I think Helaena is simply so iconic and ethereal, and she doesn't care about appearances, which makes her so magnetic and attractive. I know I might be being frustrating, but I want more content focused on her without underestimating or minimizing her. On the contrary, she is THAT girl!! <3 I want more of her on social media AU.
all credits to @writingsofwesteros since it is her au, this lovely little au stemmed from her beautiful brain, I just love to send tons of stuff for it.
@writingsofwesteros I'm down, this anon also sent an ask about Helaena's university years in social media au. She is the darling of the Targtower family <3
here are a few of mine, would love to hear yours @writingsofwesteros or anyone else's xx
when she was at university, Helaena lived in a small penthouse with Nora, in the beginning. Nora was admittedly just at uni to party, she didn't have the same genuine love of her major like Hel and her entomology studies.
But after the first few months Aemond said that he couldn't live with Aegon alone, since Aegon was driving him crazy without their sisters and the four of them moved into a bigger penthouse together instead.
in that penthouse she had her little study nook, where she'd stay for hours reading and researching, writing her assignments and studying for tests. Once she got deep into her 'zone', she would often forget about eating or rest, and usually one of her siblings would bring her food, or drinks. It was usually Aegon or Nora, after a night of partying, would find her asleep at her desk at an open book and carry her to bed.
in her study nook, she has with her Dreamfyre, her pale blue bearded dragon, shimmery blue. She finds her presence soothing, though her siblings disagree.
she and bestie (charlotte) have study dates together, they'd go on study crawls at cute cafes.
Tags • angst, smut, loss of virginity, corruption of innocence, supernatural elements, visions/dreams, Harrenhal is a haunted place, soft/delicate reader
Wordcount • 4,400
When your twin brother Aemond's defenses crumble and he begs you to fly with him to Harrenhal, you accept without measuring the consequences on yourself, and the ill reputation of the castle.
Aemond Masterlist
Silver stars were splattered against the black canvas of the evening sky, reflected on the bay below and in the numerous lanterns across the city. The nights were growing colder, and you had not found comfort in its fresh air like you had hoped, but you could hardly stand the stifling atmosphere of the Red Keep anymore. Helaena had gone to madness after the murder of her son, and Aegon was slipping further and further away from the world of the living.
You regretted the steadying presence of your grandsire, and you had been glad to know your twin Aemond had sent for him, one of his first orders as Regent. You had known of his ambitions for as long as he had had the words to voice them, yet it made you uneasy to see him bear the crown and the title of Protector of the Realm. You knew of the fire inside of him, which instead of remaining an inner drive, was now burning cities and fields in vengeful fury.
He had come into your mother's chambers earlier, interrupting the little council of women Alicent and her two daughters formed, and had pulled the queen to her feet when she had refused to fight, making her cry out in pain.
You had remained frozen in place, stunned by this display of violence from the soul attached to yours—Aemond had never been one for much softness, but you did not know him to be needlessly cruel.
Your tears had dried on your cheeks, the stars your only witnesses as you sought comfort and wisdom in the quiet song of the night, and you were about to return to your chambers, your bare feet unbearably cold, when you heard quiet footsteps behind you.
You did not need to turn and face him to know it was him approaching you, for who else would know of your hiding place, this tiny alcove that overlooked the city at the end of a servant's corridor.
“Sister,” Aemond called, almost soft and certainly reverent, as was his usual tone when addressing you. “We share the same blood, you and I, more than anyone in this family,” he continued, and you braced for the vindictive speech he had served Helaena. “I know you wish no harm to anyone, same as Helaena, but at a time like this…”
His hesitation softened your anticipation, and you shivered, from the cold or Aemond’s hand on your arm, you did not know—still, you kept your eyes on the city below, which was growing more blurry with each passing second. Aemond and you were two sides of the same coin, bound together, however opposites—you were as soft and sweet as he was sharp and tense, his cutting edges often soothed by your gentleness of heart.
Despite his austere countenance, he had always carried a tenderness for you, and you had always trusted him to keep you safe—until this night, where he had dragged the woman you respected most, your eldest sister and queen, and commanded her to go against her very nature.
“Our mother is not a dragonrider, she cannot understand that we have a truer call to heed,” Aemond explained, and yet you could not see his vision. The path ahead of you was dark and full of destruction, and you despaired that you could not follow him on it.
“Mother does not wish her daughters to see battle,” you replied, grasping for time to gather your thoughts and counter his arguments. You knew he would hear them, even though he would likely not listen to them or obey them.
“It is not about what we want, but what we must do. We have a duty to the realm and to this family. Rhaenyra has desecrated our sacred birthright and—” he hissed, only falling silent when you finally turned to him and reached to flatten your hands on his chest.
He was soothed by your touch, gentle and uncorrupted, and your heart ached in your chest as you felt the quick gallop of his at his neck, one of your hands reaching up past his collar to curl around his throat. It was a gesture you often did when in need of comfort, meant to feel his pulse travel under your fingers, and he never refused you.
“I know you are outraged, Aemond,” you spoke quietly as he leaned into your touch slightly. “But I do not know that I can follow you in this spiral of violence.”
Your eyes were filled with tears, two clear pearls falling to your cheeks as you batted your eyelashes, attempting to chase them away. Aemond loathed to see you succumb to fright, just as he himself feared to be parted from you—he curled his hands at your waist, holding onto you for courage as he pressed the issue once more.
“I can protect you, sister. Fly with me, and I shall keep you safe,” he promised, desperate.
In truth he was frightened of flying out without you at his side. Harrenhal would be his conquest, the one that would seal his place as Regent, and he would not win it without you by his side.
It had always seemed difficult for him to comprehend why the Gods had given him such a perfect, unspoiled creature as a twin soul, and had given you, flawless as you were, a fractured and imperfect one as himself.
He had won the Crown but his men feared him rather than respected him, your mother the Queen Dowager mistrused him, and the Queen herself was absent from this war, lost in the limbo of grief. You were his last resort, the soul he had hoped to spare, to keep you safe and under close guard within the Red Keep.
“Come with me, to Harrenhal?” he asked so softly, softer than you had ever heard him, that you could only comply. When your eyes finally rose to his you found them a mirror of yours—a pool of violet, glistening with tears, and his utter vulnerability shattered your reason.
The prospect of war terrified you, but so was the one to be stranded in the Keep while your twin burned the Riverlands alone. While you knew Aemond’s soul, weaved as it was with your own, his heart was often a mystery to you, and to see his loneliness and devastation so plain on his elegant features broke your resolve.
“As you wish,” you said, lowering your eyes—you could not stand the truth of his heart for long, staring at your very soul and enchanting it. A desperate part of you hoped that perhaps, in time, you would be able to soften his rage, or sate his need for bloodshed.
“We leave at dawn, then,” he said, pressing a warm kiss to your brow, and you allowed yourself a moment of indulgence, pressing yourself on your toes and grazing your lips to the corner of his, barely a caress, a promise for later, if only he would let you in long enough for you to soften his heart.
The skies above Harrenhal had been daunting, as had been the prospect of facing the Blood Wyrm and the Rogue Prince, and you had been utterly relieved to find you wouldn’t face such enemies upon your arrival in the Riverlands—but it was short-lived. You found you would face even more daunting foes, the ones that lived inside of Aemond’s heart and that had been left unchallenged for too long, and had grown along with him, filling every part of his being.
Flying above Harrenhal and finding that Daemon and his army had already gone had provoked Aemond’s rage, and you had felt utterly small and insignificant when you had realized even you would not be able to stop him. You had however been more frightened by how easily your dragon took to the battle, following the trail traced by Vhagar as she was herself guided by your twin’s humiliation.
You could have spent your whole life without knowing the scent of burning flesh and destruction, and now you knew it would never leave your memory. As you stood beside your twin in the main hall of the fortress, you knew you would wear this event like a chain around your ankle for the rest of your days.
The whole assembly was in the shadow of your dragon, perched on the wrecked arches of the high ceiling, and you flinched as Aemond's sword came down, and Simon Strong was taken from this world. You felt this loss as though it had cut through you, plucked a part of yourself you did not know you possessed. It was as though the Stranger had reached through your very ribcage, and the nauseating feeling would not leave your body.
Your twin had taken lives with his hands, and when you looked down, you swore you could see the blood of his enemies taint your own. Despite the horrors, you felt numb, and you supposed Aemond was right. Violence was in your blood, although your instincts were howling at you as wolves in the night, urging you to leave this place.
As the first day of your twin’s conquest came to a close, he summoned you to supper as though none of what had occurred disturbed him. When you entered the dining room, which was perhaps one of the only rooms of the castle that kept warmth, Aemond was sitting at the head of the table, where the castellan no doubt sat.
His foot was propped up on the edge of the chair, his knee leaning against the table—his arrogance and the sense of bitter victory that came from him made you even more nauseous, but you could not bring yourself to voice any of it.
As dinner went on you pushed your food around on your plate. It felt as though your stomach had vanished from your body, leaving only an empty space, and that emptiness was only made greater when Aemond finally spoke.
“You have done well, sister, you should be proud,” he offered, and instead of a sweet smile or a flush of pride, your complexion turned gray and you excused yourself.
As days went on and Aemond waited for Cole’s army to catch up and settled in the fields around the cursed fortress, he watched, helpless, as you turned into a mere shadow of yourself. He could hear your sobs in the night, when the castle was silent and the holes in the walls carried the sounds of your cries to his chambers.
Your mother had been right—he had damaged and perhaps even damned your soul. It was a matter of survival, he told himself, yet the guilt gnawed at him and made him even more unpleasant.
You avoided Aemond’s company and he seemed only relieved not to be bothered with your grief, and you were left alone with your decaying soul. Dreams and visions of horror plagued your nights and followed you during the day, echoing under the crumbled roofs and rushing through the hallways with the trapped winds.
You felt Aemond’s eye on you, insistent and almost penetrating, but in the vast space between the two of you, unspoken horrors were keeping you apart.
However it seemed your soul, however damaged it was, longed for your twin as much as your torn heart did, and one night you found yourself at the door of his chambers. You felt yourself coming awake at the door, a fog lifting from your mind, and you realized your feet were bare against the cold, slippery stones.
The hem of your nightshirt was damp, you realized, as though you had stepped through a puddle, but when you looked behind you, but the whole corridor was dry, no sign of a leak in the roof. You did not remember slumber taking you, you were only aware of it releasing you at your twin’s door. Confused, you knocked, the shivering inside of your bones calling for Aemond’s touch.
You did not wait for an answer and pushed the heavy doors, entering the large chambers—the fire was blazing, kept hot and fierce, but it was not enough to light the dark room in its entirety, nor keep it warm.
“Aemond,” you called softly, almost as a question, and your twin sat up in bed, too sudden to have been asleep—it seemed slumber eluded him as well. His sapphire shone in the white light of the moon, coming through the darkened, tainted windows; his white hair was as two silky curtains over his dark shirt, and your heart yearned at the intimate, familiar sight.
“What is it, sister?” he asked, softened by the heaviness of night.
“It is cold,” you said, frowning at your own words, unsure of the reason you were giving him.
Still, no question came and instead Aemond pulled the thick covers aside and made space for you in the warmth his body had left on the sheets. You climbed on the high mattress and curled in on yourself, your knees to your chest and your ankles tucked into his abdomen.
“There are whispers in the night, in this place,” you said to the darkness, your breath warm against his face.
He hoped you had left your sorrows at the door, and he vowed he would speak to you on the morrow—for now he needed to feel your healing touch, to know you remained loyal to him, despite the pain he had caused.
“Do not let it get to you, sweet sister,” he replied against your forehead, pressing a tender kiss to it. His lips were warm and slightly dry, and you wanted to cry with how much you craved to see softness in him—perhaps only you could bring it out in him. “This place may be a cursed one, but it will win us the war.”
“At what cost?” you replied, your voice drifting into quiet and your eyes feeling heavy, as though you had brought slumber from the corridor you came from.
Aemond stroked the side of your face with the back of his knuckles as your breathing slowed, then tucked a wave behind your ear—your eyelids fluttered and he hummed. He traced the bridge of your nose and the bow of your lips with the pad of his index finger, marveling at your beauty, pure and untainted.
His love for you burned at the core of him and kept him warm, even in these cold and damp chambers, and it drove him forward with the desire to prove himself worthy.
He kissed your pliant lips, and he meant it chaste at first, a kiss of love and devotion, the promise that he wouldn’t let the horrors of this place drive you apart. He loathed to see such a pure creature haunted in this way, damaged by his own blind vengefulness, and he wished to repair it with the little gentleness he had in him.
He closed his eye as his lips pressed to yours, a sharing of warmth, and a flash of red painted his closed eyelid—your feet in a puddle of blood, the hem of your nightgown painted red. You had come to him with cold, wet feet, and his heart lurched in his chest. He sat up suddenly and pulled the covers aside. Your feet were clean, unhurt, one curled over the other, the hem of your nightshirt white as snow.
“Aemond?” you asked, confused, reaching up to tuck your hand into his neck again. He leaned into your touch, seeking your palm to kiss it apologetically.
“Forgive me,” he whispered, for the deeds he had done or the ones he would do, he could not say. He only knew this one thing, that he would seek absolution for his sins in any task you would ask of him.
“Hold me, please? I need to forget before I can forgive,” you pleaded with him, a choked sob crawling out of your throat as he curled around you once more, an arm cradling your shivering frame as he pulled you into his body.
Your knees were digging into his ribs but he welcomed the ache and discomfort, pressing another kiss to your lips, where he tasted the salt of your regrets. He took a breath against them, not wanting to part from you, the stabbing pain of desire coursing through him as your toes dug into his abdomen.
You were pure and chaste, he knew it, and had often made sure to ensure it. He had coveted it, forbidding even himself from tasting that particular fruit. However in this cold, damp bedchamber, your form curled in against his own, the branch was hanging so low that he hungered to pluck the fruit from it.
There was a hunger inside of him, a desire to possess, and the foolish hope of earning his forgiveness by pleasing you.
“Forgive me,” he pleaded, and you swallowed his desperate apology when he pressed another kiss at your lips, firmer this time, and deeper.
The two of you had been one, a long time ago, before your first breaths and your first cries, tucked into the womb of your mother, unaware of anything but each other. Your body unfurled on instinct, one of your knees hooking at his slim hip, pulling him in.
He laid his body atop yours and you welcomed him. You marveled at how pliant and meek he turned in your hands, following your guidance—he adjusted the press of his tongue as you slid your hands into his long hair, pulling at his slightly, keeping himself still as you pulled again when he rocked his hips down against yours.
He followed as you pulled him back, and held your hungry gaze as you observed him. You had never seen such naked adoration on his face, and you felt as though you held his very soul in your hands, strands of silk between your fingers.
It was the first night he had ever crossed the invisible line he had traced himself, the one that was meant to protect you from the ardent fire that burned inside of him, and now he was waiting on the edge.
Aemond knew he should preserve your innocence, let you keep for yourself the only part of you that hadn’t been tainted by this world, but his desperation didn’t allow him. Instead, more pleas came from his lips, and you tilted your head to lick at his lower lick.
“Please,” he whispered, and he knew you did not know what he was asking for you to surrender, and yet he wished to take it anyway—or perhaps he was the one giving a piece of himself, begging for you to accept it, and treat it with care.
Your twin’s next kiss mirrored the tight embrace of your bodies, your knees hooking behind his thighs, his hands pulling at your gown frantically until the cradle of your hips was bared, and you rocked up against the rough fabric of his clothes.
You hid your breathless sighs in his neck, your hands tugging at the neck of his shirt until you could pull it over his head—Aemond hissed as some of his hair was caught in your grasp, his hips grinding down in obvious pleasure.
The soft palm of your hands roamed his toned chest and firm back, interrupted only when Aemond lifted your back to pull your gown off your body, and as you finally found yourself bare, your skin erupting in shivers under his mouth, you realized the sharp pulse of your heart was echoed between your thighs.
Sapphire on display, his bowed lips parted on soft grunts and heated kisses, Aemond looked wild in the glow of the fire and the silver mist of the moon. His eye was wide and dark, his long fingers mapping every curve of your body as you found the dip of his lower back, pushing his last garment out of the way.
Aemond gasped out loud as you ground up against him, and in your display of passion he felt how determined you were to see him surrender. Your core was aching, empty in a way you knew only him could fill, and you wondered if instead of bloodlust, this war had awakened something else in you.
Within a breath Aemond tipped himself back, and you were seated across his lap, his body pressing into yours; easy as breathing his hardness found the cradle of your body, and this unfamiliar pulse inside of you took over. The stretch of him inside of your most intimate place burned, but the pain was a welcomed distraction from the raging storm of your thoughts.
Under you, your twin was looking up at you with rapture, the elegant lines of his neck and face tense with anticipation. He moaned as you rocked tentatively, your core rubbing against the base of him, and the first spark of heat erased all your doubts. Pleasure was a great fog falling over your mind, clouding your senses and making your soul fly.
The irony of a being that had brought you to such sorrow now bringing you such utter pleasure was not lost on you, and a darker part of you relished in taking pleasure in a body that had carried death. Perhaps it was your part in this senseless life, to absorb his darkness and make it into something else, to find bliss and beauty where others only saw destruction.
“I forgive you,” you whispered, hands firmly planted on his chest, your nails digging into his skin like a brand, and he moaned again, less restrained this time.
You unraveled beautifully as he allowed his desire to take over, rocking up into you, following the frantic grinding of your hips. You bloomed like a flower under his hands, pleasure making your skin shine and your face flush delightfully.
It was a shame that such a bleak environment was the cradle of your first pleasure, but his guilt was overshadowed by a great hunger, and he knew one time would not satisfy him.
It was only when the morning came, and the sun came through the worn curtains, that reason came back to Aemond, and as your body laid pliant and heavy with sleep among rumpled sheets, he realized the sin he had encouraged you to commit.
The lingering smell of ash from the fields around the castle dissipated, and was instead replaced by a sour taste at the back of Aemond’s mouth. It was the taste of his own shame, at his own depravity; he had soiled you, spilled into your without any care, and you had taken him gladly, sighing sweetly into his mouth and sheltering his splintered soul.
He had dared begging for your forgiveness, and you had granted him, wretched creature, absolution at your touch. You had given yourself to him outside of any oath, and in this, bound yourself to him until his own destructive nature would no doubt part the two of you.
The next night the haunted hallways of Harrenhal instead found him seeking you out, but as he pushed the crumbling door, he discovered your chambers to be cold and empty.
The guilt that had been gnawing at his stomach turned to fright as a shudder ran down his back, and he turned, certain to find you standing there. Instead, your silhouette was a dark cut at the end of the corridor, illuminated by a nearby torch.
“Sister?” he called, but you did not answer. He sprinted to you, his heart in his throat, but by the time he could hurry down the hall you had vanished, merely a shadow on the wall.
He called your name, distressed for a reason he could not pinpoint, and he could swear he heard your voice echoing on the damp walls, answering him. It was not until he was outside, pushing past the large entrance door, that he realized he was barefoot and without a coat, in the cold rainy night.
He did not care, and instead followed the whisper of your voice, his left eye burning and the soles of his feet stinging as he walked to the nearby lake. The moon was reflected on it as he approached, fast enough to see you take your first steps into the freezing water, seemingly unaware.
“Sister! Wake up!” he shouted so loud the words scratched his throat, and he followed in your footsteps, running after you into the dark waters of the God’s Eye.
The water was up to his waist when he reached you, the water almost thick around him, so cold he could not feel it. He pulled you to him, reaching to cradle your face. “Aemond,” came your voice, but your lips were unmoving—still he followed you as you took a few steps back, and the water cradled his shaking frame.
“Aemond, come back to me! I beseech you!” your shriek pierced through the night and the thick fog that had fallen around him—he startled awake and turned around, and there you were, standing on the edge of the water, your ankles in the mud.
“Sister,” he breathed, and as he looked down his hands were empty, and so was the lake. He was alone, standing under the moonlight, prey to a spell of his own mind.
“Aemond, I am begging you,” you sobbed, your voice broken as you walked into the treacherous waters, and he waded back as quickly as he could, falling into your hands as you reached to grab at him and pull him away from this cursed place.
You fell into each other, staggering onto the slippery edge of the God’s Eye. “Where did you go?” you sobbed into his mouth. “Your eyes were empty and I could not reach you,” you despaired, and before he could ask, you pressed a cold stone into his palm—he opened his hand to see his sapphire.
“Let us leave this place, I beg of you, before it takes you somewhere I cannot follow,” you pleaded, and clutching his sapphire into his hand, he reached to pull you up into his arms.
Knees tucked in the crook of his elbow, your arms around his neck, you watched the dark surface of the lake ripple under the moon as Aemond carried you back to Harrenhal, two souls trapped in a torment of their own making.
Dividers by @/saradika.
A big thank you to @anjelicawrites for her help with this!
Please consider reblogging if you enjoyed reading. Comment to be added to the taglist.
Hi, is the Social Media AU fic up to date on Ao3, I’m obsessed with it and can’t wait for each new chapter!
Hi! I'm currently working on the new chapter with the lovely @writingsofwesteros, though admittedly I have been quite busy and haven't had as much time to write, though I definitely am going to try to this week. Until the next chapter's posted though, there are always lots of asks on @writingsofwesteros's blog, so you can always read those in the interim <3
While touring the Seven Kingdom, Prince Aegon meets his intended, Aryana of House Stark. While he expected an austere woman, he instead finds a fiery young lady with an unexpected affinity for dragons. However, he isn’t the only Targaryen prince to take an interest in her…
Series Masterlist
A/N: The four-month hiatus on this fic has come to an end, and I am so nervous to pick it back up but I'm determined to finish it. I admit my motivation had dwindled greatly due to lack of engagement and enthusiasm for it, but I owe it to myself and the few keen readers to finish it. To those who never gave up on me or this fic, thank you ♡
Chapter 11 ♢ The Root of Jealousy
Dawn was left behind at Riverrun and the two dragons made their way further south, following the river for a while until they crossed into the Westerlands—most of the day was spent crossing past the Golden Tooth, enjoying some leisure time before their duties were to resume.
The King would spend a night in Riverrun before continuing on to Casterly Rock where they would all meet and a banquet would celebrate the near end of the tour.
The Westerlands provided a warm weather that suited the dragons, and Vhagar seemed to perk up slightly after the North had made her sluggish. Even though they were spending a few days on the road, Aemond still enjoyed taking her to the skies when they were setting camp.
“Step away,” Aemond instructed as Vhagar pushed herself up slightly, shaking herself. Behind him, Aryana gasped and he thought it would be enough to dissuade her—instead she rushed to his back, hiding behind his tall frame.
“Not until you stop fleeing from me,” she shouted at him over the sound of Vhagar’s grunt.
She seemed like a great hound more than a winged fire-breather in that moment, shaking sleep from her gigantic frame and readying herself for the invigorating flight she could feel her rider needed.
“You’ve avoided my company," Aryana accused.
“With reason,” Aemond replied over his shoulder. He had woken up in a foul, confused mood and was hoping to take to the skies to clear his head. Being in the open with Aegon and Aryana as his only company was not helping his bleeding heart.
“Fly with me,” he offered, his words rushing out of him before he could consider their impulsiveness, and for a second she was as startled as him.
“I’m not sure,” she answered.
Aemond looked dismayed for a moment, but she understood the offering for what it was—he was a man of sharp, well-chosen words, but the dragon was his shield. Perhaps the great beast was the first step behind the veil, if she wished to take it.
Therefore she nodded tentatively, braving her fears. “She’s quite the beauty, but I must admit her size is rather intimidating,” she said. “Weren’t you ever terrified?”
Aemond offered his arm and she took it, her hands curling along the smooth leather of his doublet. Aryana had never seen him in any other condition than perfectly combed and dressed in thick, stiff clothes, and she wondered if she would ever be privy to his hidden softness.
“On the night I claimed her, I was strangely calm,” he confessed as they approached. “She’s an old soul.”
“Oh Gods,” she trembled, her grip tightening on his arm, but he guided her, steady and firm. He removed her hand from his arm and stepped behind her instead, his tall and lean frame hovering over hers.
“She will give you her trust, if you are honest with her,” he said, dipping his face near her ear, and she would have shivered from the intimate gesture if she hadn’t already been shaking in fear.
“How is one honest with a dragon?” Aryana asked, and she found she was strangely eager to know. She would have given up if she wasn’t so determined to get a peek at Aemond, at who he really was and not the image he put on display, which was carefully calibrated. She wanted to see his nature, to earn his trust, and the price to pay, the rite of passage she had to perform laid in Vhagar, and in conquering her fear.
“Do not hide your fear, but you must master it,” he replied, then chuckled, a low hum that came from the base of his throat. “What are you so afraid of?”
“That she will burn me to ashes?” she replied as finally, they came to stand within a breath of the ancient beast.
“I am with you, she would not,” he assured her, picking up her wrist and pressing her hand to the large scales. They were softer than she had imagined, like a well-worn leather from decades of wearing it, but no less sturdy.
“I guess she reminds me how small I am,” Aryana murmured as he curled his other hand around her waist, steadying her. He allowed himself this small pleasure, hiding behind the shadow of Vhagar. “How young and futile. Unimportant.”
“She has humbling qualities,” he hummed, then started for the ladder, but she rushed to his side.
“Please do not leave me on the ground alone,” she cried out.
“I would not,” he assured, and soon she was being pushed forward. His hands tightened on her waist again as she climbed the first steps, and then he was not far from her, choosing to press himself after her on the narrow ladder.
The saddle was different from that of Aegon’s dragon, the leather less comfortable, and more worn out in some places. There were ropes and buckles she wasn’t sure of the purpose of, but she supposed such a large creature required a more intricate saddle.
Aryana wondered how many people had climbed atop her back in her centuries of life, how many riders the great beast had had, and surely that Aemond knew the answer, but she couldn’t find her voice to ask him. She came to sit behind Aemond, her thighs coming to bracket his, and she cried out as Vhagar rose slightly.
“Aemond,” she called, and his fingers intertwined with hers on his chest—he was forgetting himself, he knew, but it was easier to allow himself such transgressions while atop his dragon. In the face of her obvious fear, he ordered Vhagar to calm, and pushed himself up, rising. He swung a leg over the saddle, and twisting expertly, knowing his way around the large saddle and large nape of the beast.
Aryana breathed a confused laugh as Aemond came to sit behind her, cradling her against his chest. She blindly reached back for his hand, and he swallowed as she pressed their joined fingers to her own abdomen. Never before had he been so close to a woman that wasn’t here to enjoy his company—even though they were rare, and the encounters often left a bitter taste in his mouth.
He was not made for the pleasures of the flesh and could never find any easiness in them, as Aegon seemed to find. Such pleasure was fleeting and never satisfied the aching in the pit of his stomach, therefore he only resorted to company when his skin felt stretched taut over his bones, and his tensions threatened to snap.
He felt Aryana’s breath leave her body as Vhagar launched herself forward. She leaned back against his chest, his thighs tightening around her hips, as the great beast took to the skies, leaving the ground far behind. For a moment he forgot she was not his, but already claimed by his brother—he knew without a doubt that she was not a maid anymore, and that the betrothal had been consumed thoroughly.
It was one aspect he trusted his brother to fulfill, as Aegon knew his way around a woman’s body and pleasure of the flesh came easily to him. The dark, twisted part of Aemond burned at that thought, and he allowed himself to reach for her hip, steadying her on the saddle. He wondered how she looked, flushed and bowed under Aegon’s slim frame, and how well they fit together.
Aemond had hoped that a suspended moment on Vhagar, as high as she could take them, would make her forget why she had sought him out in the first place, but it seemed the flight had not tempered her will to talk. If anything, it had only spurred her own.
“I know why you were so cross with Aegon this morning,” she said tentatively as they dismounted and headed back for the camp, and Aemond stopped in his tracks. “About the maid,” she clarified after a breath—she was still slightly breathless from the excitement of the flight, her hair wind-swept, and he could hardly bear to look at her.
“I am aware of his nature, Aemond. I am not so blind,” she pressed. She felt as though she had seen a glimpse into his secret nature. She had a foot in the door and she could not go back now.
“It was inappropriate of me,” is all he could say, lest he reveal more than he was comfortable with.
“Is that what you truly think?” she pried, eager to know how far he had pushed the line of propriety in his mind, how much he had thought encumbered to him to defend on her behalf. “I accept him for who he is. The question is, do you accept him? And do you accept yourself?”
Aemond looked startled, and it was a dangerous look on him. “And I don’t need you to defend my honor. I can defend myself,” she continued, not as kindly as she could have, and she saw the instant effect it had on him. His angular face closed like a steel vault, his eye narrowing in mistrust.
Aemond knew he had stepped over the line in his eagerness to protect her. He had let his feelings get the best of him, even as he had tried to remain rational. He wanted to defend his words with righteousness, but the truth was far more sinister. In the depth of his mind, he had attempted to step in between her and Aegon in some inconsequential way, and he could now see this path only led to ruin.
Neither Aegon nor Aryana would allow him to serve as some sort of buffer or messenger. He was thoroughly excluded from the pair, he now realized with bitterness. “Of course,” he answered, reluctantly contrite. “I apologize if I stepped over the line.”
Aryana scoffed as though offended by the apology, and it was partly true. She loathed his contrition, and behind her annoyance laid a certain sadness, as she recognized in him the signs of a child forced to make apologies for others. However she could not gather her words before he turned and made way to their camp again.
“Don’t you dare,” she cried out, marching after him, but his long legs were carrying him faster than she could walk, and soon she was forced to trot behind, feeling entirely ridiculous. Grass caught in her cloak and she cursed, her annoyance flaring. “You flee me, once more! Why don’t you confront me! I did not take you for a coward.”
A sort of sadistic pleasure in pushing his limits curled in her stomach, and she found herself driven by an ardor, a desire to back him into a corner, only to see if his temper would flare. He had been nothing but courteous to her and she felt robbed of the fire she knew lived in him, as it did in Aegon—she would have to pray forgiveness for her slightly malicious intent later, but it seemed the young prince brought out the worst in her.
“Don’t confuse honor for cowardice!” he snapped as he turned around to face her once more, his sharp features pulled taut in exasperation, and her chest swelled in victory. “I know the limits of my own patience.”
Aryana stopped in front of him, took a deep breath and took the plunge. “I would know the truth, of what it is you feel for me,” she demanded. “You owe it to me, at the least, even if you will not admit it to yourself.”
If Aemond was taken aback by her forwardness, it did not show on his handsome face, which was a deeper disappointment than she cared to admit. For a moment she feared she had entirely misunderstood his motivations, and she was on the verge of her own apology when he spoke again.
“Aegon asked me if I desired you more than I loved him,” he said, quieter than she had spoken. “I would choose him, always, but it would be agony. To my great dismay, we are made of flesh, even myself.”
“I’m sorry to be the source of your pain,” Aryana replied, and regret fell over her.
There was no victory in having brought him to his limits, with no choice but to confess to a torment that was the cause of. It would have been easier to take his anger, or accusations, but instead she found nothing but sorrow under the veil of his carefully constructed person.
“I would loathe to see you lose your brother over it.”
“If you truly wish to ease my torment, then we shall speak no more of it,” Aemond replied harshly, and this time she made no attempt at stopping his retreat.
She watched as the grass danced in the wind, picking up the lapels of his cloak and bringing them up in a flurry of fabric around him. She contemplated the sadness she had just had a peek at, and a desperate feeling rose in her—it was pure foolishness, she knew, and yet she could not help herself.
She ran after him, calling his name in slight panic only to make him face her again. He did not say a word as she approached in a hurry, and before she could lose her nerve or her momentum, she pressed herself up on her toes, finding purchase at his shoulder.
His breath was warm where it fell on her face as she kissed his cheek, her soft lips pressing against the high bone she found so mesmerizing. She lingered more than a simple gesture of kindness would have allowed, somehow slowed by the strange intensity of his closeness.
“I’m sorry, Aemond,” she murmured against his face, and he turned as though to chase the warmth of her words, enough for her to feel the shadow of his breath on her lips before she pulled away and made back to the camp.
Desperate tears had pooled in her eyes as she marched into the small camp, Ser Erryk calling after her as she rushed past her own tent and into Aegon’s, ignoring the light supper that had been prepared. She heard her betrothed placate the guard before the heavy fabric was pulled and Aegon entered after her, leaving them alone.
“Did you and Aemond quarrel again?” he asked as she paced the carpet that had been rolled in the middle, wiping at her tears furiously with the back of her sleeve.
“No. Yes. Perhaps we did or perhaps we reconciled, how can I know?!” she cried out. “He is—”
“Impenetrable?” Aegon offered, strangely calm in the face of her frenzy. He was no stranger to shame and to the confusion of muddled feelings. “Aryana,” he tried to soothe.
