasm from crashing over you with a pitched squeak of his name, and your body shuddering so hard beneath him the bed creaks with the motion. Each hard bottoming out in your small cunt having you jerking and moaning a string of unintelligible explicites into his mouth, before he kisses you long and deep. Your tongue can barely do anything except take what he gives, until he fucks you through your orgasm and his balls are so, so hot, his cock twitching every few breaths.

You look perfect as you come down and let him fuck into you even more, pussy like a vice around his too-big-for-you cock. It’s a miracle really, it didn’t happen sooner. Two of a whole. As always, you take and he gives, as is your role in the family.

All Rights Reserved © IWAASFAIRY 2022. Works are exclusive to this Tumblr.

[adderess-deactivated20240425]

No but aemond has a big praise kink and you can’t convince me otherwise. That boy wants to be appreciated and told he is good and pretty because no one, except alicent and criston cole, has ever praised him.

He also loves hearing you say how much you love him — he has never heard this before, not even from his mother. How can you love him, he thinks, if his own father doesn’t.

When you take off his eyepatch for the first time and say, in a choked voice, with so much emotion, “gods, you’re so beautiful”, he just melts. He can hardly believe it and he kisses you reverently, softly, then it turns greedy as he wants to pull more praise from your mouth, always more praise. When you pull apart and you gently stroke his scarred cheek (that part of his face is numb so he doesn’t feel it but the gesture, the appreciation, the lack of disgust sends him reeling), he closes his eye. “You’re beautiful,” you repeat, whispering into his ear, and he gasps, then wraps his arms around your waist, burying his face in your neck, peppering the crook of it in kisses. His soul wants to sing because he has never thought he could be considered beautiful, crippled as he was, and here his love is, saying it in a worshipful tone.

When you catch him without his sapphire in in his room, his eye hurting, he turns his back to you, his heart beating fast in his throat. You caught a glimpse of his face and his skin is crawling with the fear of rejection. “Aemond,” you say softly and walk up to him and he angles his face so that his empty eye socket is hidden from you. “Leave,” he responds in a strained voice, his hands clenched into fists at his sides and his whole body tense like a wolf that spotted a human in the woods and doesn’t want to be seen. In this moment, he truly feels more like a beast than a human, monstrous and not to be looked at. “Aemond,” you repeat and your fingers slide onto his jaw as you try to turn his face but he wrenches his face from your grip and takes a few fast steps back as if you just threatened him with a knife. “Leave me alone!” he snaps and you reply: “no, I want to see you as you are, my beautiful dragon.” Those words cut right through his heart and rage crashes through him like a powerful wave. He turns to you and advances on you and you stand strong as he leans into your personal space, threatening. “Oh, you want to see me as I am? Then see me, my love, see what the man you say you love, the man you say is beautiful, the man who kisses you and fucks you, really looks like!” he says lowly, dangerously, but it rings through the room like a scream. He is breathing harshly, his hands painfully clenched around your shoulders and he stares into your eyes, fury evident in his gaze but also fear. You just cup his cheek and turn up your face to kiss him. “I want you as you are, Aemond,” you whisper against his mouth and his breath hitches in surprise. He didn’t expect you to say this, he expected disgust, he expected you to turn away from him, not just now but forever. “I am a disfigured cripple,” he breathes out shakily and your heart clenches at the venomous self-loathing in his voice. You kiss him, then, pouring all your love and want into the kiss, sliding your tongue into his mouth when he opens his and he moans. He pulls you to himself by your waist, then he breaks the kiss and buries his face in your hair. “Do you… do you still want me?” he asks hesitantly, vulnerably. “Of course I do, Aemond.” “Say it, say you want me,” he says and it sounds more like he is pleading than commanding you. “I want you, Aemond, just as you are. You are beautiful still, eye or no eye. I love you.” And something breaks in him and you feel his shoulders shake and then a sob escapes him. He pulls away from you, turning his back to you, radiating shame, his face in his hands. You wrap your arms around his trim waist, your cheek against the back of his shoulder. He weeps desperately, every sob tearing from his throat against his will and he can’t stand that you are seeing him like this, so weak. Fear wraps around his heart and he realises you will now see him as less of a man and he feels like a child again, powerless and mocked and inferior. It’s unbearable and he craves to turn around and seek comfort and this only causes him to feel more disgusted with himself. “I love you, my prince,” you say again, knowing he needs to hear it. “I will always love you.” After a while, he calms down and you gently turn him around. He is avoiding your eyes. “Why did you remove the sapphire, is it hurting?” you ask with worry and he breathes out and nods. “Is there anything I can do?” He shakes his head and you stroke his cheek. “Come, let’s get into bed, I will read your favourite story to you, distract you.” In bed, he lays his head on your chest, the book propped up on his shoulder, and you stroke his hair. “I love you,” you repeat before you start reading and he smiles.

[aemonds-sapphire]

Riding Dragons

Summary: Aemond wishes for you to meet Vhagar, but ends up showing you that riding two dragons is far better than riding just one.

Pairing: Aemond Targaryen x fem!reader

Warnings: NSFW. Cumplay. Dry humping. Pussy slide. Aemond is very needy.

A/N: This is rather long, but bear with me. I got carried away and had to end it in a blast. Hope you enjoy!

Word count: 4k

“Parading your whore, brother?”

Prince Aegon voiced his mocking tone as he crossed paths with you, effectively sending chills down your spine.

One might assume that years of service to House Targaryen and Princess Helaena bore enough weight to warrant the respect from the King’s firstborn son.

But what Prince Aegon lacked in manners and honour, he certainly made up in disregard of others.

You voiced no complaint. In truth, responding to such accusation would just trigger the future King, and you fully intended on keeping your head attached to the rest of your body for many years to come.

Prince Aemond paced calmly in front of you, paying no mind to his brother’s remark.

That, undoubtedly, merely served to entice Aegon as he charged once more. “I will take your silence as admission.”

Aemond’s feet came to a halt.

“You must be referring to you, brother,” he said, turning to face him.

Aegon’s obnoxious laugh was now heard from a distance as he hurriedly made his way up a flight of stairs. As expected. He was a fool, but not to the extent of believing he could take overtake his younger brother should things escalate.

“Me? I don’t parade my whores.”

“Precisely,” Aemond replied as coldly as humanely possible, one hand resting atop the pommel of his sword as a silent warning. “You have whores. I do not.”

“Perhaps you should,” he called out from the balcony. “Indulge in the pleasures of life, brother. People wouldn’t think of you as so… tedious.”

“I don’t give a shit about what people think, least of all you,” Aemond’s grip on the hilt was such his knuckles turned white. “Now leave us be as you proceed to disgrace the name of this family even more with your irresponsible deeds.”

“Be a proper lady-in-waiting, will you?” Aegon’s head turned to face you, laughing. “Use what you have between your legs to please my brother.”

In half a heartbeat, Aemond had drawn his sword and was striding hastily to meet Aegon.

“Prince Aemond.”

Ser Criston Cole had entered the courtyard, flanked by two members of the Kingsguard.

He was no stranger to Aegon and Aemond’s recurring conflicts, and as he owed his allegiance to their mother, Queen Alicent, it was his imperative duty to prevent bloodshed between her two sons.

Aemond stood motionless, glaring up at his brother who waved his hand teasingly.

The way you saw it, Aegon was purely fortunate that Ser Criston had showed up before Aemond got to him.

Sheathing his sword back into place, Aemond motioned for you to follow him, and you promptly picked up the pace to join his side.

“Do enjoy yourselves!” Aegon’s taunt was faintly heard behind as both of you exited through a massive wooden door.

Finally out of sight, you heaved a deep sigh that didn’t go unnoticed by Aemond.

"Do you think Aegon knows about us?"

Aemond's face hardened. "You give him too much credit."

He'd often said the only thing Aegon had going for him was his name. But unlike their ancestor, he was no conqueror.

“Pay no mind to that fool,” he said, guiding you through the road that led to Dragonpit.

“Of course, Prince Aemond.”

He turned his head to you, studying your face for a moment. “Drop the formalities.”

Easier said than done.

But you welcomed his request.

Prince Aemond had a questionable reputation across all of King’s Landing. He wasn’t particularly charismatic, avoided entering tourneys even though he was an esteemed fighter, and, most importantly, he wasn’t next in line to the throne.

But to you, all of that was trivial.

He had taken a liking to you over the last few months.

Even so, you had been conditioned early on in life that a woman in your position could not hope for much.

Having exchanged intimacies with the Prince had done wonders to your ego, but, deep down, you knew it was but a fleeting occurrence.

No one knew of this, and you intended to keep it that way. Prince Aegon’s earlier suggestion made you wonder whether or not he had his suspicions, or if it was simply him trying to get a reaction out of his brother.

Obviously, you wished that you could have Aemond groaning for you whenever possible. Yes, you found bliss in being pressed against a wall while having Aemond Targaryen relentlessly grinding into you through your dress. The stolen kisses and touches under dinner tables. It was all very enticing and you ended up realising over time that you craved his undivided attention.

You had long lost your dignity to another man before coming to court, and it often crossed your mind what was preventing Aemond from fully taking you.

Perhaps he didn’t find you that alluring. Maybe he’d find release elsewhere with far more enticing women.

Or perhaps he was waiting for the right time.

You fancied the latter possibility better, but couldn’t deceive yourself into thinking these encounters would ever be more fruitful.

After all, you were but a modest lady-in-waiting.

He rode the largest dragon alive.

You two were not the same.

“What’s on your mind?” Aemond shook you from your thoughts as you approached the steps leading up to Dragonpit.