He was aware of the nature of desires, their wildness, and how they existed in women as much as men, and just as potent. He wasn’t blind to the interest Aryana bore his brother’s intellect, this intent she had in making sure they found harmony—he would almost laugh at their own foolishness to not have predicted this.
He also knew he wouldn’t do well in a cage, even one of his own making. He found in his bride-to-be a kindred spirit, the kind he had never dared hope for, but still he suspected sacrifices would have to be made, and she had from the very start voiced the concessions she was prepared to offer.
Now it was time for him to lay down his own rules, his own limits and expectations. It seemed as though Aryana was partially blind to her own wistful, wild nature, or the baser side of it, and it elated him to watch her discover it.
“He took me flying on Vhagar,” Aryana said as though it explained everything. “I thought he would open up but he did not, and thus I pushed, but I’m afraid I pushed him too far!”
“You must leave him no choice. He will not come to you willingly,” Aegon sighed.
“Is everything always a battle with him?” she cried out.
“I’m afraid so,” he replied, and yet there was humor to his voice.
As she approached and rested her head on his chest, his hands coming to cradle her shoulders, he could smell him on her. The scent of leather and smoke stuck to her hair, along with that peculiar musk that belonged to the ancient beast his brother rode.
“Do you want him?” Aegon asked in a breath before he could think his words through, and suddenly a weight was lifted off his shoulders. No matter what the answer was, the question had been spoken, the bridge half-built—now it was up to her to cross it, or not.
Aryana’s face was flushed as she pulled away, but he held her trembling frame in his hands. “Aegon I– I’m yours, I belong to you,” she answered, and he had never seen her rattled in such a way before. His own calm surprised him, but he suspected he was simply resting easy in her confidence in him and Aemond’s trust.
“He’s my brother, another half of me. There’s no shame in it,” he murmured in her hair, pressing a gentle kiss to her hairline.
“Yes there is,” she assured, and he wanted to kiss the tremors from her voice. He resisted, hanging on to the strange elation that had taken root in his chest in Riverrun—this unalterable discovery that his words had more power than he’d previously thought, not because of his mastery of them, but because of the truth of his birth.
“Why? You know full well by now that my affection for him runs deeper than that of ordinary brothers, would you blame me for it?” he pushed, and she was caught between his hands and his words, forced to consider whatever narrative he was unfolding before her.
She shook her head, biting her lip against her retorts. “You’re mine, aren’t you?” he asked, pressing into her mouth, and she welcomed his kiss like it was forgiveness, drinking salvation at his lips and finding certainty again.
She was still reeling from the flight on Vhagar, her shame turning the spark of her interest into a blaze instead of curdling it, and Aegon’s acceptance was a balm she longed for.
“You know I am,” she replied, breathless. “Body and soul.”
“Aemond is mine as well, no matter how hard he might fight it,” Aegon said, the tip of his nose running along the bridge of hers, and they both shivered at the admission.
“His loyalty to you runs deeper than any other drive in him,” Aryana confirmed.
“Which is why there is no shame in it,” Aegon crooned, kissing a line from her cheek to the dip behind her jaw. “You know well enough that I am selfish by nature, and I would rather have you both tangled together than lose either of you.”
“Aegon, please. Don’t be cruel,” she pleaded, tilting her head despite herself.
“It’s not cruelty. It is greed, if it is anything,” Aegon gently pushed, sucking a soft kiss at her neck. “There is no one else in the world I trust as much as Aemond. I don’t mind sharing you, not with him,” he offered, then grew serious again, pulling away to look at her eyes.
“It pains him to see him tormented so, just as it pains me to see you so troubled by it. If you desire him, I would not let you refuse him out of your own stubbornness, or out of a misplaced sense of duty.”
“Duty must rule us,” Aryana defended, her stormy eyes flitting about Aegon’s face until they settled on his violet orbs.
“And duty shall be done, but it should not shackle us,” Aegon protested. “Is that what you have endeavored to teach me, these last few weeks?” he asked. “Do you desire him, my darling? I know how he burns for you.”
He grinned as a shudder took her, her skin turning crimson from her face to her chest, as a firestorm taking her under. She was rendered speechless for a moment and he would not forfeit that chance. “Let’s take this slow, for once…” he suggested as he dipped his face in her neck again, his hands curling at her waist firmly. “Aemond is patient, he would take his time with you.”
Aegon led her to his cot and she followed him blindly, expecting him to press her to the sheets, but instead he sat down on the linens and pulled her into his lap. There was a knot at the base of her stomach, a tension she longed to satisfy and of which she was ashamed to admit the source.
“I’ve watched him a few times,” Aegon admitted. “On the Street of Silk, when his desires get the best of him.”
“I can hardly imagine,” she confessed in sigh as Aegon brought her against him, grinding his hardness where Aemond’s torment of her had triggered a hunger she did not know how to name.
“You smell like him right now,” he whispered, turning her face to rest in her own hair where it had fallen to rest at Aegon’s shoulder. “He’s always so guarded, slow and careful. Do you think he would let go for you?”
“They will hear,” she gasped as Aegon reached for the laces of her clothes, and yet she made no attempt at resisting.
Aegon had a way to slither under her skin, to make her burn like a fire had caught in her bright hair and ravaged the rest of her body, burning her bones into ash until she could only be carried in the wind. He was the breeze that fanned her embers, the rocks that clashed together and made sparks erupt.
“Let them hear,” Aegon said, his voice taking on a darker tone. “Your future husband wishes it so.”
It was easy to allow Aegon to ease her into those waters, to trust him to lead her where he knew she would find completion. As she fell apart atop him, it was to the lulling sound of his voice, his words pulling her into a dream where propriety faded, and she laid, floating between the two princes. If she could settle Aegon, anchor him, then perhaps he could set her free.
Dividers by @/saradika
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Summary: Once upon a time, Alicent placed a spell on her children - they were growing too powerful and eager to expose the magic to the normal world...and take over.
It was not long before the brothers and sisters were separated; with the sister's having no memory of their demonic brothers.
Nora: Telekinesis
Helaena: Seeing the future
Daella: Stopping time
Alicent is the mother who cast a spell so that Aegon and Aemond could not detect their sister's presence. But the spell is broken when Alicent disappears. The girls think she died, but in reality, Aegon and Aemond made a deal with Rhaenyra that she could take Alicent so that the spell over their sisters would break
Helaena runs a herbal apothecary store, Daella teaches ballet, and Nora works in fashion
They live in a house like in the show, and Alicent had a spell on the attic so they would never find the spell materials but when Alicent disappears the attic door opens for the first time since the girls were born
Also instead of dragons they have cats. Dreamfyre is Hel's, Silverwing is Daella's and Salem is Nora's.
They left their family’s estate three days early, to drive up to St. Baelor’s and settle back into their dorms at school. It was not as if there was much keeping them at home even before the incident.
That night when Viserys returned back to the estate, he scolded them all, and Nora stormed out of the room, her siblings following her, and angrily told Alicent she was going back to school before term was to start.
Which was why the four Targaryen siblings were mostly alone on the private high school campus that any passerby would think was a mediaeval castle, but was simply where the elite of the elite sent their children to attend high school. All Targaryens had attended the school since it was erected- Aegon the Conqueror was one of its founding members, after all, when their family was a monarchical dynasty before it became a corporate one.
Every Targaryen, Baratheon, Lannister and Tyrell attended, the richest of the rich, amongst others who strived to send their children to high school with the country’s future Presidents, politicians, and businessmen.
The school was built in the rich countryside of the Reach, with a few towns surrounding it and the main city, Highgarden, was a ten minute drive. Helaena’s favourite spot was the huge gardens that surrounded the school and it was most of the reasons why she was late to class; Aegon being the other.
“When’s Sienna coming down?” Aegon asked Nora as the four siblings were lounging around Nora and Helaena’s shared dorm. Helaena’s drawings scattered in a neat chaos that she was only aware of as Nora’s designer clothes were neatly hung or folded. Their personalities shine through with ease; both sisters exist peacefully.
Nora tossed her phone on the dresser as she sat on Aemond’s lap. His hands instantly moved to rest on her hips.
“In a few days.” Nora replied. Sienna Lannister lived just down the street, or rather, in the same vicinity of the Targaryen estate just outside the city. She had become a childhood friend of Nora and Hel’s since they were little ones, but she and Nora had a penitent for getting into trouble together as they got older.
“Mother called,” Aemond told them. “To apologise for Father again.”
Nora rolled her eyes. “If the old bastard wanted to apologise he’d do it himself.” She had long stopped giving her father excuses.
“Nora,” Hel sighed. Alas, it seemed her sweet sister had not learnt that lesson.
“What? It’s true.” Nora idly began to braid Aemond’s hair, his silver locks much straighter than Nora’s curlier ones. It was an act that would calm her brother down as much as it did for herself.
“Enough about him,” Aegon grumbled. “We’ve got the whole campus to ourselves for a few more days before everyone else starts coming down. We should do some fun shit before the semester starts.”
“Aegon’s right,” Nora said. “I mean Aemond’s the only one who enjoys school itself, but- I just like being away from home and Father and his shit.”
“Maybe that is a good idea,” Helaena agreed softly.
“Nice,” Aegon grinned. “You three come up with some ideas,” He got up, and kissed Hel, then Nora. “I’m gonna go walk into town and get some food. They said the dining room won’t open until the semester starts, so.”
Aegon walked the ancient stone halls of St. Baelor’s an hour later with takeout bags; after three calls to make sure he got Nora and Aemond’s picky orders at the Dornish takeout place right. Gods, they were so peculiar whereas Aegon would eat anything and everything. As he turned a corner Aegon spotted an unfamiliar girl walking through the girls’ dorm area.
“You lost?” Aegon asked as he came up to her. She smiled nervously and shook her head.
“Oh, no, I know where my dorm is- I just- I just wanted to look around a little.” She spoke with an accent, he noted- it sounded like somewhere in the Free Cities. She radiated a certain humility that was foreign to the girls that went to school here- even his own sisters, he had to admit, even though he loved them to death.
“Are you new?” He asked curiously, setting the takeout bags on the bench in the hall.
“Yea, I am, I- I just came up a few days early to kinda get used to the place. It’s just- It’s so huge,” She gushed and he couldn’t help but smile.
“Yea, I guess. Never really noticed like that before,” He replied with a shrug. The castle hardly caused him to blink with the richness he had been surrounded by since birth.
“Gods, how could you not?” She looked up at the stone architecture on the ceilings. “It’s amazing, the stone carvings, the history in this building alone is crazy. Imagine just the history these walls have seen, the people who might’ve lived here, and made a life in a place like this-”
“Sorry- I don’t mean to ramble,” She said shyly. “It’s just that I never thought I’d be here studying, and now I am.”
“No, it’s fine. I have three sisters, believe me, I don’t mind,” He told her and she giggled.
“Wow, three? Do they go here?” She asked, and he raised a brow. Did she really not even recognise him?
“Uh, two of them do, yea- they’re here right now, actually. The other one’s at a different school down in Oldtown.” He looked at her for a sign of deception, even though admittedly Nora was way better at reading people than him.
“Wow- that’s lovely,” She smiled. “I never had siblings- do you have any brothers?” She asked curiously.
Shit, he thought- she really has no idea who he is.
“Yea, just one- he goes here too.”
“It must be so amazing to have a big family,” She told him.
He remembered the other night- Aemond and Jace fighting, their father shouting at them, Nora shoving her bags in the limo as they all got in to leave, their mother helplessly apologising for their father who never even told them goodbye.
“My siblings are great,” He told her. “The rest- well, depends on the day, I guess.”
She nodded. “Oh! I’m Charlotte, by the way.” She introduced herself.
“Charlotte,” Her name felt right, on his tongue. Like he’d known it far longer. “Nice to meet you. I’m Aegon.”
“Aegon,” She smiled, not a flicker of recognition behind her eyes upon hearing his name. “It’s really nice to meet you, Aegon.”
“Where’s Aegon?” Nora asked Helaena when she got back to their dorm, tossing her coat onto her chair.
“I think he and Charlie went down to the polo field,” Hel told her as she coloured in the picture of the caterpillar she sketched that morning after class. Nora flopped onto her sister’s bed beside her.
“She’s taking up a ton of his time lately,” Nora commented dryly, and Helaena set down her sketch pad.
“Nora,” Hel spoke gently. “She’s very nice, you know. You’d see it yourself if you didn’t scare her off every time.”
She shrugged. “I don’t know her. I don’t know who her family is, where she comes from- how can she afford to come to a school like this? Why Aegon? Why not some other rich guy, Seven knows there are a ton on this campus.”
Trust didn’t come easy to her, people had been trying to worm their way into their lives since they were children, to latch onto their family’s name, and money.
“You jealous?” Hel gave her a small smile, and Nora fished through her bag for her pack of cigs.
“It isn’t about jealousy, Hel, it’s about being careful- like, for example, that helpless social climber Cassandra Baratheon,” Nora huffs as she finds the cigarettes but not her lighter.
“Nora,” Hel pouted a little. “You promised you’d stop smoking.”
“I’ll smoke outside,” Her sister relented, as she left her sister with a quick peck. Though she wore the uniform, her styling of it showed not only her privilege and the influence she had, but her lack of care for the rules. The skirt was hemmed to be shorter, instead of sensible loafers she wore knee-high boots, her blazer discarded, and her white blouse was tied off at her abdomen, her tie loose around her neck. And she got away with it, because of her last name.
Of course, many of the girls ditched their loafers for knee high boots within the first week of the term. But they didn’t always get away with it like she did.
She found herself down by the greenhouse- she’d poached Aemond’s lighter when she bumped into him on his way to her and Hel’s room.
Nora lit her cigarette as she watched in the distance people hanging out by the polo field, walking around campus since official classes were over for the day. She took a drag, and her moment of solitude was interrupted by a voice that, annoyingly, had become familiar.
“Daenora?” She looked up to see Charlotte- Charlie, as Aegon had taken to calling her. She wore her uniform like an image out of the school’s rulebook.
“Charlotte.” Nora barely glanced at her. “Shouldn’t you be busy with my brother?” She exhaled a puff of smoke.
“Oh- Aegon’s got polo practice, so I thought I’d get some reading done.” Charlotte said, sitting beside Nora.
“I-um, aren’t you scared of getting in trouble? With…you know,” She gestured to the cigarette in Nora’s hand. Nora chuckled and took another drag. “We both know I won’t.” Nora replied.
“Aegon smokes too, you know,” Nora told her. “If that’s something that bothers you.”
“Oh, I know,” Charlotte shifted beside her as they watched the polo field in the distance.”I just wouldn't like for you guys to get in trouble, that’s all-”
“Why? I mean, we won’t- we both know that, even though you pretend you don’t know why- why do you care about people you don’t even know?” Nora asked, more harshly than she meant to.
“Aegon’s my friend, and I- I know how much he cares about you guys-”
Nora scoffed. “Honey please, you have no idea just how much. Do you really expect me to believe that you don’t have some underlying motive? This place is filled with a bunch of vapid, self serving social climbers.”
“Nora-”
“Don’t call me that. We hardly know each other- look, Aegon can be fucked up, but he’s also someone who loves deeply, and goes over the moon for people he cares about. He’s my brother, and I know that if you’re just using him for money, or to boost your status, it’ll hurt him. And I can’t stand people who hurt my siblings, okay?” Nora crushed her cigarette. “He might choose to see the best in people, but I’m a realist. And trust me, I’m really good at making people’s lives hell when they get on my bad side.” Nora stood and stalked off, leaving Charlotte sitting there, stunned, tears brimming in her eyes.
That night Nora was alone in her and Hel’s dorm, since she and Aemond went for a walk down to the gardens. She was flipping through the TV when Aegon burst through the door.
“What the hell did you do?” He stormed over, and Nora sat up in her bed.
“I don’t know what you’re-”
“Don’t do that, Nora- I know you said something to Charlie. She won’t even talk to me, and she won’t tell me why.” Aegon folded his arms across his chest, his jaw clenched.
“She came up to me, okay? Not my fault if-”
“She was trying to be nice! Because ever since she and I became friends, you’ve been a bitch to her! But she knows how much you mean to me.” Aegon cut her off.
Nora huffed and snapped, “Look, Aeg- you’re too trusting, okay? We don’t know her, and we both know that people love to latch onto our name. That girl could be using you as a step to climb, and you wouldn’t even know until she just abandoned you, or something! I’m trying to protect you!”
“You didn’t even give her a chance! She’s not like the rest of vapid cunts in this place, Nora! She’s the first real friend I’ve had in a long time that didn’t like me because of money, or whatever.”
The door opened, and Aemond and Helaena gauged the argument going on and Aemond murmured to Hel, “Come on, love- let’s go back to my dorm instead.” before shutting the door.
“Apologise.” Aegon demanded.
“No.” Nora replied stubbornly.
“Dammit Nora- you’re being so fucking unreasonable right now-”
“And you’re being naive!” She held her head high stubbornly, as was her way- it was equally her worst and best trait.
Aegon stormed out, slamming the door behind him without another word. It was best to leave before words were said that they didn’t mean.
Nora hated fighting with her siblings, but soon he’d see it was for his own good.
“Daenora please,” Alicent said exasperatedly. “You can’t wear that to a company event, I can’t bear to listen to your father or your grandfather give me a lecture on your ostentatious fashion choices.”
The tight, short, red dress with beading depicting a dragon in black was a custom piece, as the silver haired girl informed her mother- designers from the Free Cities would give a limb to see a young Targaryen heiress wearing one of their creations.
It wasn’t to say that her mother wasn’t fashion oriented; she was just…more conservative leaning. Indeed, it was easy to forget how young her mother actually was, with the way her features were always contorted in an image of worry, stress, or just pure exhaustion- unless there were cameras around. The twelve year age difference between her parents was one that her father had thrown money at every Westerosi media outlet to turn a blind eye to, and she was quite sure her grandfather had done the same.
“It’s custom, Mother,” Daenora reached for the black boots to go with the outfit. “A new up and coming designer from Lys.”
“That isn’t helping. Please, darling, this is the last weekend before you and your siblings return to St. Baelor’s and I’d prefer it was a peaceful one. I’d really rather avoid another incident like what happened at the Baratheon gala.” Her mother said, going through her daughter’s closet for something more toned down.
Daenora smiled to herself as she remembered that night- her oldest brother Aegon had been drinking way too much, as he often did, and she with him, and when they with their other siblings, Aemond and Helaena, went up to the rooftop of the building, Aegon popped a bottle of champagne and sprayed it onto the waiting press down below. Father was livid, Mother was weary- and that led to her father paying those reporters a hefty sum to stay quiet, and of course, when he ripped into each of the four of them in an exasperated rage, picking at anything he could find- including the outfit she wore that night.
She found it a fond memory if only because it meant she royally pissed off Viserys Targaryen.
It was a fun pastime, annoying her father, and she resolved in her mind to continue to do it until he quit being a massive hypocrite. That same weekend, her half-sister Rhaenyra took a trip with her own family- her husband Laenor Velaryon, her sons Jacearys, Lucerys, and baby Joffrey. And it just so happened that pictures leaked of Rhaenyra entwined with a man that wasn’t her husband- but her bodyguard, a man who Daenora had to admit was a hunk of man she wouldn’t mind tasting- Harwin Strong.
Of course, every time she happened to drop comments that her nephews looked a lot like the bodyguard, her father wouldn’t hear it.
“Fine,” She conceded. Alicent pulled out a black and gold floor length gown. “This is much better,” Her mother hung the dress up on her closet door.
“Now get ready, darling. We really ought to leave soon.” Alicent told her on the way out, shutting her bedroom door.
Makeup done, hair done, since the stylist had left a few hours ago, she was sitting in a robe on her bed scrolling, when the door opened.
“Nora?” A soft voice caught her attention.
“Helly,” She smiled, sitting up. “What’s up?” She asked her sister.
“Mother said to tell you that she’ll go ahead with Father, and that Criston’s going to come back and pick the four of us up.” Her sister said as she sat on the bed. Helaena’s own pale blue dress was reflective of her sister’s gentle nature, and the diamond bracelet on her wrist with little butterflies on it was so perfectly Helaena.
“Are our dear brothers ready?” Nora asked as Helaena zipped up her dress for her.
“Aemond’s been ready an hour now, he’s making sure he’s enrolled in all those advanced classes for when we get back to school,” Her sister said as they walked down the hall. “Aegon’s-”
Nora pushed open Aegon’s door without knocking- boundaries weren’t exactly something present between the four, to find Aegon in bed sprawled and his suit still hanging on the door.
The eldest Targaryen let out a whistle as he saw the two in his doorway. “You guys sure you don’t just wanna ditch this stupid thing? You look too hot to waste on those losers.” He grinned.
“We can’t, Aeg,” Nora told him, as he approached them both with a look that she’d seen a million times. “Mother’s expecting us, and she’s kinda hoping this weekend isn’t a total shitshow.”
He groaned in exasperation. “Fine.” He took his shirt off and tossed it in a corner. “I’ll be ready in twenty, baby- unless either of you wanna-” He gestured to the shower in his bathroom. Ever the flirt, their brother. It was a uniquely Targaryen experience, to have a brother that flirted (among other things) like a boyfriend, but could be as annoying as well…a brother.
Aemond was more a brother of action rather than words, though.
“Later, Aeg,” Nora told him, and with a pout her brother went to finally get himself ready.
Aemond sat at his desk, everything in his room pristine- his bed, his desk, the shelves- even Vhagar’s cat bed was pristine as the old feline meowed as his sisters entered.
“Aegon’s still not ready?” He hummed as he shut his laptop.
“In the shower,” Helaena replied softly as she knelt to pet Vhagar, who purred contentedly.
“Can’t believe they’re coming back for this stupid thing.” Aemond grumbled.
It was no secret that Aemond despised even being in the same room as their nephew Lucerys. A bout of childhood rough playing gone wrong on their family’s beach estate, Dragonstone, ended with Lucerys shoving Aemond into the rocky part of the beach, and a piece of jagged, sharp rock slashing his eye. Their mother Alicent almost pressed charges were it not for the hand of their father stepping in and stopping her. Rhaenyra quietly paid Aemond’s medical bills to ease her own conscience, but there never came an apology from Lucerys, and worse- their father never demanded one.
In the years since the incident, Aemond had adjusted to life with the best prosthetic eye money could buy, and he acted as though their half sister and nephews didn’t exist, except when he lost his temper on the occasions their father forced them to be together. Even at school, St. Baelor’s Academy, a private boarding school that oozed of elitism and students whose ancestors had attended before them, Aemond didn’t even look Jacaerys’s way. It was a good thing Lucerys wasn’t yet attending the school, for the Seven above knew that it spelled trouble.
“We’ll just ignore them-” Helaena tried to say, but Aemond cut her off, as he went on.
“All for the old fool to put on a good show for the press. We’ve all gotta pretend that they’re actually Corlys Velaryon’s grandsons- those twats should be in line to take over at HarrenCorp Security Firm, not Velaryon Shipping.” Aemond huffed.
“Daella’s kinda lucky she’s off in Oldtown,” Aemond muttered, referring to their youngest sister who their mother had managed to convince their father to allow to attend the private all-girls school. The exclusive institution was ingrained in the Faith of the Seven, which Nora supposed gave her mother some semblance of comfort.
“I can flirt with Harwin Strong to piss Rhaenyra off,” Nora offered. “See her get all wound up and can’t do anything about it-”
“Don’t you dare.” Aemond replied.
Having protective brothers was one thing, add jealousy to it and it’s another game entirely.
“You guys ready?” Aegon appeared moments later, dressed in his suit, a bottle of champagne in his hand. Aemond rolled his eye as they walked down to meet the car.
“There better not be any coke in your pocket.” Aemond grunted as the four siblings packed into the limousine.
The room was draped in the richest silks, the picture of elegance with waiters dressed in red and black serving canapes, champagne, as Westeros’s elite gathered under the generosity of the richest of them all, Viserys Targaryen. Targaryen Incorporated encompassed many industries; from hotels to media distribution, and that’s just what was out in the open. The Targaryens had their hand in everything from government dealings to elections, they may not be called Kings and Queens anymore but their rule had never really ended.
“Aegon, do fix your jacket,” Alicent snapped when she approached her children. “For heaven’s sake what did you do in the limo?”
Aegon huffed and adjusted his jacket in an exaggerated motion. “Happy now, Mother dearest?”
“I thought you’d come and talk to some of your father’s board members, perhaps some investors?” Their mother suggested to Aegon, whose face contorted into a pointed frown.
“Why?”
“Because you are your father’s eldest son, Aegon.” Nora saw her mother glance over to where their grandfather, Otto, was keeping an eye on them.
“You do know he skipped half our economics classes last semester?” Aemond asked her, taking a drink from himself. “It’s why he’s taking it this year. Again.”
“Aemond, please.” Their mother said exasperatedly. Alicent grabbed Aegon’s hand like he was still a child and all but dragged him over to the business men where their father stood.
“I don’t know why they’re bothering,” Aemond muttered.
“Who, brother?” Helaena asked, confused. The noise in the room felt a bit overstimulating, coupled with all the eyes on them, so she slid her hand into her sister’s, and Nora gladly held it.
“Mother. Grandfather. Trying to make Aegon into the next company CEO for after Father croaks.” Aemond scoffed. “As if he hasn’t already named Rhaenyra for that in his will anyway- as if she’s any better.”
Helaena sighed- she knew better than to try and interrupt Aemond when he was on an angry tirade…even when he was right.
“Of course she didn’t even finish university.” Aemond went on. “The day she steps in as CEO she’ll probably only remember the faces of the ones she’s fucked. Beats me how you can put someone to run a company who didn’t even have it in them to finish their fucking degree.”
“Speak of the devil,” Aemond muttered as the three of them turned to see Rhaenyra entering with Laenor, and behind her, Jaceaerys and Lucerys. Upon sensing Aemond’s cold glare Luke visibly shifted behind his brother, who glanced at his silver-haired relatives who suddenly made his own brown locks feel so very plain.
“Rhaenyra, my dearest child,” Viserys beamed, going over to greet them, and Nora could hardly contain the irritation as she rolled her eyes. She watched with her siblings as their father warmly greeted Rhaenyra and her family- meanwhile he hadn’t so much as spared them a glance since they arrived. Unsurprising- their father would choose Rhaenyra and her kids over them every damned time.
“The prodigal golden-child returns,” Aegon’s voice appeared beside her, as he seemingly had managed to escape their mother’s attempts to have him mingle with board members and investors.
“Easy on the booze, Aegon,” Their grandfather’s rough voice corrected Aegon as her brother went from another flute of champagne. “For fucks’ sake.” Aegon muttered, drinking the whole thing in one gulp.
Admittedly, their grandfather didn’t have the most warmth, but what little warmth he did have was seemingly left for Helaena and their youngest sister, Daella. Aegon received the brunt of his roughness, as Otto Hightower had always been the looming shadow that reprimanded Aegon, his own ambition to see his grandson as the new Targaryen Incorporated CEO ever-clear.
As Otto went off to talk to Tywin Lannister, a big investor of her father’s and her grandfather’s oldest friend, Nora was about to tell her siblings they might try and slip out now when Rhaenyra herself approached them.
“Rhaenyra,” Nora plastered a fake smile on her face. Aemond remained coldly silent, as Helaena gave her a polite smile and Aegon just leaned on Nora.
“Daenora, it’s lovely to see you all,” Rhaenyra said. “Are you all off to St. Baelor’s again soon?”
“In a few days,” Nora replied coolly.
“How was Pentos? I saw the pictures, you certainly looked…relaxed,” Nora gave her a smug smile, as she saw Rhaenyra tense at the subtle jab at the leaked pictures of her and Harwin nakedly entwined on a beach in Pentos.
“It was lovely,” She said tightly. “The boys loved the beaches, and-”
“I hope your son managed not to maim anyone else,” Aemond cut in sharply. “I hear beaches in Pentos could be…rocky.”
“I- Well, I should really go speak to some people. Catch up.” She smiled at them before walking off.
“Real subtle, Aem.” Aegon commented, and Aemond just rolled his eye.
A few hours later as the reception ended, they all went and sat at their various tables for the sit-down dinner, and the siblings sat together talking amongst themselves, when Nora raised a brow when the last two persons assigned to their table took their seats.
“Fuck no,” Aemond couldn’t help but mutter, glaring at the brown haired boys across from them.
“Are you lost?” Nora asked coldly.
“The seating chart says we’re seated here,” Jace replied, as Luke glanced nervously at Aemond.
“I don’t give a shit what it says, I don’t want you here,” Aemond spat.
“Children please,” Alicent pleaded at the table next to theirs.
“Do lighten up, Aemond,” Viserys said. “We’re family, boy.”
Aemond only tensed further, like a bomb about to explode any moment now, and his breathing only began to slow when he felt Helaena slide her hand into his. Nora glared at their nephews before she ordered another drink for herself…and some water for Aemond, the last thing they needed was Aemond angry and drunk.
It seemed as though everything would be fine, they’d get through this night and hopefully Aegon had a little weed left over, they could head back home and go get high around the pool or something. Until Aemond caught wind of Jace’s eyes lingering on sweet Helaena, who was sitting between their brothers, almost dissociated from the tense atmosphere in the room- or at least, at their table.
“Quit it.” Aemond said roughly to Jace.
“Quit what?”
“Staring at Helaena.” Aemond clenched his fists on the table, as Helaena looked at her sister at the mention of her name, and Nora gave her a reassuring smile, though she didn’t feel it- Aemond could restrain his temper, usually, but when around Jace and Luke…not so much. Not always. The anger and animosity he felt against Rhaenyra’s whole family for his accident, for how they never faced any kind of consequence, how their father always took their side, always- he couldn’t always hold it in.
“I can look where I want,” Jace replied stupidly- even Aegon could sense Aemond’s impending outburst.
“Fucking idiot,” Aegon muttered under his breath.
“Not at my sister. Not at either one of them.” Aemond snapped back.
“Guys, let’s just calm down-”
“Shut up Luke,” Aemond snapped at the younger boy. “It’s a miracle you guys have the time to be here tonight- I figured that between spending time with Laenor and your real father, you’d be all booked.”
“Aemond-” Nora tried to butt in but he ignored her.
“Shut up.” Jace clenched his jaw, as Aemond gave him an antagonising smile.
“What, didn’t you get to spend time with Daddy Strong this summer? Was he too busy fucking your mother for all the press to see?” Aemond kept goading him.
“Will you boys be quiet?” Alicent stepped over to their table. “There are guests here, please-”
“At least my dad gives a shit,” Jace hit back. “Yours likes me better than you, we all know it. And that was before the accident, Cyclops.”
Aemond was silent for a moment- deceiving those within earshot that he was humbled- but they were sorely mistaken when Aemond lunged over the table and shoved Jace, who growled and tried to hit Aemond back. Utter chaos, and Helaena’s eyes widened as she covered her ears, the noise overstimulating her and Nora grabbed her hand and pulled her away from the table.
“Aegon!” Nora shouted at him when she saw Luke about to try and help Jace as he and Aemond fought each other. Aegon’s eyes narrowed and he grabbed Luke by the hair and yanked him to fall back, muttering, “Not today, mongrel.”
“Security!” Their father’s voice could be heard as the sounds of Jace and Aemond grunting and rolling on the ground could be heard- worse, the sound of cameras snapping.
“Enough!” Viserys shouted angrily as the bodyguards pulled the boys apart. “That is enough!”
Security led their family out of the room and into a smaller library in the venue, as Alicent worriedly used the pocket square from Aemond’s suit to wipe the blood from his lip, and Rhaenyra anxiously kept checking Jace and Luke for injuries.
Nora held Helaena’s hand tightly as Viserys slammed the door.
“What is wrong with you children?” Viserys paced angrily. “One night, could you not be civil for one night? Board members, investors, press, people we all know were present here tonight and instead of presenting an image of sophistication you both wrestle in the middle of a dining room like this is a tawdry bar in Flea Bottom!”
“Viserys please-” Alicent tried to interrupt, but as he did most of the time, he ignored her.
“Aemond, boy, what has gotten into you? I expect this type of foolish behaviour from Aegon, but for Seven’s sake-”
Aegon wasn’t even phased by their father’s low opinion of him anymore as he just sat next to his sisters, as Nora took his other hand.
“And Jaceaerys, lad- you’re better than this.”
“Father please, Aemond goaded him! He provoked him-” Rhaenyra butted in, and Nora rolled her eyes.
“He called Aemond a fucking cyclops!” Nora interrupted Rhaenyra, glaring up at her father. “He was being an asshole, and he was staring at Helaena-”
“You’re on thin ice yourself, girl- watch your tone.” Viserys warned her.
“You’ve all shamed our family name tonight with this behaviour.” Their father pronounced. “Alicent have the children sent home, and have Otto deal with the press.”
Their mother nodded, and called Criston to bring the car around to take the four of them home.
Aemond didn’t even wait for Viserys to say anything else, he just stormed out, and his siblings followed him.
A few minutes later, on the limo ride home, Aegon finally broke the silence- their father’s words all replayed in their minds.
Another sunset descended upon the ancient estate that had been standing for hundreds of years outside the now metropolitan city of King’s Landing. An image of grandeur and opulence, of a centuries old dynasty that, in the past hundred years, traded their crowns for soaring skyscrapers. To the common man of Westeros it gave the illusion that the Targaryens no longer ruled Westeros with an iron fist as in a bygone era of Kings and Queens. But a dragon always rises from the ashes, and so when Jaehaerys Targaryen, near the end of his rule, signed the agreement that dissolved the monarchy, he in turn took their royal fortune, and started a company.
That company grew, multiplied until it became a corporate empire that exceeded even that of Old Valyria’s breadth and influence. Targaryen Incorporated.
Sitting on the modern-day throne that was the CEO’s chair was the now widowed Viserys Targaryen. The man who never wanted to sit at the helm of such a business empire, but when his old grandfather staunchly refused to hand the reins over to his older cousin, Rhaenys, Viserys was forced to abandon his dream of living life on one of the family’s dozens of country estates with his little family, and instead to pick up the mantle to continue the great family dynasty. For all his weaknesses, Viserys had to admit, he didn’t want to be remembered as the Targaryen who ended their family’s great legacy.
But not ever dragons, whether armour or in suits, are immune to tragedy. Aemma Arryn, his wife, had died in labour. His great love, albeit his cousin- though such things were foreign to the everyman, it was all be expected of Targaryens- was dead.
In the months after her passing, his eye landed on another young, beautiful woman. Alicent Hightower, his CFO’s daughter. It seemed almost a sign from the Seven that Alicent always happened to be there, when he needed comfort. Of course, Viserys didn’t see the masterful hand of her father, Otto, pulling her strings, presenting his barely graduated daughter to the CEO in the advancement of his corporate ambition. Just as he was blind to such blatant manipulations, so too was he blind to much else- the closeness of his only daughter, Rhaenyra, perhaps too close to be just childhood friends. The way that young Alicent always hesitated in the midst of Viserys’s advances.
But who was a girl to disobey her father?
And in his attempt to ease the gaping wound of guilt and grief within him, Viserys Targaryen made headlines a mere few months after the death of his first wife, and cousin-
“Business Tycoon Viserys Targaryen announces engagement to young Hightower heiress, Alicent Hightower.”
Summary: When his wife speaks out of turn during a dinner with the King, Aemond needs to reprimand her indiscretions.
Warnings: 18+, AFAB reader, wife!reader, dom/sub undertones, temperature play, (slight) humiliation, talk of obedience, heavy petting, (light) bondage, P in V, a little angsty in the begging, a little fluffy in the end
A/N: Okay so editing took much longer than anticipated - you could tell this was the first fic (read: smut) I wrote. This has had a real make-over, please enjoy!
Word Count: 3300
Getting to know your new spouse after a hasty wedding had been a far lengthier process than your swift unification.
When first being presented to Prince Aemond, you’d been unsure of how to approach him. His stoic façade and short-worded answers left you wondering if he’d ever let you get to know him, or if you’d spend a lifetime with a shell of a person; too stubbornly proud to let anyone in. However, with time, you've noticed that the imperturbable prince is a loyal husband, and by opening yourself up a bit to him, he returned the favour by allowing you to get to know him as well.
You’d now grown closer than you’d ever dared imagined. Most fears from the beginning of your union had been washed away by the prince's attentive nature, and you feel thoroughly satisfied with the state of your marriage.
You and Aemond connect and relate to each other immensely, being far more alike than appearances might presume. Behind closed doors, there barriers previously separating the two of you from each other had essentially vanished.
In public, however, you did not always see eye to eye.
The grip Aemond has around your arm feels bruising as he led you into your shared chambers, letting go of you only to close and bar the door with a heavy thud.
“Have I not asked you to watch your tongue in the presence of others?”
He's still facing the door, low, soft voice sending a chill through the blood furiously pumping through your body.
The tension in his shoulders is evident, and the way his voice sounds unnaturally calm lets you know that he is trying hard to sound composed.
You knew from the moment you raised your voice that Aemond would not approve. That he'd be displeased with you.
Yet, you could not hinder the words from spilling from your lips, entire being suddenly consumed with irritation over the thoughtless remark King Aegon had uttered during dinner.
“It was not my intention to speak out of turn, husband. But you know as well as I do that the King’s comment-”
“It does not matter! I’ve asked you to hold your tongue in public, especially when it comes to my brother”, he interrupts, the fake calmness he’d previously tried to maintain slipping away,
“Engaging with him will only rile him up. He will not relent until he’s had the last word and left you humiliated. Do you truly wish to enter a battle like that with the King? You know it will serve no good”
You swallow thickly and look down at the floor, overwhelmed with feelings of regret and shame. Your husbands eyes bore into you, challenging you to fight back, yet you do not feel brave enough to defy him.
You're not even brave enough to meet his gaze.
You hear him sigh and walk towards where you stand, voice calmer yet somehow more authoritative than before,
“Take off your dress and get on the bed”
You knew not to argue, feeling a tiny spark of excitement at the possibility of him disciplining you for your transgressions at dinner. You had gone against his wishes before, hoping he would spank you, as you had found yourself getting impossibly aroused from the act.
During such instances, however, he had been far less displeased with you. This time, you hadn’t defied him with a cheeky grin and a glint in your eye. This time, you had been unable to keep your mouth shut, momentarily forgetting yourself.
You follow his orders wordlessly and take off your dress, quickly working your fingers along the buttons of your bodice in order to yank it down your body. Stepping out of the garment, you raise your head to look Aemond in the eye, showing him that you’d follow his commands without resistance.
“Your smallclothes as well, wife. Take everything off and get on the bed, on your belly”.
You do as he says without much thought, feeling your heart beat harder in your chest in anticipation in what’s to come.
You cannot decipher if you feel excitement or dread when pondering on what he will do next, yet you eagerly wait to find out more.
Aemond’s seeing eye trails down your naked form, sternly observing you as you step out of your smallclothes and get on the bed, again heeding his demand without protest.
He undoes his belt and instructs you to tuck your legs under your body, leaving you no option but to press your face against the soft, moss-coloured sheets of your marital bed.
Kneeling on the bed behind you, he takes both your hands and tie them behind your back, the rough, stiff leather of his belt pressing into the delicate skin of your wrists.
He moves off the bed and kneels next to it, taking your chin in his hand. He moves you so that you’re facing him, letting his thumb rest softly against your cheekbone.
He still appears stoic, but you can see the fury dancing in his eye as he looks into yours,
“I will know if you’ve moved”
You swallow thickly. How long does he plan on leaving you here?
He stands up, takes one final look at your naked silhouette, and leaves, shutting the door behind him.
Once alone, the reality of the situation begins to settle.
The hearth has not been lit, and the chilling autumn air easily penetrates the chambers through the large windows facing the sea.
King’s Landing suffered more from heat than chill, and the Red Keep was built to allow air to flow through the castle, rather than to keep warmth in. Without your clothes and the hearth, you found the room you otherwise regarded as a comforting haven to be chill and foreign.
After some time of disturbing silence, unease creeps up your chill spine and enters your rapidly beating heart.
Had Aemond locked the door?
What if someone were to enter, just to find you in this humiliating state; arse on display for all to see?
Your heart beats faster.
Fiercer.
You know you could easily turn your body around and get off the bed, despite being unable to move your arms.
The thought feels more tempting as your skin grows colder; gooseflesh spreading over your unmoving arms and legs. Only one thoughts keeps you still,
What would Aemond think?
You’d already upset him, and part of you knows that what you did had been foolish. Speaking in the way you did to the King would have left others without their tongue.
Aemond had spared you.
He needs to know that you regret your indiscretions; that you are a better wife than what your actions had shown earlier.
So you relax your jaw to stop your teeth from shaking, inhale deeply, and wait.
You do not know how much time has passed when Aemond finally returns.
You find it hard not to shiver. Your body has gone impossibly cold, and your feet and hands already feel numb.
He comes up to the side of the bed, looking down at your trembling body with satisfaction dancing in his lilac eye.
“Have you learnt your lesson yet, wife?” he asks. You hum weakly, wishing he would allow you to get dressed, if only to end your agony; both the one evident across your cold skin and inside of your chest.
His eye flickers from your exposed bottom to your face, the hint of a smile pulling at hush lips,
“And you haven’t moved since I left?”
You softly shake your head, watching as your husband’s eye crinkles from the victorious smile he wears.
“I knew you were a good wife. I am so proud of your display of obedience”
As he speaks, he places a warm palm on your cold buttock, prompting you to let out a surprised moan from the intensely pleasurable feeling.
Aemond’s smile grows wider, causing dimples to appear on his cheeks.
You don't know if you’ve ever seen them before.
“Does my sweet wife need me to warm her up?”
He almost sounds taunting, yet you could not care less. The hand he had placed on your buttock comes back to rub your lower back, and the heat from his palm feels so good; so warm.
So comforting.
“Yes, husband. Please touch me”
Swiftly moving to kneel behind you, he places both of his large hands on the back of your thighs, slowly trailing them upwards, halting at your shoulders. You sigh loudly, relishing in the wonderful feeling of his warm hands on your cold body. The feeling of relief accompanied by his touch is so strong it feels foreign; like nothing you’ve ever experienced before.
As he continues to caress your body, you notice the demanding ache of arousal between your thighs intensify. You hadn’t really paid attention to the wetness collecting there, but now that a drop slides down your exposed thigh, you cannot disregard the effect your husbands touch has on you, even when his intentions are not of a entirely lewd nature.
The next time his wandering hands reach your buttocks, they travel to your front, caressing your belly and cupping your breasts. You moan again, no longer recognising yourself or this newly discovered inability to control your mouth.
You hear Aemond sigh behind you as he leans down over your body, placing a few kisses on your shoulders. His touch stays on your breasts, kneading them with an increasingly harsh grip.
The leather of his tunic and breeches do not feel as comforting as his warm hands and you hiss as your chilled back makes contact with his cold, stiff attire.
“Please husband, take off your clothes. I crave your warmth”
Aemond hums in reply to your plea, pulling away briefly to discard his clothes on the floor. You try to turn your head and look at him, but the awkward position your body is in does not allow for you to move your head, cheek still pushed into the bed.
Soon you feel the bed dip again behind you, Aemond now so close that his thighs touch the back of yours.
They say that the blood of the dragon runs hot, and perhaps you’ve never been more pleased at having married a Targaryen; revelling in the way his heated skin gives you relief from the cold air of your stoney chambers.
Your husband begins to gently trace his palms across your body once more, stopping at your waist before wrapping both of his arms around the dip there, slowly pressing down to rest his heavy body on top of yours.
Again, you moan at how good the warmth of his skin feels against yours, the want between your naked thighs intensifying.
Aemond tucks his head in your neck, inhaling the scent of your skin,
“Does this feel good, wife?”, he mumbles into your hair.
“Yes”, you sigh, feeling wholly consumed by him.
The familiar hardness pressing against your behind does not go unnoticed, and you take pride in knowing that you’re not completely at his mercy.
He’s at yours as well.
“You’ve been such a sweet, obedient wife for me. Ask me anything and I’ll be a sweet, obedient husband for you” he says, moving his head from your neck to press fleeting kisses down your shoulder.
You know what he wants you to answer; know that he loves you submissive, begging for him to make you feel good.
“Please, keep touching me”, you request as he moves off of you to sit on his haunches behind your kneeling form, taking your tied up hands in his and gently undoing his belt.
He discards it on the floor next to his own leathers, gentle fingers softly caressing your wrists, noticing the red remnants of his belt there.
Grabbing your arms, Aemond carefully places them down by your head. He leans in to kiss your cheek, tucking away a strand of hair that has fallen to cover your face.
His palms travel from your arms down your torso, ending up on your bottom again.
“Do you wish for me to touch you here, sweet girl?”
His voice is loving yet his touch is not as he begins to knead your buttocks a bit too harshly for your liking. You do not dare to protest though, the feeling of his warm hands on your cold body too good to endanger.
You simply moan again, head moving to look back at him, the same confident smirk still illuminating his face.
“Or would you like me to touch you here?”
One of his hands trail down between your buttocks to meet your soaking centre, and he huffs out a chuckle at the wet sounds of your arousal echoing in your quarters.
“Such a wanton little thing you’ve become. Does obeying your prince arouse you so?”
Though you adore the feeling of his fingers caressing your womanhood, the lack of his warm body pressing against yours causes you to shiver again.
Aemond suddenly withdraws his hand from between your thighs, evoking a displeased whine to leave your lips.
In return, he releases an amused huff, thoroughly entertained by the desperate way you’ve come to crave him.
He moves to sit on the edge of the bed, fisting his already hard cock a few times before turning to you, beckoning you to come over with a flick of his head.
You eagerly get up from the bed, swaying clumsily as your stiff legs feel unstable from the extended time you’ve been kneeling on the bed.
You stand in front of him, between his spread out thighs.
He appears just as calculated as he always does; long, silky hair neatly falling down his broad shoulders, and brown, worn eyepatch securely fastened around his head.
It’s only his eye, the expressive one on display, that shows his true intentions.
His hunger.
Aemond leans forward to place a chaste kiss to your stiff nipple, then moves to do the same to the other. Both of his large, warm hands find home on your hips, and you sigh at the wonderful relief yet again.
He turns you around, grabs your hips once more, and manoeuvres you so that you’re bending down with your back towards him.
He grabs his cock, hard and leaking with arousal, and moves it up and down your slit, allowing it to explore the path from your pearl, all the way down to the cleft of your arse.
He smears your slick everywhere; there’s so much of it that it taints your entire centre. Had you been more sensible, you might’ve found the act sullying and lewd. Now, it causes more desire to drip out of you.
When he places the tip at your entrance, he wraps his muscular arms around you, pushing you down in a swift motion to impale you on his cock.
Although you have had him more times than you can count, the stretch stings as he forces you to take all of him at once.
More overpowering, however, is the feeling of relief your cold skin is granted as Aemond envelops you in his arms, holding on to you so tightly it’s like he wants to squeeze the life out of you.
He does not neglect your desires though; his cock instantly finds that spot within you that makes you feel weightless and heavy at the same time.
It’s almost too much to handle; the sharp, intense pleasure.
You groan loudly, throwing your head back to rest on Aemond’s shoulder.
He continues to thrust up into your cunt, using the grasp he has on your body to continuously impale you on his cock. You try to keep up with his pace, but the immense pleasure sprinting through you being leaves you incapable of doing much, so you stay limp in his unyielding hold, allowing him to use you in any way he pleases.
The harsh sounds of your skin smacking against his, his cock repeatedly fucking your wet hole and your combined breaths fill the room, seeping out of the still uncovered windows.
Aemond keeps a steady pace, the muscles of his toned arms flexing around your body as he takes his pleasure from your cunt.
His face is pressed to yours, cheek to cheek, as he breathes loudly through his nose. Tilting his head, his mouth right next to your ear, he whispers,
“You do not know what you do to me, sweet wife. I cannot stay cross with you for long, even when I wish to”
With the little strength and physical control you still possess, you turn your head to face him, pressing your lips to his in an attempt to pour all your pent up feelings of excitement, nervousness and devotion into the kiss.
One of your hands seeks his, and you pry it off the grip it has right under your breast, taking hold of it and guiding it down to the apex of your thighs. With his hand in yours, you begin to draw small, determined circles on your pearl, pressing on his fingers to let him know how firm you want his touch to be.
Your peak approaches you quickly; aggressively, as the knot in your lower belly tightens within you. As it finally bursts, you press your head back against Aemond’s shoulder, a cry loud enough to alert the entire Red Keep of your activities accompanying the pure bliss overtaking you.
Your body jerks in Aemond’s arms, pleasure sending lightning bolts from your core down to your toes and up into your chest.
“Fu-, fuck, your cunt’s-”, Aemond interrupts himself with a groan as the tightening pulsation of your heat around him sets off his own peak.
His hips buck up into you for a few more seconds before he stills, holding you tightly in his arms as his weary head moves down to rest on your shoulder.
“Would you like me to call for the servants to pour you a bath, my love? Warm you up?”, he inquires, still out of breath.
You let out an exhausted laugh and turn yourself slightly in his arms to face your husband again.
His cheeks are flustered and pink, eye half-open. He looks equal parts tired and satisfied, and you realise you probably look the same.
“You have successfully thawed me, dear husband. Now all I ask of you is that you allow me to stay in your embrace”
For a second he almost looks bashful at your words, but before you have a chance to ponder it further, he lifts you off of him and helps you lay down on the bed, this time tucking you in underneath the furs before quickly fetching a cloth to clean you up. When he’s done he tosses it on the floor and climbs down to lay next to you, pulling you towards him with your face right in front of his, so close your noses bump together.
“It is not my desire for you to mind your tongue when we are alone”, he speaks quietly, meeting your eyes in an attempt to reason with you.
“But you must understand that life at court is unforgiving, especially if you attempt to speak against the King”.
You nod softly.
His thumb travels down to caress your cheekbone,
“I could not bear to see you hurt. I only wish for you to obey me since I care for your well-being”
It feels like your heart is melting at his words; spilling from your chest down into your limbs. You press your forehead against his and close your eyes, revelling in the feeling of adoration you have towards your husband.
You realise that you’ve never said it before, but you could not have stopped the confession from slipping out even if you’d wanted to,
summary: Aemond intends to send you away to protect you after he starts the war, but Aegon isn't ready to let you go.
pairing: Aegon & Aemond x Sister!Reader
word count: 1.8k
warnings: Explicit smut, mention of death, incest, threesome, p in v sex, oral (m&f receiving), voyeurism, male masturbation, infidelity (reader is married to Aemond), lactation kink, choking, cum play/eating, spit, Aegond kiss!! (oop) 18+ MDNI
note: Uhhhh. I'm sorry??? I feel like I just breezed through this, idk I was horny lol. Feedback is appreciated!
You’ll never forget the look on Aemond’s face when he first arrived back to the Red Keep from his journey to Storm’s End. Your family was desperate in the inevitable, upcoming war against Rhaenyra so Aemond had been sent to help strike up a proposal between one of Lord Borros’ daughters and the youngest son of the late king Viserys, Daeron Targaryen.
Sitting in the large bed of your shared chamber, you had been anxiously awaiting his arrival, chewing your fingernails down to bloody nubs.
“Aemond!” you practically leapt into his arms when he appeared sopping wet in the doorway. Overjoyed to see he’d returned in one piece, but something was off, something was wrong. He was vacant, like he had seen a ghost.
“Lucerys Velaryon is dead.”
With that simple sentence you knew your lives would be changed forever.
“You cannot just make me disappear,” you said to your husband through gritted teeth, as your voice trembled, lump in your throat forming as tears threatened to fall from your eyes.
“If we are not here they will just go looking for us.”
“Anywhere is safer than here, my love.” Aemond answered coolly.
“If you think this decision was not difficult to make, you are wrong. It is simply what's best for the both of you. You and the babe will be staying in Dorne until I know for certain that it is safe for you here.”
“But –”
“But nothing! This is not up for debate,” he growled at you, “the decision has been made and it is final!” His words cut through you like a knife.
“You cannot make a decision like this. You are not the king.”
“No “ he retorted, “but I am your husband, therefore, when it comes to you and my child, what I say goes!”
You got up and exited your shared chambers with haste, not wanting Aemond to see you cry.
Your bare feet padded against the cold stone floor of the Red Keep, the walls echoed and groaned as you made your way to your eldest brother’s chambers.
Aegon’s head perked up when he heard you come in. He stared at you sheepishly from behind his goblet of wine.
“Has he told you?”
Letting out a deep sigh, “he has.”
“I cannot leave you. I will not leave you, Aegon.”
“I know, I know,” he says, patting the spot next to him, motioning for you to come and sit.
“Our half-sister is unpredictable,” he replied calmly, “there’s no telling what she might do… not to mention, Daemon.”
As much as you did not want to admit it, both of your brothers were right. Accident or not, Rhaneyra’s son was dead. You would be a fool to believe she wouldn’t be out for blood.
Aegon pulled you into his lap, his cock already half hard. You kissed him deeply as he grinded his hips up into yours. You ran your fingers through his unruly silver hair, enjoying the feel of his mouth on you. Completely lost in the moment, you hadn’t heard Aemond enter the room.
He cleared his throat loudly to make his presence known.
“Aemond!”
Your brother-husband stalked into the room, his violet eye scanning over you with amusement.
“Oh please, do continue.”
Your chest rose and fell as you struggled to find the right words to say.
“Did you not hear me? I said continue,” Aemond repeated, as he approached you and Aegon.
“Aemond, this is not what it looks like —“
His brow furrowed at you as he gripped your chin forcing you to look him directly in the eye.
“Do you mistake me for a fool? You believed me to be unaware of your little arrangement?”
Still at a loss for words, you and Aegon just stared at your brother nervously. Aemond moved away a few inches and started to remove his tunic and his trousers. His cock strained hard against his small clothes, which he removed not long after. You gawked at him as he pumped his cock in his left hand, making his way back to you.
Aegon’s violet eyes beamed with excitement at this, pupils blown with lust. He took no time to nip at your neck, your earlobes, grinding against your core once again.
“I fear this is inappropriate,” you began.
“What’s inappropriate is you sneaking away from your husband to come fuck this wastrel,” Aemond began, his words thick with venom.
“Clearly, you want the both of us. So have us… while you still can.”
A slight moan left your lips as you tilted your head to the side, allowing Aegon easier access to your throat, your gaze never leaving Aemond’s, his expression unreadable as he nodded his head at you.
Aemond had his hand wrapped tightly around his cock, the tip bright red, lushed and angry, his arousal already dripping from the tip.
Aegon leaned down and wrapped his lips around your nipple, and began to suck harshly. Being that your babe was only two months old, you were lactating. A loud moan escaped your lips as you felt the milk begin to flow.
“Fuck,” you breathed out, “just like that. You’re doing so good.”
You could feel his cock twitching against your leg at your praise as he continued to ravenously lap at your breast.
As he switched to your other breast he sucked harder at your stiffened peak, the milk coming almost instantly. He palmed your abandoned breast with his large hand, squeezing gently. Shivers ran down your spine as the sweet feeling of relief washed over you once again.
A growl erupted from Aemond’s throat and he unexpectedly pulled Aegon away from your chest. To your utter surprise, he crashed his lips against Aegon’s, tasting your milk on his tongue. You watched with bewilderment as your husband passionately kissed your brother, tugging at his unruly hair, moaning into his mouth. Arousal seeped from your core and onto Aegon’s thighs. Aemond broke the kiss abruptly and stared at you.
Aegon’s hands gripped your waist, flipping you around so you were underneath him. Your eldest brother positioned you so you were laying on your back comfortably against the pillows. He nestled himself between your thighs and hastily hiked your nightgown up over your waist. You shivered as his warm breath fanned over your folds. Before you could blink his tongue was prodding at your entrance. Your hands flew to the back of his head on instinct, pulling him closer into your center.
Aemond approached you carefully. He tapped his cock against your lower lip a few times, a signal for you to open your mouth. Just as he did so, Aegon’s tongue had reached the right spot, causing your mouth to gape open as a loud moan escaped your lips. Aemond took this as an opportunity to forcefully shove his cock into your mouth. You felt a rush of pleasure as Aemond's cock filled your mouth. You began to suck and lick it, eager to make him moan even louder. Aegon's tongue continued to explore you as you pleasured Aemond, and you felt your body quiver with pleasure.
If you knew being with another man in his presence would have this effect on him, you would have brought your affair to light long ago.
With a low groan of your name he pumped in and out of your mouth mercilessly, the salty taste of his precum evading your tastebuds. The air left your lungs as you gagged around him. You could feel the pent up anger Aemond held for the entirety of the situation with each brutal buck of his hips. Ever so slowly he pulled back, giving the you the illusion he was going to give you a break. But before you were able to catch your breath, his cock found his way to the back of your throat again. The faster he went, tears began to stream down your face.
As bubbles of spit began to form around the corners of your mouth, you hollowed your cheeks to the best of your ability. With Aegon now three fingers knuckle deep in your cunt it was almost impossible for you to focus on Aemond; but as the pace of his thrusts quickened you knew he was going to cum soon. You moaned around his length, the vibrations making his cock twitch, you could feel every throb of the thick vein that ran along the underside of his cock.
“No,” Aemond growled as he pulled himself from your throat, “I need to feel your cunt around me.”
Aemond all but shoved Aegon away from you, almost knocking him off the large bed. Aemond lined his cock up with your center and sheathed himself inside of you with quickness.
As Aegon now sat on the upper left corner of the bed, he watched intently as Aemond’s cock disappeared into you repeatedly. One hand tugged at his painfully hard cock and the other wiped the tears from your cheeks.
“You’re doing so good, baby,” he cooed, “look at how you take him so well,” he praised.
You nodded your head at him enthusiastically, pleasure overwhelming you. Aegon hooked his thumb into your mouth and you sucked and nipped at it intently.
There was no doubt that Aemond enjoyed the praise as well, snapping his hips even harder into your own. His cock bullied your sweet spot mercilessly. Your body tingled with a mix of pleasure and pain as Aemond's thrusts intensified; pressing hard against your cervix. His large hand wrapped around your throat, squeezing gently. The overwhelming sensation sent waves of ecstasy coursing through you, making it difficult to focus on anything else but the raw desire consuming your every thought.
“Fuck, Aemond, I’m going to cum!” you screamed as your hot waves of pleasure coursed through you.
Aegon watched intently as your orgasm wracked your entire frame, his own following not long after. He let out a loud groan as he came into his hand. He flashed an evil grin at Aemond as he brought his fingers to Aemond's mouth, shoving them down his throat.
Your husband gagged around his digits, sucking Aegon's release from them.
As the aftershock of your orgasm continued to pump though you, your cunt squeezed around Aemond’s cock. The depravity of it all overwhelmed him and Aemond cum with a shudder. With one final thrust and a loud grunt, he was spilling himself inside of you.
As Aegon removed his fingers from your husband's throat, Aemond leaned over you, his cock still buried deep inside you.
"Open up, baby," he said before spitting directly into your mouth, a mixture of his saliva and Aegon's cum evident on your tongue. You swallowed with a contented hum.
Aemond pulled himself out of you and got up quickly.
You curled up in the bed next to Aegon, Aemond’s seed seeping out of you onto the sheets, sleep finding you almost immediately.
“She can stay here for the night,” Aemond said as he leaned down to kiss your sweat-drenched forehead.
Aegon frowned at his brother.
“Aemond, we cannot make her leave,” he rasped, desperation clear in his voice.
“I think she needs to leave now more than ever, brother. To ensure nothing like this ever happens again.”
A loud sigh escaped Aegon’s lips as he diverted his gaze from Aemond to you, pushing your hair out of your face, admiring your beauty.
“Enjoy your time with her tonight. She will be on her way to Dorne by morning.”
Ensnared in lies. // Cult Leader!Bsf!Aemond Targaryen x Fem!Reader || MODERN AU.
Summary: Returning to your old town after many years to settle down posed many difficulties, luckily your childhood best friend was willing to help you out, surely he doesn't have any ulterior motives, right?
WARNINGS: dubcon, cult, narcissism, brainwashed neighborhood, coercion, somnophilia(?), unprotected p in v sex, breeding kink, body worshipping, cunnilingus, brainwashing(?), gaslighting, manipulation, extremely gullible reader, unknowingly being involved with a cult, yandere!aemond(?), + plus not proof read, lmk if there's anymore warnings I should add.
WC: 7.3k
A/N: I finally go to finish this, it's insane how long it took. // divider creds to @cafekitsune
You rolled down your window as you drove your car, allowing the breeze to hit you gently and flow through your hair, the smell of fresh air was something you weren't used to since you had lived in the city for a few years— having gotten to the pollution there, you had forgotten that air could even be this fresh.
Moving places was a hassle, especially from the city to a town, but it did not matter to you since you had told yourself that you'd come back here no matter what, after all it was your childhood town, where you grew up in.
As you drove, the town's sept came into view, and the moment you glanced at it, the sept made you feel an overwhelming amount of nostalgia, remembering how you and your childhood best friend would sneak off the Sunday preachings to play in the fields. They were fun memories.
But for an odd reason, you felt a sense of deep dread along with the feelings of nostalgia, you felt your gut wrench as you passed by it, the big seven pointed star loomed eerily, making shivers run down your spine.
You shrugged it off and stepped on the accelerator, speeding past it, the blanket of dread, which the sept engulfed you in, was lifted the moment the towns houses came into view, their architecture had developed but still remained their original structure, you felt nostalgic once again, memories springing up in your mind.
You quickly drove to the house you grew up in, parking the car in the front of it before getting out, the house had been abandoned for a few years after you and your parents had moved out of the town, it looked shabby, spider webs decorating the corners, you pulled the key out of your pocket before pushing the fence gate open and moving towards the door.
The door handle was rusted, and the key didn't fit into the hole at first, but you somehow managed to push it inside and twisted as much as you could, the noise of metal clunking against each other as you desperately tried to get it open, and by pure luck, it opened.
The door creaked open, revealing the insides of the house, it was empty, and you stepped inside — immediately coughing because of the dust particles in the air, the floor was covered in dust, abandoned spider webs clung onto the walls. You walked further inside, the sound of your boots echoing through the empty house, your feet took you to your childhood bedroom, which you opened to see if it was the same.
Of course it was, the walls were painted your favourite colour at that time, you giggled as you thought of a funny memory, when you had thrown a tantrum and asked your parents to get it painted because your best friend had his room painted too.
Ah yes, your best friend.
You wondered if he still lived here, though knowing him, he probably did. You both had kept in touch from time to time but never really went into details of your life, however he was still a main part of your life, after all, you spent most of your childhood with him, doing random stuff and messing around like kids and teenagers did.
The thought of him brought a smile to your face.
You continue to take in the sight of your bedroom, stepping inside to further examine the room, to check if it needs any cleaning, You go to the window before looking outside and then something catches your eye.
It was nothing out of the ordinary, just another spider web, weaved outside of it, unlike all the spider webs you came across in this house, it wasn't abandoned. A spider crawled on it, still seemed as if it was weaving it carefully, placing every microfiber in its place whilst moving to the centre, you watched as the silk came out of its spinnerets, awed by the process of how it made its web, with so much precision.
Just then, you spotted a butterfly making its way towards it, you furrowed your eyebrows, wondering if the butterfly knew that it was making its way towards its own trap, but you couldn't do anything except watch.
And alas, the butterfly got caught in the web, its wings sticking to the silks as it struggled to get out, ruining the web in process but the more it struggled, the more the web stuck to its wings, weighing it down further, the spider seemed to be watching ominously as the butterfly struggled, and then, it attacked.
It jumped on the butterfly, and you sighed heavily, knowing it was a lost battle for the butterfly, you had hoped it would escape but it didn't, the spider had already caught it, you watched as the butterfly eventually stopped struggling, indicating that it has met its own death.
You looked at it in horror before shaking your head and making your way out of your bedroom, mind still on the incident you had witnessed, trying to understand why it would ever willingly fly into the trap?
‘Perhaps it didn't see the trap’ is the reason you came up with, which made more sense, ‘What a naive creature’ you thought as you walked into the middle of the living room.
Just then your phone starts ringing, you smile when you read the name and immediately answer the call.
“Hello? Y/N? Is it actually true?” the voice on the other line questioned and you cheekily giggled before answering, “Yes Aemond!” You replied enthusiastically.
You had texted Aemond that you were moving back into town right before you reached.
It wasn't too long before Aemond reached your house, your guess was correct, he still lived here, you waited outside by your car patiently for him, scrolling through your phone when you heard the wheels of a vehicle squeaking as it stopped, you lifted your head up to take a look.
The car door opened and a familiar figure stepped out, you couldn't control the amount of happiness you felt when you finally saw him, your best friend. He had matured quite a lot, his hair grew in length, his features became more sharper as the baby fat was lost with age, and what you found surprising was that he now seemed to have stopped wearing that eyepatch.
You remembered how insecure he was about it, he lost it in a mishap that involved his nephews and was very insecure since then, yet now he doesn't seem so insecure anymore, in fact, you took note of the sapphire placed in the empty socket of his eye.