“That maybe I’ll regret this,” you let out a nervous chuckle.

“It’s an honour to be in the presence of a dragon such as Vhagar,” he said pleasantly. “She has been flying these skies for a long, long time.”

You’d seen princess Helaena’s dragon, Dreamfyre, up close several times already. However, Vhagar would rarely make a descent into King’s Landing unless to meet her rider as she had outgrown Dragonpit.

Aemond took pride in having bonded with her. He had proved many that he was worthy of being named a dragonrider.

As you reached the top of the wide steps, two dragonkeepers walked in your direction.

Aemond lifted one hand and they exchanged greetings in High Valyrian. He proceeded to remove his swordbelt, handing it to them.

It was very much clear that they deeply respected the young prince.

“Vhagar jāhor sagon kesīr aderī,” the older one said to Aemond.

The younger dragonkeeper cleared his throat and turned to face you. “Vhagar will be here soon.”

You offered a warm smile as he so kindly translated the information.

Aemond was now facing you, examining the length of your body with his eye.

“You will need gloves,” he said, grazing your attire with curious hands. “This cloak is too thin. Riding in this wind will have you freeze in no time.”

“Princess Helaena lent me her gloves, but I forgot to bring them,” you admitted as his fingers removed the pin that held the cloak around you.

Being this close to Aemond was sure to have your heart thumping hard, but you knew better than to transpire how much you yearned for his touch.

The two men beside you simply stood still, in silence, their faces not revealing whatever thoughts they might have on the current situation.

Aemond’s touch lingered when he inspected your attire, making sure you were decent enough to withstand the flight.

“You’ll have my cloak and gloves, then,” he finally spoke.

You shook your head immediately. “I cannot accept, Prince Daemon.”

“It’s not up for debate,” he smiled briefly.

He handed you his large gloves, but took it upon himself to swing the cloak around your body, enveloping you in his warmth.

You swallowed hard.

Having his fingers on you immediately set a wave of chills to spread across your skin.

And he’d noticed.

“You’re flushed,” his voice was but a whisper and he leaned closer. “It makes me want to devour you.”

But before you could begin to process his words, a sudden movement of air had your eyes flutter shit as you , held on to the cloak tightly securing it around you.

Through half-lidded eyes you were able to make out the outline of a massive pair of wings attached to the long body of Vhagar, whose size tripled by the time she made the full descent onto the ground of Dragonpit.

You were visibly shaking, rooted in place as the majestic animal’s roar tore the air like thunderstorm.

Both dragonkeepers rushed to her, reciting a few words in High Valyrian in the hopes of reining her in.

However, they did not share the bond Aemond shared with her.

“Are you ready?”

“No!”

Aemond furrowed his brows, taking your hand in his. “You have to trust me.”

Apprehension took a hold of you, and you struggled to keep up with Aemond’s pace.

“What if she attacks me?” You blurted out, immediately regretting having spoken such words.

“Well, that will depend.”

You kept getting closer and closer to Vhagar.

The urge to tug at his hand to have him let go of you was overwhelming you. “On what?”

Aemond came to a halt and placed both hands on your shoulders.

“Do you wish to hurt me?”

“No!” You immediately said, feeling slightly insulted that he would even utter such nonsense.

“Then you have nothing to worry about.”

He gave you a gentle encouraging squeeze before turning to meet his esteemed companion whose nostrils flared loudly with impatience.

Patting the scaled neck, Aemond brought your hand to meet his. "Lykirī, Vhagar... lykirī," he whispered soothingly as if speaking to a lover.

The hardened skin beneath your gloved hand rumbled lightly, causing you to jolt back, but Aemond ensured you would not break contact.

You had no way of understanding whether or not the old dragon was pleased to have your touch, but considering you were still in one piece, relief soon washed over you.

Vhagar lowered her body just enough him to haul himself up onto the saddle with elegance that only years of practice could grant.

"Give me your hand."

He tossed the reins to you, and you tried your best to mimic his climb up the dragon. It was no easy feat, and Vhagar nearly had you slip and fall if not for Aemond's commands.

"Dohaerās, Vhagar!" his voice was now firm as he leaned to the side, extending one arm to pull you up. "Lykirī, Vhagar..."

By the time you managed to swing your leg over the saddle, your entire body trembled from the thrilling experience. Aemond wrapped one arm around your waist after adjusting your cloak, securing you close to him.

"Grip this," he breathed in your ear, guiding you to wrap your fingers on the two horns that sprung upright the saddle. "Hold on tight."

He then tugged at the reins and voiced, "Sōvēs."

Vhagar extended both wings and with a force that could tear down entire cities, she took the the sky, whipping the air around, and leaving behind a hurricane of dust that nearly knocked down the two dragonkeepers standing in close proximity.

You felt Aemond's arm around you tighten lightly, and you couldn't help but to be crushed into his body as the wind weighed you down.

Vhagar struggled to regain balance when Aemond jerked the reins to have her fly parallel to King's Landing. You took the opportunity to gaze at the city down below as, with each swing of her wings, it turned into nothing but a conglomerate of colours that you couldn't make out in the distance.

Not long after, you heard Aemond laughing loudly, the sound muffled by the grazing wind.

Even though you tried your best to enjoy this novelty, it was hard to do so as your insides were being hurled around, and you feared you'd be sick.

"Aemond... I..."

Another chuckle from him. "I know the feeling. Try to keep it down."

He was thoroughly enjoying this, but you couldn't share the sentiment, and were extremely grateful once you felt the massive beast you sat on plunged into a steep descent towards a nearby mountain top.

Freezing air licked at your skin and you could only thank the gods that Aemond had the strength to keep you in place, because you were definitely not suited for this.

Vhagar sank steadily until her hind legs came into contact with a flat plane of rock.

You were hurled forward from the impact nearly spilled the contents of your stomach right there and then.

"Can we go back by foot..."

Aemond dropped his arm from around you and pressed an unexpected kiss to the back of your head, drawing a smile from you.

“You did well.”

Vhagar, on the other hand, had made it evident that she was growing impatient with low growls rumbling across her body, causing mild earthquakes beneath you.

Aemond took notice and was slid down the saddle, landing perfectly on both feet. “We overstayed our welcome.”

“What…”

The old dragon ruffled its scales rapidly, shooting concern into your veins.

“Lykirī, Vhagar…” Aemond calmly whispered, patting her neck.

Even though it did cause some of her restlessness to waver, you said as panic took over, “Can I come down now?”

Aemond nodded, raising both arms. “Jump.”

You hesitated for a moment, but placed your trust on him. Swinging your leg over the saddle, you leapt down into his embrace with a loud yelp.

Strong hands absorbed the impact as he carefully lowered you until your feet touched the ground.

Your heart fluttered once more. Over the course of the last months, you’d lost count of the many times Aemond Targaryen was able to bring you comfort.

Before you could make the most of the proximity, Vhagar broke the silence with a massive roar that had the ground shake violently as she hurled her massive wings into the sky, mustering powerful whirlwinds that enveloped both of you.

The mighty beast soared higher and higher, until she was barely detectable against the beaming sun.

“Is she upset?”

Aemond was still glaring into the clear Summer sky. “Dragons are not ours to order around. Bending their will to ours is challenging.”

You weren’t sure of what to say, so you merely listened to what he had to say.

“Allowing me to be her rider is an honour unmatched,” he said, pride coating his words.

Who would have suspected that Prince Aemond who was dragonless until his 10th name day, would one day claim the largest dragon alive in Westoros.

You looked ahead where the rocky hillside subdued into a a patch of meadow, right by a precipice.

Cautious steps brought you near the edge across the soft rug of grass, as you overlooked the breathtaking scenery sprawling in waves of green and yellow as far as the eye could see. To your right, stood King’s Landing, tainting your vision, suddenly feeling out of place as Blackwater Bay edged its borders.

Wonder nearly left you speechless. “Beautiful.”

Suddenly, you felt Aemond standing behind you. “Yes. Yes, you are,” he whispered, pressing hot lips to the side of you neck.

“I’m sure you say that to all the girls you bring here.”

He chuckled into your skin. “Not idly do I allow others to ride my dragon.”

Aemond unclasped the cloak, letting it pool around your feet.

“Why me, then?” you asked abruptly, shivering as the cool breeze circled you.

Expert fingers tugged the fabric covering your shoulder, allowing his lips to caress you.

“We both agree on what this is,” he mumbled, bringing his hand to undo the buttons of your shirt.

“And what is this, my prince?” you had to bite back a gasp once he jerked the fabric open, exposing your breasts.

Aemond paused and watched as the coolness effectively hardened your nipples.

“Bliss,” he purred sweetly, fingers gently caressing your breasts. “You have such a hold on me.

You scoffed. "Then why do you not desire me?"

He moved your hand in between the two of you, granting you access to his hardened cock.

And just like that, your knees trembled when he rolled into your touch. "Do not dare question my desire for you."

As much as you'd love to trust his words, you wanted to further press this matter.

You gently caressed him through his pants. "You will eat me... kiss me... lick me... but you won't..." a gentle squeeze earning the most enticing moan you had ever heard from him. "... fuck me."

His jaw was resting on your shoulder as he eagerly sped up his thrusts.

"If I do that... I won't be able to go back," he groaned, yearning for your touch. "I will have to claim you."

The rawness of it had you clenching around nothing, nearly groaning at how alluring he could be.

"Please do."

Aemond removed your shirt, suckling gently at each nipple before moving to your riding pants, which he quickly removed, combining them into a pile nearby.

You stood completely naked in front of him.