He shut the car door and made his way to you, and you immediately pounced on him, making him stumble back a little bit as you hugged him tightly, his hands rested gently on the back of your waist and he let you hug him, “Oh gods Aemond, I missed you so much! You've changed a lot.” You exclaim to which he gives you a small smile, “You too.” He replies, alluding to the fact that you have also changed.
You pulled back and gave him a big smile.
You expected him to let go of you, but he didn't, his grip on your waist tightened and he pulled you into for another hug again, this time, he bent down to bury his face in the crook of your neck, breathing in your scent, you didn't think much of it, and instead caressed his hair in a comforting way.
He lets go after a minute or two, before smiling at you, and then addressing the situation at hand, “You moved back here? So suddenly?” He asks you, and you nod, “It wasn't sudden, I had always said that I'd come back.” You shrugged and he nodded, then he looked behind you, spotting your house, and furrowed his brows, “You'll be staying there? That place has not been touched in years.” He questions and you turn back to look at it.
“There's nothing I can do about it, I'm gonna clean it up as much as I can and sleep on the floor until my furniture from the city arrives here, they said that it will take time, about a week or so, because my decision was last minute, I haven't booked them in advance.” You explain your situation and he raises an eyebrow, “No.” He simply asserts and you stare at him in confusion.
“I cannot allow it, how about you stay over at my place until your house is all cleaned up and ready to be moved in?” He suggests and you pout, “I don't want to be a burden to you.” You mutter.
You are taken aback when he grabs your sides and pulls you close, “You are never a burden to me, Y/N.” He tells you and you chuckle awkwardly at the weird situation but you agree nonetheless, “—Oh I forgot to tell you, my boyfriend will also be moving here.” You tell him.
“Boyfriend?” He questions, through gritted teeth, and you nod, oblivious to the emotions he's feeling, “Can he stay over too?” You ask, batting your eyelashes at him, and he swallows thickly, expression darkening before he agrees.
“Thank you Aem! But on the other hand, I guess I'll be busy for this entire week, trying to clean up the house.” You sigh, wincing at the thought of cleaning everything, and the renovations you'll have to make, which will also cost money.
“No need, I know a few people… who will be more than willing to help with it, I'd only have to ask them.” He tells you and you furrow your brows, “Wouldn't that be burderning them? Is that alright?” You question and he shakes his head, “Of course it's alright, they are obligated to.” He states and you are even more confused but Aemond quickly switches up the topic and asks you if you want to go to his house now, and you nod.
“Sure, let me lock the house up real quick.” You tell him and you go to the front door, shutting it and locking it. Of course, you struggled because the lock was bad as before but still managed to lock it.
“We can go now.” You say, getting into your car but Aemond tuts, which makes you halt, “Why bother taking two cars there? Just leave yours here, I'll drive you there.” He suggests and you were about to protest but immediately stopped the moment you realise how it wasn't a suggestion, but rather a statement.
So you agree, he's your best friend after all, someone you can blindly trust, he's extremely trustworthy.
And so, you get into the passenger seat and watch Aemond get into the driver's seat and start the engine, he steps on the accelerator, moving the car forward slowly. You stare out of the window as he turns around the corner.
Your eyes spot the same web from earlier, still the same as the spider feasts on the remains of the butterfly in its trap, a sense of dread forming in the pit of your stomach; but just then you feel Aemond place his hand on your thigh and you turn your head to him, “You're nervous.” He comments and you didn't notice but you looked down, to see your own leg bouncing up and down, so you try to stop it but you can't.
Aemond rubs up and down your thigh reassuringly, trying to provide you with comfort, you should tell him to take his hand away, cause it wasn't appropriate but you don't, because it actually made you calm down, something about his touch was strangely soothing.
So you remained quiet.
You both reach his home in twenty minutes, you open the car door and step outside, taking in the view of his house, “Still the same as ever huh?” You question, the house had remained the same even after all those years, Aemond hums in response.
“Where is your family?” You enquire when you step inside, finding the house empty, with no other human presence, “They moved out, they wanted me to come too, but I refused.” He answers your question curtly and you nod in understanding.
Your phone rings with a notification and you open it to see a text from your boyfriend; ‘i’ll be there by tomorrow’ it reads and you smile widely, immediately telling Aemond about it and he gives you a tight lipped smile before rolling his eye when you face away from him.
“You can use the room located down the hallway—” He points to the door “—all essentials should be there since it is Helaena's room.”
You thank him quickly before carrying your luggage towards the room, immediately plopping onto the bed and staring at the ceiling for a while, minding rewinding through the events of today, the sept, the spider and everything, you yawned, shaking those thoughts off and drifting slowly into slumber.
Aemond stood in the living room, tapping his foot anxiously against the floor as he dialled a number, each ring making him impatient, but the call was quickly answered and Aemond breathed heavily, “Hello? Floris?” He checks for the person on the other line, “Yes sir?” She replies, “I need you to do something.” He begins to explain his predicaments.
After his call with Floris, he makes his way over to Helaena's room and checks in on you, noticing your sleeping form, you were laying on your back, his eye softens at your peaceful expression as soft snores left you, he made his way inside the room, before standing right in front of you, hand steadily raising up to caress your cheek.
His thumb brushes over your cheek, before it outlines the bridge of your nose to your lips, slowly making its way down to your chin, he shifts in his place, mind racing with many thoughts of kissing you and wondering if he should fully commit to it.
And so he does, leaning over and kissing your lips as his hand cups your breast, he stops for a moment when he hears you whine, thinking you woke up, but you didn't, you instead turn to the side, exposing more of your neck, which Aemond, in his fucked up mind, takes it as invitation to leave kisses on it.
He slowly lifts your shirt up, revealing your flesh which makes the cock in his pants begin to stir as he feels a wave of sick arousal. He pulls your shirt up further, your tits beginning to get exposed, he pulls your bra down, fully freeing them.
He licks his lip before leaning, taking one breast into his mouth, twirling his tongue around it before suckling on your nipple, his hands begin to undo his pants, quickly pushing his underwear aside and grabbing a hold of it, before stroking it up and down.
He knew what he was doing was wrong, but he couldn't help himself, maybe you'd actually sleep with him if you're convinced enough, but he feels that your mentality isn't that easy to break, because he knew you from your childhood, you always stuck to your own beliefs and did not let anyone sway you.
He could have you under his fingertips if he tries, but you were smart.
Too smart.
You'd figure out what he was trying to do immediately.
So he needs to break you first.
Make you completely rely on him, make you feel like he is your one and only salvation, and only then can he finally achieve what he wants.
He's upset over the fact that you have a boyfriend, — a hindrance, he deems — didn't you promise to marry him after twenty five? He sighs, he was waiting for you all these years, yet when you come back, you're in a relationship? He saw you as a traitor.
However, that was far from the truth, You never really promised him anything, the pact that was made had a condition, you and Aemond would marry each other if you didn't find a right partner by twenty five, which Aemond twisted in his own favour to justify his actions, a delusion that he believes to be his truth.
His tongue flicks up and down your bud, sucking noises echoing through the room as he stroked his cock even fast, he lets go of your breast with a wet pop before he completely pulled his pants down and straddled your face, so his cock was directly above your chest and his tip ghosting over your lips.
He taps it against your lips, once, twice, and thrice, grunting at the feeling of your soft lips, he sighs heavily, speeding up the pace of his hand, imagining how your mouth would feel. Would you kiss the tip before taking him whole? Would you tease him? He knew you would, you were a cheeky little thing after all, and soon enough; before he can process it— he is spurting his cum all over your pretty face. He guides his cock and presses the tip to your lips, so his essence oozes onto it too.
He breathes heavily, taking in the sight of your face covered with his cum, still sleeping soundly, he searches for his phone, opening the camera and quickly taking a picture of you in this state, keeping it for later, and now, he's cleaning you up, pushing your bra back on your again, pulling down your shirt and wiping your face with the sleeve of his hand, you furrow your brows and he immediately gets off you, heart beating fast as you blink your eyes open, adjusting to the view in front of you.
“Aemond?” You question groggily, “Sorry, did I wake you?” He apologises and you hum, “Why are you here?” You ask, confused, “I just wanted to ask what you wanted for dinner, but then I realised you were sleeping, so I was about to leave just now.”
Those lies leave him naturally. You hum again, stretching in the bed before shifting positions, laying on your stomach this time. “So?” He asks, referring to his earlier question, “I'll eat anything, you're a good cook Aemond.” you give him a sweet smile and he smiles back, nodding before going out of the room. You fall back asleep, not suspecting Aemond of anything.
He walks out into the kitchen, sighing relief that he did not get caught, he isn't the type to be impulsive like this, he's much more calculative yet his desire was too strong to resist, but in the end; you did not suspect him of anything. Which he is thankful for. He opens his phone to take a look at the picture he took before smiling to himself.
Maybe you wouldn't be so easy to fool after all.
Aemond hates your boyfriend.
He hates the way he makes you laugh, the way you giggle at his unfunny jokes pisses him off, he didn't know why he even agreed to let your boyfriend stay here, he was extremely annoyed, yet he did not show it.
But he knew he shouldn't be worried, after all, his plan was now set in motion with the arrival of your boyfriend in town, he had asked one of his devout followers to seduce your boyfriend, which will be set in motion once he goes out alone.
It's like the gods were listening to him, after all, whatever he wished for came true, or maybe he was the god himself, somehow making miracles like this happening.
Your boyfriend had gone out to take a look at your old house, you didn't go with him because your periods decided to hit you right on that day, Aemond took great care of you, letting you lay down all day, and pampering you with kindness.
Over the course of the week, your boyfriend would go out on the excuse of looking at the house, you believed him that he was just doing only that, but his returns became late, and often so, he smelled like a woman's perfume. Aemond was disgusted by him, sure he had set up the plan but the fact that it took your boyfriend barely two meetings with Floris to begin to fall for her showed his wavering loyalty.
You didn't suspect him, which made Aemond scoff, realising that you're way too trusting and he had to take matters into his own hand.
He came back one day from ‘work’ which you still had no idea on what he did and told you that he spotted your boyfriend with a woman. You raised your eyebrow.
“Are you sure you aren't mistaken?” You ask him, “I knew you'd ask that, so I took a picture to prove it.” He shows you the picture and you are shocked, it was a picture of your boyfriend close to a woman, and it looked quite intimate.
Your eyes begin to tear up, “Surely it's nothing right? I mean, he probably got close to her to say something maybe? Right, Aemond? He wouldn't betray me like that right—?” Your voice begins to crack and your eyes frantically search for reassurance in Aemond's eye, but he just swallows thickly and looks down, and that's when you break down.
Legs giving out as you crumble to the floor, feeling your world shatter, Aemond is quick to react, trying to raise you back up but you wouldn't budge so kneels beside you as well, “I'm sorry, maybe I shouldn't have revealed that.” He mutters and you look at him before shaking your head, “No no no, it isn't your fault Aemond, I just— I just didn't think he'd be willing to throw away our relationship of 2 years.” You cover your face as tears begin to stream down your cheeks.
Aemond spreads his arms as if he's about to hug you, but he hesitates, not sure if you want to be hugged, but you lean into his chest for comfort and he immediately wraps his arms around you protectively. He rubs your shoulders as you cry your heart out to him, tears and snot staining his shirt, but he doesn't say anything.
A few moments later you calm down, and stare at Aemond, “What do I do now?” You ask him, eyes void of any light, and he wants to smirk but he can't, knowing that he has you where he wants, you to depend on him, it may just be a momentary dependence but he'll make it permanent soon.
“Leave him.” He says sternly and you nod, “He doesn't deserve you, you're such an amazing person, I cannot believe how he can leave you for another woman, who isn't isn't half as amazing as you.” He adds, and you nod once again, “You're right Aemond, I should leave him.” You tell him and get up off the floor, going to your room and thrashing around, separating your boyfriend's things from yours and throwing them in the living room.
Aemond smirks when you face away from him.
He's finally achieving what he wants.
The moment your boyfriend returns home, you begin screaming at him, telling him to get out and he argues back as well, before finally admitting that he cheated and apologising for it. Aemond was worried that you'd accept the apology, but you didn't and scoffed instead, slapping your now ex boyfriend across the face and throwing his things out and shutting the door in his face.
You rolled your eyes when he began yelling at you, calling you derogatory names but you ignored him, and Aemond sent a quick text to someone regarding your boyfriend.
You expected your boyfriend to still be there outside in the morning, but he isn't there anymore, he vanished. You didn't know why you hoped to see him there, but you were more relieved that he wasn't there.
Aemond was making breakfast and you decided to help him with it by preparing coffee for both of you and setting it down on the table, he places your plate in front of you and you thank him before he sits opposite to you, you stare off into the distance as you mindlessly chew.
“So what are you planning to do now?” He queries and you snap out of your daze to answer, “I don't know, I'll still probably live here, just not with a partner I guess.” You reply and he hums, “You can stay at my house as long as you want.” He interjects and you are about to protest but Aemond grabs your hand, thumb caressing your knuckles. You stare into his eye.
“Only for a few more days, to get your mind off, you know— I know you'll overthink when you're isolated, you always do.” He expresses his concern for you and you think for a moment, knowing that he is right. You sigh heavily before agreeing that you'd stay with him for a few more days.
Except it won't only be a few days.
Do you know how spiders devour their prey once it's trapped? Sinking their claws into their prey before injecting venom which destroys the prey from the inside and then; its ready to be devoured. Just like a spider; Aemond slowly injected his venom into you, manipulating you ever so slightly, till you are completely broken on the inside and dependent on him, he would play mind games with you, often talk to you about his beliefs— no, goad you into his beliefs.
You were left vulnerable after that incident, and Aemond had convinced you to join a ‘community’ where everyone gets together to help each other out and live in harmony, he talked about all the benefits of it, and at first you were reluctant, he knew you'd be, but at the end, you were convinced.
He was happy, telling you all the positive things about joining the said ‘community’, how the people were so welcoming and friendly, he said they all gather around the town’s sept every Sunday to pray, he tells you how most of the neighbours are in that community, they're selfless and kind.
He was making it seep into your brain.
Then he reveals that it's run by him.
Maybe he should've mentioned that earlier, because you looked at him shocked and you smiled, “It's run by you? Then I have no issue joining it! I was reluctant but for an odd reason, but knowing that it's run by you makes it more comforting.” You tell him and he smirks, knowing he had achieved his goal.
Well only half of it.
Aemond had a vision since he was young, to change the world for the better, he knew the world he lived in was beyond repair and so he decided to turn to the faith of the seven to find hope in religion, then, he had read about the ‘messengers’ of the gods, who are blessed by them.
Aemond believed himself to be one of them.
He did everything in the name of the seven, he just acted as a messenger, or so he thought himself.
Anyone one with common sense could that this community is clearly a cult, with its leader being Aemond, it wasn't a protestant group of the faith of the seven, no, it was entirely different, his community commits sin that the gods are against, incest, polygamy, etc yet Aemond doesn't think so. He believes that by committing these sins, they are repenting.
A flawed logic.
Aemond would often torture the community members who misbehaved, those who dared question his methods had their tongues cut off, and those that spread rumours that he was sleeping around with the cult women for pleasure was found and brutally tortured for hours on the end, he was more offended that they had claimed that he was doing it for ‘pleasure’ when in reality, he believes it to be a way of repenting. He never denied the accusations of sleeping with other women.
Amidst all of this he had almost forgotten about you.
Almost.
How can he ever forget you? His first love, the one that stayed together with him for a long time, helping him with everything. You were his star. A star that shone brightly, a star that he promised to seize.
And he had almost achieved that.
He just needed to push more, until you're finally his, he'll prove to you why you don't need anyone else, and neither does he, you'll be the goddess of the community, he will make sure everyone treats you with utmost respect.
It all started off slow, Aemond had introduced you to one of the members, who was very warm and cheerful which made you feel welcomed and you immediately began getting along with everyone slowly.
Aemond would introduce more and more people, and since then you started to wonder how many people are actually in the said community, the strength likely being in four digits.
You had tried to move out several times, but Aemond always had an excuse to make you stay, sometimes he'd fake being sick, and other times he'd guilt trip you — without you realising of course. So you stayed, a week turned into a month, and a month turned into two. Eventually you forgot all about moving out together and lived with Aemond.
You'd often cook dinner for him when he was out, coming back home late night, one time he had come back with a splash on blood on his clothes and you were worried for him, thinking he got hurt but he told you it was nothing and that he just helped a hurt animal on the road that was bleeding which got unto his shirt.
That was a far fetched lie.
He murdered your boyfriend that night.
After days, no, weeks of torturing him.
But you were none the wiser.
He'd make sure you'd never find out about his cruel side, he'd hope so that he doesn't have to act that way to get you to behave, after all he'd hate wanting to hurt someone he cherishes.
So he shows you all the love in the world, slowly indoctrinating you with his words that were sweet and having you falling for him, they weren't lies, but the tone was manipulative, he'd convince you sometimes that you need no one other than him, and you'd disagree at first but then you slowly began to agree, because you truly did feel that way.
The two of you got closer as time passed on, and Aemond had fully started to invade your personal space now, touching you for longer moments, hugging you from behind while you cooked, kissing your neck, while he fondled the flesh of your stomach and slowly tracing it up towards your breasts.
You didn't say anything about it, but you just leaned into his touch, it was comforting, warm and euphoric, so you didn't mind it. There was a blaring alarm at the back of your mind that tried warning you about everything that was occurring, but you didn't realise what it was warning you about.
And soon your twenty fifth birthday passed by, it was celebrated grandly, with the community members, everything seemed so fun.
A week had passed since then; life didn't change much except for the tension between you and Aemond increasing day by day, he especially seemed on edge ever since you turned twenty five. It seemed like a normal day, Aemond had gone out and returned, while you prepared a meal for the both of you.
He helped you set down the dishes on the table, and you thanked him for it. The food was burning hot, so you both decided to let it cool down a little before eating.
“There's something I've been wanting to talk to you about since your birthday…” Aemond is the first one to speak and you hum in question, “Do you remember the promise we made?” He asks and you furrow your eyebrows; trying to remember, and then it clicks.
“Ah yes! The promise about marrying each other if we don't have a partner after twenty five right?” You ask and he nods, “That was so silly, we were just kids!” You chuckle, “What?” His tone dropped an octave and the atmosphere suddenly turned ominous, “I mean—”
“So you're a liar.” He interrupts you, “You don't keep your promises.” He continues, “No Aemond- I did not mean-” “Shut up.” He grits his teeth and you immediately do.
“The conditions fit, do they not? What is so silly about it?” He gets up, chair screeching against the floor, he grabs your wrist and pulls you up too. “Aemond— marriage is a lot.” You try to be sensible, but he just furrowed his brows in anger, “Do you not feel anything between us? Do you not love me?” He asks, his eye frantically searching for an answer in yours, “Aemond, I do love you, but marriage is a lot.” You confess, looking directly at him.
You haven't fully broken down yet.
Your defiance tells him that.
The submissiveness that he once tried indoctrinating into you was gone in mere moments at the mention of marriage.
You were talking back to him.
“Marriage is a union of souls, if you love me, why do you not accept it?” He questions, his grip on your wrist tightening, You remain silent feeling a sense of doom in your gut, you did not want to disappoint Aemond.
Conflicted feelings arise in you, your rationality fighting against your own thoughts, Aemond can see it, “Y/N, I love you so much, I want you to marry me.” He says softly, voice laced with honey, you look him in the eye. ‘Maybe marriage to him isn't that bad, I love him too.’ you think, something about the eye contact was so intimate and hypnotising to the point that the voice screaming no in the back of your mind had begun to fade and soon disappeared.
His face softens when you look away, knowing he has you where he wanted, “Y/N?” He mutters and you do not respond, lost in your own thoughts. You felt as if your rational thoughts had been drained from you, and before you knew it, your brain had already made the decision.
“I will marry you, Aemond.” you reply.
Aemond wanted to jump in ecstasy, everything he ever wanted was right in his hands, the cult, the people, the power and now, you. He couldn't contain his joy and hugged you tightly, face buried in the crook of your neck, the scent of the fresh shampoo in your hair was subtle but it drove him insane, combined with the smell of soap on your skin.
You hugged him back, kissing his shoulder.
Something in this feels very wrong, yet you cannot put your finger on it, the rational voice has been drowned out from your thoughts, your skin feels prickly, your gut was warning you about something you cannot understand, because on the surface you don't notice anything wrong.
Aemond's hands trail up your back with carefulness, his fingers drew patterns as he pulled you closer into the hug wanting you impossibly close to him, he tried so hard to maintain his calm demeanour but it was difficult.
Because his prey is finally caught now.
The venom he injected into you worked, you weren't resisting anymore.
He could finally feast on you now.
He pulls away from the hug to stare into your eye before he tilts his head to connect your lips with his, he licks the bottom of your lip before capturing them fully, you take a deep breath of air before you lean into the kiss, arms circling around his shoulders, connected at the back of his neck.
His left hand holds the back of your head, pushing you further into the kiss while his free hand moves towards your breast, giving it a slight squeeze.
He plays with the nipple through the fabric with his thumb, his touch was electrifying, shooting current up your spine everytime he grazes his thumb against your nipple.
His hand leaves your breast resting on your waist instead, pulling your body close to his and holding you tightly.
He pulled your bottom lip with his teeth as he stared at you with hunger before he let it go gently, you breathed heavily, staring at him intensely, waiting for his next action.
He immediately pushed you against the table, lifting you up and placing you on it, he wasted no time in kneeling in between your legs while spreading them wide. He pushed your skirt upwards and hooked his fingers under the band of your panty before pulling them.
You watched in anticipation as he completely took them off before he positioned himself properly once again, he teased you, peppering kisses on your thighs and giving kisses to your intimate flesh.
You caressed his hair gently and it drove him insane; so he wasted no time and immediately latched himself on your bud, which made you gasp at the sudden movement.
Your grip on his hair only tightened further when you felt him swipe his tongue through your folds, lapping at them like a thirsty man, you couldn't help but grind yourself against his mouth, his hands were wrapped around your thighs, holding you in place as he devoured you.
“O-oh Aemond.” You moaned, face distorted with pleasure when you felt him bite your clitoris before licking it as a way to soothe it, his tongue soon prodded at the entrance of your cunt, licking up all the juices your cunt wept.
He flicked his tongue against your clit, nibbling on it slowly, taking his own time savouring his sweet, he licked and licked and still couldn't get enough, he felt like he was in heaven.
He pulled away to get some air and in that moment you caught a glimpse of his wet lips, covered in your juices, which made you clench around nothing, making you even more hot. You pulled his face into your cunt which he didn't protest against, taking your bud into his mouth once again.
You felt tingly all over your body and you knew your orgasm was approaching soon, so you began to hump his face desperately, gripping his hair tighter and moving your hips up and down.
You moaned in pleasure when you felt your high hit, your body trembled from overwhelming surge of pleasure.
You breathed heavily, panting and gasping for air as Aemond slowly let go with his lips glossed with your essence, he licked his lip wanting to taste you more and you blushed at the sight.
Aemond stared at you from below as you gave him a gentle smile, and he realised one thing.
He had never knelt for anyone.
Yet he's kneeling for you now.
And it doesn't bother him, he wants to serve you, as his everything but he also wants to keep you in control, and he shall do exactly that.
He immediately got up, and picked you up, carrying you towards his bedroom, his dick was throbbing in his pants, he opened the door quickly, kicking it shut with his feet and throwing you on the bed.
He took his shirt off; wasting no time, and immediately worked on pulling off his pants, he pushed them down and stepped out of them, leaving him fully naked while you removed your own clothes.
He pounced on you like an animal in head, holding your legs together up in the air and lining his cock up against your entrance, you groaned when you felt him enter you.
Feeling every little inch of him occupy you from the inside, you placed both your legs on his shoulders as he thrusted forward slowly.
He was visibly shaking, trying to not to be rough with you, he wanted to let go of himself fully and fuck you senseless, yet he retained himself, trying to stay calm as to not scare you off.
You involuntarily clench around him— which makes him lose the control he had on himself, the way your gummy walls felt around his shaft made him feral, and so he tightened his grip on your legs and immediately began ramming himself into you.
He thrusted ferociously, growling like a beast in heat with every movement, his hair growing messier and sweatier as he stared down at you, your body moved up and down the bed at the speed he was plunging himself into you, making the bed shake and creak.
You arched your back in pleasure when felt his tip kiss the sweet spot inside you, hands gripping the sheets below tightly. Your moans couldn't help but get louder and louder.
Your mind became hazy as you slurred out words, “H-harder, Aemond please..” you let out, wanting him to get even more rough on you, you were enjoying his cruelty which made him even more ecstatic.
He obeyed you, giving you what you wanted, you threw your head back against the bed, feeling him go faster, mind spinning with pleasure as his cock is making you feel unbelievably full.
Aemond could feel that he was close to his release, his abdominal muscles clenched in preparation for his orgasm but he did not want to finish before you do, so his hand travelled to your clit and rubbed fast circled onto it.
You whined at the combined pleasure and choked on your own words when you felt your orgasm hit you suddenly— the band in your abdomen snapping harshly, you let out a scream-like moan as your juices gushed down your thighs.
Aemond smirked at the sight, and picked up his pace, “I'm gonna cum inside you okay?” He tells you and you look at him, vision hazy, “But-” You couldn't finish your sentence as he had already cum inside you, shooting his load inside your cunt, painting your gummy walls white.
“Fuck oh fuck—” he slowly rides his orgasm out, “Can't wait to see you carrying my children around.” He rambles, and you stay silent, “Look at me.” You look at him, “You're gonna be the best mother, the mother of my children, aren't you excited?” He asks and you don't have time to think when your head moves by itself, you give him an eager nod.
“Yes Aemond, I am.” You were speaking, yet it didn't feel like you.
“Good girl.” Yet that one compliment made you giddy with excitement, so you pulled him into a kiss, dropping your legs off his shoulders.
“I can't believe this.” He starts
“Believe what?” You question.
“That I have everything I've ever dreamed of, especially you.” He kisses your forehead, and you smile. “Of course.” you reply.
Days turn into weeks, weeks turn into months, Aemond has completely infiltrated your brain, and at the wedding altar, the entire community cheered as you exchanged your vows, Aemond smiled mischievously, knowing you are his forever now.
He announced you as his ‘Queen’ and ‘Goddess’ which had everyone worshipping you. You would've found this odd had it been your old self, but you got accustomed to it, believing it to be normal, yet ignorant to your mental state.
But you had no time to ponder as you felt the babe in your belly kick which filled you with happiness, you grabbed Aemond's hand immediately which caught him off guard and placed it on your belly.
His face held confusion up until he felt the baby inside you kick again which made his eye widen and lips spread into a smile, he pulled you into a hug.
Your life was good and domestic or so you continue to believe. Unaware of what you're truly involved with. Yet Aemond never cared to reveal the truth to you.
As he believes ‘ignorance is bliss’
— ! ݈݇- thank you so much for reading! i hope you enjoyed it <3 comments and reblogs are appreciated greatly ♡
summary | Aemond's esteemed visitor on his coronation day falls ill, and he has a way to make her feel better.
pairing | king!aemond targaryen x foreign princess!reader
tags | 18+, MINORS DNI! unprotected sex, oral (f), nipple orgasm, dubcon, use of aphrodisiac, dark!aemond, multiple orgasms, manipulation, gaslighting, thoughts of incest, aemond thinks all siblings fuck, mentions of pillow humping, breeding kink, babytrapping, this is so filthy u guys idk
wordcount | 6.5k
note | still on vacation and haven't been in the headspace to write so this might not be the best, but i wanted to get something in before the new season!
likes, comments, reblogs are much appreciated!
(divider by @zaldritzosrose)
Your nose scrunched in disgust at the smell of manure that wafted through the slits in the carriage. A sigh left your lips at the image of the Red Keep growing bigger as you passed through the Kingsroad. You wished your brother didn’t have to bring you on this diplomatic visit to Westeros, but alas, there was a new Targaryen king who was to sit on the Throne, and as the king and princess of your kingdom, you were expected to show a gesture of good faith to your house’s longstanding friendship with the dragonlords. Your family’s friendship with the Targaryens ran centuries deep. The dragons may have thought themselves mightier than men and equal to none, but they bore respect for your family. After all, your kingdom was prosperous long before Valyria had been reduced to ashes, longstanding on its own as it continued to be.
This respect had saved you from being conquered by Aegon and his sisterwives but instead had welcomed them as friends of the kingdom. It had protected your lands from being rained on by dragonfire, and from fighting the war where the dragons had danced perilously and ended with a one-eyed Kinslayer emerging as the sole victor of the crown.
The last time you were in King’s Landing, you were only a girl, eight years of age. Your late father had been good friends with Viserys the Peaceful, the two men finding an acquaintance in each other with their shared interests. You remembered that visit quite vividly, especially the cold hostility in the air within the castle, one that seemingly did not affect their king. It was visible in the sharp stares between princes and princesses, the queen and the heir. It permeated the pliable minds of the children, making way for an unnurturing environment no child should find themselves in. Those blurring memories made you dread the moment your carriage stopped at the gates of the Red Keep, though there was little you could do. You slumped back into the plush cushion of the seats, covering your nose with a handkerchief.
“Do remember to be nice to them, Aemond.”
Aemond gritted his teeth when the tailor poked him again. He stood as still as a statue in the middle of his chambers, while his mother made some final adjustments to the future king’s garments for his coronation. He nodded obediently at his mother’s instructions, ever the dutiful son.
“Have our guests docked into the bay?” he asked, earning a nod from his mother. Aemond was made aware that their esteemed visitors were on their way through the Kingsroad and would soon be welcomed.
“You remember your time with the princess, don’t you? You both seemed quite fond of each other,” Alicent mentioned, to which Aemond responded with another nod and a hum. He remembered you, not much, but he did. In his youth, the royals from the far east of Westeros had visited as a gesture of good faith with the Targaryens. His nephews had pestered the young princess with wanting to show off their mounts, but you had been petrified by the prospect of coming face to face with their beasts, falling into tears of fright. Instead, you had stuck by Aemond, who had been dragonless and quite apprehensive about babysitting a little girl around. Still, you had been good, sitting quietly beside him whilst you read peacefully in the Keep’s library and eagerly following him around his home. Overjoyed with having found a companion in Aemond, you had given the young prince a big hug upon your departure, as well as the promise of reuniting.
“She had even written to you when you–”
“I remember, mother. There is no need to remind me.”
Alicent cut her words short from Aemond’s sharp tone. The Dowager Queen could feel the impatience emanating from his rigid form the longer the tailor took to adjust his doublet. Her son had no patience in being fussed over, especially not when he was to be king. Alicent could only sigh, and let silence encompass the ever-growing space between them.
There was a sense of familiarity as another one of Alicent Hightower’s sons was to be crowned king of the Seven Kingdoms. Her second son, her favored one, and the last of her babes left alive. The sharp tension in the air felt like an odd moment of deja vu. When Aegon had been crowned, she feared for the war that was sure to come, and now with Aemond soon to be crowned, she feared him. The war had changed her son, had taken away any ounce of tenderness her sweet boy once held. He had become the terror of the realm, the Stranger descended upon earth with nothing but death following his trail. When Aemond took to the God’s Eye, Alicent prayed. She prayed for the battle to end the bloody dance they had found themselves in. She prayed that the gods take the biggest threat to the realm away from them; whether she meant Daemon or Aemond, she dared not speak.
The pit in your stomach grew into a clammy flutter in your chest once the carriage stopped right at the foot of the steps of the Keep. You were announced with a thunderous boom in the vast open yard, which made you let out a nervous sigh and run a hand through the ends of your hair.
“I still do not see why you had to bring me, brother,” you mumbled, looking at your lap when your king fixed you with a pointed stare.
“You know why. We have to keep ourselves in good faith with the Targaryens, even more so now than ever. Now, no more frowning,” he commanded, just before the door of your carriage was opened. Your brother climbed down the steps first, before holding out his hand for you to take. You took another breath to calm yourself, before plastering a bright smile on your face and stepping out of the carriage.
“Not a very warm welcome, is it?” your brother commented. To even call it a welcome was an understatement. The only people around were the Kingsguard lining the steps, and the two members of the royal family stood on the top. From the distance, the silver-haired, one-eyed Targaryen stood out like a beacon of light against the drab red bricks of the castle. Your eyes couldn’t help but immediately cast to him once your feet touched the pebbled ground. Their future king stood tall, with his hands crossed behind his back and his chin held high. The green of his leather doublet appeared a darker shade in contrast to his silver mane, which billowed in the light breeze of the late spring air. The most striking feature of all was the strip of leather fastened around his head, covering his left eye.
He looked so different, in every sense of the word.
You could scarcely see the young boy you sat in the gardens with–– no, this was a new person altogether. His gaze was prickly, causing gooseflesh to rise on your skin as you took careful steps towards him and his mother. His tall, rigid figure made for an imposing presence, and as you took the last step towards him, you had to crane your neck to meet his eye. You greeted him with a smile, yet his face remained unchanging while he put out a hand for you to take.
“Princess, welcome,” Aemond greeted, with a kiss to your knuckles. His lips were soft against your skin, a stark contrast to his otherwise harsh demeanor. A heat tingled on your flesh in his hold, one you ignored as you bent to curtsy.
“Prince Aemond, it is wonderful to be in your presence once more,” you responded. Aemond’s lips quirked up in response to your words, which you figured was his attempt at a genuine smile, though it looked somewhat more like a grimace. You turned to the Dowager Queen, dropping into another curtsy before kissing both of her cheeks in respect.
“It is an honor to have you here for Aemond’s coronation. I hope your travels have been easy,” Alicent said. She looked older than you remembered, much older than she actually was. The war had definitely taken its toll on the Hightower queen, cementing its place on her conscience in the form of the crease between her brows in a persistent worried look on her once plump face. Still, she regarded you with a comforting downturned smile, motherly and warm. You were always fond of Alicent, her presence reminding you of your own late mother’s. She gifted you a pretty dress once, you remembered, and had let you play the harp in her chambers while Helaena watched on in amazement.
Helaena. The loss of the queen’s only daughter was a loss you felt that still hung heavily in the air. You had heard of the atrocities inflicted upon her and her babes, the news bringing you to tears when you had heard of her passing. You missed her, Aegon too, in all of his frivolities and drunkenness.
“The travels are of no worry, your grace, we wouldn’t have missed prince Aemond’s coronation for anything else. Isn’t that right, sister?” your brother replied, turning to you with a raised eyebrow. You nodded in agreement, turning to the prince before you, whose stare upon you was unwavering. A tingle in the back of your neck rose to your occiput, one you ignored with another smile to the dragon prince.
“It shall be quite a momentous day on the morrow, I am glad to be present for it, your grace,” you said, to which Aemond responded with his word of gratitude. He intimidated you, he always had, but even more so now. His gaze alone had you flustered, his towering presence making you want to shrink in your skirts, and as you were led inside the Keep, you clung to your brother’s arm before the silver-haired prince could offer his.
You have always considered the court of King’s Landing quite dreary, lacking any lively splendor and charm that decorated the halls of your kingdom. The air in the Red Keep was thick with a rigid tension, the prickling heat of the south and the constant stench of shit and decay making you wrinkle your nose and shift uncomfortably in your garments. To rule with terror was never the way of your kingdom. Respect was never demanded, it was earned, so as your father said, but Aemond, he had earned the respect in the darkest of ways. The home of the dragon lords and its constituents had grown dourer upon your second visit, only ever heightened by the imposing presence of the man walking beside you. Where your people greeted you in the halls with genuine cheerfulness and adoration, there is more fear in the eyes of this kingdom’s people when they come across the Kinslayer, casting their quivering eyes to the floor lest they catch his sharp gaze. It interested you, albeit terrifying.
You are pulled from your thoughts upon hearing Alicent’s words. Aemond remains unmarried, she said, and she hoped he would find his queen soon and perhaps have his heir.
“Mother, please,” the crowned prince grunted, throwing her a stern look. You accidentally caught his eye, but you quickly trained your gaze back to your feet. “Our guests have no interest in hearing of such matters.”
“Oh, hush, Aemond. The princess has been welcoming suitors herself, haven’t you, sweet girl?”
A warm flush rose on your cheeks once the attention was turned to you. A gaze on your left burned the side of your face, the expectant look on their faces flustering you.
“Yes, I have, your grace. Since I have come of age, I have had the pleasure of meeting many noble lords from across our land,” you responded.
“Have any of them caught your eye, princess?” Aemond asked, much to your surprise. Up until that moment, it seemed he barely gave you an ounce of his attention, and his sudden interest in the conversation was quite unexpected. Before you could respond, however, your brother had spoken up.
“I have given my sister the privilege of choosing her own husband, one that would please her, but she has been quite meticulous in the process thus far, not one of them has passed her standards,” he said, teasing. You nudged his rib, which only made him snicker. The silver-haired man beside you found no amusement at the young king’s words, his face still as stoic as ever. It almost seemed frozen in place, like a mask.
“My brother hasn’t been too keen on sending me off either, your grace. We are all we have left of our family, after all.”
Your words piqued Aemond’s interest. The young king had always been harshly protective of his sister, this Aemond knew.
Viserys had once tried to offer a betrothal between the princess and Aegon but had fallen through when your brother had caught the king’s first son feeling up a maid at the dinner table, already drunk on wine before the main course had been served. Next, it had been Jacaerys, but the sight of the princeling training with a burly knight who looked too much like each other had concerned your brother, who then informed your father, which ended in no marriage pacts being formed.
Aemond observed how you exchanged a warm look with your brother, how you clung to his elbow. You were kept close to the king’s side, and farther from the dragon prince. This made for a curious sight in Aemond’s good eye. Affairs between kin were part of the queer Targaryen customs, with marriages between siblings a normal occurrence in their bloodline, but yours?
Aemond couldn’t deny your beauty. The first glimpse of you stepping down from the carriage had all but knocked Aemond off his feet. The wind had shifted when you had stepped into his midst, almost akin to the way it had slapped his face when he was falling from the heavens beneath the God’s Eye. He had to will himself to remain unphased in your presence, with your bright eyes and radiating smile. You were beautiful, utterly so.
Was the future king’s blackened heart beginning to beat once more? Perhaps it was. Perhaps it was never capable of doing so, but only to pulsate desire. He couldn’t deny the news of your unclaimed hand intrigued him. He kept a close eye on you at the feast preluding his coronation on the morrow, how you glided through the tunes of the harp in a graceful dance, how you smiled at every noble who had the gull to think they were worthy of such beauty.
You had felt it throughout the night. His gaze burned like droplets of wax upon your skin. You felt it despite being away from him, in the halls, in your own guest chambers. You thought it best to shake off the feeling as much as you could. Perhaps it was the ghosts of the Keep playing its tricks on you, making a prey out of an unassuming guest. As the night grew dark, you willed yourself to lay your mind off thoughts of the one-eyed prince, descending into slumber after a week’s worth of travel, ignoring the creak from a wall panel in your chambers.
Aemond’s coronation was barely a grandiose affair, at least not as grand as your brother’s when he took the throne after your father died. It was rather solemn, rigid, and tense as the people watched with bated breath when the crown of the Conqueror was placed upon Aemond Targaryen’s head. It was heavy, perhaps even heavier than the first time he had carried its weight when he became Regent. The sight of him upon the Iron Throne was menacing, the melted swords beneath him were uncomfortable, but as they all knelt before him, Aemond was pleased. His chest swelled with an oozing pride. This was his place, his crown. He had always known he was suited for it, had fought for his seat with fire and blood.
There was little merriment in the people’s spirits, though it cannot be blamed. The repercussions of the war were still well felt, even more so when the man who had drawn first blood was now their king. The celebratory feast was livelier, at least. It was obvious his mother had taken charge of the preparations, with the extravagant decorations, performers she found from gods know-where, and an endless flow of wine. It seemed like a desperate attempt at normalcy, as though his reign wasn’t permanently tainted with darkness. He wouldn’t have stayed for the celebrations if it were completely up to him, if it weren’t for a presence beside him.
“Are you enjoying the celebrations, princess?” Aemond asked, urging you to turn to him. You took a small sip of your wine, before giving him a nod.
“It is quite wonderful, your grace,” you responded. It was rather drab in your opinion, but you held your tongue. The sweet wine made for a better experience. You didn’t drink much, but something about their liquor made you reach for your cup often. It didn’t take long for you to start loosening up, the warm buzz making you feel more at ease. “The wine is delicious!” you commended, making the man beside you smirk.
“Arbor Red from the Reach, one of the very best we have to offer,” he informed you, a dimple on his cheek deepening when you took another gulp. Aemond was rather handsome like this, you realized, with his thin lips lifted, his purple eye sparkling under the dim flames. His hand rested a hair inch away from yours, the warmth from his flesh radiating into your own. You watched as he took a sip from his own cup, his throat bobbing when he swallowed. Gods, what was happening?
A warmth began to pulsate through your body, making you start to sweat in your dress. You felt an odd throb in your core, your hands growing clammy. You tore your gaze away from Aemond’s, clearing your throat. “Are you alright, princess?” you heard him say, before touching your arm. It left a searing burn on your flesh, and your chest started to heave as your pulse started to rise.
“I... I don’t…” you stammered, though it felt impossible to get the words out. Beside you, you, Aemond looked at you in concern, his voice muffled by the thunderous thrumming in your ears. The rest was a blur, your mind barely registering what the king had said.
Maester… unwell… chambers…
A hand on your forehead, another on your waist, all leaving its mark on your flesh.
In the dead of night, a panel in the princess’ guest chambers opened, revealing a head of silver hair. Aemond stepped into your accommodation, his eye immediately catching your writhing form on the bed. The sheets were crumpled and damp from your sweat, the furs kicked to the floor. You were only clad in your nightgown, which had grown sheer as the sticky cotton clung to your form.
“Princess,” Aemond whispered, making you turn to him. He loomed over your figure like a shadow, with the threat of taking you into his darkness. Your hazy mind could barely comprehend when he had gotten here, or how, too muddled by the burning throb deep within you.
“Aemond,” you whined, pressing your thighs tight as you lay on your side. “I-It hurts…”
“What hurts, beautiful? Hm?” he asked, tone much too soft than you were used to. His fingertips trailed on your calf, but you had jerked away. The slightest touch left your skin tingling, the dampness in between your thighs only growing with the scent of smoke and sage that engulfed you.
With a hand on your thigh, Aemond urged you to lay on your back to face him, despite your protests. He shifted his weight on one knee to lean over you, his fingertips pushing the sweaty strands of hair away from your face. Your nipples pebbled painfully against your nightgown, and you had moaned wantonly when Aemond had accidentally brushed his knuckles over your chest, skimming your overly sensitive buds. Seven Hells, what a delectable morsel of flesh you were. Aemond could start salivating with how irresistible you looked, with your flushed, teary face, plump bosom, and the curves he traced under his palm.
Gauging your reaction, he cupped your breast, squeezing the supple flesh in his palm. Your jaw fell slack, a whine falling from your lips. Your thighs squeezed dangerously tight as slick gushed from your cunny at the slightest touch.
“Does that feel better, princess?” Aemond prodded, but you could only moan in response. Slowly, his other hand made its way up your garments, trailing his fingertips up your thigh. His brow raised as his hand met your weeping center, pulling away to show his coated fingers. They shone from the dying embers of the hearth, your juices thick and stringy as the silver-haired man scissored his fingers to show you. Your eyes squeezed shut in shame, unwilling to look as Aemond put his fingers in his mouth to get a taste, groaning. His fingers returned to your slit, tracing and massaging your entrance.
“This is where it hurts, hm? Poor you,” he tutted. His good eye fell upon a pillow thrown to the side, smeared with your arousal. You must have tried to relieve yourself with it, he assumed, and the thought of you humping a pillow made his cock jump in his trousers. He grabbed the cushion, pressing it to his nose to smell your essence. “Gods, you smell heavenly. This wasn’t of much help, was it, darling? You need more.”
Humiliation filled your veins, rendering you unable to look at the man before you. You fisted the sheets tight into your palms, your conscience fighting through the thick cloud of whatever curse was making you feel this way. “Please… I-I need…” you whimpered.
“Tell me,” Aemond urged. You bit your lip harshly, tears streaming down your temples. You need not say it, he knew, he had put you in this predicament after all.
“Help me, please… just help me. I can’t take it, Aemond,” you sobbed, pulling on his cotton undershirt. He only hummed, pressing his aquiline nose against your cheek as he breathed in the sweet smell of your damp flesh.
It was quite a pitiful sight to see you like this, and perhaps he should feel a small bit of remorse, but it was all for a reason. The empty vial in his pocket was a burning reminder of why you had ended up like this, of what he had done.
He had to thank Alys, really. The bastard witch, once he had seeded her, was as eager as he to place the Kinslayer on the throne. Her hopes of putting their offspring on the Iron Throne after Aemond were too obvious. It was all too easy for him to bend her to his will, make her procure any tincture he asked, and slither into his enemies’ minds upon his bidding. She was a good fuck too. It was a shame he had to gut her after his victory above the Gods’ Eye. He had no trust in the dark magick, nor for Strong bastards. Alys Rivers was a cunning woman, but a fool to think the prince king, would take her as his wife. No, Aemond now had someone else in mind.
It was all too easy to slip the witch’s tonic into your cup of wine, which you had drank eagerly. It was easy to blame it on exhaustion from your travels, on the heat in the Great Hall. You had been escorted back to your chambers, the maester unable to do much for your condition, and that was that. You were all his for the taking.
He tore your nightgown off your body in one, exposing your bare form to the night. Aemond’s good eye darkened at the sight of you, his gaze hungry as it ran down your naked body. You had crossed your arms over your chest, the other over your sex, but the king had pulled them away with a tsk.
“None of that now. You need my help, don’t you?”
You let out a sob, shaking your head. Aemond mimicked your refusal, cooing with a sticky sweet tone painting his motives.
“What is that? You do not want my help? Shall I leave you alone then?” he asked, a devilish smirk rising on his lips when you shook your head again, more profusely this time, when he started to pull away.
“No! No, please! I beg of you, do not leave me like this!” you wailed, pulling on any part of him you could reach. Aemond looked at you with a dark satisfaction, one that only grew when you had spread your legs for him, giving him a perfect view of your weeping cunny as you caged him with your thighs.
He had muttered something in mocking, something about helping his most esteemed guest, but the cloudy haze your mind was lost in made it difficult to comprehend anything. All you could feel was his touch on your waist, another on your jaw, and the softness of his thin lips when he smashed them against yours. He swallowed down your whimper as you engaged in a clash of teeth and tongue, his eagerness almost equaling your desperation.
He trailed his lips down the column of your neck, leaving his mark on your flesh. A deep sigh of relief left your lips when he enclosed on one of your stiff buds, rolling it with his warm tongue. It felt utterly delightful, like a poison finally being sucked out of your wound. Aemond gave the other breast the same amount of attention, massaging its pair with his calloused hand. A heat steadily rose from deep within your belly, and with a nip of his teeth on your sensitive nipple, you came undone with a moan of his name.
The one-eyed Targaryen pulled away with a look of amazement on his face. He looked at the mess in between your thighs, where the evidence of your climax mixed with your slick. His throat felt dry, like he had been walking aimlessly through the deserts of the Red Waste before stumbling upon the water that shall fill him with life.
“You are divine,” he exhaled, his good eye still trained on your pulsating core. They clenched around nothing, beckoning him to taste. He looked at you, evidently still overcome with the need for more. He knew you wanted more, needed it. You wouldn’t be better from one release alone, no, Alys’ tonic did not work that way. You needed an antidote, one only Aemond could give you. He shall end your suffering soon enough, but first, he had to get a taste of you.
He wasted no time, licking a hot stripe up your slit. Aemond groaned in delight, the sweet taste of your essence coating his tongue. He devoured you like a man starved, slurping up the tears your cunt had wept in its despair.
“Hells… you taste of the most delightful ambrosia, princess. So sweet, so wet… all for me,” he praised, his voice coming out muffled from the apex of your thighs. You were long lost, moaning unabashedly like a wanton whore. Your grip on your morals had been weakened by the slippery trail of carnal desire.
Aemond’s silver tresses were clutched tight in your hand, a pain the king revered. You ground your hips against his face, the tip of his nose rubbing on your pearl deliciously. He held your thighs in a vice grip, and he shook his head from side to side, making you whine in delight. Shifting his thumb to rub on your clit, Aemond began to fuck you with his tongue, the hot, wet muscle darting in and out of your walls rhythmically. Sparks of pleasure ran from your bundle of nerves wildly up your veins, spreading into a speckled flush across your chest. With a shudder, you released all over the king’s tongue. Your eyes rolled back as you came once more, your chest heaving up and down from the weight of your second undoing.
Your pulse still buzzed with desire, and you cursed the gods on whatever it was they had inflicted upon you. You whimpered when Aemond pulled away to stand, a panic rising within your chest when he looked to the door. He wasn’t leaving you, was he? Your blood still ran hot with need, and you needed him to take you, take all of it away.
“Don’t go, please,” you begged, reaching out for him. You scrambled to rise to your knees, pulling Aemond in by his trim waist. The cotton of his undershirt was gripped tight in your fists, and his neck grew damp when your teary face buried itself in the junction between his shoulder. “My king.”
Aemond’s chest grumbled from your words, his cock now throbbing painfully, begging for its release. His arm wrapped around your waist to pull you flush against him, his stiffness poking your hip. With a hand on the base of your neck, he urged you to look at him.
“Say it again,” he growled, nipping your ear with his teeth. He squeezed the flesh on your hip tight, making you whimper.
“Aemond, my king! I need you; I need you to take all of this pain away,” you sobbed, hot, desperate tears streaming down your flushed cheeks. You grabbed a hold of his hand, urging it towards your center, but he was stronger. Aemond pulled his hand away, cupping your jaw in his calloused palms to make you look at him.
“The only way for your pain to subside is for your maidenhead to be taken, princess. There is no other way. Are you sure of this?” Aemond asked, looking to you for confirmation. Your mind barely regarded the implications of what was to occur, of what he was taking from you, nodding eagerly without any doubt. You rambled a series of yesses to him, and then he was pushing you to lay on your back once more. The king before you was never one to dally, evident in the way he wasted little time in baring himself. His stiff length slapped against his stomach when his trousers dropped, the mesmerizing sight making you trail your fingers down to play with your cunt in impatience. He was a sight to behold, with well-defined form, and the scars that littered his milky skin; the remnants of war had cemented itself on the king’s physical form.
Aemond grabbed hold of his cock, stroking it while coming to kneel before you. He slapped your hand away from your center, taking hold of your thigh to spread them wide. He couldn’t deny the spark of anticipation in his chest, and if he were a lesser man he would’ve plunged himself into your walls in one push. Instead, he lined himself with your slit, before looking to you for one more confirmation. Your brows were adorably furrowed in frustrated desperation, a small whisper of ‘please’ falling from your pouty lips. With your hand pushing on the base of his spine, Aemond breached your walls.
Your previous releases and the copious amounts of arousal the aphrodisiac had produced from your body made for little hindrance. There was only a mere sting at his initial thrust, but it required little effort for him to bottom out. His pace was relentless from the start, clearly as overcome with desire as much as you were. The slick pooling on the back of your thighs made a wet slap, slap, slap with every thrust of Aemond’s hips.
You gripped the sheets to ground yourself as your body jerked in rhythm with his thrusts, your legs wrapping around the silver-haired man’s trim waist to keep him close. Your jaw fell open, moans freefalling with no regard for decency. Aemond fared no better, growling in your ear and delivering a harsh bite to your shoulder. It was animalistic in nature, something primal and heavy. The bedframe thudded against the wall, and you could only hope no soul would happen upon the halls outside your chambers at this hour.
“This is what you wished for, was it not? You wanted my cock, you needed it,” he groaned, letting out a dark chuckle against your skin when you nodded fervently, followed by a chorus of whiny yesses. He left his mark on your breasts, tugging and sucking on the supple flesh to claim you as his. “Taking me so well, my princess,” Aemond rambled on, muttering dirty nothings into your skin as his thrusts stayed unrelenting.
“Aemond, oh, Aemond!” you cried out, gripping his broad shoulders tight. Your nails dug themselves into his sculpted back, making him hiss in delight. Your core spasmed with your impending climax, massaging his length as it drove into the rough spot within your walls.
“Perhaps I should put a babe in you, hm? Make you mine, all mine,” he taunted in your ear. Perhaps you should be more concerned with his words, but the wave of pleasure threatening to take you over robbed you of your sense and wit, reducing you to nothing but a moaning mess. Aemond’s thumb found its place on your pearl once more, rubbing tight circles into the nub that threatened to send you into overdrive. With another thrust, then two, you fell apart on Aemond’s cock, spilling your white, hot essence all around his length. He followed soon after, painting your walls with his seed in a couple of spurts.
The cloudy haze that had impeded you reduced to a pleasant buzz in your fingertips, your head lolling to the side as your eyes closed in utter bliss. You felt Aemond pull out of your walls, whining when he pushed your combined juices back into your cunny. He laid beside you, pulling you into his chest with his arms wound around your sweaty form. A delighted sigh left your lips when he cupped your jaw, then bestowed a kiss on your forehead, and the tip of your nose, before capturing your lips. Pulling away, Aemond leaned his forehead onto yours, the tip of his aquiline nose nudging slightly against yours. It was pleasant, the way he held you like this, almost more intimate than your coupling.
“Marry me,” he whispered against your lips.
Your eyes opened while your brows furrowed in confusion at his proposition. Your mind lagged to follow along, the remnants of the aphrodisiac’s heady swirl still tainting your better thinking. “W-what?”
“Be my wife. Together, we shall forge the legacy our ancestors have strived to achieve. Our kingdoms shall unite in power, our houses would be formidable allies, and more. This would all be possible with our union,” he explained eagerly. His grip on your face had grown tighter and tighter, his pupil widening, making him look almost crazed. You were starting to grow wary, if it weren’t for the ache in your muscles, you would have dashed as far away from him as possible. Perhaps this was the Targaryen madness everyone said, but in the darkness of your chambers, you could hardly consider him madder than you were.
“I-I don’t…” you stammered. The haze that had clouded your conscience was starting to lift, making you think more clearly. You tried to pull yourself away from his grasp, but his firm hold on your cheeks and your trembling limbs rendered your efforts futile.
“After tonight, you will no longer be untouched, and your future husband will know. A princess who will not bleed on her marital bed,” Aemond iterated sternly, his brows raised. Your lower lip trembled with dread, your hands pushing on his chest–– closer or away, you couldn’t decide which.
You squeezed your eyes shut in an attempt to tune him out, but he was everywhere, from his hot breath on your face, his seed in your womb, his curse tainting your spirit.
“You are being cruel,” you whispered, turning your face away. When you had shifted to lay on your back, he had risen to lay on his side, his silver mane framing his face ever so beautifully.
“I am showing you mercy,” he contradicted, cupping your face, softer this time. His thumb caressed your cheek tenderly, and if you had known less the gesture might have brought you comfort. “You needed me, I did what you asked me to, princess. Would you have rather I left you writhing in pain?”
You were starting to grow muddled. He was right, you did need him, had begged for him like a desperate harlot. Humiliation coursed through you for having debased yourself like this, unabashedly so. You think of the shame this would inflict on your name, your brother’s. Gods, what have you done?
“What will they say when my seed takes? Hm? What will your brother think of his sweet sister?” Aemond taunted, rising to loom over you. A curtain of starlit hair enclosed around your head, making you see only him. He was tantalizing, with his sharp stare and a face sculpted by the gods’ own hands. Your resolve was starting to crumble as you pondered on his words. “They need not question your honor when you shall be my wife, my queen.”
You, a queen. It would be a lie to say you had never imagined yourself crowned as such; you have done so all your life. In time, you had learned it would never be, your brother was king, and you were to be married off, reducing your worth to a lord’s wife, but Aemond wanted to make you queen. It was a daunting prospect; you had never thought to become queen of Westeros. Hells, you had no wish to come here in the first place! But the seed had been planted, a dragon’s seed, nonetheless.
The corners of your eyes stung with a fresh wave of hot tears. Aemond had caught them when they started to fall, planting his lips on your cheeks, his tongue darting out to taste the salty fluid. It was reverent, almost in adoration, and when he pulled away, you gave him your answer.
“I will marry you, my king.”
A wicked smile lifted the corners of his thin lips, his dimples making an appearance. Satisfaction painted his good eye, and you realized what you had done. You resigned yourself to your fate, and you could only pray he would be tender with you, like the kiss he planted on your hair when you shifted back to lay on his chest. Aemond let out a deep sigh, thoroughly pleased.
“Sleep, my queen, we shall make our plans for marriage known on the morrow.”
This one has been in my wip for so long. Whoever sent this, I am truly sorry
Warnings: 18+, nudity, mention of skinny dipping
my taglists are here + you can send requests here at any time
—
The weather had been scorching hot in King’s Landing as of lately. It was so hot outside that it was impossible to go in the sun for longer than ten minutes without feeling light-headed. No one knew why it was happening nor when the weather would cool down. You just had to sweat through it.
You were heading out to court in the late morning, fanning yourself as you walked, when a hand caught your arm.
‘’Where are you going?’’ Aemond's voice cut through the hot air. He wasn't wearing any leather, which was strange to see him without.
‘’To court. Doreah is waiting for me. She is going to teach me how to thread fans. Would you like one, my love?’’ you asked, offering him a small smile. Your hair was tied back into braids instead of its usual loose waves, helping you stay cool.
Aemond ignored your question, his jaw tight as he looked up from your dress. ‘’In that attire?’’
He never criticized your choice of clothing, letting you dress the way you desired, but he couldn’t let you leave the Red Keep in this dress. Absolutely not.
‘’I made it myself using an old dress. My handmaiden had taught me to sew.’’ You smiled proudly, giving Aemond a small twirl. ‘’It’s light and breathable. Perfect for hot weather.’’
‘’It looks like undergarments,’’ Aemond remarked, his tone tight.
You promised to work on controlling your insolence, but right now Aemond had you rolling your eyes. ‘’It is not.’’
‘’I can see your breasts through it, therefore everyone can see them.’’
He didn’t want to sound possessive, but your body was for his eye only. Not perverted men at court. It made Aemond sick to even think a man of his court could pleasure himself to the thought of your body. If he ever catches anyone doing so, he wouldn’t hesitate to cut their head — or cock.
‘’I opted out of a corset today. This heat makes it unbearable to wear.’’
‘’No corset?’’
You shook your head. ‘’No corset. Nothing.’’
Aemond raised an eyebrow. ‘’Nothing? As in…no undergarments either?’’
You tilted your head, a mischievous glint in your eye. ‘’Exactly, my Prince.’’
A group of servants walked by, averting their eyes from you and Aemond.
‘’I say we walk back to our chambers and you see Doreah tomorrow. It is not appropriate for a lady to walk around dressed so scantily.’’
‘’I have a better plan.’’
*
Aemond thought you had lost your mind when you suggested walking down Aegon’s hill under this heat. You were both sweating and out of breath when you reached the bottom of the hill, but you knew it would be worth it.
As you were walking, Aemond changed his opinion on your dress. He still thought it was far too revealing to be worn outside your chamber, but when you started swaying your hips while walking, he couldn’t look away. It made his throat dry…and his breeches tight.
A smile curled on your face, seeing your destination in the distance. You pulled Aemond along, his hand sticking with yours from how humid it was.
‘’We’re there,’’ you declared, standing before a small area of water deriving from the Blackwater Bay. There were a lot of trees around it, which hid it from the ships sailing through the bay. ‘’Let’s go for a swim.’’
Swimming sounded nice. He was completely drenched in sweat and the thought of jumping in the water was very tempting. Aemond looked around the secluded area. No one was around to spy on the Prince with his lady. He couldn’t help but notice the sweat dripping down your chest and neck and disappearing into your dress.
‘’We can’t go swimming. Someone’s going to see us.’’
You rolled your eyes. ‘’There's no one here. Ever.’’ You reached a hand out and dragged your finger down the buttons of his linen shirt, slowly unbuttoning them. ‘’Just think of the cool water on your hot skin. Won't that feel nice?’’
Aemond’s breath hitched in his throat as you trailed your finger over his chest. He swallowed. ‘’We shouldn’t… Someone could be watching,’’ he said, his protests were growing weaker and weaker by the second.
‘’Can you quit worrying and just have a swim with me? It's just you and me here. Lose the clothes, my love.’’ You looked up at him, the corner of your lips curled into a mischievous smile. ‘’Besides, the water is deep enough that no one will see your milky white buttocks once you're in.’’
Aemond exhaled deeply through his nose. Your stubbornness knew no bounds.
‘’You’re going to be the death of me,’’ he muttered before finishing unbuttoning his shirt and peeling it off. He began unlacing his trousers, then paused. ‘’And my body does not look like milk,’’ he added dryly.
A giggle left your mouth, amused. You reached for the ties on each shoulder, pulled until they came undone. Your dress fell into a puddle at your feet, exposing you fully.
Aemond swore his brain stopped working for a moment, his eye drinking in the sight of you completely nude in front of him. Gods, how did he get so lucky? You were a man's dream.
His throat went dry as he took a step forward. He gently placed his hands on your hips, his thumbs moving in small circles. ‘’Are you sure there’s no one here?’’
‘’There might be a rabbit or little ducklings...’’
It was Aemond’s turn to roll his eye. ‘’Very funny.’’ He finished undressing, pulling his breeches down before stepping out of them.
You grinned at him. ‘’You love my sense of humor.’’
Aemond pulled you flush against him, your clammy skin sticking to his, before tilting your chin up to look him in the eyes. His gaze was dark, almost hungry. ‘’And I love shutting that sarcastic mouth of yours even more.’’
His words left you speechless, not expecting that from him.
To prove his point, he leaned down and captured your lips in a kiss. You grabbed onto his shoulders as it turned deeper, his tongue slipping into your mouth. Heat spread through your body as you kissed, arousal slowly rising, and defeating the purpose of coming down here.
You pulled away, feeling Aemond’s breath against your lips. ‘’Shall we go in the water before things escalate?’’
Warnings: mild angst, misogyny, banter, pregnancy, childbirth, oral sex, p in v, fingering, orgasm denial, dry humping, overstimulation, brief lactation kink, breeding kink, manipulation (to get some), some good ol' tying up, slandering of the Gods lol
Author's note: this is the third and final part following And I dream of a grave and A curse for a curse but can be read as a standalone. Just keep in mind that Aemond did not cheat on his wife while in Harrenhal. He used Alys only for her visions.
Word count: 13k. Ye have to suffer for your smut darlin'
Her mother had come to King’s Landing three days after she gave birth. Peering through the door, the Princess didn’t know if the woman was more surprised to finally see a baby safely tucked between her daughter’s arms or to witness that she was still breathing. She had chosen to believe both.
Since she was a little girl, she had been instructed in what was coming, for her and all the girls like her: how to serve men, how to serve the Realm. She knew pregnancy could be a time of great distress, physical and otherwise, and for her, it turned out to be nothing more than that.
She spent the first moons plagued by sickness, glaring at the Maesters who told her that morning sickness was perfectly normal. It would've been, if only it had lasted the hours the sun was at its highest. Instead, she couldn’t keep down her breakfast, just like her lunch, or dinner. She had lost weight, she couldn’t stand any kind of smell with the risk of rushing to her pot and empty her stomach.
Then, on one fine morning, while she was walking the gardens with two of her maids, she had suddenly bent over, hissing with pain while clutching her maid’s arm, dreading the trickle running down her thighs.
The Maesters said occasional bleedings might happen, that she only needed to rest and take some tonic to straighten her body. But that day signaled the end of her peace and the beginning of her confinement.
Because clearly, at the first sign of something going wrong, slipping out of his control, Aemond would panic, albeit showing none of it, standing as tall and stoic as ever and somehow more than he’d ever done now that the Conqueror’s Crown weighted on his head. But she knew better. She knew how to look through all his walls. She knew he was scared—for her, for the baby, for his sister, for his whole family. It was simply too much for a single person to carry all of that on their shoulders. And it was precisely for that reason that she didn’t object to any of his orders. After all, she couldn’t. He was the King now, even if he didn’t choose to style himself as such.
Thus, her chambers became her prison.
Cobwebs didn’t have time to grow because she was quick enough to point them out to the servants. She was aware of the slight drop in the stone tiles just behind the terrace, as of the strategic point where to linger to gain some cool breeze from the sea. She knew the baby liked to sleep upside down in the early afternoon, occasionally kicking hard as he, or she, settled comfortably in her womb.
Aemond had picked some books for her, mostly about history, having her yawning at the third page. She had tried needle work, putting all her good will into it for the sake of doing something, and she had deliberately chosen to believe she was undeniably good at it. But that was a very generous lie.
“What is that supposed to be exactly?” Aemond asked one day, peeking over her shoulder as he reached her on the terrace.
She didn’t look up, keeping her eyes fixed on her embroidery tambour, working the needle in and out. “Isn’t it obvious?”
He leaned down until she felt the long silver strands tickling her head and even without turning, she could feel him grimacing. “A bird?”
At that, she had raised her head, reading all the disbelief on his face. “It is a dragon. For the cradle.”