Even though pleasure had been clouding your judgement, you said, "We're going to do it here?"

He was kneeling in front of you, looking up to meet your gaze, and that's when you knew you were doomed.

"Ride me," he whispered seductively, sitting on the pile of clothes he'd previously tossed to the ground.

You caressed his handsome face, letting your fingers linger on his eyepatch. "Remove your coat, then."

But Aemond aimed to please at all times, and not only did he remove the leather coat but also the shirt underneath, exposing his bare torso. Short and thin silver hair ran down his navel, disappearing inside his leather pants.

He'd always be able to take your breath away with how captivating he was. All of him.

And he was yours for the taking.

You approached him and planted a single kiss on one perky nipple before wrapping your lips around it. Aemond flinched lightly when you grazed your teeth in between suckles.

He brought his thumb to caress your cheek as you sucked on him eagerly.

"You do love using your mouth, don't you?"

Humming and setting your eyes on him, you bit down gently, earning a gasp from the young prince.

Aemond chuckled, pushing you off him, only to drop to the group, sitting on soft surface.

"Come."

He leaned back, propping himself up on both elbows, set on keeping his pants on.

You did as told, and straddled him.

Reflexively, you started gliding your folds along his covered cock, yearning for more and more friction.

"Now, my sweet lady..." he said in a dangerously low voice. "Lean back."

Your voice cracked. "What?"

Aemond held a mischievous grin. "Lean back."

"Why?"

You brought your hands to rest on his muscular chest for support.

"Do as I say," he insisted, his eye fixed on you. "You will enjoy it."

Truth be told, you had no doubt that you would, which was why you settled for doing exactly as told, leaning back and gripping his thighs with both hands to keep your balance.

Aemond took his sweet time admiring your body, from top to bottom, only to have his eye linger on your folds.

"Let me see it."

The way his words came out in such a velvety delight had your heartbeat quicken as a gush of wetness poured out of you as your pussy involuntarily clenched.

Having such a handsome man literally at your mercy felt more empowering than you have ever expected.

You felt his cock twitch underneath you when you had your other hand release the grip on his thigh to join your other. Once two of your fingers had spread your folds, a low growl came from his throat and his hips jerked up.

"So swollen..." he said, licking his lips in pure hunger. "And wet..."

You did’t need to look down to come to that same conclusion; you could feel the fabric of his sweatpants drenched in all of your wetness. Realizing that this was turning you on far more than intended, you locked your two fingers in a v shape and began sliding them along your folds, barely stroking your clit.

That was enough to get a more fiery reaction from him.

Aemond had one hand tugging at the waistband of his pants to relief some pressure on his cock.

"Aemond..." you started, stopping your fingers from moving. "What are you—"

He bit his lower lip for a second, as if pondering his next move. Then his gorgeous face met yours.

"Just keep them parted."

And just like that, he jerked his hand forward, pressing the two fingers against your clit. The sudden pressure caused you to jolt slightly as you removed your own hand, feeling your pussy lips clamping down on his digits.

"Just like that..." you heard Aemond’s voice come out in heavy pants.

He kept alternating the pressure with which he teased your clit, drawing the most erratic moans from you as sticky sounds started to fill the air around you. Your hands had to grip his thighs tightly to keep yourself steady as each stroke threatened to throw you off balance.

After a few more seconds of intense stimulation, he removed his fingers from your grip.

Nothing in the world could have prepared you for what you witnessed next: the Aemond Targaryen brought the dripping digits to his lips, drinking in your wetness.

He moaned, his hips swaying up and down as you saw him free his cock from his pants, strings of precum spilling onto his lower abdomen. "Delicious..."

"Gods..." you breathed, not believing how much more alluring this man had become before your eyes.

His eye fluttered shut for a brief moment. "You need to taste this."

Heat rushed to your cheeks at his offering. "Aemond..."

He released the his fingers from his mouth and brought downwards to your folds once more, dragging them along your slit to gather a decent amount of wetness. Once he was satisfied with it, he propped himself up with on his elbow.

"Open."

You immediately parted your lips, feeling his fingers slide slowly inside your mouth.

Locking your eyes with his, you enveloped them with your tongue to taste the yourself.

A sudden hiss left his lips as he felt your folds dragging along his length.

He mumbled impatiently. "Ride me."

Even though your mind was hazy from pleasure, you managed to comply with his request and eagerly positioned yourself on his tip.

But then you realised something else. "I think you're... too big."

Aemond's hips jerked up lightly and he groaned as your wetness slid down his length in beads.

"I'll guide you."

It had been quite a long since you had had let a man take you fully, and you worried you wouldn't be able to accommodate his size.

But feeling the tip pressed at your entrance was enough to persuade you.

He gripped your waist with both hands.

"Look down."

Your eyes left his beautiful face only to be met with the mouthwatering sight of his veiny cock slowly being swallowed. The initial stretch had you flinching momentarily, and Aemond halted.

"Set the pace," he huffed, clearly struggling to overcome the pleasure that having your tight walls around him had sparked. "I... can't... you're too tight..."

You could sense he wouldn't last much longer, but were determined to have him balls deep inside you.

Mustering all the courage within you, you sank further, having to bite down on your lip so hard you almost drew blood blood.

Aemond, on the other hand, had his uncovered eye fixed on his cock as it faded inside you.

Your legs hurt from the strain of keeping the balance and steady pace, and once your walls engulfed all of him, you watched in marvel as Aemond brought one hand to up in a fist, sinking his teeth into it with a muffled groaned.

He no longer dared to look at you, shutting his eyes in sheer concentration.

"I want to move..." you moaned teasingly, giving his cock a few trying squeezes.

He shook his head, teeth digging ever deeper into his own skin.

The moment you lifted your hips to have him slide off, he suddenly came to sit upright, gripping your waist and removing you from his cock altogether.

"Already so close, prince Aemond?" you taunted as he dropped onto his back once more.

He frowned deeply, face flushed. "You're too tight... you feel too good."

His words of praise only intensified your hunger for more, so you kept grinding your bare pussy and milking more and more precum from his soaked cock. In no time, a few more beads of clear liquid started to slide down his sides from the constant rhythmic sway of your hips.

"My turn," you let out, bringing your fingers to collect some droplets on his lower abdomen.

Aemond's mouth fell open in utter surprise, eye following your every move. You wrapped your tongue around your digits, tasting the warm liquid. He raised his hips reflexively and let out a couple of deep moans, dragging you along his cock with renewed hunger.

"Want to taste?" You moaned, feeling the familiar coil deep within you tightening from all the stimulation.

You brought your fingers down to his skin once more and coated them, extending your hand to his lips.

"Go on, Prince Aemond," you cooed teasingly. "Taste yourself."

He darted his tongue out, welcoming his own precum that dripped from you. Your hips faltered for a second as your foggy brain focused on the erotic sight in front of you. He greedily sucked on them in between moans and swirls, never breaking eye contact with you.

If not for the overwhelming need for release, you would have done it again, but instead you resumed your strokes along his cock, thankful that his strong hands were able to keep your pace from faltering.

“I'm too close...” he warned in a low tone.

You tried to restrain your moans, but his hips jerking up worked wonderfully to magnify your own delight. “Wait... I’m almost there...”

Your body pressed down against his in a desperate attempt to reach your high. His ripped abdomen flexed with each from you and his hands tightened so hard against your hips that you were sure a few marks would stain your skin afterwards.

“Adere kostilus... faster..." he commanded in between hisses.

The steady pace you both had been able to set completely broke down into ragged jerks of his hips as your folds kept coating him in your wetness. A few more wet sounds and tugs proved to be too overwhelming to dragonrider, causing a guttural growl to escape his gaping mouth.

His body started quivering from intense pleasure as hot spurts of cum shot from his cock, glazing his flushed and sweaty torso with strings of creamy liquid. The turf of silver hair that spread from his navel towards the base oh his cock was completely drenched in a mixture of cum, sweat and precum.

Soon after, Aemond grunted in utmost bliss, sliding one hand to your backside and giving it a loud smack. “Ride me harder...”

Feeling his cock twitch in between your folds and his impressive echoes of pleasure was the last incentive you needed to get pushed over the edge. You plunged into a loud cry that only intensified with each roll of your hips and brush of your clit along his throbbing cock.

“You’re mine... you’re mine... iksā ñuhon,” he mumbled mindlessly.

Your breasts bounced lightly with the rest of your body, and with a few more slaps from his hand on your ass cheek, you came to a stop, clenching around nothing in waves of pleasure. It was too much, and you leaned forward, digging your nails on his slick abdomen, desperate for something to ground you as you peaked high.

You felt both your legs begin violently shake, and that’s when he gripped both your thighs with his both hands to keep you in place

“That’s it...,” he praised sweetly, massaging your quivering thighs as you regained your senses. “You did so well.”

He hand slid up to grip your arms, helping you regain your balance. You felt beads o sweat drip down your neck and back.

"How does it feel to ride a dragon?"

"I should have you dead for being this irresistible, Prince Aemond," you said in between ragged breaths.

"Nēdyssy zaldrīzī senusy daor." Aemond's lips curled up. "Brave men do not kill dragons, they ride them."

[cambion-companion]

Hear me out, mild but super passionate after sex where aemond lets reader braid his hair 😩 while keeping her on his lap (her straddling him), caressing her body, holding her for dear life and softly kissing every inch of skin he can reach… just please I could die for thisss (specially if you make him use valyrian here and there), he deserves the purest, most desperate love

GOD I had to address this one real quick good lord over here fanning myself! This is a shorter drabble, but I plan on revisiting very often in future fics.

Aemond x female!reader | Smut leading to fluff...leading back to smut I got carried away | post-coital bliss | Breeding kink?

"Aemond!" His name spilled from your lips, as it had many times during the course of that warm night. You came undone around him as he thrusted erratically up into your heated core, spilling his warm seed deep inside you. Your hands pressed against his chest, Aemond gripping your hips so tight you expected marks would show the next day. You straddled him, milking his cock as you rode out the last of your orgasm.

"Y/N." Aemond breathed your name like a prayer, staring up at you, his silver hair splayed on the pillow. It was one of those rare, vulnerable moments he allowed you to be on top. With a shift, and his arms coming to hold you against him, Aemond sat up, so your chests brushed, his member still deep within you. He pressed a searing kiss to your lips. "Issa jorrāelagon, you were wonderful."

You took a lock of his hair in your fingers, pulling it over his shoulder as you began to braid. "I'm a natural at dragon riding."

Aemond snorted, not seeming to mind your attention to his hair as he littered kisses along your neck and shoulder. His arms were tight around you, holding you against him as though he wished to mold your bodies together. You chuckled wickedly as you felt him growing hard inside you once more, his cock twitching as you moved your hips teasingly. Aemond groaned, sucking the skin at your throat, his teeth and tongue working to mark you as his.

You continued weaving small braids into his long hair. "You have the loveliest hair, Aemond. It's quite unfair."

"Hmm." Was your only reply, he was busy kissing each freckle you had within reach of his lips. You let out a breathy gasp of pleasure as he began rutting gently into you. With firm hands at your back, Aemond guided you backwards to lay beneath him as he continued moving againt you with languid strokes.

He grabbed your legs, encouraging you to hook them around his torso, opening you further to his administrations. Aemond placed sloppy kisses to your breasts, his pace quickening, angled just right to hit the most sensitive part of you. Already you felt your core tightening with anticipation, your eyes rolling back as your mouth fell open, uttering a blissful sound halfway between his name and a moan.

"Aemond, I don't think I can." The sensation was so overwhelming, you could hardly think much less breathe, your vision going blurry as he drove himself deeper into you.

"You can, again. As many times as I will have you." Aemond's hand encircled your throat gently, his violet eye hooded as he looked down at your enraptured face. His pace was punishing now, the sound of your heavy breathing accompanied by the lewd wetness of your cunt already full from his last climax. "Take me, Y/N. I want you to bear me a child." Aemond was close, you could tell by the way his words slurred as he spoke. Your walls tightened around him, the feeling of overstimulation giving way to blinding ecstasy as you reached your limit. "I want to see your belly swell with my seed."

Those low, rasped words sent you over the edge. You cried out his name, falling apart once again, taking Aemond with you as he pumped more of his cum deep inside your aching core. His movements stilled, hand moving to cup the swell of your breast, kneading your plump flesh. After savoring the feel of your heat around him several more moments, Aemond reluctantly pulled out, leaving you feeling oddly empty.

"My, we've made quite a mess." Aemond got off the bed, walking to the water basin, grabbing a washcloth and soap as well.

You smiled with ardent affection for the man, watching him clean your body with tender care. He finished, frowning at the bedspread. "Yes, these sheets are quite ruined." Setting the bowl of soapy water aside, Aemond joined you on the mattress once more. "Does my little dragon rider desire a bath?" He placed a warm hand upon your stomach, ghosting his lips against your ear.

You reached up to comb your fingers through his hair, undoing the loosened braids you had made there. "I would love to bathe, but only if my dragon joins me."

"Hmm, you are in luck then, my love." Aemond chuckled softly, bringing your hand up to place soft kisses against your wrist. "Now you've claimed me, I will never leave your side."

[thegreatestsandwich]

My hips are the temple and your hands a prayer (Aemond Targaryen x f!reader)

(This is my apology fic for dissapearing for a week)

Masterlist

Pairing: Aemond Targaryen x Reader

Word count: 3.1k

Summary: Aemond has to leave for some family buisness just to come back and be surprised by your announcement.

Warning: Mentions of cringy sex, voyeurism, read if you want, but if you are a minor, leave! why are you here?!

A/N: Sorry for dissapearing but this week was so horrible that I only wanted to curl on my bed and cry :( I also was surprised that I got to 300 followers? how? I mean thank you so much but I guess I didn’t actually expected it! By the way, I saw the few requests you guys send me and I will get to them as fast as possible, I’m trying to finish A guiding sea so after that I will start them! 

In the few weeks you been married, there was no moment your husband wouldn’t have you on your bed. Aemond made his mission to let you discover what beautiful and graceful sex was and to be honest, you really didn’t mind, you enjoy the type of emotions that man could give you.

This morning wasn’t any different as his hands wrapped around your tights as he help you ride him. “Just like that.” He whispered against the skin of your breasts, the tightness that surrounded him was an aphrodisiac feeling he would never get tired of it. Several loud knocks broke away that erotic ambience that surrounded the both of you.

Keep reading

[a-lc01]

[squided]

clunkiest water graphics I've ever seen

[ninawenn]

I’ve never been so happy that a video has sound.

[glowingghosty]

CRONCHY

[friendraichu]

@thevastnessof dont hide this excellent contribution in the tags

[letsbelonelytogetherr]

Memory taps a gun to your inner skull & demands you bring back the dead.

— Donte Collins, from "Grief, Again"

[letsbelonelytogetherr]

You're trying not to tell him you love him, and you're trying to choke down the feeling, and you're trembling, but he reaches over and he touches you, like a prayer for which no words exist, and you feel your heart taking root in your body, like you've discovered something you don't even have a name for.

— Richard Siken, Crush

[eddiemadmunson]

Little mouse part 4

Paring: Aemond x reader

Warning: 18+, fingering, dirty talk

Part 1, Part 2, Part 3

Keep reading

[runningmunson]

My Fierce Lady

Pairing: Aemond Targaryen x Female!Reader Word Count: 1.4k Summary: You are the second wife of Aemond, him already having a daughter. When a man tries to attack, you defend yourself and his daughter. Aemond makes it there after the attack and comforts you. Warnings: Swearing, violence, brief mention of pregnant reader, man attacking reader, murder, blood, assumption of attempted r*pe, angry/protective aemond, angst

You were the second wife of Aemond Targaryen. His first wife died soon after she gave birth to their daughter, Maelehra. As terrible as it sounded, he wasn’t that heartbroken over her death but sad for Mae. He didn’t want to marry her, and they never truly got along, only doing it to please his parents and to perform his duty.

They gave him some time until his mother decided it was enough. She believed he needed a new wife and for his now 4-year-old daughter to have a mother once more. His mother chose you to marry her second son. You were from a smaller noble house and known for your timid and kind nature; a perfect match to balance out the blunt and confrontational Targaryen.

You had been married for close to a year. While your and Aemond's relationship had slowly blossomed into love, you quickly grew close to his young daughter. Your favorite thing to do together was to practice your needlework while she sat and watched, which led you to today.

Aemond had been gone since the morning, leaving you to entertain the girl. It was a colder day, so you decided to stay inside your chambers close to the fire. Maelehra played with toys on the floor while you sat and stitched a flower. The sound of banging on the door drew your attention.

Unexpectedly, an unknown man with dirty clothes and greasy hair threw the door open and looked all around the room before he caught the sight of the both of you.

“What is the meaning of this? You will tell me who you are right this instant,” You questioned the man who barged into the room. The glint of silver armor caught your eye as you noticed the guard stationed outside your room was slumped against the wall. Your blood ran cold.

You stood from your seat and grabbed Mae by her shoulders as you shoved her behind you. You may not have birthed her, but you have come to claim her as your own, and you would die before you let anyone harm Aemond’s daughter. “You stay away from us, I am warning you. Leave now, and you may yet get out with your life.”

The man chuckled. His lips turned to a sick smile as he twisted a dagger in his hands. He moved closer to you. “How helpless do you think the young prince will feel when he finds his daughter, wife, and unborn child dead in his own chambers?”

“Run, Maelehra!” You screamed at her as the man charged at the both of you. He held out the dagger, making a long slice from your cheekbone to your chin. You let out a cry. Mae dashed toward the open door, but the man was quick enough to grab the collar of her dress. He wrapped his arms around the little girl and picked her up.

You grabbed a heavy goblet and smashed him on the head. The man let go of Mae, and she ran out the door. You took this moment of distraction to go for the dagger your husband kept on his bedside table.

You were about to reach it when you were thrown onto the bed. The man turned you on your back, putting his weight on you so you couldn’t move. You tried to scream for help, but his hand found your throat silencing you. He began to tear your dress while his hand tightened his grip.

You started to see black, no air able to reach your burning lungs. Tears clouded what you could see. This was how you would die, being defiled and strangled by a man you didn’t know.

In another part of the Red Keep, Maelehra searched for help and managed to come upon her grandmother, the Queen, and Ser Criston Cole. She told them a man was hurting you, and that was all it took for them to run to your aid. They called a servant boy over to go find Aemond.

Your mind went to your husband. No- this was not the way you would die. You kicked and scratched at the man, not wanting to go down without a fight. With what little strength you had left, you reached for the dagger, fingertips barely able to touch the cold steel. You finally managed to get a hold of it and slammed it right into the man’s neck.

He immediately let go. Blood poured from his neck and mouth. You could hear a gurgling sound as you shoved him off you. His body fell to the floor with a thud.

Criston and Alicent ran into the room to find you on all fours on the bed attempting to catch your breath. The Queen let out a scream when she saw the dead man. She rushed to you when she saw the blood all over your dress and hands, thinking the worst, “My gods! Go get the maester!”