Aemond had simply furrowed his brow, unable for the life of him to consider what he saw as something even remotely resembling a dragon. But he thought better than to anger his pregnant wife, given her late sour spirit, but especially in light of how fiercely she had started to stick the needle in, likely picturing to stick it into him instead. He had built the most fake pleasant smile he could master and said “Very well. Excellent work, my love.”
“Thank you, husband.”
The trouble was that, as time went by, she only became sourer. She grew more and more uncomfortable, too tight in her own skin. Her back hurt, her breasts hurt, and she was starting to believe she was carrying a real dragon, with fangs and all; she had no other explanation for how hot she constantly felt, forced to lie in a thin white chemise all the time, despite the winds carrying the winter.
But maybe there was another reason why her spirits were so low and sour. She had come to learn that pregnancy affected every aspect of her life, including the most pleasant one.
She would grow wet for a kiss. She would close her legs and rub them together upon seeing him rise from the bathtub. She would moan into his mouth if he so much as grazed her nipples with his knuckles. But as she grew bigger and bigger, along with the discomfort, kisses and some intimate brushing were all she would get from him. Aemond had grown distant, not only with his presence, due to all the duties he had to fulfill wearing the Crown, but even when he was there, in their chambers, sleeping next to her, she felt him leagues and leagues away.
“Pregnancy is a very hard time for a woman.” The Dowager Queen had said to her “It is overwhelming to think that you are never alone and yet...somehow you are.”
She’d never understood what her good mother meant until she was confined to her chambers, alone with her thoughts and her fears. She didn’t expect Aemond to do something, this was women’s business. And she knew his reluctance to lie with her rested solely on concern and love for her.
No matter how much he craved to take her, he had decided to put his husband’s rights away for the delicate final moons until the baby was born. He still felt guilty, for Harrenhal, for the witch, for forsaking her only to get drunk on visions and prophecies. Yet, those visions turned out to be true. He had shut that voice in his head and tried to make amends. But they didn’t have the time to mend themselves together, to knit all the distrust and suspicions into something good; the baby was coming, and it seemed he or she did nothing but grow them more apart.
He saw how tired she was, how some days she couldn’t even get out of bed. And how useless he felt when he would catch her crying, like that night when he found her all alone on the terrace at the hour of the owl.
She was sitting on her chaise filled with cushions when Aemond walked around her. Given the state of his white shirt and hair, he had likely just awakened and hadn’t found her beside him.
“What are you doing out here? You will catch a cold.”
“I cannot sleep.” she had kept her eyes far, on the Black Water Bay, far from him. But he saw them anyway, her reddened eyes.
“You cannot stay here in your condition.” He said almost tiredly, but when she didn’t even blink at his words, he called her name, with the tone he used in the Throne Room.
“Aemond, please.” She whispered, turning her head. “I—” she bit her tongue, unwilling to put this on him, but she knew he wouldn’t let go until she was safely back in bed. So, she said “I don’t want to hear her.”
It took him less than a moment to understand what she meant. Helaena. Helaena who lost a child, who saw her flesh and blood horribly murdered before her eyes. Helaena who couldn’t stop wailing in the dead of night.
She had looked at him, seeing that torn thing, broken and raw like a split wound; shame and guilt and rage all at once. Then, he lowered himself onto his knees until he took her cold hands and squeezed them tight. His mouth opened, but she was faster. “Don’t say it.”
You cannot keep such a promise, you cannot keep us safe. No matter how many times you say it. But she wouldn’t take that solace away from him, not that plainly. The more he said it, the more he seemed to believe it. So be it.
“Is there anything I can do?” he asked, and there was a beautiful, heartbreaking desperation in his hushed voice. “Tell me what to do.”
She had built a convincing smile, running her hand through his loose hair and pushing some strands back. “Go back to sleep. I’m fine.”
Her spirits during the day would slightly improve. And between the Council and some hearings in the Throne Room, he always saved some time to go visit her in their chambers. She didn’t seem to enjoy being watched like a toddler, but deep down she cherished his concern. She cherished the way his hands would gently hold her own, or caress her hair, her belly. She found it hard to believe those hands could bestow such reverence and violence at the same time. And even in his absence, he managed to ensure she always had anything she needed. Even blackberries in early autumn.
“Myra, where have you been?” She asked in a late afternoon, when one of her most loyal maids entered her chambers after disappearing for the whole day.
The young girl had an awful look. She seemed exhausted, as if she had walked the entirety of Flea Bottom, twice. “Apologies, my Princess. It took me quite a while to find blackberries.”
“Seven Hells, it is only a craving. You did not have to go all the way through King’s Landing to find me blackberries.”
"No, I-I ought to.”
The Princess paused, frowning at the young girl. “Did someone else tell you that you ought to?”
“Well…yes…” the maid said, sinking her gaze to the floor “The King—uhm Prince Regent.”
She sighed deeply, and with heavy steps, she walked towards the terrace; her maid was immediately at her side to help her. “What did he tell you?” the Princess asked as they reached the chair outside.
The girl waited for her to sit, slowly and awkwardly given her big belly; then, a little timidly, she said “He…ordered me to go look for blackberries and not to…bother coming back if I didn’t find them.”
The Princess rolled her eyes in quite an unlady-like manner, “How in the name of Seven did he know about it?” She asked, grimacing as she desperately tried to find a comfortable position. “I have barely seen him this morning.”
The young maid helped her, fixing some cushions behind her back and whispered “The White Cloak at the door…I suspect he reports everything to his Grace.”
The notion didn’t seem to strike her that much, or maybe she was too tired, too uncomfortable and too hot to comment on the matter, or even scoff at it.
She grabbed a fan from her maid’s hands and unceremoniously shook her shoes off, placing her swollen feet on the cool tiles. Closing her eyes, she basked in that small relief; the floor was cold, the sun was about to set, and the baby was sleeping.
According to the Maesters, her time was close. She was eager to meet this little person but in truth, she just wanted it to end. She hated having no control over her body, her spirits, her marriage. She missed being a wife and being treated as such, not just as the mother of his child. She had come to think that, deep down, any woman felt that way, but they were forced to hide everything behind a joyful smile while sinking to their knees to thank the Mother. Wasn’t that the sole purpose of any girl in the world? To bleed on a birthing bed? Wasn’t that the way men measured women’s value?
She swallowed hard as the question spun in her head. Am I finally worthy of you, Aemond?
She wouldn’t dare ask him.
“What is it? Are you unwell?”
She was too lost in her thoughts to even hear his footsteps on the terrace. As her gaze flew up, she read the deep concern on his face, all lumped in the steep furrow between his eyebrows. He must’ve seen her grimacing, thinking she was in some pain. She was, but she was too much of a coward to tell him.
She resumed her fanning, averting her gaze and stretching her legs out further on the floor. “I feel like I’m boiling.”
“Yes, I can see that.” He deadpanned, raking his eye over her disheveled state; sprawled on that chair with her legs slightly open, her white chemise all crumpled and unbuttoned, and a bead of sweat on the forehead, in the crevice of her swollen breasts. He thought the times when a mere look at this woman would make him hard were gone once the novelty of having a wife, someone rightly and thoroughly his, had dissipated. He was wrong.
“I’m well aware of my lack of decency.” She replied, seeing how he was staring, the little inquiring curve in his eyebrow. “I’m afraid I care very little about decency at this moment. Blame it on your son.”
His lips curled up, watching her gather her loose hair with one hand while she kept fanning herself quickly with the other.
“Are you still inclined to believe for certain that it’s a boy?”
“I know it’s a boy. Only men can be this insufferable.”
That little smile on his lips lingered, deepened, and then he moved, going to stand behind her. “Let me.” He said, and took her hair between his hands. She couldn’t see what he was doing but got the gist as she felt his deft fingers moving and her neck free to get some air. When he walked around the chaise to sit beside her, she saw that his hair was loose. He had tied her hair with the black lace he always wore to prevent the silver strands from ending up in front of his eye.
She loved to see him like this: hair loose, eyepatch lost somewhere in a drawer, sitting next to her, even without saying a word. The sapphire seemed to match his eye, glowing a soft violet under the setting sun. She felt that familiar lump in her throat, as she stared at him, a restless thing flowing through her whole body, demanding to be released only to be trapped under her teeth, biting down her lower lip, starved and yearning.
“A little bird told me you put a hound on my trail.” she said at one point, shutting her little fan.
Aemond didn’t look surprised to acknowledge that she knew. He had actually ventured with himself about how long it would have taken her to realise he was spying on her every move.
“You are well aware of my duties now.” He said, turning his head to look at her. But not quite. His eye seemed to linger everywhere at once, fleeting, snatching a look here and there, her legs, her sweated neck, her belly…his own testament, as if she wasn’t one already.
You left your mark on her just as she did on you. Those were Alys’ words, at which he had ugly sneered. And she had laughed at the sight, eerily, as someone who owned the truth. I’m your spoil of war and yet, you speak to me ten paces away. What are you afraid of, Kinslayer? That your skin would burn like brimstone if you touched another woman?
“Besides,” he resumes “any lady would be flattered by her husband’s genuine concern.”
“You could flatter me in different ways.” was her prompt answer and she moved incredibly fast, given her impediment, getting close to him until she filled his nostrils. She smelled different since she was pregnant. A thick smell, musky. She tasted differently. Sweeter and somehow sourer. He swallowed at the mere memory. “We have talked about this.”
“And I’ve talked to the Maesters.”
His head spun around, forcing her to stifle a smile at his ever strictly reserved nature.
“They said there’s nothing wrong, or remotely dangerous, if we…engage in our conjugal duties.”
He tried to ignore her hand, her fingers traveling up his arm like a spider’s legs. “Did you need the Maesters to learn that?”
“No, but you do. You hang on their lips…I wish you hung on mine.”
Aemond heard her voice dropping a tone, and dropped his chin down, looking at her hand roving on his chest, shamelessly slipping beneath his dark green doublet, skin to skin. She glided on his planes slowly, making sure to trap one of his nipples in the little hollow between her index and middle.
“I don’t need them to know about my private matters.” He said mindlessly, trying to hold a grip on his thoughts.
“Seven Hells. It baffles me to witness how prudish you desperately want to appear while I perfectly know how debauched you really are, to the bone.”
“My debauchery is confined to these four walls.”
“Oh, is it? What about that time on our way to the Grand Sept?” She tilted her head, so she was talking almost in his ear. “Do you remember?”
Her hand on his chest was burning, or was it his own skin? His own flesh simmering wherever she touched him.
“Don’t do that.” She whispered when she saw his long legs cross. “Let me see. You have condemned me to do nothing else.”
His eye chased her hand as she grabbed his knee and pushed to uncross his legs, so that she could see, the outline of his cock through the breeches, see how he ached for her. “Do you remember what you did in the wheelhouse?” She asked again, looking at him; the sapphire was the only thing flashing violet now. His eye was pitch black.
“You put your hand beneath my gowns…” she said and her hand slid up against his thigh “you grabbed me, harshly.” And she did the same, forcing his mouth open and a shallow breath out of his throat. “And you grinned…because my garments were soaked.” he closed his eye for a moment, perhaps recalling, or maybe because her hand was moving, palming all his length through the breeches.
“And then you slipped your fingers underneath…” and again, she did just so, unbuckling his belt and sinking her hand in. He opened his eye, and basked in what he saw: that sort of silent, desperate plea in the little wrinkle between her eyebrows, in her heaving chest, in the way she was rubbing her legs together.
Thus, just when she was about to grab him, he grabbed her wrist instead and crashed his mouth against hers with a low growling sound. She could do nothing but moan, giving him open room to slip his tongue in and taste every corner, driving his body closer and closer, but not too much as to crush her.
She, on the other hand, felt free, finally, to roam, to rummage. Her hands grabbed and pulled everywhere, at his doublet, the collar, the buttons, the thin white shirt underneath it all, until everything was loose, and she was free to touch him, all the while making the sweetest wanton sounds, close to desperate whines. “Please, Aemond…” she begged freely, holding his face “just this once…please…”
He shushed her with another harsh kiss and with a free hand, he clutched her white nightgown into his fist, pulling up, enough to stick his arm between her legs. She spread them for him, panting with anticipation, and stopped breathing altogether when he cupped her core with the large palm of his hand. Aemond trapped her lower lip with his teeth, biting softly upon feeling how wet she was, dripping on his fingers, so much that he wished to fall on his knees and wipe it clean with his tongue.
“Please…” she breathed, barely rocking her hips to urge him to touch her.
“Hush.” he said, and curled his fingers, brushing his fingertips against her centre, gaining a delicious wince from her. “Tell me of the wheelhouse.”
She smiled breathlessly, her eyes hungry and heavy, full of lust. “It was the first time I wore green.” she started to tell. “We were still betrothed. I wanted to impress you.”
“Hmm. You certainly did.” He remarked, watching her closely while rubbing his index pad against her entrance, teasingly, making her squirm. “Go on.”
She felt like burning, her face hot for the sun, the baby, the ache in her lower belly, stirring and coiling. “You told the White Cloak to take another round…” she said, breathing with her mouth open. “You grabbed my waist and forced me on your lap.”
“And you pushed me away. Twice.” he’d laughed, flashing a grin that made her willing to shove him away, to pull him closer. “What a farse you put on.” he continued, leaving a chaste kiss on her neck that resulted in her writhing some more, pushing her pelvis against his hand. “I had to cover your mouth for your mewling. You were so fucking loud.”
It was then that he finally granted her some mercy, slipping one finger inside her drenched lips, spilling a long gasp from her.
“No. Not quite.” He observed cruelly and slid another finger, this time gaining a proper loud moan. “That’s more like it.”
His two fingers started to pump slowly, and yet she was making the lewdest sounds he’d ever spilled from her, arching her back as far as she could, scrunching her face almost in pain and pulling at his collar, twisting, as if he were torturing her instead of giving her pleasure. She made his cock stir painfully, his teeth grind for the ache, for the fact that she was coating his whole hand. “Easy now…” he warned her, his tone all husky. “You don’t want to come already, do you? ‘Tis the only thing you’ll get from me, sweetling…you better make it last.”
She whined in annoyance, forcing another grin on his ruthless lips, and with that same ruthlessness, he slowed his ministrations, only to cup one of her breasts with his free hand, squeezing softly until the thin, silky fabric slipped down, revealing her pink, swollen nipple. “I must say…I’m relieved you will summon a wet nurse…so these will be all mine.”
She had to stifle a breathless laugh at that. “Being jealous of your child is a bit too much, even for you…”
“Oh, my love” he crooned, freeing the other breast “I am jealous of the clothes on your skin.”
Wasting no time, he wrapped his lips around her nipple, causing her to arch against him once more, one hand flying down his shoulder, fisting his doublet, twisting it as he swirled his tongue and hummed with delight dripping from his tone, as if he were tasting honey, and the sweetest ever made.
His fingers resumed their frantic rhythm, sinking deep inside and stretching, hitting that special spot that made her sight go black, reduced to a mess of sweat coating every inch of her skin and a string of moans growing hoarse and high-pitched.
“Are you close? Hmm?” he rasped “How about another? Can you take another for me?”
He slipped a third finger in, causing her to wince and cling to his shoulders with her mouth open in a silent scream. “Good girl.” He praised at the sight. He wished he could savor it for a little longer, he wished to keep doing that again and again, until the sun went down and rose again, until there was nothing but ruin around them.
But she was so close now, he could feel it in her tensed arms around his shoulders, in her clenching walls around his hand, and quite frankly, the ache in his breeches was unbearable, twitching at every moan and squelching sound of his fingers inside her flesh.
She came loudly, curling her ankles on the ground and writhing in his hold as if in a delirium. He kept her still, his hand buried inside her, feeling the quick pulsing that rivaled the one in her heart. And he watched her, gasping for air and throwing her head back, utterly spent, hair all sticked to her forehead. In his eye she had never looked this beautiful.
He pulled his fingers out, making her wince slightly, and brought them to her mouth, smearing her spent desire on her own lips, like the final touch to a painting. And then he kissed her, humming at her bittersweet taste. He held her face gently, grabbing her jaw and angling her head to taste her better, eliciting a blissful sigh from the back of her throat that made his hardness throb. As if she had felt that, her hand had slipped between them with purpose, sinking past all his layers and taking hold of him.
She rejoiced in the little whimper he gave her, and started to work her hand up and down, making it impossible for him to kiss her any further, if not for a sloppy and panting mess of spit and teeth.
Given the unbearable pressure building past his navel, he knew he wouldn’t last long. And she knew that too. But she didn’t want to have him this way. Awkwardly, she stood up and spread his legs to make herself some room, but as soon as Aemond, despite the lack of blood in his mind, caught her intentions, he stopped her, grabbing her arms firmly.
“No…” he croaked. “Not on your knees.”
She couldn’t help the little surprise on her face. Aemond had never been this considerate, especially in bed. He could be gentle in his own way, subtly. Little hidden things in the way he would run his fingers through her hair once she had reached her peak, the way he would regain air once he’d spilled inside her, breathing into her neck and running his lips lazily against her skin. But most of the times, he was very diligent, all focused in giving her and himself the pleasure they both craved; he was somehow harsh, ruthless, a mirror of who he was outside the bedroom, possessed by some kind of urgency that would break her in the most beautiful and cruel way and put her back together at once.
But then again, she imagined the promise of his heir living inside her was affecting even one of the most ruthless of men.
She sat down again and watched him stand up, his breath labored and open-mouthed as he looked down at her, working the few laces of his breeches still tied. She didn’t need an invitation, an order, a mere tilt of his chin to sit upright and put her hands alongside his snatched waist.
She looked up, and he found himself swallowing hard, cursing silently at the sight of her looking straight into his eye with his cock a breath away from her, all hard and glistening on the tip. Shamefully, he thought that would have done it for him.
A coarse grunt left his lips as soon as she wrapped her mouth around it, teasingly swirling her tongue on the slit without ever averting her gaze from him. He hissed painfully when her lips started to travel along his length, trying with all his might to hold back and not spill into her mouth so soon.
She, on the other hand, seemed eager to watch him come undone, just as he had done to her a few moments earlier. She started to suck him eagerly, like a starved creature, because on all those nights and days when he had taken her apart, learning every inch of her and how to bend it to his will, she had done just the same.
She knew how to make him wince and moan openly, while on her knees on their bedroom floor or on a fucking terrace during a late afternoon, with likely anyone to walk on them at any moment. With the Gods watching.
She didn't care. The Gods didn't care for them anyway. Let them see to whom she fell to her knees.
He couldn’t stop looking, how pretty she was like this, swallowing him whole, up to the hilt, hitting her throat with a gagging sound. So lecherous, so holy.
He was so close he had to bite his lip to restrain himself, letting out a string of curses until he felt the pressure growing stronger, and then, he thought, he might as well have it his way.
“Stop…” he croaked, grabbing her cheek but delicately, slipping out of her mouth and running his thumb over her sore jaw. She closed her slicked mouth, a drop of spit running down her chin and she looked at him, with such devotion he thought he had nothing to envy the Gods.
“Let me…” he pleaded, wiping her chin clean with his finger. “Let me fuck your mouth, sweetling. Would you?”
A question that needed no answer. Indeed, he wasted no time and grabbed the back of her head, tilting it slightly up for a better angle. He sheathed himself all the way in, gasping deeply at feeling the hot walls of her mouth, her cheeks hollowing.
His fingers curled into her hair, but never in a hurtful way, enough to keep her still as he started to move his hips against her face back and forth, his open mouth quivering as the pleasure began to build where it left off.
“Fuck—” he cursed once, and then twice, fucking her mouth faster to chase his peak, pulling ever so slightly at her scalp until he went still altogether, pushed his waist hard against her, and grunted loudly, in a pretty uncharacteristic way, as his cock twitched and spilled down her throat until the last drop.
Panting harshly, he pulled himself out and watched her close her mouth, eyes fixed on him, working her cheeks and making no mystery of the white essence on her tongue before swallowing it, thoroughly.
Aemond let himself fall on that chaise and she watched, she drank that sight: his hair all disheveled and damp with sweat, a shade of pink on his cutting cheekbones as he slowly pulled himself together, breathing through his open mouth while buckling his belt and breeches.
“I think I’m going to take a bath.” She said at one point, clumsily standing up. He had mumbled something in return, still caught in the throes of what they had done, but before she got back inside, she turned and said “Oh, just so you know…all of this was a ploy.”
She smiled cunningly at his frowning. “I never had any cravings. And I knew about the White Cloak at the door since the first day you put him there. You are not as subtle as you think you are, my love.”
A man of few words, but loud actions.
Her pains came during a peaceful afternoon.
In haste, nursemaids began their frantic rounds in and out of the Princess’ rooms like soldiers, carrying hot water and boiled rags. The Dowager Queen abandoned her perch beside Queen Helaena, or what was left of her, and went to assist the Princess. Having borne four children, she had quite a bit of advice to dispense, things she had learned on her own skin, things that any Master would never have told her because oblivious and convinced they knew what happened to a woman's body at such a delicate time based on how deep they had buried their nose in an old dusty tome.
Alicent helped the Princess rise from the bed, clutched her arm firmly and helped her walk. She said it was vital to walk, that it would ease her pain and help the baby come sooner. She told her to squat when the pain hit. She rubbed her back and wiped the sweat off her face as if she were her own daughter. It felt like that. Even though the Princess seemed to face it all with a stiff lip, Alicent could see that she was scared and in terrible pain, that she probably wished for her mother to be there. She had wished the same, no matter how many times she had faced it.
“Your Grace?” The Princess asked after another wave of pain had come and gone.
“Yes, child?”
“Do you think your son would forgive me If I said this one is both the first and the last?”
The Queen had smiled at that. “If the Gods bless you with more children, it will be easier, I can assure you. The first time is always rough. But it shouldn’t be long now.”
Well, her good mother turned out to be wrong. Because the pain plagued her for a full night, giving her no peace. At the hour of the nightingale, the nursemaids forced her to bed, and she gladly went. She was exhausted, she could no longer walk without hissing at every step, and by that time she was so used to the pain she no longer whined or anything, only scrunched her face and ground her teeth.
The servants stripped her bare and replaced her sweat-soaked nightgown with a fresh one. They dabbed her face with a wet cloth, but she could barely register anything, floating into unconsciousness only to be brought back to the present as another pain choked her breath.
“Perhaps some Milk of the Poppy?” One of the nurses said at one point.
“No.” the Maester said. “She may need to start pushing any moment now. We need her vigil.”
Her heavy-lidded eyes opened, wandering helplessly around the room. Useless research, for she knew he wouldn’t be there. She didn’t expect him to be. The birthing bed was no place for men, save for the Maesters, although she was starting to doubt their real usefulness when all they could do was pull her nightgown up, take a close look and shake their heads. They might as well let Aemond be there.
She imagined he must’ve been waiting outside, or in the Council, and yet she ached to see him. She closed her eyes and searched for him in her mind, clutching the sheets in her fist as if she could clutch his hand instead. And then she felt someone’s hand closing around her own, loosening her grip. Alicent, smiling down at her, and holding her hand tight.
It was holding her good mother’s hand that, at the first light of dawn, she gave birth to her child. A boy, healthy and all screeching as soon as he was out of her womb, clad in blood and grease.
Aemond had decided to name the child Aenar, if it was a boy, after the first Targaryen Lord, and she couldn’t quite believe her eyes or force her tears back when he was finally admitted to their chambers and took their son in his arms for the first time.
Alicent was beaming at the sight, squeezing his arm. “Congratulations, my son.”
But Aemond didn’t seem to even register her mother’s words, or presence, utterly enraptured by his little creature. He cast a look at his wife, a secret little look that told her how proud he was of her, how relieving it was for both to have come this far after all that happened, to have this little thing, this little ounce of peace amidst all the chaos of war.
What she didn’t know at that time was that Aenar was not exactly a peaceful child.
She had believed there had finally come the time when she could be herself again. But from the earliest days, Aenar proved not to be an easy child to deal with. The newborn cried and cried for hours, plagued by belly aches, and seemingly able to calm down only when in his mother’s arms. They had obviously called on a wet nurse; highborn ladies did not feed their children themselves, let alone a Princess. But Aenar had categorically refused to latch onto his wet nurse’s breasts. Alicent had proposed to summon another one, but as they dawdled and wavered, the Princess felt her heart break into pieces each time she held her little baby in her arms, all red in the face, hungry and in pain, turning his head towards her cleavage, desperate for her milk. Thus, she had put aside ceremonial court and all of that and chose to feed him herself.
But it was a strenuous task. The Maesters had warned her it would be tiring, sleep depriving, but she really had no choice. She had to do it every three hours, sometimes less, because being latched onto her breast seemed the only thing that would prevent the baby from screaming at the top of his lungs all day long. The nursemaid had recommended fennel and chamomile for belly aches. And, instantly, Aemond had ordered an astounding amount of both to be delivered to the Red Keep’s kitchens.
Queen Alicent taught her to hold the baby on his stomach, to rock him, but not too fast. They told her to take several breaks during breastfeeding, to make the baby belch often and prevent air from his belly. In the first week after Aenar was born, her mind was all but a vessel of do this, do that. No, not this way. Don’t ever wake the baby when he’s sleeping. Try to sleep when he does. Don’t eat spicy dishes.
In the midst of all of this, Aemond turned more and more suffocating in all his well-hidden, self-consuming concern. A handful of white cloaks, the most trusted by Ser Criston, were constantly guarding the door, day and night. He had a secret passageway that led to his rooms walled up, and she could swear he slept with his dagger beneath the pillow. Evidently not at peace with such extreme measures, he had the cradle moved to his side of the bed, within his reach, so that every time she had to wake up because the baby was wailing, she had to walk around the bed and pray that she would not tumble to the floor in the dark.
However, she was at least grateful to have Aemond’s support, for the little he could do. If he wasn’t occupied with warfare or hearings, he spent all the time he had with her and their child. And in those moments, no matter how exhausted she was, she would always find the strength to smile at the view when he held their baby, tracing his long fingers over the velvety grizzled skin of Aenar’s small hands; even when he’d speak to him in Valyrian, at which she had frowned at first.
“You do realise he’s one week old?”
“”Tis never too soon.”
“Mh. What’s next? Bring him to the skies on dragonback?”
“I’ll have you know Vhagar is perfectly safe to—“
“Over my dead body.”
He had smiled and stood up, going to place the baby in her arms. Aenar immediately began to fuss, whining and turning his head against her chest. She had started to unbutton her chemise but then stopped, looking up, where Aemond stood still like a sentry, and watching.
She raised an eyebrow. “Am I putting up a show?”
“Usually, you do.” He drawled. “Am I not allowed to watch? It seems my son and I already share a few interests.”
She looked away, smiling, and then she freed her left breast, watching as the baby immediately latched onto it. A moment later, Aemond took her chin in his hand, forcing her to look at him. He stared at her, and she saw that familiar glint his eye.
He trailed his thumb over her lip, barely breaching inside. “Soon?” was all he asked.
“Soon.” Was all she answered.
The soreness and the bleeding were reducing, and she was back in her tight flesh.
But the Gods must have cursed them some more, because that “soon” never seemed to become “now”.
The sickness didn’t seem willing to leave the poor child alone, along with his parents and the entirety of the Red Keep who had to suffer through his heartbreaking cries day and night.
The Princess had started to feel hopeless and guilty, no matter how many times the nursemaids, and even Queen Alicent, told her it was not her fault, that it was natural. No matter how many times she tried to convince herself they were right. Her heart broke any time the baby cried, wriggling desperately in her arms, in Aemond’s, in the cradle. She would end up crying too as she tried to soothe him, caressing his back with her cheek resting on his timidly silver-haired head.
She was working herself up to exhaustion, often falling asleep with the baby still latched onto her breast. It was Aemond who would take the baby to the cradle, it was Aemond who would button her chemise and pull up the blankets.
She hit rock bottom two weeks after Aenar’s birth, when she realised she hadn’t bathed in four days. Even Aemond, she could swear, was starting to look a little ragged around the edges. You don’t want to be King and take decisions in the middle of a war only to come back to a screaming infant at night.
But then, like a curse lifting, the sickness stopped. Amidst all those days she had stopped counting or even being aware of which was which, Aenar stopped crying. She was ashamed to admit that the first night he slept peacefully in his cradle, she had gone to check on him five times, to see if he was still breathing.
She began to gradually return to her former self, able to enjoy motherhood with a more rested mind, at least. Physically, she still felt worn out, given how much time she spent breastfeeding or rocking the baby to sleep. But now she was strong enough to take the baby out, walking the gardens with her maids and smiling proudly as the court ladies stopped to congratulate themselves and say how beautiful her baby was.
By doing this, though, she also became aware that she had lived in a bubble for so long that she had almost forgotten there was a war raging, there were battles being fought across the realm.
Reality hits her one day when Alicent goes to visit her and her grandson, bringing the news of a very important victory near the Honeywine, a large river flowing in the Reach, thanks to Prince Daeron Targaryen who had arrived all victorious on that very morning, riding his blue scaled dragon, Tessarion.
The news stuns her for a moment. She had no idea of it, partly because she had been too caught up with Aenar, but also because Aemond had not told her. Yet her family came from the Reach, they lived there, not very far from the Honeywine; her older brother fought for the Green Army. Still, not a word from Aemond.
Taking advantage of Aenar sleeping and the fact that Alicent offered to watch him, she leaves her chambers and heads for the Council. There’s a bustle of lords coming out of the door when she gets there, barely paying her any attention as they hastily babble about armies and supplies and men; always more men to be sent to slaughter.
She stops at the door, widening her eyes at the silver head crossing the threshold, one she hadn’t seen in a long time. “Prince Daeron.”
The youngest son of Queen Alicent and late King Viserys was nothing but a boy. But war had taken its toll on him too. He stood like a man, a Prince, and more than anything, a skilled dragon rider.
“Princess.” He says, tilting his chin down.
She curtsies and sees an immediate gentle smile softening his Valyrian features. “I believe some congratulations are in order.”
“Well, in all fairness, you shall be the most celebrated, my Prince. I’ve just heard of your recent victory.”
His gentle smile lingers, but loses its sparkle. “I must say I much prefer to celebrate life…rather than…the death of innocent men and women.”
There can’t be objections to such a statement; she just nods and casts a distracted glance inside the Council.
“Please…” the Prince says then, making room to let her pass “I won’t keep you away from my brother.”
She turns her head and smiles, tightly. “I’m afraid it is your brother who keeps himself away from me.”
“Heavy is the head that wears the Crown.”
“Indeed.”
The Prince bows to her and leaves.
Closing the door behind her, she glances at Aemond sitting at the head of the table, in the King’s chair, with such effortlessness that he seems to have been born exclusively for that purpose.
“I thought I heard you.” he says absent-mindedly, scribbling down a small piece of parchment. She slowly walks to the windows, casting a single furtive glance down, but she can’t possibly make out what he’s writing, or to whom.
“How’s—"
“Aenar is fine.” She cuts him off. “He’s with your mother, sleeping.”
He stops scribbling, glancing up for a moment. Her voice is tight, cutting. He knows that tone. It’s the same one she used in Harrenhal, as if he should have fallen to his knees and be grateful for the mere fact that she was speaking to him. But he doesn’t have time today to circle around her like a coiling snake, so he goes straight to the point. “Is something the matter?”
“You didn’t tell me of the Honeywine.” She says after a moment, gazing at the Bay.
Aemond sighes, a sign that he was expecting such a question. “You were looking after our son.”
“And?” she’s quick to rebut, quick to reach him at the table and stare down at him. “You didn’t deem it appropriate to inform me of a battle raging in my family lands?”
“I am your family.” He says, stoically, as if common law, and she has to stifle a bitter laugh. The nerve of him. “That is a very lovely concept. Strange how it got lost on you in Harrenhal.”
“Enough!” he barks, and the sudden harshness makes the quill pierce through parchment. “I thought I’d made myself clear.” He warns. “I don’t want to hear another word about the witch. Ever.”
She obediently looks down, regretting having said that, but not entirely. Perhaps she has spent so much time beside him that she, too, can’t let go of her grudges.
“I did not tell you, for I did not want to upset you.” He says, resuming his collected tone. “You were worn out by the baby, I didn’t want to put more weight on your shoulders.”
She knows he’s sincere. Still, her nod is stiff as she looks away, biting her cheek. She is just so sick of it all. Of being regarded as a cunt to be bred at first and now a weakling nailed to a cradle with an infant sucking the life out of her. She knows she’s not the first, and she won’t be the last.
Aemond leaves the quill and stands up, circling until he’s close to her. “Your family is fine.” He tells her, lingering behind her. “Daeron spoke to your brother this morning.”
She keeps nodding, keeping her gaze down on the table, all scattered with maps and little dragon-shaped tokens, some black, some green. She frowns, letting warfare soothe her petty spirits. “What is this?”
“Our next move. A defense plan…which happens to be an attack plan too.”
“A pincher?”
She turns just in time to see the little surprise on his face. “My brother talked of nothing else when we were children. He slept with warfare books as pillows.”
“Hmm.” He muses, and takes a step closer, slipping his arm around her waist and resting his chin on her collarbone. “Show me.”
She shudders at his sudden proximity, at his breath blowing on her neck. She shudders at anything these days. A hand on her back, his legs fumbling beneath the covers and casually brushing against hers. She’s tight as a fiddle string.
“A pincher is nothing else but a decoy.” She explains. “You let your enemy believe they have you trapped…” and in saying this, she grabs his hand and moves it across the map. “And then…at the right moment…” she makes him hold a green token between his fingers and brings it near a little division of black ones “you strike on both flanks.” And with a swift flick of her wrist, his hand scatters all the black tokens across the table. To do so, she must lean over the table, accidentally brushing her lower back against his bulge. He’s not hard, yet, but it thrills her to feel the lightning quick effect she has on him.
“Hmm. Good. Very good.” He praises next to her ear as she withdraws her hand; his voice is so low it makes her spine shiver. But she keeps herself grounded and asks “When will this happen?”
“Soon.” he whispers, placing his hand flat on her stomach. “There’s another Small Council shortly but Aegon wanted to be present. They went to fetch him.”
“Well, then I shall retire to my chambers. I feel a bit lightheaded from all the thinking.”
He ignores her jab and keeps her still by the arm when she tries to move. There’s a little sly smirk pulling at his lips. “I have some time to spare.”
“And how do you propose we spend it?”
“Enough with your pantomimes. I can feel your legs squirming.”
Curse him.
He slips the other hand straight into her corset, cupping her breast and humming with delight at how full she is, how it fills his large hand entirely. “Are you wet for me, my love?”
His teeth sink down her lobe, and at the same time, he pinches her nipple between his thumb and index, forcing an indecorous whine out of her. “My, my…” he laughs darkly, torturing her sensitive skin until he feels something wet on his fingertips, probably milk. “I could make you come just by doing this.”
Powerless, she yields, leaning completely against him, rubbing her lower back for some friction. “What if someone enters?”
“We’ll make it quick.”
“But I don’t want it to be quick.” She pants, grabbing his hand on her breast and squeezing; the other crawls behind her back to try to feel him through his breeches.
Hissing, when she starts to palm him, he says “Then we let them watch. They get to see how pretty you look when you come on my fingers, or my cock. Which should it be?”
“Both. Anything.” She answers hastily, pulling at his collar to bring him close enough to kiss him. He hums contentedly when she does, twirling his tongue around hers. It soon gets messy, each of them fighting for dominance, winning and losing in turn, until he spins her around, so he can look at her and with both his hands, he seizes her gowns and pulls up, furiously rummaging through them.
“How many fucking layers have you on?”
“I’m not pregnant anymore.” she points out, unbuckling his belt.
“Pity. Perhaps I should fuck another one into you to keep you in your skimpy robes.”
“Don’t you dare, Aemond—”
“Gods be good, brother! That eager to make another one?”
They both startle like little children caught doing something naughty, turning their heads towards the door, where two servants are carrying King Aegon on a chair. Aemond sighs annoyingly, letting go of her gowns as she does with his belt, trying to compose herself.
“My King.” She says, greeting her good brother with a tight little smile.
Aegon’s appearance has improved since Rook’s Rest, just as the burnings, but he carries with him the smell of Milk of the Poppy and rotting skin everywhere he goes.
“Good-sister. What are you doing here? Apart from being ravished by my brother... should you not be breastfeeding?”
Aemond gives him a level stare and then looks at her, hoping she will not take the bait. Aegon and his wife never got along well, to say the least. Things had only escalated with time, to the point that whenever they found themselves in the same room, one of them would wisely leave, his wife most of the times, lest they start to hiss at each other like two cats fighting for territory.
“What if I intend to stay and attend the council?”
Aegon giggles, as the servants put down the chair, and after a quick glance below her neck he says “I’m afraid you would be a little distracting. And my brother is not one for sharing.”
Before she can ask what in the Seven he is blabbing about, Aemond takes her arm and makes her turn, shielding her from his brother and the Lords coming through the door.
“You should retire.” He curtly says.
“Are you taking his side again?” she asks, wriggling her arm to free herself from his hold.
“You’re leaking.” He informs her, flatly.
At that, she frowns and dips her chin down, watching the front of her dress practically soaked in milk. “Oh.”
“I shall join you when I’m done here.” He tells her, and lets her out through the side doors.
Aemond did not join her.
The council lasted until the evening, a recurring thing when Aegon attended. Aemond was stern and concise in his decisions. Aegon liked to laze around, enjoying the wine in his cup, rattling his younger brother’s nerves. Deep down, she was convinced that Aegon did not really want to attend the Council because really interested in what to do, but only to remind his brother that he was still breathing and that the Conqueror's Crown on Aemond's head was a temporary measure.
But it didn’t matter. She would join him for the banquet in honor of Prince Daeron.
She was thrilled to go. It was not a proper feast. Since Helaena had fallen into grief, the atmosphere within the walls of the Keep had become rather austere. But a banquet still meant an occasion for conviviality, and after weeks and weeks spent locked up within four walls, the Princess was eager to spend some time outside her chambers. She had felt like a terrible mother at the mere thought. She loved Aenar, how could she not? But she also loved herself, her family, her marriage, Aemond. Especially Aemond.
Once she had put the baby to sleep, she had ordered her maid to prepare one of her favorite dresses, a green one, and to tie her hair in an elegant braided bun. When she had looked in the mirror, she had almost grunted. The scarce and troubled hours of sleep were all evident in the dark circles under her eyes, but it was nothing a little egg-white couldn't temper.
When she arrived at the banquet, Aemond was already there, standing in his usual soldierly stance, intent on talking to his mother. She approached them from the side, Aemond's blind side precisely, so that when she announced herself, he had to turn his shoulder to look at her. He cast a glance at her hair, ran his eye over her entire figure. She wasn’t expecting any kind of sappy words, and certainly not in front of his mother, nor did she desire them. She could feast on that look alone.
Queen Alicent excused herself to give order about the banquet, and they were left alone, while some musicians gathered in a corner of the hall.
“You said you would join me. I thought they abducted you.”
“More or less.”
“Ah. Yes, I'm sure it must have been so hard for you to listen to the lords snapping like little soldiers at your command.”
“It pains me to acknowledge how little you know me, when you think I'd rather talk war with those wimps who can't even hold a sword than fuck my wife till dawn.”
“That was your plan?”
“We have some unfinished business, don’t we? And don’t play dumb. You’re wearing green. You’re not as subtle as you think you are either.”
“Good. I’m sick of subtleties. So, are you going to ask me to dance?”
Aemond rolled his eye and gave her a stare that told her he’d preferred to walk barefoot on lava.
“Still not fond of dancing, eh?”
Prince Daeron suddenly appeared between them, with his cheerful manner and his head of silver curls, dressed in dark green just like his older brother. “Strange. You were the only one listening to the lessons when we were children.”
“Yes, because you and Aegon acted as court jesters the whole time.”
“I’ll have you know, brother, I have refined my dancing skills in Oldtown. So…may I dance with my good sister?”
Aemond gave him a simple nod, and Daeron bowed to her gallantly, raising his palm up.
She kindly accepted the invitation and placed her hand on his. “Don’t sulk too much.” She whispered to her husband before following his brother.
Aemond watched closely as they started to dance, stealing all the attention, and despite that little primitive tug at the sight of his woman dancing with another man, even though that was his brother and there was absolutely nothing malicious in his or her intentions, he was glad to see her like this, spinning and twisting around instead of lying still in the cold with dread eating her alive.
When the dance ended, Daeron escorted the Princess back to Aemond and took his leave. “Remind me again,” she asked as she watched the young Prince leave “How is it that your brother is still unmarried?”
Aemond sighed deeply and took her arm to escort her to the table. “I’d give you one week before you’d get bored of him.”
While they waited for dinner, the lords and ladies of the court were obviously very eager to hear Prince Daeron. Alicent in the first place, after so much despair, and after being separated from her youngest son for years, seemed to smile with her eyes every time she heard him speak.
“Hear, hear!” one of the lords cheered after listening to Prince Daeron’s retelling of the Battle of the Honeywine. “A brave soldier and a brave dragon rider! I propose a toast.”
At once, everybody stood up, raising their glasses. “To Prince Daeron, to House Targaryen!”
“And to House Hightower.” The Prince proudly stated, raising his glass towards his mother.
As they sat back, the Queen ordered the servants to serve the dinner. The table was gradually filled with a great variety of dishes, many of them Prince Daeron's favourites, specifically ordered by his mother to make him feel at home. It had been weeks and weeks since such a banquet had been seen at King's Landing. Prince Daeron seemed very pleased and grateful, as did all those present who watched the rich dishes crowd the table, and lastly, the huge tray of fresh fruit that a servant laid in the middle.
“I can’t quite believe my eyes. Blackberries? This far in the season?” said Lady Bracken.
“I’m afraid that is entirely my fault.” The Princess chirped, catching Aemond’s attention from across the table.
“I had a sudden craving, while I was carrying Aenar.”
“I had one too with my first.” Lady Redwyne joined in. “Plums, specifically.”
“Did you find them agreeable, Princess?”
“Oh, very much indeed.” She stated, casting an innocent glance around, but lingering for just a moment longer on her husband. “I devoured so many…I still feel the taste on my tongue.”
Devious woman, he thought, fighting back his cursed smirk. He had half a mind to excuse themselves and retire to their chambers, if he managed to endure it all the way and not take her in the middle of a hallway.
She seemed able to read his mind, judging by the way she was looking at him, unfurling a napkin on her lap. He knew her well enough to foresee when she was in a teasing spirit, and he was all in for it.
But then, just when they were about to start eating, her trusted maid came in, going straight to the Princess. “Apologies your Grace.” she said to her ear “but the Princeling is awake.”
Aemond saw the concern instantly widening her eyes and then a shadow passing over her face. “Yes…” she said, and stood up talking to all the present. “My apologies. I must retire.”
“See?” said Lady Bracken as Aemond watched his wife leave the hall. “This is why I refused to breastfeed. No matter how my second would scream…”
By the time she had done breastfeeding, her chest hurt so much that the maid had to place some rags soaked in cold water directly on her nipples; the instant relief had made the Princess close her eyes and almost moan. She had planned to go back to the banquet as soon as Aenar had had his fill but as she gained relief by pressing those wet rags to her breasts, she realised her son wouldn’t let her get away that easily.
As soon as the maid had taken him, trying to put him to sleep, he had begun to fuss and wriggle, whining in what she knew would soon turn into a high-pitched, deaf inducing crying.
Perhaps he’s cursed too. She had thought exhaustingly, promptly kissing his silver little head.
She gave up on her plan to go back to the banquet and rocked the baby herself, pacing before the windows while whispering sweet soothing words.
As soon as he had dozed off, she put him in his crib and absent-mindedly grabbed a book from Aemond's desk, lazily leafing through it while rocking the cradle with the other hand.
Aemond finds her like this when he opens the door on his way back from the banquet. She looks up from the page and sees him striding purposefully towards her, snatching the little book in her hands and throwing it on the bed.
She’s shocked, to say the least. One might say he treats books far better than his subjects.
“What—“ she tries to say but he takes her hand and pulls, forcing her to stand up and follow his steady gait.
“Aemond?” she asks down the corridor, a girlish grin climbing on her lips. “Where are you taking me?”
He doesn’t bother to answer but she doesn’t have to wait long to find out. They stop before a door down the corridor opposite to their chambers, Aemond pushes her inside without so much grace and shuts the door behind them.
She looks around briefly; the room is warm, the fire in the hearth is lit, as the candles scattered all around. This is all familiar. “These are my old chambers…” she says with a little frown, turning to him.
“Quite the observer, wife.” He drawls, and takes a few steps. His stride is different now. Slow, contemplating, as his gaze raking over her, as if he in the first place doesn’t know why he brought her here and he’s assessing what to do. A war map, and he knows where all the faults lie.
“I thought we could spend some time together” he starts, walking past her to go sit near the fire “Alone.” he adds once he leisurely sits down, crossing his long legs and resting his hands on the armrests. “What better place than a vacant room? No one will come looking for us here.”
She tries as hard as she can to stop the little smirk at the corner of her lips; she walks closer, stopping right in front of him, staring down. “They might hear.”
“Hmm. And that is much of a trouble for you, isn’t it?” he asks with the most fake genuine tone, taking a cup from the nearby table, and then “You sucked my cock on a terrace and begged me to fuck you in the Small Council…I thought I told you to quit your act.”
She smiles openly now, watching the wine pouring in the cup, his eye fixed on the liquid as his eyebrow shots up. “Besides, I know exactly what to do to muffle your noises.”
“You should be proud of my noises.”
“I am.” He says, taking a sip of wine, his eye piercing through her above the cup’s brim. “But for once, Aegon is right. I’m not one for sharing.”
His arm moves to put the wine aside but she takes it, only to feel his hand pulling the cup away from her. “You cannot drink.”
“Fine.” She concedes, leaning on him. “I’ll have it my way.”
She holds his face and with her left hand she glides her fingers on the left side of his face, delicately but with purpose, pushing the eyepatch off. And then she kisses him, eagerly, licking his lips and then breaching inside to taste the wine on his tongue, on the roof of his mouth.
She sighs deeply when he locks his tongue with hers, and feels his lips curling.
“Did you hear it?” He says breaking the kiss, breathing into her mouth. “That one is my favorite.”
“Your favorite what?” She asks mindlessly, chasing his lips but to no use, because he tilts his head back, his cursed smirk ghosting.
“Noise. It’s a little thing…” he tells her, locking one hand around her neck “in the back of your throat, close to a sigh but not quite…” his fingers trails against her throat, chasing her swallowing “It tells me you’re dying to.”
“To do what?”
“Fall on your knees for me. Be a supplicant.”
She grabs the back of his neck, driving his head close and looks down at his arched mouth “You cannot live without God, can you?” She looks up, her mouth open to breathe “Seven of them seem to have cursed me. I had to find my own.”
His eye widens at that. He looks straight into her eyes, so devoted, so raw. She’s right. The Gods would curse her some more if they saw she looks at him the way she should look at the Gods.
“Then do it.”
“What?”
“Flatteries don’t work on me, sweetling. You should know that.” With his hand on her neck, he slightly pushes her away, making some distance between them. “You will have to show me.”
“What would you have me do?”
His hands let go of her completely, resting on the armchair. The gemstone glints blue, and yet it’s nowhere near the bright cursed thing in his eye. “Get on your knees for me. Now.”
She should be ashamed of the pull in her bones, the muscles willing to move on their own accord and fall to the ground. But why, why does it have to be sin? Why can it not be religion?
When her knees hit the ground, she sees his chest rise, his long fingers spreading flat on the armchair. But her eyes fly back to his face as soon as he speaks, as soon as he commands. “Take off your dress.”
His eye sinks down, watching her hands work the corset, steadily. It’s the only sound in the room, this tugging, at the dress. But she tugs at his cock too. She tugs between her own legs.
When the dress is nothing but a pool of green on the ground, she goes to pull down her white chemise, but she suddenly stops. Aemond uncrosses his legs and the air hitches in her throat as his hands go straight to his belt, unbuckling it.
He revels in the little lump in her throat. Perhaps later he will let her have what she’s craving, but not so soon. “Give me your wrists.”
“My—”
“Don’t make me say it again.”
Swallowing, she keeps her eyes on him and raises her hands, like an offering. Aemond takes off his belt and leans forward, enough to take her hands and cross her wrists. She shudders at the sharp tug when he wraps the leather around, tying them tight.
“On your feet.”
And up she goes, testing her hands briefly but finding soon that she cannot move them, at all.
“Come.”
It takes one swift movement of his leg, bending the knee while the other rests loosely on the ground, for her to get the gist and walk closer, sitting on his knee, sideways.
“No. Like this.” Quite harshly, he grabs her hips and turns her so that she’s straddling his thigh. He can hear her little gasp when he pushes his thigh firmly against her core. He can feel her warmth through the fabric, stirring his cock. But he pays it no mind, for now.
“What now?” She asks, poised precariously on his thigh.
Aemond tilts his head, and he just looks at her. In the spur of a moment, a boyish one that doesn’t sit well with how he’s built, he thinks he might be quite contented by merely looking at her. Because she’s beautiful and mine, mine, mine.
But his hands are burning, they might fray and wither if he doesn’t touch her. He unties her hair, running his fingers through them as they fall around her shoulders. The Maiden. The Mother. And yet something better, something worse. Because her eyes are hungry, her mouth is starving for air, for his flesh.
“You must toil to find God.” He says, and then he grins. A savage thing, full of promise. “Bring yourself to come.”
A flash of thrill lights up her face, darkens her eyes and Aemond tilts his head again, biding all the time in the world, for he knows she will.
Tentatively, she pushes her body down, against his thigh, feeling a timid shot of pleasure traveling up from her core, ending in a short, labored breath.
That noise, that might be his second favorite.
Soon, her hips start to move back and forth, each time trying to push herself down as hard as she can, making little breathless cries each time she fails to give herself the friction she needs. She has little balance due to her tied wrists, so she rests her palms on his chest to gain some leverage. And that seems to do the trick.
She tilts her head back, moving faster, doing little jumps on his thigh, panting harshly as sweat lumps on her forehead and pleasure coils in her belly.
Aemond hikes up her chemise, watches her cunt brushing back and forth against his leg, leaving a trail of wetness on the fabric of his breeches. He has to choke down a growl. “Gods, you’re soaking me…”
She looks down at him, her cheeks pink, her lips open in a little o. He can’t help himself. He sticks two fingers inside and how relishing it is that she waits for no invitation or order. She laps, twirls her tongue around his fingertips, sucks them.
“Look at you…” he croons, taking his fingers out, leaving a trail of saliva down her chin. “But you can’t, can you? Perhaps I should fuck you before a mirror, so you see. You see how pretty you are when you’re desperate for me.”
His hand travels down her neck, tossing her hair back and then grasping the strap of her chemise, pulling it down, revealing her swollen, turgid breast. He leans forward immediately, cupping it in his hand, and takes the nipple into his mouth, crooning contentedly and then some more when he feels her wince and cry out loud.
Her tied wrists writhe in their merciless hold and he stops her, gripping both her hands with one of his own, keeping her still, lapping and sucking at her nipple until he feels something wet and saccharine on his tongue, humming all the better. He grazes his teeth over the sensitive bud, and she cries out again, bucking violently against him, turning sloppy and frenzy as she feels the fall close.
He feels it too, feels her thighs trembling around him, and that’s when he takes her hips in a tight hold and forces her to stop altogether.
“Did you think I would make it so easy?” he asks spitefully, seeing her dazed expression. Wasting no time, he holds her firmly close to him and stands up. It takes him only two of his long steps to reach the bed and place her above. In a moment of illusive freedom, her tied wrists fly to his breeches, to his evident hardness, but he’s quick to stop her, bringing her arms above her head, keeping them there with a firm hold. “Stay still.”
“Aemond—“ she pleads.
“Hush. Spread your legs.”
She obliges, eager for him to do something, anything to stop the aching. Aemond wets his fingers on his tongue and brings them down, breaching inside her with two of them, watching her gasp, arch her back and twist her wrists in his hold, uselessly. “Easy…” he cruelly laughs “I have just started.”
But she hasn’t. She’s a few steps away from the precipice of her previous denied peak, it would take him so little to push her over the edge. Instead, his torture is so slow that the whole coiling in her belly falls apart and she must climb her peak again.
His two fingers slip in and out ever so easily, their wet sounds echoing through the room, mixed with her panted breaths and his own. He aches for her to touch him, he aches so much that his cock is pulsing, painfully, but this is just too thrilling. Now he knows exactly how she felt in Harrenhal, when she had him chained up to a chaise.
Her hips rock frantically against his hand, trying to speed him, to get there faster. Mumbling nonsense, her legs tense like iron, her cunt clenches and sucks his fingers in like a vice. “Yes…yes, please…Aemond…please don’t stop—‘m so close…”
And just like that, he slips his fingers out; a dark pleasure dances on his candle-lit features as she writhes and whines for the loss of his fingers, swinging her lower back and forth, desperate for the barest friction that would end her misery.
“Aemond, please…” she says, and even with only one eye, he can’t mistake the tears of frustration at the corners of her eyes.
“What, my love?”
“Plea—” she’s cut off by his hand, pushing his sticky fingers inside to make her clean up her mess.
“We said enough with subtleties, did we not? Speak. Tell me…what you need me to do?”
“Let me come please…please…”
At that, he finally lets her wrists go, and she almost winces in pain, for the time she had them tensed above her head. He stalls for a moment, unsure, running his eye over her whole body, sweating and feverish, and so beautifully plump because of motherhood. He unbuttons his doublet, and then his shirt, his breeches. He bares himself completely, catching her eyes following his deft hands everywhere, breathing heavily.
He kneels between her legs, spreading them. And it’s embarrassing, really, the way she tumbles as soon as he puts his tongue flat against her drenched folds. If only she cared.
It takes only a couple of twirls of his tongue around her lips, and she comes undone, shaking all over, canting her slit against his face. He helps her ride out her climax, by not stopping at all. Instead, he doubles his efforts like a man possessed, pushing his mouth open against her cunt as if he wished to devour it, sucking harshly until she whimpers hard, choking on a loud sob. “Aemond—wait—I can’t—”
She cannot take more so soon. But he’s utterly deaf to her complaints.
He feasts on her, lapping and dipping his tongue in, parting her folds to go as deep as he can, humming while drinking all of her; his voice reverberates through her flesh, it makes her bones rattle.
His long nose rubs against her bud and he looks up: she trashes about the sheets, cutting herself as the belt leather scratches her skin. She tries to push him away with her tied wrists, to no use. She clamps her legs around his head, in a desperate attempt to chase him away, sobbing for the unbearable stimulation. And yet…and yet her hips move on their own whim, bucking with sharp jolts until the wave starts to rise, higher and higher, and she drowns in it, letting go a high-pitched cry, clutching his scalp with both her tied hands, scraping, pushing him against her as she rides her peak against his face.
He swallows everything, licking her clean, moaning softly at feeling her pulsing on his tongue.
“Enough…I—Aemond you have to stop…” she rasps breathlessly.
“Why?” he asks, finally rising from where he had perched himself; he climbs on her, until he speaks to her face. “I am only making up to you. Wasn’t that what you wanted?”
She can smell herself on him, she can see herself, glistening on his mouth, chin, even his cheekbones.
“Answer me.” His hand grips her jaw “You said you wanted everything.”
She chokes down a whimper when he leans completely on her, feeling his cock against her cooling flesh, while he’s hot and hard and heavy.
“I will give you more.” He says, brushing a strand of her sweat-soaked hair from her temple. “I will give you another child. Keep you all aching and wet for me while you swell with my child. Do you think I don’t know? How you ached for me? D’you think I didn’t?” he presses himself down, so she can feel it thoroughly, furrowing her brow as her body already answers to his call.
“I can feel you in our bed…” he keeps rasping “rubbing your legs together. And you know how much that bothers me. Your pleasure is mine to take…and to give.”
Her lips part, gasping roughly. She was so hung on his lips that she hadn’t even registered that he had taken hold of himself, bending her knee on his left hip, and guided himself in.
She arches against him while he slowly sheathes himself all the way in, moaning with long-awaited relief. He stays still for a moment, adjusting, but also because he takes her wrists and sets her hands free.
Thrilling as it was, he wants her hands on him, he craves her touch.
He wants her to cling to his shoulders as she always does, digging her nails down.
He wants her to clamp her fingers on the back of his neck, scraping and pulling his hair to keep him close enough to moan into his mouth.
He wants her hands on his back, sliding down, to push him even deeper while rutting inside her.
Synopsis: With just a smile, you had managed to bewitch and enthrall the stoic and cold prince.
Warnings: Sunshine x Grumpy Trope, ¿Softer Aemond?, ¿Simp Aemond?, Jealousy, Mature, 18+, Fingering, P in V Sex, Oral Sex (f receiving), Overstimulation, Not Proof Read
Word Count: 7,287
A/N: Really milking softer Aemond bc I'm pretty sure I'm going to take a break from him once s2 is released.
He’s broken beyond repair. Too far gone to be saved. Aemond knew fully well that is how the others see him. The boy who had his eye taken was never the same. Darkness was his only solace, the walls too far up that no one dared to scale it and reach the true him— simply taking the dark and villainous scrap of his true self that he was willing to give. All seemed to give up on him— simply let him drown in his darkness, except you.
Like all things good, you came unexpectedly. You were a mere visitor from Highgarden, a noble lady who came with your lord father as he tended to business in the capitol. Aemond could never understand how you looked at everything and everyone with rose-colored glasses, but he supposed he should be grateful because if that trusting naivety in you were lost, your light would never come close to his looming darkness.
“Who is that?” Aemond asked his family’s most trusted knight, Ser Criston Cole. Your figure caught his attention; it was as if you were floating along the gardens of his home. A small smile on your face and flowers adorned in your hair. He stood near the balcony, discussing important business with the knight, when his train of thought was lost and captured by your mere presence. “Lady Tyrell, her father has business here with the crown,” the knight said absentmindedly. Aemond nodded and took one last glance at you before walking away.
The thought of you was quickly forgotten by the prince. He saw your presence as just another to add to the list of nobles at court who cowered upon his stature. However, you lingered in the back of his mind as he often saw glimpses of you walking through the halls of his home. Aemond stood in the gardens once more, this time waiting for his sister and her children when he caught your eyes. He waited for fear and apprehension to present themself in your orbs, the same reactions he would elicit from everyone. However, the prince was taken aback as you smiled at him. A small, respectable smile before you stole your eyes and continued to your promenading.
Aemond blinked his eye rapidly, trying to discern if he saw correctly or if it was a cruel trick made by his impaired vision. Aemond pursed his lips as he felt himself walk towards where you had passed. There was this odd pull about you— more than your beauty; if it was just that, a comely face was never one to put the prince in a trans. It was an ethereal element that beguiled Aemond quickly. He had not even spoken to you, yet you had already managed to put such an effect on him.
He watched from a distance as you bent down and assessed a flower, your fingers caressing the velvety petal and bringing it to your nose to discern the fragrance of it. Aemond felt that pull once more, his feet carrying him closer to you. When you stood straight, your brows raised in surprise as you had noticed you were no longer alone. “My prince,” You greeted with a curtsy, his silvery locks the warning sign that you spoke to royalty. Aemond was rendered silent, his mind already spinning at the sound of your voice. What was this? He could not explain what had overcome him. You bit your lip as no greeting left the prince’s lips, him only staring at you with an unreadable expression on his angular face. “Are… are you well, my prince?” You asked, daring to step closer and take hold of his arm to examine if he was truly well.
You watched as his lips parted and closed, no sound leaving it. “Perhaps you should find some shade; the heat may be too unbearable,” You say quietly and never take your hold off his arm, guiding him towards the shade of a willow tree in concern. Aemond was screaming at himself on the inside, hating that he was making a fool of himself, that he couldn’t even speak, simply letting you guide him towards the shade and making him sit on a bench. Your concern for his well-being consumes your face and his being. “Do you wish for refreshment, perhaps w—“ Aemond shook his head as he finally regained his senses.
You chewed on your cheek as the prince stood. “I am fine; I apologize for the— the intrusion, Lady Tyrell,” He said stoically, and you shook your head and smiled at him. “No need for apologies, my prince; no intrusion was made. But are you certain that you are well… you look a bit pale, my prince.” You say and quickly regret it as your mind reminds you that maybe that was just his true complexion. You swallowed thickly as you saw him pursed his lips, fearing that you had offended the prince. Aemond did not know how to take this concern— this kindness that he was never the receiver of. “I am quite well; good day, my lady.” He walked away in haste as he feared that if he stayed longer in your presence, he would make a further fool of himself. You stood there in confusion; your lips parted as the prince almost ran from you.
The thought of you haunted Aemond until the night, his arm still tingling from where you had placed your touch. He replayed the scene in his mind over and over again, trying to convince himself that your concern was fictitious— that it was a ploy to be in the good graces of the prince. But as he recalled the way your eyes bore into his, nothing but sincerity was evident in your orbs. How are you this kind? To a stranger, no less. Aemond was restless as he lay in his bed; his mind kept conjuring your interaction in the gardens, refusing him any other thought than you.
When morning came, Aemond had made great lengths to avoid you, silently embraced as he had made a fool of himself in the gardens. As his training ended, Aemond tried to find reprieve from the loud keep in the library. Aemond believed he was successful in his avoidance of you, but as he stood by the threshold of the silent room, he saw, as you were seated in one of the chairs, a book in your hand as you silently read. His presence was still not noticed. He could easily slip away and be successful in his avoidance of you, yet, just like the other days, his body could not help but be pulled towards you.
When you noticed a presence standing before where you sat, you flickered your gaze upward and locked eyes with the prince once more. “Prince Aemond,” You acknowledge and move to stand to greet him, but he silently raises his hand and hinders your actions. You copied his silence as he took the seat across from you. You traveled your gaze through the library, uncertain what to say or do. “I hope you are feeling better,” You say quietly. Aemond licked his lips as he was subjected to your dazzling presence once more; even though he had willed himself to avoid it, it seemed you were inevitable.
“I am; I was simply tired,” He said, making certain to place coldness in his tone, hoping it would deter you and no longer present him with your kindness he stubbornly took as deception. Aemond felt his breath catch as you gave him another smile. A relieved smile for his well-being that was so genuine that he could not stubbornly convince himself that it was not.
You stayed silent as you felt that that was what the prince preferred. You tried to return to your reading, but his velvety voice sounded through the room. “What business did you have here?” He asked. Aemond was testing you, presenting you with his cold and calloused self to see if it would have any effect on you just like it did the other. He watched calculatingly as your lips parted, and he found trouble to remove his gaze from your plush lips. “If I am being honest, I am not quite certain, my prince.” You said truthfully. You watched him raise his brow at you to explain further. “My father has business he needed to tend to here, but he had not disclosed to me the reason for it or why I needed to join.” Aemond nodded and watched as your eyes were never removed from his gaze, surprised that you could hold onto his intensified stare.
“So you have no purpose here?” He asked harshly. He expected a frown or a look of offense on your face, but he watched as you smiled as if you were amused and shrugged, “I suppose not.” Aemond stayed silent and continued to asses you as you returned to your reading.
“Do you like philosophy, Prince Aemond?” You asked after a stretch of silence, unable to bear the eerie and suffocating quiet. Aemond took a moment before he answered your query that no one had been interested in asking him before. “I do,” Another small smile appeared on your lips as you nodded. “Then have you perhaps read this? I have been mulling over the proposition of the archmaester for days now, but I cannot seem to comprehend it fully,” You say and turn the book you read towards him. Your fingers brushed as the prince took the book from your hands, and you could not hinder the chill that ran down your spine as you felt his cold, calloused fingers against yours.
You listened earnestly as the prince began to speak and explain the proposition you had trouble comprehending, going to great lengths to explain his thoughts on it, assisting and receiving any questions you had. Aemond paused in his explanation, feeling as if his mouth had gone dry by his prolonged speaking. He turned to the window and saw as the once high sun began to set; he returned his gaze to you, your chin resting on your palm as you had listened to his every word, clinging onto every syllable he had uttered. Aemond gulped as he realized his mistake. He had revealed too much of him; too much of his thinking was poured out in his explanation of philosophy. “I must take my leave,” he suddenly said, disregarding that he was in the middle of explaining another philosophical theory that was different from the first you had inquired about.
“Oh,” You said and straightened in your seat. Aemond wanted to frown as he detected disappointment in your tone and eyes. That cannot be, can it? Why would anyone be disappointed in his departure? “Good day, my prince,” You curtsied as you stood, not wanting to take more of his time. Aemond began to walk away, cursing himself for his actions, but he halted by the door as you spoke. “Thank you for your explanations… they were quite enlightening,” You said, and Aemond turned to you; the smile returned to your lips as you looked at him gratefully. Were you truly thankful? Thankful for him? Was that even a possibility? Aemond gave a curt nod and willed himself to walk away from you.
You were in the gardens once again. You were terribly homesick, and the gardens of the Red Keep were the only resemblance of your home that you could cling to. You were walking distractedly, a buzzing bee following you around as the flowers in your hair attracted the insect. You tried to squat it away, afraid to get stung when you accidentally missed a step, losing your balance, and were met with the cobbled floor of the gardens. Your jaw slacked in pain, and you tried to stand, your cheeks burning in embarrassment that someone may have seen your ungraceful fall. There was a stone by your side, and you tried to hoist yourself upon it, hissing as you accidentally placed pressure on your swollen ankle, but you were determined to stand and walk back to the keep to ask for assistance.