---

“Prince Aemond! Come quick! Something happened to your daughter and Lady (Y/N),” the servant boy ran out into the courtyard where Aemond and Aegon were practicing their fighting.

Without thinking, Aemond grabbed his sword from its previous place on the ground. He followed the servant boy out the door before sprinting past him once he realized where he was going. Aegon followed close behind.

He reached his chambers to see a dead guard on the ground. When he walked into the room, he frantically searched for his daughter, finding her in his mother's arms. He ran to her and pulled her into a hug.

“She saved me, papa,” Mae yelled excitedly, still too young to understand the gravity of the situation.

“She hasn’t spoken a word, and she will not stop looking at him,” Alicent said to her son, looking toward your place on the bed. He turned around to look at you for the first time. Sure enough, your eyes were trained on the dead man who lay on the floor, blood pooling around his body. He handed his daughter over to his mother and walked to where you sat. He yelled out, venom dripping in his voice, "I will have the head of whoever plotted this heinous attack!"

“Move out of the way,” he said forcefully to the maester looking you over. The maester stepped aside so Aemond could take his place. He grabbed your face tilting it toward his own, “Don’t look at him, look at me.”

You tore your gaze away to meet the eye of your beloved husband. “Aemond,” you croaked out, your bruised throat sore when you spoke. You began to sob, finally allowing yourself to process what just happened “I-I killed him.”

“Shhh, I know. Just let it all out, I have you now,” Aemond said. He took a good look at your disheveled state. Anger seared through his veins when he saw your dress torn and bruising on your thighs. His jaw was clenched, “Did he…”

Aemond couldn't even finish his question; he was seething. You shook your head no, knowing exactly what he was asking. He pulled you close, hand stroking your hair. He could feel you shaking and saw the dagger still tightly in your hand. He pried your fingers away, letting it fall to the ground with a clatter.

He turned to the maester, “Is she alright? And the babe?”

“Yes, other than that cut and the bruising on her neck and legs, they both appear to be fine,” the maester answered.

“I don’t wish to be in this room any longer, please,” you spoke quietly, pleading to your husband. He nodded his head and slowly helped you up. His body was placed in a way to make sure that you could not take a glance at the man who attacked you.

Once you were cleaned and settled in another room, you made your way to the bed, exhausted and sore from the events.

“Im proud of you. You were very brave today, my fierce lady,” Aemond said, pulling you tighter in his arms. His hand found its way to your swollen midsection; a feeling of comfort washed over the both of you as you felt the child squirming around.

“I don’t feel very brave. I was terrified I was going to die, terrified that you were going to lose your children and wife in a single day. What if they come back?” Your voice wavered out of fear.

“I will not allow that to happen; do you understand me? I wouldn’t have been so merciful to give him a quick death. I will kill anyone who lays a hand on any of you. You are mine to protect, now and forever,” Aemond kissed your forehead, holding you until you drifted off to sleep safe and sound while he stayed awake with nothing but vengeance on his mind.

[written-in-flowers]

Hi!! Could you do a drabble for Aemond x lowborn reader (fem), where Aemond is torn bc he fell in love for the first time but also feels a sense of duty to marry a highborn lady bc he’s a prince? And maybe he even comes to his father Viserys for advice? 😩 I think we were robbed of father/son interactions on the show

Ooooh, I sense forbidden romance in the air! Lovely, hope you enjoy!

He already felt stupid for asking. What answer is he possibly expecting to get? 'Yes, son of mine, you may marry the lowborn servant in the kitchens.' It sounded ridiculous even saying it to himself. But, the fool in his wished to try. The same fool who'd paused when you'd first entered the room, holding a tray of food to serve at their table.

He'd never seen you before that moment. Granted, the Red Keep is full of servants working day and night to serve the royal family. But, he recognized faces and remembered names well. Your face was one he'd definitely have remembered. He kept himself composed, cold and unfeeling, as you placed a bowl of greens nearest him. He did not let his eyes linger on you long, and he drank wine to find something to do. You unsettled him, but not in an unpleasant way. He then watched you leave without saying a word.

He saw you again walking across the yard. You had a basket of vegetables freshly pulled from the earth, and on your way to the cook. He'd kept on sparring with Ser Cole to not bring attention to himself, but his one eye kept you in view. He couldn't help noticing the sun shining your hair, and the sparkle in your eyes. You were lovely in the general sense; the same way any woman would be lovely, but it still caught him off guard. Just like Ser Cole's shield when it slammed into his chest.

He found out who you were, and that you worked in the kitchens. Aemond suddenly decided he no longer liked the serving girl who tended to his chambers, his linens, clothes, and cups. You were brought to him the following morning, carrying a breakfast tray for him. He let you serve him, without saying anything as he nibbled on this and that. You'd changed from the grubby scullery maid dress into the serving one, a red dress with a white apron. It looked nice on you. He tried finding something to say as you moved about fixing his room and changing out sheets. Aemond finally spoke to you when he claimed he had trouble tying his jerkin. He pretended to have a shoulder injury, and therefore needed assistance. You'd appeared reluctant at first, unsure of his real intentions, before he urged you to come over.

He watched you deftly tie each piece of clothing. His eyes took in the shape of your nose and lips. He saw the large dark mark around above your left eyebrow and curling onto your temple down to your cheekbone. He'd never noticed it until now because your hair kept it covered, but being closer, he inspected it further.

"That's an interesting birthmark," he commented, nodding to it as you finished clasping his doublet together.

"Um, thank you, Your Grace," you replied shyly, finishing up his doublet. "Some people tell me it's shaped like the moon."

"A crescent moon."

"A what?"

"The moon when it's shaped like your scar."

"Oh, I see. I always wondered what that was called..." you then realized your proximity to him and backed away. "Forgive me, Your Grace. I-"

"-You haven't done anything wrong," he insisted. "Only talk, nothing more. You may go now."

He watched you leave, and wished he'd made you stay. The days carried on like this: you helping him with his routines in the morning and at night, occasionally making conversation until he's forced to dismiss you. He particularly enjoyed how you never seemed to stare at his sapphire eye. You acted as if it he were whole, a full man with all his parts. Women always noticed it first, and their faces of disgust or distaste bothered him. He tried not caring, but it grew under his skin. You dared to ask him about it once.

"How'd it happen, Your Grace?"

"How did what happen?"

"Your eye..."

He took a drink from his cup and told you the story. Well, his version of it. He said he'd been attacked by two boys, they got into a scuffle, one of them pulled out a blade and slashed his eye. You were enraptured by the story.

"It must be difficult," you said after, "Having to live with only one eye. I imagine lots of people stare and..." you stopped talking, realizing you'd move onto sensitive grounds.

"It is hard," he nodded. "But, I like to think it gives me an advantage. My opponent thinks he can come at me on my left, but then is instantly proven wrong when I strike him with my blade."

"I didn't mean simply for fighting, Your Grace," you replied. "I mean for normal things as well. I imagine lots of noble ladies don't want to marry a man missing an eye. I hear the lot of them say you're scary and intimidating."

He stood up from his table, walking over to you. You did not back away from him. Staring into your eyes, he asked, "Do you think I'm scary?"

You looked over his face, then said, "I've met scarier men than you."

"Have you?"

"There was this brute I met on the Street of Silk-"

"-You worked there? Before coming here?"

"No, Your Grace, I lived there with my mother. She was a whore, who had me in the brothel where she bedded my father." You spoke so plainly to him. He liked it. "The brute was missing an eye, had sharpened his teeth to fine points, cut his nails into claws, and ate raw meat. They called him The Beast."

"Sounds terrifying," he replied in an unimpressed tone.

"You wouldn't talk like that if you'd seen him."

You both talked throughout the night. You told him stories of your childhood in the city and of your family. He recounted tales of him flying on Vhagar and about the other dragons of old. You made him feel human. He liked that. Finally, one night after a few cups of wine, he bedded you. It'd been gentle, slow, and passionate. The both of you became one soul, one body. Aemond realized, as he watched you quake underneath him, that he did not wish for anyone else.

But, you were lowborn. A bastard girl of a whore in King's Landing, who never met her father and works as a servant to the prince. You were not marriage material to anyone who mattered. His duty as a prince was to marry a high born lady from a noble house to strength his family's alliances. He always stood by his duty; he refused to be like Aegon, who liked shirking away from his as much as possible. He'd do right by his family, and be the good soldier who did what was expected. Yet, he desired something more, something real. He'd done many great things for his family; he'd burn down cities for them. Perhaps, just perhaps, they might let him have this one thing.

Walking into his father's bed chambers, he found the old king sitting by his model of Old Valyria. Shaky hands whittled away at a new dragon piece. Aemond could smell the sickness being masked underneath incense burned by the maesters. His father still had some of his mind left. He'd not completely lost himself yet.

"Father?" he called to him, standing by the door with his feet apart and hands behind his back. Be a good soldier, son. Let him see you are serious.

"Ah, Aemond," he smiled softly, rotting teeth starting to show on the bottom half, "My son...How good to see you."

"Yes, um," he stepped forward, "There was...there was something I wish to ask you."

He'd normally go to his mother for this request, but he knew what she'd say. She'd tell him 'no'. His father, a man and the king, had better sway. If he can break laws to make Rhaenyra, a woman, an heir to the throne, then he can break a law for him, his trueborn son.

"What is it, son? Sit, sit down."