Unbeknownst to you, Prince Aemond had been observing you from above the gardens, and the moment he saw the sight of you falling, he made hastened steps to reach you. “My lady,” He called, trying to hide his panting, and approached you as if he had only stumbled upon your presence. You sat before a rock, and he noticed you hiding your injured limb from his view, “My prince,” Aemond watched in slight awe as you still tried to stand and curtsied before him, still holding onto formalities even though you were clearly hurt.
“Are you well?” This time, it was now Aemond to ask the question. You placed a tight smile on your lips, pretending that your injury was not at all bothering you. “I am fine, and you, my prince?” You asked, trying to speak of pleasantries. You shifted your weight on your uninjured leg and, for once, hoped that the prince would leave. “Are… are you certain?” Aemond inquired, wondering why you would pretend. “Y-yes,” You stuttered, and Aemond narrowed his eye.
You sighed and placed your head on the ground. “I… I tripped, and I think my ankle is injured— but I do not wish to bother you, my prince. I can wait for the swelling to subside.” Aemond frowned at your words. How were you so concerned about his well-being but not your own? Aemond shook his head and stepped closer to you, silently scooping you in his arms. “Wh— My prince!” You said in shock as you were stiffly settled into the hold of Prince Aemond. Your arms circled around his neck to stabilize yourself. “You don’t— I could have just waited for a squire or maid to assist me,” You said in a slight panic and could not even bear to look at the prince in embarrassment. “You are clearly in pain,” Was all he said as he carried you back inside the castle walls, the both of you earning strange glances from the members of the court.
Aemond returned you to your assigned chambers, trying to ignore the erratic beating of his still heart and the tingles on his skin from where he felt your touch. He placed you gently onto a settee, inhaling a whiff of your scent, and he felt intoxicated. He placed a respectable distance between you as the both of you waited for the maester he ordered a squire to fetch. Your gaze was still planted on the floor, and Aemond noticed the flush on your cheeks and the harsh bit you had on your lip, embarrassment clearly evident in you.
“I did not wish to bother you, my prince.” You say quietly, your tone heavy with guilt. Aemond could only hum a response, clueless as to why you were apologizing. The maester finally arrived, and Aemond stood by the side as he oversaw the maester, tending your injury. You tried to keep your pained reactions to a minimum as you felt conscious of the prince’s presence, but you could not help but hiss in pain, and your face contorted in discomfort as the Maester tried to move your injury. Aemond swallowed thickly as he himself was overcome with a phantom pain by the mere observation of yours.
“Will it heal, maester?” He asked in concern, stepping forward. “Yes, my prince, it is only a swollen ankle; it shall heal by the morrow,” The old man spoke and stood, placing a cold, damp towel upon your injury, and you reached forward to secure its place. Aemond gave a nod, and his eye followed the maester who exited your chambers, leaving the door open. Aemond returned his gaze to you, your eyes finally meeting his, and he once again felt his breath caught in his throat as you smiled at him.
“Thank you for your assistance and kindness, my prince,” You say gratefully, and Aemond felt his knees weak. No one had ever called him kind before. As always, you were met with his silence, but you dared say you were getting used to it. After a few moments of Aemond trying to comprehend your words, he gave a curt nod. “I shall leave you to rest; good day, my lady.” He said and willed himself to walk away from your presence he did not wish to leave.
Another day had passed, and Aemond had not seen a glimpse of your presence he had been trying to avoid just the day before. He had the urge to knock upon your door and to see how you were faring with your recovery, but he placed great restraint on himself as his mind deemed it inappropriate. So he waited another day. He stood by the gardens, his eye assessing every passerby as he waited for you. He had been stood by the balcony like a statue for the better part of the morning, but your presence had not been noted.
Aemond decided to walk around the castle, passing along every corridor in search of you and ready to act surprised as you two would eventually encounter once more. It was nearing sundown, and he had not seen a glimpse of you. Perhaps she is still resting. His mind told him, but Aemond was not entirely sold by that reasoning.
The prince attended his family’s supper in his mother’s chambers. He sat quietly in his seat and saw the aggravated and tired faces of his mother and grandsire as they came to the table late. “We apologize for our tardiness; the small council has been overburdened by a matter.” The queen explained as she took her seat. “What matter?” Aemond asked, always curious about the dealing made. “The crown cannot afford to pay the dues it owes to House Tyrell… it is too great a sum, and the lord has threatened to withhold back crops for the upcoming winter if we do not pay their price.” The hand spoke, and Aemond pursed his lips, knowing that the debt to your house had been since the time of the conqueror.
“Surely they could be reasoned with— they would not want to offend the rulers of Westeros,” Aemond said quietly and heard his mother sighed deeply. “Perhaps, but no meetings and negotiations can be made at the moment, for they had already left late last night.” Aemond’s hold on his fork tightened as he heard the words. You had gone without even a goodbye.
“I just do not know what we can offer to match their hefty sum,” the lord hand said and downed his wine. Aemond traveled his gaze around the table, his sibling not at all listening to the matter. “Offer me,” Aemond spoke, and he felt all eyes shift toward him. He turned to his mother, the queen’s lips agape in shock at his words. “The crown does not have money to pay our debt— then is it not a custom to offer marriage instead?” He asked rhetorically; the practice was made for centuries, but the price was usually paid with a princess, not a prince.
“Aemond, mere debts are not paid with a prince.” The queen said. “But it is not just a mere debt, now is it, mother? The Tyrells had as well placed a threat to the kingdom’s security over this winter— and the mere debt you speak of has been established since the age of the conqueror,” Aemond turned to his grandsire, who he knew would understand his proposition. The Hand pondered over his grandson’s words. “But you are set to marry the Baratheon girl,” Alicent countered, and Aemond scoffed.
“We owe nothing to the Baratheons, and do you not think that this matter looms greater?” He asked, “Lord Tyrell only has a daughter, does he not? In time, the seat shall pass onto me as well, alike with the arrangements with Lord Borros. And with this, the crown will no longer be indebted to their house,” Aemond said, determined to see you once more. “That is a most favorable solution,” The hand commented, quite content by his grandson’s proposition. The queen sighed and took a moment to think of the proposal. “Very well then,” she sighed, and Aemond hindered the smirk threatening to slip his lips.
“I shall draft the proposal tonight and send a messenger to Highgarden first thing tomorrow,” Otto said in finality. “No need, I shall offer the proposal myself in person,” Aemond said, and he saw apprehension in his mother’s eyes, disbelief by his decision, but none hindered him.
It was afternoon the following day when he had reached High Garden, Aemond riding atop his dragon through the morning, eager to reach his destination, you. “My prince,” Lord Tyrell greeted him by the gates of their castle. “What business is so urgent that the prince of the realm had to fly his dragon all over here to the reach?” They had not even reached inside the castle walls when Lord Tyrell could no longer hinder his curiosity.
“It is the matter of the crown’s debt,” Aemond replied, his eye scanning the halls in search of you. He heard your father reply with an ‘oh,’ clearly anticipating the conclusion of the matter. “Is the crown ready to pay us the price owed?” Aemond hummed as he passed a portrait of you hung on the wall of your home, his eye entranced by the picture. “In a way,” The prince danced upon the matter momentarily. “In lieu of a payment, the crown is prepared to offer a marriage,” Aemond stated and watched concussion flush over your father’s face.
“With respect, my prince, but that is an insulting offer. The crown has owed my house a great sum accumulated since the age of conquest!” Lord Tyrell seethed, and Aemond gritted his jaw. “I believe you are too hasty with your outburst, my lord. The crown is offering a union between me and your daughter— an opportunity for your only child to be a princess… your grandchildren having the Targaryen name.” Lord Tyrell shook his head, “My daughter is already bound to marry another— titles are one thing, my prince, but there is still a debt to be paid.” Aemond felt the fire in his veins awaken at your father’s words. You are to be bound to another; that cannot be. You cannot be anyone else’s when you had consumed his entire being— when you had presented him with such hope and kindness that he was certain he would find in no one else. You could never be not his.
Aemond licked his lips, certain that the words he would utter would be a gamble. “Very well then… a counteroffer, my lord. The crown cannot fully pay your price, so we offer a royal marriage and a fourth of the sum owed to you,” Aemond said, assessing the father's reaction as he mulled over the proposition. “I shall need time to reach a decision,” Lord Tyrell finally spoke after a long pause. “Of course,” Aemond agreed. “For the meantime, you are welcome to the halls of High Garden, Your Highness.”
Aemond waited as your father disappeared from his view before he went on his search for you. He walked through the unfamiliar corridors and found himself being led outside towards the gardens where he wagered you would be. When he saw you seated by a fountain, a smirk curled on his lips. However, it was quick to fade as he had noticed you were not alone. Aemond made furious steps towards you to announce his presence.
You were conversing with another when you felt your skin tingling and the familiarity of a cold gaze upon you. You turned to your side, and your eyes widened as you saw the prince approaching. You blinked slowly, trying to discern if your mind was playing a cruel trick. But when the prince stood an arm’s length away from you, where you could see him clearly, you knew that it was not a trick. “My prince,” You say almost breathlessly, curtsying lowly before the son of the king.
“How… what brings you here, your highness?” You asked, disregarding the earlier presence you were with. “Business for the crown,” He replied, eyeing the man who stood beside you. You turned your eyes toward where the prince placed his gaze intensely. “Oh, my prince, this is Prince Martin Martell,” You introduced, and you felt Martin stepped forward and bowed. “Martell? Are you not a long way from Drone?” Aemond gritted as he let out his hand to shake the prince’s hand. He wanted to smirk as he saw the man’s tanned face twist into a wince before quickly masking it. “Yes, my prince, I come as a suitor for my lady,” He explained, and Aemond pursed his lips at his words.
You licked your lips as you suddenly felt the fresh air become tense, “Would anyone like some tea?” You suddenly interrupted the intense gazes of the two princes, walking in between them as you made your way toward a nearby table that had the afternoon’s refreshments. Aemond tapped his finger on the table, his eye shifting between you and your intended whilst you poured tea into everyone’s cup. “If I may ask, what business warrants your presence here, Prince Aemond?” Prince Martin inquired, and Aemond reluctantly shifted his attention from you, who was licking sugar from your fingers.
“A proposal for House Tyrell,” he said bluntly, swallowing thickly as your lips parted at the mention of your house. “What proposal, if I may ask,” Your turn to inquire. Aemond licked his lips and debated if he should give you the true manner of his visit. “A proposal for you, my lady, to be a princess of Westeros.” You feel dazed by his words, your body freezing in shock, and you seem to forget how to breathe.
Aemond looked at you expectantly, trying to search for any reaction in your eyes other than the pronounced shock. You were saved from his expectation of a reply when you heard your father calling for you. “I— excuse me, my princes,” You say in a haste and hurriedly went to your father’s call.
“What is happening— the prince just informed me of his proposal— in front of Prince Martell!” You panicked, recalling the scene to your father with wide eyes. You watched as your father paused his lips, an aggravated sigh leaving his nose. “Bold of him to inform you of such proposals when I had not even given him my reply.” You shook your head and warily turned to the gardens, where you saw two princes seated by a distance.
“Where did this proposal come from? I… I do not understand,” You whispered, recalling your days in the Red Keep; the moments with the prince that you tried to sell to yourself were meaningless to him. However, you supposed you sold yourself with a lie because those moments were enough for him to ask for your hand. Hope was dangerously blooming in your heart, emotions, and festering feelings you tried hard not to succumb to for the past days, now inevitable.
“The proposal comes because the crown cannot pay the debt due to us… instead, they are offering a marriage between you and the prince and a fourth of the sum owed,” The hope that was dangerously blooming and had rooted itself in your heart quickly wilted, willing yourself not to show disappointment on your face. “Oh,” Was all you could utter. “What is your decision then?” You asked quietly as your father guided you further into the walls of your home.
“Your courtship with Prince Martell has been settled for three years since your sixteenth name day, but no formal betrothals are in place, and we are in no obligation to the Martells,” Your father stated as you two walked along the corridors. “But Sunspear is a long way from here,” Your father added, “And though Kingslanding is closer, and if I were being honest, I would prefer you to be a princess of the whole of the seven kingdoms rather than just Dorne,” You twirled with your hair as you listening into your father’s musing. “But this marriage is just a way out of their hefty debt,” You nodded along and waited for your father to decide.
“So? Which one of them?” You asked as you needed an answer, your nerves growing unbearable. Your father took in a deep breath, “I shall leave that decision to you… it is you who shall marry one of them; the money is not truly that much of a concern— it was simply a bargaining tool for the crown to remember how indebted they were to us,” Your father explained, and your lips parted as you were given a daunting task.
“Can I speak with Prince Aemond for a moment? I… it is— I need to speak with him,” you say, and your father gives the nod, “I shall have him meet you in the drawing room,” You waited nervously for the prince, your mind running as to what to say to him. You stood when the prince entered the room, your lips parting, ready to speak something you were uncertain of, but Prince Aemond spoke first.
“I know this is quite abrupt,” Aemond spoke and dared to step close to you, trying not to grow distracted by your mere ethereal presence. “It is my prince,” You agreed. “Could I just ask why?” Aemond frowned at your words; it was quite a straightforward proposal. “The crown owes your house,” He said matter of factly, “I know, but we ask for coins or land but not a marriage,” Aemond licked his lips, “And I am aware that the marriage is a substitute. However, you would understand that no one would be that inclined to accept a proposal just because the one giving the proposal is in debt.”
“Is this a rejection?” Aemond took another step, closing most of the gap between you. He was aware that he was scowling severely, scarily even, but you did not seem to be frightened, a first for anyone he had encountered. “More of a question,” Aemond’s brows raised at your words. “Well, it’s clear that this proposal is just an obligation for you, and if I am being honest… I prefer someone who would not see a mere business dealing.”
“All marriages are business dealings,” You pursed your lips at the prince’s words. “I supposed they are… but not every marriage is just a business dealing.” Aemond licked his lips, and the both of you were enveloped in silence. “I guess what I’m saying is… I would not feel inclined to choose someone who proposes because it is their obligation,” You say slowly, surprised that you managed to come across your answer. If it were any other situation where the crown was not indebted to your house, you would accept the proposal eagerly, but your heart idealistic heart yearned for someone who wanted you truly and did not see you as a mere opportunity.
“My lady, I think you have gotten the wrong idea here,” You furrowed your brows as all were clear to you. The proposal was just an obligation… isn’t it? “No one forced me into this proposal; the queen could not find a solution. This marriage had not even crossed her mind— I…” Aemond passed as you waited on bated breath for his explanation. “I have offered the marriage not because of duty or a way for the crown to escape their debt but because… I— I want you. I want you to be my wife.”
You looked at him with clear apprehension, and Aemond actually believed that you would flash him your sweet smile— perhaps a blush on your cheeks as he had said words so unlike him. “You want me?” You asked incredulously, and Aemond nodded, boldly taking your hands into his. “But why? We barely know each other?” You asked. Frowning as your eyes go downwards toward your hands clasped with the prince’s cold ones. “Why?” Aemond asked in disbelief you would ask such a question? You nodded.
“Because I just do,” Aemond licked his lips as it would appear that that was the wrong answer, watching as you stole away your hand and your lips turned into an adorable pout he was very much tempted to kiss. “I— Because you are pretty, overly pretty,” Aemond spoke and hoped that would sway your mind, but that seemed even to offend you. “And because you are knowledgeable, I have never met anyone who had the same philosophical interests as me,” Aemond quickly added, and he wanted to smile as that lessened your frown.
“And most of all, because you are kind. You are… you are not one to judge— you came to Kingslanding without any criticism or fear of me. You actually saw me as an actual person and not…” Aemond trailed as he felt a sense of relief as he said the words he thought none could ever compel him to do so. “Not like a weapon?” You almost laughed as you often heard others allude to him as such. Aemond nodded and took your hands into his once more.
“You want me because I was kind and took an interest in you?” You asked, making certain that was his reasoning. Aemond nodded and dared to tuck a stray hair that obstructed his view of your face. “If that is all that it took, what if then another comes along and presents you with such kindness and interest… am I simply to be set to the side?” Aemond sighed and cupped your cheek as he felt his stomach twist at your words and at the look of doubt in your enchanting eyes. “What if—“ You were ready to voice out another doubting scenario, but your lips were kissed shut.
You feel heat bloom into your cheeks, and you are stunned as you feel the prince’s thin and cool lips upon yours. Your eyes were wide at the sudden contact, but they fluttered to a close as you savored the feel and taste of him. “I do not know what more to say to quench the doubts in you… but you must know, I have never felt such a way— I have never wanted anyone or anything as much as I want you.” Aemond whispered against your lips as you breathed heavily, your body feeling afloat and alight.
“The situation is not the most favorable one; believe me, I understand your qualms— but it is the only opportunity I had to make you mine,” You feel liquid fill your stomach, and words cannot find you. The only thing you could do was go to the tip of your toes and kiss the prince’s lips once more, a chaste kiss than the first, but it was a kiss that gave the prince his answer.
Three moons passed before your nuptials were settled. You stood by the door of the great hall, waiting for it to open and lead you to your soon-to-be husband. “Are you certain?” Your father asked as he clasped his arms with yours. You breathed out a laugh and nodded your head eagerly. “I am,” You said with a smile and took a deep breath as you heard the trumpets from the other side of the door.
Aemond sighed longingly as he saw the smile on your lips again. The smile that he had never been the receiver of before. The sweet and kind smile that led to all of this.
You beamed at your groom as he took your hand into yours, unable to remove your gaze from his unique lilac eye throughout the whole of the ceremony. “I am his, and he is mine,” You recited after the Maester, feeling Aemond lightly squeeze your hand as you said the words, a ghost of a smile appearing on his lips. When it was Aemond’s turn, you bit your lip as you felt your smile grow wider, your heart beating loudly in your chest, and delight taking hold of your whole body. “I am hers, and she is mine,” Aemond stated, eye filled with sincerity and promise.
You breathed in a deep breath as your husband stepped forward to seal your marriage with a kiss, your cheeks burning as you heard the cheers of your guests. “My flower,” Aemond whispered against your lips as you parted, his finger brushing away the stubborn lock of your hair once more. You could only smile upon him, your heart in your eyes— just one act of kindness, a simple smile had been the catalyst for you to find your love.
You chewed on your cheek in anticipation as you were being led down the halls by your husband, the bedding ceremony promptly taking place after the feast.
Aemond spared no second before claiming your soft, sweet lips once more. Gently pushing you upon a pillar in his chambers to keep you steady and flush against his body. “Aemond,” You called as you clung to his neck, his lips trailing downwards and his fingers undoing the laces of your gown. “You’re all mine, my flower… forever bound to me, my kind little wife.” Aemond hummed as he tasted your skin, his lips kissing your bare shoulders, the sleeves of your dress draping off. “I’m yours, my prince,” You sighed, but you felt slight dread in your stomach as he clicked his tongue in disapproval and slowly shook his head. “I am your husband… you must learn to call me by my name; no more titles and formalities,” Aemond lowly said, wanting to hear his name be uttered from your lips.
You nodded, “I’m all yours, Aemond,” You said and whimpered as your husband’s eye darkened, and he forcefully slammed your lips. You feel your dress pool to the floor as he successfully removes it; he takes hold of one of your thighs and makes you cling to him, leading you to your shared bed. Aemond gently laid you down and parted your lips to admire the view of you sprawled before him. The thin sheet of your shift reveals all to him.
You gasped in utter shock as you felt him tear away the thin cover you had, fully exposing you to him. A strained moan left your throat as Aemond dipped down and took one of your tits into the hot cavern of his mouth, his tongue teasing the bud. You clung to his silvery locks; just that action alone made your core tighten painfully. Aemond smirked as he moved to pay attention to the neglected mound, your hips grinding upon his as you sought friction.
“Aemond, I…” You called, uncertain of what you wanted, but all you knew was that you needed more. “Yes, wife?” He hummed and placed open-mouth kisses upon your stomach. “I… I—“ You stuttered, not knowing what to ask. Aemond sighed and moved his head to kiss your lips, “Do you want more… do you want to be pleasure, my flower?” He asked, as he could not be so cruel to leave you in such a state for much longer. You eagerly nodded your head.
It did not take long for you to be a moaning mess, your eyes rolled back in your head, and your back arched as Aemond placed his mouth upon your cunny. Licking and teasing your folds, “Aemond! Oh, gods!” You called in utter pleasure as you felt his thin lips enclose your sensitive bud, sucking and licking it. You battled with your mind-numbing pleasure as you propped yourself on your elbows to watch his actions. He looked up at you, grinning as his fingers teased your undefiled whole. You bit your lip and breathed heavily, boldly taking hold of the leather strap of his eye patch. You saw as his eye darkened, and you hesitated, but Aemond gave a nod.
As you removed his eye patch, Aemond pressed his finger into you, your eyes rolling back as you saw his sapphire eye. Aemond returned his lips to your cunt, sucking on the bud as his fingers pumped in and out. He felt your walls clench around the digits and your moans growing louder. Through your closed eyes, you feel him smirk against your skin and curl the digits inside your cunt— a loud moan leaving your lips as you come undone. Your hips violently move against his face, and the pearl of your cunt hitting gains his angular nose.
“Oh gods,” You say breathlessly as you feel Aemond’s weight atop of you. You undid the laces of his vest as he removed his trousers. You looked downwards and saw the whole of your husband, his warm, pulsating length resting upon your thigh. The head of his cock weeping a clear liquid. “W… will it fit?” You say in disbelief, never having thought that something so phallic could be so… large and appealing. “Of course, you were made for me, my flower.” Aemond lowly said and kissed your lips as he aligned himself with your cunt.
You dug your nails onto his shoulders as he slowly tore his way through you. Him hushing your cries of pain and kissing away your tears. “It hurts— Aemond, I… it’s too much,” You cried, your legs wrapping around his waist. Aemond reached downwards and drew circles upon your cunt to aid your pain. You waited for the pain to bleed into pleasure. Aemond tightly shit his eye as he felt the tip of his cock brush against a rough spot in your cunt, him fully sheathed inside you. He made cautious thrusts, watching as you would acclimatize to his length, and when he saw your eyes roll back, that was his sign to fasten his pace.
Aemond’s found your lips once more, muffling your moans and whimpers as his cock was relentlessly hitting the spongy spot in your cunt that made your core come undone over and over again. You were on the verge of your fourth climax, each of them coming quickly after the other, and your thighs started to shiver at the pleasure that had enveloped you fully. “Aemond… It’s too much. I— husband, I cannot,” You cried as you felt a different sensation, an odd pressure in your core unalike the other times you came. Aemond clenched his jaw as his cock twitched inside your cunt, “Just… come for me one more time, my flower,” He gritted as he wanted to coax another peak from you.
Aemond laid his thumb flat against your nubbin and rubbed circles once more, your voice already hoarse from your loud moans. “Oh… Aemond!” You cried as the quivering of your thighs grew, and you felt the pressure in your core come undone; a differing climax from the first three overcame you. Aemond groaned loudly and tilted his head back as he spilled his seed deep in your cunt. You breathed heavily as you tried to comprehend what had happened, wetness pooling between your thighs, and an embarrassed blush spread through your cheeks and neck.
Aemond smirked and shook his head, trying to soothe the mortification in your eyes. “I knew you were capable of it,” He hummed and kissed your lips. He knew it was perhaps too much to test your limits in your first night together, but he could not help himself; he needed to have you in such a way. “My perfect wife,” he hummed against your skin, and your reply came through your tired smile.
Inspired by the song Please Please Please by Sabrina Carpenter
Politician Aemond Targaryen x Lannister Reader
Synopsis: Heartbreak is one thing; my ego’s another. I beg you, don't embarrass me, motherfucker
Warnings: Mature, 18+, P in V Sex, Choking, Fingering, ¿Semi-Public Relations?, Not Proof Read
Word Count: 1,969
A/N: Quick little fic bc the music gods blessed us with new pop anthems <3
The lion’s pride. As a Lannister, you and the whole of your family had a great deal of it. Great lengths are made to maintain it, especially when you are pitted in the arena of the public eye. Every decision you made was calculated, and every action has a reaction that you meticulously premeditated. Nothing less than perfect and respectable could be accepted. Sensibilities must always be in check, but after meeting him, it seemed to fall out of your head.
Aemond Targaryen. An up-and-coming figure in the scene of politics. A second son of the infamous family of the Targaryens. A waving red flag you had ignored, for you were too distracted by every other aspect of him.
You remember the day you met him fondly. You were forced to attend a gala. Your family needed to push a figure of unity for the upcoming election; in consequence, you had to participate in endless events pitting you in the eye of the public. You were standing next to your father as he introduced you to other influential members of his party when, from the side of your eye, you caught a figure walking into the event hall, dressed in all black, striding and making his way through the crowds effortlessly. You were stood a few leagues away from him, but you already felt this aura of confidence that strode dangerously close to arrogance. You barely caught a clear glimpse of him, but there was this domineering and authoritarian presence in him that was needed in leaders that had solidified your attraction.
Aemond has had his eye on you for quite some time now. The golden girl, they liked to call you—the celebrated daughter of House Lannister, the girl who was perfect on paper. Everything you had done in your life had only added to the pride and good standing of your family, and Aemond could not help but be intrigued. He strode into the room, always catching everyone’s attention, but yours was the only one he sought for. When he finally caught your eyes from across the room, he inwardly smirked to himself and strode to where you stood with your father. “Ah, Aemond,” Your father greeted the other member of his party with civility. “Sir Lannister,” You hear him greet, and you clenched your jaw as you hear the deep, velvety tone of his voice. “This is my daughter; I don’t believe you two have been introduced yet,” Your father said, and you turned your full attention to him. Aemond led out his hand for you to shake, and he felt a chill run down his spine as your hands clasped around each other.
“Nice to meet you,” You said with a small smile. The same smile was reserved for when you met your father’s other colleagues. You hear him hum and watch as he gives a nod, reserved and quiet, an exact depiction of what you read of him. You stood there quietly for a few moments as they talked of business, trying to ignore the eye that had been entranced by you. When there was a pause in their conversation, you excused yourself and headed towards the bar on the side of the room to refresh your drink, a figure closely following behind you.
Things were quick to escalate from there from only having to be formally introduced to Aemond mere moments ago to him and you engaging in juvenile activities in a nearby coat closet. There was a lapse in your judgment as you engaged in such activities. Letting your lips dance with your father’s colleague, letting his solid and cold hands roam your body, not at all cautious that with just one swing of the door, you two would succumb to scandal.
“Aemond,” You called as you gripped his long, silvery locks. His lips were too preoccupied with peppering kisses on your neck and collarbone to respond. You feel his hand inch higher towards your bosom, placing it flat as he palmed your tit. “Who knew their golden girl could be so… lewd?” Amend hummed, and you rolled your eyes as you hated that nickname. “You’ve only just met me, but you had no hesitation as I led you here,” He mused and nipped your skin, not at all wary that it would leave a mark. “Are you complaining?” You asked breathlessly, staring at his sapphire-colored eye. You feel your core tighten as a devilish smirk rose to his lips. “No,” he replied and kissed your lips once more.
It did not take long after that encounter before you two were noted to be entirely fond of one another.
There were great reservations. Your older brother taking the lead to voice it on behalf of your family. “Wh—why him? You are aware of his… demeanor?” You pursed your lips. “I am, and he is not as rash and cold as you think,” You defended. “But why did you have to choose someone from father’s party— it is a complete conflict of interest.” You rolled your eyes, “How is it a conflict of interest? For it to be a conflict of interest, it has to be with someone from the opposing party, does it not?” You countered. Your brother shook his head disapprovingly, “He is from the opposing party. Father is not completely sold on his allegiance. He still thinks your little boyfriend’s decision to join our side is a shallow rebellion against his family’s— nothing but a ploy!” Your brother almost screamed, and you stayed quiet as your calculating and cautious self had overlooked the possibility.
That thought bothered you tremendously, and it was noticeable. Aemond frowned as he placed kisses on the valley of your breast, and his hand was threading closer to your cunt, but no reaction came from you. “Are you well?” He asked as he pulled away, placing a small gap between your bodies. Your back was rested on the headboard of his bed, your mind was far off, and you could not even enjoy his pleasurable actions. You stared into his eye and licked your lips. “What’s your plan?” You suddenly asked, and you watched as his face folded in confusion. “What do you mean?” He asked and sat straight before you, his cold hand placed on your warm thigh.
“Why did you suddenly join my father’s party? For decades, our families have been known for their opposing views… why then did you suddenly join?” You asked and watched as his lips thinned. “If you wanted political and career advancements, it would make more sense if you stayed in your family’s party. Why then do you join ours when you would have to start all over again?” You asked in doubt, fearing that it was indeed all a ploy and the relations between you were just another part of it. That in the end, whatever you do will not only end in heartbreak but worse, your reputation will be tarnished. Aemond was silent, and that put further skepticism in you. Your mind conjures up future scenes where the public will come to know that your relationship was filled with deceit, his way to slither into your father’s political party— subjecting you and your family to embarrassment as you had been seduced by him and his lies.
“It’s true that if I had stayed with my family’s party, my career would have advanced greatly. But it is a dead end.” You frowned at his words, trying not to be distracted by the day his hand would caress your skin. “It is a lost cost. I had never believed and aligned myself with their political beliefs and values; having to run and represent things I don’t believe in is, for me, practically career suicide,” You pursed your lips and assessed his eye, trying to find sincerity in him. People often say that he was a good actor, keeping his dealings and reactions to himself so no one could use them against him.
Aemond could not help but smirk as you stared him down, his hand on your thigh inching higher as you did your calculations. “Why? Did you think I was using you?” He asked quietly. His eye darkened when you bit your lip and slowly nodded, a bit wounded that you would think as such. However, he could not honestly blame you because if he were in your position, he would also be skeptical about himself. You parted your lips to speak, but words died on your tongue as you felt Aemond cup your cunt.
“They always said you were a fast learner… so best to engrave this in your pretty little head,” Aemond hummed as his lips threaded closer to yours, his fingers gliding against your folds, a whimper escaping your lips. “I’m not with you for political advancements… I’m with you simply because I want you, you alone.” He swore and intertwined your lips, swallowing your moan as he slipped his finger inside. Aemond smirked as you parted your lips, needing air as he curled the digit, feeling your cunt clench around him tightly.
You clung to Aemond’s neck as he dipped down and captured the taut bud of your tit into his mouth, his teeth nibbling your skin, making you whimper. Aemond added another finger as he felt your grind your cunt against his hand in want of more; his thumb lay flat on your nubbin and drew circles, your moans echoing through the room. “More… Aemond— please, please, please, I want more,” You moaned. His fingers were pleasurable, but your body needed the whole of him. You hear him hum and watch him through glazed eyes as he removes his fingers, bringing them to his lips as he cleans your essence. “You want more?” He asked, and you nodded fervently, bordering on desperation. “Then who am I to deny?” He smirked as he switched your positions, him resting his back on the headboard and you straddling his waist.
Your head tilted back, and your jaw went slack as his cock slipped inside you, sheathing itself perfectly in your cunt, the tip of it hitting the spongey spot that made you lost and unaware of your surrounding. The place that made all sensibilities fly out of the window and make your judgment muddled. “So pretty…” Aemond praised breathlessly, watching as you bounced his cock. Your tits heaving against him, your lips parted as you spewed out your moans. Aemond placed his hands on your hips and guided you, his thrust deep and harsh, just as you liked it.
Aemond felt you take hold of one of his hands, guiding it toward your throat, and he groaned out in pleasure as you urged him to choke you. Your cunt clenching painfully and pleasurably around his length as he did your request. You moaned as you felt the cool metal of his ring imprint itself on your throat. You were close, and your desperate movements hinted that to Aemond. “Is my pretty girl going to come?” Aemond asked through gritted teeth, his own release coming quickly as well. “Aemond… god, Aemond!” You called as you came undone, your body hunching over his, and he sought out your lips, kissing them as he spilled himself deep inside your cunt.
You breathed heavily, your mind trying to regain focus, but it was difficult as Aemond drew soothing circles on your skin as you came down from your high. “Do me a favor?” You asked breathlessly, Aemond’s cock still deep inside you and the flaccid length growing stiffer by the moment. “Anything,” He answered and tried to capture your lips, but you swiftly backed away. “Don’t fucking embarrass me,” You said in seriousness, and Aemond smirked at your words. “Never.” He swore and sealed his oath with a kiss.