Aemond took a seat across from his father. He watched brittle hands work the dragon into its shape. He must know. Even if he gets what he expected, he must ask. "Father, you once broke tradition and law to make Rhaenyra your heir-"

"-Not this again," he groaned. "I told Hightower that I will not change my mind-"

"-No, no, it isn't about that, Father. It's..." he took a deep breath, "I wish to marry, Father."

His eyes lit up, "Is that so? Who is she?"

"Well, her name is Y/N. She is clever, charming, gentle, and kind. She...She's wonderful," he replied. 'And, I wish to marry her."

"Who is her father? Her house?"

"She...well, you see..."

His father nodded sagely, "I see. She is lowborn, I take it?"

"Yes."

"Bastard born?"

"Yes."

"Comely?"

"Very. I love her, Father. I love her, and I..." he exhaled deeply, "I have always done everything you and mother ever wanted. I trained myself in sword and shield. I studied history, philosophy, art, and war. I have been cordial to my half-sister and her children when you've asked. I have always maintained the respect, and uphold the values and traditions of our house," he said, "But, for once, Father...Let me have one thing. Let me have her hand."

"You may have her," Viseryes said after a long pause, "But, you may not wed her."

"Father, I-"

"-You will marry a noblewoman and have noble children. You may keep this girl as a bedmate or a paramour, but marriage? I am sorry, but I cannot allow this."

"Why not? You allow Rhaenyra to do as she pleases! To seek her pleasures and always turn a blind eye to anything she's ever done." Rage began burning inside him. He stood up, fury burning at his father. He should have known.

"Rhaenyra married in her bloodline and had children as expected of her station. You must do the same, to keep peace and prosperity going."

He scoffed at these words. Aemond did not know what answer he expected. Perhaps he'd expected his father to be on his side for once; to care about Alicent's children rather than only his first wife's child. "I..." he balled up his fists, "I understand, Father."

"I'm not saying you can't keep the girl."

"I wanted a life with her. I want children with her."

"Which you can have."

"It is not the same, and you know it isn't!" he snapped at him. "I should have suspected as much from you. If our name isn't 'Rhaenyra' then we go unnoticed by you."

"Aemond-"

He stormed out before his father could see the real fury. Aemond did not tear up or feel weepy. His fire burned. It roared. He stormed into his apartments where you stood, putting his mended doublet on a table.

"Your Grace, I-"

"-We're leaving."

"Leaving?"

"Yes, leaving."

"You talked to your father then?" you smiled expectantly.

"Yes, and it went exactly as I expected, but," he cupped your cheek and brought you close, "That won't stop us. I don't need his approval. I don't need any of this. I only need you."

You stared at him for a moment, then nodded slowly. You left him for a corner of his bedroom by his bed. Tapping the wall, the side cracked open and he saw the secret passage door. He watched you bend down and show him two rucksacks with disguises. He smiled.

Yes, he would marry you and damn it all.

[cambion-companion]

Hello! i imagine aemond follows the trope "bad to everyone but you", so you could write a one-shot where they grow up studying together in childhood, the reader loves history and he is completely whipped by it

One-shot time!! Aemond x reader

No content warnings | lots of fluff | Aemond being a nerd

Most children liked to play outdoors, running wild and scraping up their knees. You, however, were not like most children, preferring the company of books to that of your peers.  You took shelter often in the library of the Red Keep, surrounded by dusty old tomes stacked to the ceiling.  Shortly after your eleventh name day, one particular afternoon, as you sat nose deep in Chronicles of Ancient Targaryen Philosophy, the usual heavy silence of the room was broken as someone opened the heavy oak door and entered.

You looked up from the page, eyes taking a moment to focus on the young boy now walking over to join you.  “Aemond, I haven’t seen you in a while.”  You had grown up practically at the young prince’s side, only being a year apart in age, and would even have called him “friend” had he not changed so after the incident with Rhaenyra’s children.  The left side of his face, still heavily bandaged, was taking a long time to heal.  The maesters had been unable to save the left eye. Aemond had become much more withdrawn into himself and prone to fits of temper ever since, despite what he had said about it being a “fair trade” for Vhagar.

Aemond sat himself to the right of where you were currently studying, grabbing a book at random and opening it with a dull thud.  “Leave me, I wish to be alone.”  The boy snapped.  Mildly hurt but not surprised, you sighed softly and made to exit the room with the silent library keepers.  Aemond placed a hand on your arm as you moved past him, “Not you.”

Reseating yourself next to the prince, you reopened your volume and stared at the words, unable to concentrate.  Your eyes darted up to where Aemond sat and found him watching you with his one eye, “What are you reading, Y/N?”

You shifted the book towards him so he could look at the text, “It’s a study on the ancient traditions of Valyria, I’ve already finished most other books that cover the topic and am finding this one to be the most comprehensive narrative.”

Aemond didn’t look away from your face, “I’ve taken more to reading the writings of history and philosophy myself…as well as studying the blade.  It is difficult, however, what with…”  He gestured to his face and sighed, flopping back against the chair.

“Are you alright?  We haven’t spoken since-”

“Do I look alright?”  Venom dripped from Aemond’s voice as he snapped out the words through gritted teeth.  You withdrew slightly and his tone softened, “Tell me what you’ve learned about Old Valyria, distract me Y/N.”  It was more a plea than anything you had heard before from your friend and you wanted desperately to help in any small way you could.

So you regaled Aemond all you could remember from the many volumes of history, literature and philosophy you’d read.  Many hours were spent with the two of you up in the library together, hours turned to days, days into months, and months into years.  Your fondness for Aemond only became stronger as he grew into a handsome young man, cunning as well as a fearsome warrior.  He wore an eyepatch to cover the eye he had lost, and you were the only lady who knew what truly lay beneath.  

Aemond, for all his mastery of blade and book, was never able to completely control his temper.  Except around you.  

One drizzly autumn day, as you watched him train with Sir Criston from the shelter of the stone hallway, another young warrior jeered from the sidelines as Aemond barely dodged an attack aimed where you knew his blind spot to be.  It was a small thing, at least so it seemed, but Aemond whirled on the man, grabbing the front of his shirt with one hand and raising his sword with the other.  

“Aemond, leave him!”  Sir Criston tried to pull the prince off to no avail.

You gathered your skirts and hurried down into the courtyard, your boots sinking into the soft mud as you approached the struggling men.  “Aemond!”  Your hand found his and you gently pried his fingers away from the other man’s tunic.  “He’s not worth it.”  

Your voice was soft, but it seemed to break Aemond out of a trance.  He pushed away from Sir Criston, lowering his sword and turning to you.  You squeezed his hand briefly before dropping it, all too aware of the many curious eyes on the two of you.  Nodding to Sir Criston, you made your way back to the Keep, not before you thought you heard a muttered “thank you” coming from Aemond’s lips.  It was so soft, however, you couldn’t be sure you hadn’t imagined it since your friend hardly ever said those words.

That same day as the sun rode the western sky, turning the trees golden as it sank toward the horizon, Aemond found you in your usual place next to the fireplace of the empty library, your head bent towards a book.  You felt a warm familiar hand on your shoulder and looked up with a smile, “I’m glad you found me.”

He huffed out an affectionate chuckle, briefly running the back of his finger down your cheek, “It’s not exactly difficult Y/N, you have very few refuges of habit.”

Aemond pulled a cushioned chair nearer to you and sat, thrumming his fingers on the arm.  You closed the History of Dragonriding on your lap, turning in your seat to face him.  Your knees almost brushed as he mirrored your movements, “Something is on your mind.” It wasn’t a question, you could read Aemond like any of the books in this library.

“Something is always on my mind, Y/N, but…you are right. I have been preoccupied of late.”  The flames from the fire were casting shadows across Aemond’s face, his eye roved across your features, lingering on your mouth.

“You have been my good friend, and a friend to my family, all my life Y/N.”  His hand reach across the distance separating you two and rested atop your own, “You possess an intelligence many lack, I never grow bored of our conversations.”

You smiled ruefully, “I’m thrilled, Aemond, truly…but why are you telling me this?”

Aemond leaned forward, long silver hair spilling over his shoulders, “I wish to court you, Y/N.  I want you to be mine.  You will be mine.”

You stood in alarm, a look of incredulity on your face.  Leaning over the prince, you touched the back of your hand to his forehead, “You must have a fever Aemond, it has burned away all sense from your mind!”

You let out a small sound as he grabbed your waist and tugged you forward causing you to collapse into him, straddling his lap.

“This is hardly proper!” Your words stirred the strands of shimmering hair caught on his face.

“I don’t care.”  His breath smelled of spiced apples.

“Aemond, someone will see!”  You pushed fruitlessly against his chest.

“I don’t care.”

You stopped your feeble attempts to free yourself, your hands splayed across his chest.  

“Look at me.”

You obeyed, looking fully into Aemond’s face.  He brought his hands up to cradle your head and brushed your noses together affectionately.  “There is no other woman in the world I could love, Y/N.  You are the temperance to my rage, the half of myself I lost all those years ago.”

You breathed out his name, Aemond’s violet gaze dropped to your lips.  You both moved as one, bringing your mouths together in a kiss that now seemed years overdue.  The firelight danced across your joined forms, the only witness to a blossoming love that would last more than a lifetime.

[lilibethwrites]

Growing Pains

Chapter 3 (out of 4): Theirs is the Fury?

Aemond Targaryen x F!Velaryon (Strong) Reader

Part 1 – Part 2

Clueless as ever to one another’s true feelings, Aemond and Y/N take a leap of faith that spirals into events that would change their lives forever. But, for the better or for the worse?

Warnings: NSFW

Word count: 4455

Keep reading

[lilibethwrites]

Growing Pains

Aemond Targaryen and Y/N ‘Velaryon’ grew up together. They played and stumbled and fell in the halls and empty chambers of Red Keep, retreated to study tomes under the God’s Tree in the courtyard, and took turns distracting the cooks as their pockets pulled at the seams with the stolen lemon cakes. As Y/N and Aemond’s mothers drifted apart, the young prince and princess grew closer—much closer than either of them thought was possible.

This is a slow-burn, multi-chapter fic that will be (heavily) canon divergent at times. Both Aemond and Y/N are 18+.

Part 2 - Part 3

 Warnings: None for this chapter

Word count: 2180

A.N: This was in the works for a while, but only as a vague idea. Aemond being a total diva and enamouring everyone pulled it out of the drafts and put it together at lightning speed.  

Keep reading

[runningmunson]

Start Anew

Pairing: Aemond Targaryen x Female!Reader Word Count: 1.1k Summary: After one of the many times Aemond puts you down, you get fed up of his fake apologies and let him know how you feel. Warnings: Swearing, insecure Aemond about being a disappointment, angst to fluff

A/N: Wanted to jump on the bandwagon and stray from my typical Stranger Things fics and take a crack at hotd.

The door to the hall slammed against the wall as you forcibly pushed your way through. The skirt of your dress billowed behind you, and hot tears streamed down your face as you made your way to your chambers. He had done it yet again, never showing any shame nor a shred of decency to not do it in front of his family. 

The room was silent; all eyes fell on the man who caused you to abruptly storm out during supper. The Queen looked toward her son, “Aemond! Must you constantly torture the poor girl?”

“How I treat my wife is of none of your concern, Mother,” Aemond replied flatly. He grabbed his cup to take a drink to attempt to avoid her harsh gaze. He wasn’t in the mood for another lecture he was sure about to receive. 

“Pardon me? None of my concern? I am your mother, and I did not raise you to treat a lady with such contempt and certainly not your wife. She did not ask for any of this. If you are discontent with your marital arrangement, then take that out on your father and me, but leave her be. Now go and apologize,” Alicent had enough of her son’s behavior. You came from a well-respected and noble house; it was humiliating that her own flesh and blood would treat you that way in front of others. If he wanted to act like a child, then he would be scolded like a child. 

Aemond scoffed, his lips turned up into a smirk, “Is that a suggestion or an order?”

“It is an order.” 

“Yes, mother,” he excused himself from the table and sulked toward your shared room. Shared is a funny word because he did not spend much time there. He could hear his mother tell his father how much of a disappointment and embarrassment he was to the family. It was something he had become quite used to hearing his whole life. 

———

You stood by one of the windows in your room, enjoying the warm breeze and the setting sun, turning the sky hues of orange and pink over Blackwater Bay. It wasn’t your home, but you were quickly learning to love waking up to the beautiful view and perfect weather. However, it was difficult to truly make Kings Landing your new home when your husband made it very clear that you don’t belong.

The sound of the door opening and closing drew you out of your thoughts. You didn’t need to turn around to know who it was; anyone else would have knocked before entering. He cleared his throat. 

“I have come to apologize for my behavior. It was unbecoming of me as your husband,” Aemond said, arms folded behind his back. You looked over your shoulder but noticed he didn’t even bother to look at you. 

“Save your breath, Aemond. I do not wish to hear another one of your insincere apologies that your mother forces you to make, so let us please move on. Once you walk out of this room, I will go back to being your dutiful and obedient wife while you do whatever you wish and continue to make a mockery of me in front of everyone,” you had every intention of accepting his false apology like you usually did, but for some reason, you couldn’t bite your tongue this time. You could tell your response came as a shock to him from his raised eyebrow and wide eye. 

“I-I did not know you felt that way, and I do not mean to make a mockery of you. That is not my intention,” he stuttered, his confidence faltering. He was not used to you speaking your mind. However, a bit of pride toward your newfound bluntness stirred in the pit of his stomach.

“What exactly is it then? You insult me every chance you get. I always knew I would never get to marry for love because of my status, but Gods, I never thought I would be made to feel trapped, like a prisoner from my own husband nonetheless. I still try to be a good wife, though. Despite your ever-growing hatred towards me, a small part of me hopes you might change, to learn to love me one day as I have you, but I am sorely disappointed every time,” you said as your chest heaved at the spilled confession you've kept locked deep inside your heart. It was hard to be hurt by the man you call your husband.

There’s that word again, disappointed. Aemond took a deep breath to calm his anger, not toward you but toward himself. “Have you ever thought that I am purposely making it difficult for you to love me? You said it yourself, I disappoint you. And it is not just you. It is my parents, my brother, my sister, the Targaryen name. Hell, even the whole damn entirety of the seven kingdoms. I am a disappointment and embarrassment to everyone I love and care about, even to people who I do not even know. I never wanted to marry or love someone just so they could be added to that long list.” 

“I do not understand you. Instead of proving them wrong, you choose to feed into it by treating me this way?” You questioned him.

“Well, I guess when you put it that way, it does sound a bit asinine,” he turned away, ashamed of himself.

“Have I done something to you to make you believe that I think like everyone else in this forsaken place? Because if I have, then I am truly sorry,” you said in a gentle voice. He had a sick way of thinking, and while it didn’t excuse his behavior, you tried to understand where he was coming from. 

Aemond shook his head, “No, no you have not. You have been nothing but perfect while I have been a complete fool. I am the one who is sorry; and so ashamed at my unfair treatment towards you.”

You walked over to him and placed a hand on his face. Your thumb traced the scar on his cheek that ran below the patch covering his missing eye. He raised his hand to envelope yours and further nuzzled his head, not used to a gentle and soft touch. “You may be a fool, Aemond, but you are my fool.” 

“You’re wrong, you know? I do not hate you, and whoever said I did not love you either?” He broke the silence. His hand moved from yours and placed it on the back of your neck; his other arm pulled you flush against him as he placed his lips on yours. When you finally pulled away, he leaned his forehead down to look at you.

“I vow to be a better man and husband. May we start anew?” He questioned, full of hope. 

You smiled, “I would like that very much.”

[amchapel]

The Taming of the Second Son

Rating: Mature Category: F/M Warnings: Dubious Consent Fandom: House of the Dragon Relationships: Aemond Targaryen/Reader Additional Tags: Vaginal Fingering, Mentions of Breeding Words: ~2.5k

Continuation of this post.

Later that night, when Aemond finds you alone in a study . . .

━━▲━━

“I am a prince.” Aemond gave you a look that was both haughty and indignant. “Making demands is expected of me.”

You returned his look tenfold. “Does every prince do what’s expected of him? Or is that only you?”

Something wild flashed across Aemond’s features.

You closed your book and started organizing your parchment. “I fear the hour grows late, my prince.”

Aemond crossed the study and stopped on the other side of the desk. “Yet you do not fear me.”

You narrowed your eyes. “Fear you? I do not fear you. I doubt I ever could.”

Aemond’s upper lip twitched. “How dare you—”

“—address you in such an informal manner?” You raised your eyebrows at him. For once, he seemed at a loss for words. “If we are to be wed, Aemond” —saying his name almost made you shiver— “the only thing I fear is your predictability.”

Aemond’s eye widened. “My predictability?”

“Do you think you are original for wanting to be feared?” You rolled your parchment and shook your head. “I have met many men who want the same, and they are all identical. Predictable.”

Aemond leaned over the desk, his face only a span from yours. “What is a marriage, pray tell, if not predictable?” He had apparently decided to change the subject.

You smiled derisively and, holding his stare, said, “Boring.”

Aemond started grinning . . . but seemed confused.

It would’ve been endearing if he hadn’t been a madman.

“It is a boring marriage, Aemond,” you repeated. You tried to focus on your inkwells and quills, but once again, saying his name almost made you shiver. And you didn’t know why.

But you stared at the defined curve of Aemond’s unmarred brow bone. The bumpy bridge of his nose. The arrogant corners of his mouth—

Oh, gods, he’d caught you staring.

You tried to hurry up . . . but lost your grip on your inkwells.

“Gods—”

“(Y/n)—”

You and Aemond both reached for them as they landed on the desk.

Thankfully, only one shattered.

Unfortunately, it was the fullest.

It splashed across the beautiful wood . . . and your and Aemond’s bodies.

You froze.

Aemond tsked and flicked his hands, trying to clean them (and failing). “If only you’d conducted yourself with a modicum of decorum and not stared at me open-mouthed like a—”

“—don’t you dare—”

“—common whore.”

You gasped. “How . . . dare you.” You were so angry your blood boiled. You started to raise your hand to slap him, but—

“Aht, aht, aht.” Aemond gave you a dubious look. “I wouldn’t move if I were you. The only thing between the drawers and your ink is your dress.”

You looked down, suddenly embarrassed. “Gods, what’s in this desk?”

He shrugged as he walked around it. “There’s no telling.”

You glanced around thoughtfully, listening to the ink and hoping Aemond was right for once, that your skirts would protect the desk’s contents.

“This was my great-grandfather’s favorite desk.”

“I’m so—” You cut yourself off. You hadn’t been paying attention, so when Aemond stepped behind you, his thighs flush with your skirts, your skin broke out in gooseflesh. “Aemond.”

“Hm.” He gently squeezed your elbows. “I don’t feel like taking the time to move your things elsewhere, so hold onto them tight. And hold still while I clean up your mess.”

Your mouth dried at his proximity. “Aemond, this — this is a lost cause. Let us get the servants instead.” And then, remembering you were angry with him, you added, “I doubt you even know how to wipe your own—”

You gasped when Aemond crouched behind you and clutched the bottom of your skirts. Your whole body reacted with a shiver.

“Relax,” he drawled, “I have yet to touch you.”

“Yet?”

Aemond huffed. “If you mean to tell me that your clothes are an extension of your body, then my future lady wife has been touched by many before her lord husband . . . and that doesn’t seem appropriate, now, does it?”

You huffed right back. “That’s not what I meant, and you know it.”

Aemond didn’t dignify you with a response — he unelaborately unhanded your skirts and clasped your ankles. Your legs twitched involuntarily because his calloused palms were like unadulterated, strong sunshine on your flesh, warm and fiery, like thawing yourself after having slept in the shade on an intolerably hot summer day turned cold by sunset.

“Is this” —Aemond stroked the back of your calves with his thumbs— “what you meant?”

Your mind, the traitor it was, wandered, ousting any and all rational thoughts, seating imaginings of his hands elsewhere. Squeezing your thighs. His fingers, where only ever yours had been before, at night, rubbing and curling inside . . .

The small of your back tingled, and you steeled yourself so you wouldn’t shiver again.

But your knees jerked toward each other.

Aemond chuckled. “Was this all it took to shut you up? A simple touch?”

“You forget yourself,” you said, not knowing why. Maybe speaking would ground you.

Aemond hummed, his smirk somehow audible. “Perhaps I have.” He squeezed your ankles farewell before returning to your skirts.

Your whole face burned. “This cannot be bettered, Aemond.”

“Mm. We’ll see about that.” He rose, and with him, so did your skirts.

Your heart was beating so hard it was shaking the beads on your chest. Your family, House Dōron, one of the surviving Valyrian families, had made a name for itself not only because it mined precious and semi-precious stones but also because of what it did with said stones. You had been raised in a family of creators — blacksmiths, goldsmiths, and more. But the dress you were wearing, which was currently a lost cause, had not been made by any Dōron (thankfully). Your lord father had told you to pack modestly for your time in King’s Landing — gods forbid the Targaryens and Hightowers were outclassed.

Aemond slotting a well-muscled thigh between your own pulled you from your thoughts. His chin rested on your right shoulder as he held your skirts to the edge of the desk.

And after a moment of silence, you asked, “Now what?”

“We wait,” Aemond said, his breath tickling your ear and cheek.

You looked down at the black mess being soaked up by your skirts. You could still hear the occasional pitter-patter of ink.

“Is this what you had in mind?” he asked suddenly. “The opposite of boring?”

You gathered your thoughts before saying, “I crave your cruelty no more than I do your deference, Aemond.”

“And what if” —Aemond brushed his lips against your ear— “I am the one who finds you lacking, my lady wife?”

“I never said you were lacking. If anything . . .” Swallowing your nerves, you turned your head to the side of his face. “You feel like too much.” You bit your lip, holding your breath, wondering how he’d respond.

“Is that . . . is that your attempt — did you just make a dirty joke?”

Deciding to use his own words against him, you answered, “Perhaps I have.”

Aemond huffed and shifted behind you, pushing his rapidly hardening crotch against your skirts. You lost your balance, but he kept you upright with his chin on your shoulder.

“Aemond—” You cut yourself off when you heard footsteps outside. Even Aemond froze. And when you thought the stranger was gone, you continued, “Aemond, this is highly inappropriate. If we are to be wed, I mean — but until then—”

Suddenly, someone knocked on the door. “Hello?”

Your stomach dropped. You tried to think of something to say to send the stranger away, but Aemond did first.

“Leave at once,” he barked, his voice startling you. “I am studying and do not wish to be disturbed.”

You both watched the shadow under the doors hesitate.

“Forgive me, my prince, I am trying to find Lady (Y/n). I am her lord mother’s lady-in-waiting.”

“And you think I know where she is?” Aemond raised his voice. “Leave.”

“Yes, my prince. My apologies.” The shadow disappeared.

Aemond breathed in through his nose and out his mouth. “Well, then.” He cleared his throat. “That was close.”

For some reason, you were worried he’d leave now, and even though you’d hated this idea at first, you’d grown to like his warmth at your back.

“No one knows where I am.” You found yourself staring at the staining on your skirts. How it moved past even Aemond’s hands now.

“You’re right,” he said.

You hadn’t realized it before, but his voice was much softer. Not only because he didn’t have to project anymore but also because . . . it was for you?

What a foolish thought.

“Perhaps I want you to promise something,” you said, trying to keep your voice even.

“It depends.”

“Promise that we will wed . . . or release me. I cannot be caught like this.”

Aemond seemed to think about it for a beat— “Cut me.”

You tried to face him and almost headbutted him. “I beg your pardon?”

“Cut me,” he repeated evenly. He freed your skirts but not you — he grabbed your forearms. “And cut yourself. Let us bleed and promise. Let us touch. Without shame.”

You fought against him for a second, but he didn’t let you go. “And if I’m lacking?” you asked, blood rushing in your ears.

Aemond chuckled and dug his fingers into your forearms. “Excluding my tongue, every fiber of my being has a mind of its own, and therein lies the problem. And your answer.”

You were about to say, “enough with the riddles,” but when Aemond pulled you against him, you realized he was talking about his cock.

Oh.

. . . oh.

You weren’t lacking at all.

So when Aemond tugged your wrists, you let him. You dropped your things, including your remaining inkwells. They exploded everywhere, but you didn’t care.

Aemond found a fairly sharpened quill, wiped it on your skirts, and hugged you closer to cut his left palm in front of you. Blood welled from the thin line, and a beat later, you let him cut your left hand. You gasped at the stinging pain, but it didn’t last long.

Aemond threw the quill and used his left arm to hold you against his body. His right hand battled your skirts until it was squeezing your hip, and you found yourself giggling, amused by his efforts to wage war against your clothing.

“Have I done something to amuse you?” he asked breathlessly.

“No,” you said quickly, digging your fingers into his arm across your body. You didn’t want him to leave.

“I haven’t?” His knuckles caressed your inner thigh. “Then maybe I should.”

“Then maybe you should, my lord husband,” you taunted him.

Your breath quickened, the crown of your head tingled, and your belly warmed. You swore you felt butterflies all the way in your toes. And suddenly, Aemond’s hand was between your thighs, and your cunt clenched in anticipation. His long fingers pushed your underwear aside, and you squirmed against him, trying not to whimper, but it was all you could do to keep your voice down.

“You’re wet?” he murmured in your ear. “And all because I touched your ankles?”

“You give yourself . . . too much credit,” you gasped, holding onto his arm for support.

Aemond’s fingers prodded your folds, and your eyes fluttered shut. Your head rolled back against his shoulder, and everything below your belly tightened. It was maddening, having someone else’s hands on you. You would’ve rubbed yourself to completion by now if you’d been alone.

“You’re so soft,” he breathed, his fingertips circling your entrance. “I wonder . . .” And he shifted so he could rub your clit a few times.

“Aemond.” You melted against him, shaking, but he stopped after a few seconds.

You wished you could reach down and grab his hand — show him how you liked to be touched — but your skirts were in the way.

“Spread your legs. Let me show my lady wife what I promise.”

You exhaled shakily but did as Aemond commanded, and then two of his fingers were pressing inside you, and the whole world fell away. Your hips twitched, trying to roll down, but Aemond half-growled and kept you standing straight against him with a hand on your chest — his fist closing around your layered necklaces. He started thrusting his fingers inside you, and even through your skirts, you could hear how wet you were.

You whispered Aemond’s name with an urgency you’d never heard in your voice before, wondering how he was hitting you just deep enough — just right.

Your eyes rolled back, and when he sped up, you sucked in a lungful to beg, moan — anything, but Aemond slapped his left hand over your mouth. You fell back against him, your chest heaving, listening to him breathing hard against your neck. Something warm and wet pressed against it, and you realized it was his tongue.

Your belly quivered, and a foreign pressure built just below your navel, drawing your legs together. And just like that, your body wasn’t your own. You tried shaking your head, tried telling Aemond that this had never happened before, but he wouldn’t let you go, and he wouldn’t stop, and he threw your hips against the desk to hold you in place, for leverage, and everything felt like too much, too much, too much—

“Too much?” Aemond groaned as quietly as he could in your ear. “We’ve only just begun. Just wait until after we’re wed before the gods.”

The arrogance had seeped back into his voice, but you couldn’t care. Not when it felt like his fingers were singlehandedly taking you apart, breaking you down. Burning you from the inside out. Sweat dripped down the back of your thighs and knees. It accumulated on your sternum and between your breasts. It rolled down your throat where Aemond had scraped his teeth against your vulnerable flesh.

Today, this man had demanded your favor, and tomorrow, he would be your lord husband.

“Come,” Aemond rasped, his hips thrusting against your backside. “Come, (Y/n). Your lord husband demands it.”

He thrust his fingers against the front of your walls, and suddenly you were coming, too stunned to breathe, to think. Your body was lightning squirming against a black sky, and your blood was singing, staining Aemond’s sleeve and hair as you fisted it in euphoria.

He removed his hand from your mouth, and you slumped forward, shaking and trying to catch your breath. His fingers were still inside you, and you felt yourself clamp around them involuntarily.

“Perfect responses,” he said, removing his fingers. “Your legs drawing together, your cunt milking me . . . You’ll be so easy to breed, my lady wife.”

You blurted out a laugh. “An instinct. The less I’ll need to bed you, my lord husband.”

And when Aemond laughed with you, it was genuine.