a crystal, nothing more

slut yuummmm, candy from strangers

[ggirlthatgotawayy]

K i have decided to update you (or myself when i’ll read what i wrote back).

i shall be dining with the friend who has betrayed me on my birthday, on this night.

i will write what i feel once i reorder my thoughts- which translates to “once i speak with my best friend” cause she’ll also be there.

gonna go write a porn now actually.

[ggirlthatgotawayy]

Btw if anyone tries to tell me that Wuthering Heights is a good film i will spit in their eye.

Kate Bush’s song is more accurate and she had never read the book.

[ggirlthatgotawayy]

Lately i’ve just been wanting to be fourteen again reading ugly wattpad stories and only worrying about if i’ll be able to put mascara on in less than five minutes the following morning to get to school on time.

i want a nice ugly fic to read until dawn that sounds like this

[ggirlthatgotawayy]

My birthday sucked and it’s one of my closest friends’ fault. swear the fuck i woke up and felt this immense rage when my mum asked me how the night went.

i hadn’t even fucking realised until i said how it went out loud.

haven’t cried like i did since my parents used to fight before their divorce.

i feel like a betrayed teenage girl all over again.

[ggirlthatgotawayy]

hi!

fell in love with a russian guy in my course. it’s his fault he keeps giving me glances. fuck him. he doesn’t talk to me. talk to me?!?!?

he’s chewing on his pen right now. i think my thighs are at least three times his. love him. he doodles on his notebook. i’m drooling. ovulating.

THERE HE LOOKED AT ME AGAIN I SWEAR IM NOT MENTAL.

bye…

[ggirlthatgotawayy]

You Will Have Me Boneless in Your Arms in Mere Seconds

summary: plotless sex, everyone

trigger warning: sexual activity, swearing, name calling, incest

word count: 1.3k

note: this is very basic… but i honestly enjoyed writing it. anyway, promise you the next one’s gonna have a plot. Enjoy while it lasts cause honestly it’s gonna be 5 mins

-💎

“‘Tis not proper of a princess, dear niece…” Aemond taunted in your ear as his fingers slid in and out of you with ease. He was referring to the moan he had just caused, which threatened to awake Joffrey from his bed beside yours- beside the one on which Aemond’s fingers were making your legs shake like never before.

You covered your mouth with a hand, but the whine you let out as his thumb’s pressure on your centre increased made you realise just how futile your efforts were against the effect he had on you. Aemond let out a little laugh, completely mocking your reaction, and brushed his lips against your earlobe.

“Too much for you, little girl?”

You wished to protest, you tried with all your might, but as you attempted to remove your hand from your mouth, another whine escaped- pathetic, even on your own judgement. Letting yourself fall onto the cushions of the bed, you pressed both hands against your lips.

His laugh reached you again as he followed your movements, his breath was hot on the flushed skin of your cheeks when he pressed his lips to it.

“What will you do once I push my cock inside of you, hm?”

His words alone made your eyes roll back. What would you do? Press the cushion against your face? Waking up Joffrey and telling him to go sleep elsewhere became an incredibly appealing idea.

Aemond’s hand left your throbbing cunt, and you pressed your lips together at the empty sensation he left behind. He then moved your leg so it lay on the mattress opposite of him, and raised your nightgown to expose the lower part of your body. His mouth moved to your shoulder, still covered by the thin, white fabric, and he sank his teeth into it, making you hiss and clench a fist in the sheets.

You heard him fumbling with the laces of his trousers, before he freed himself from the straining confines of his breeches. Then you felt his tip against your drenched folds, teasing you mercilessly, as if he hadn’t been toying with you for the past fifteen minutes.

“Beg.” he breathed the order roughly against the skin of your neck, making goosebumps rise over your body. “Tell me how badly you crave my cock inside you.”

Even if you were sure your previous whines had convinced him far enough, you obeyed. “I… Please, Aemond… I need your cock inside me.” you whispered, feeling his tip nudge further between your folds, almost entering you.

“Not enough, Princess.”

“Aemond, I need you, please.” you breathed out, desperation leaking into your voice, hopefully enough for him to comply. “Fuck me, I… I feel so empty without you.”

He grabbed your hip, molding the soft flesh under his palm as he let out a grunt. Finally, he pushed forward, entering your tight channel with an ease provided by your wetness. “Isn’t this my good princess?” he whispered, moving his hand to grab the inside of your thigh from behind, raising your leg to thrust deeper. The sensation of his cock stretching you out, made your vision blur. “Letting me fuck her with her little brother in the room.”

You whined something incomprehensible even for you as he began to move inside of your cunt, hitting deeper each time. The preparation he gave you with his fingers before entering you- and also the fact that it was him inside of you, thrusting, using, and persuading you to do as he pleased- had you already on the brink of orgasm.

His free arm, the one propping him above you, slid closer to your back and slidered its hand under your hair and around your face, holding it so your eyes fell inevitably on your brother- still asleep, thank the Gods. “Is the Princess not ashamed? I know she should be.” he murmured teasingly, his hand on your thigh making its way between them, rubbing your clitoris in delightfully teasing motions. “Is she?”

You shook your head in disagreement. Your mouth was parted by his hold on your jaw, soft whimpers from it in time with his thrusts, which he kept slightly calmer than usual merely because of Joffrey, yet your eyes threatened to fall closed at the pleasure they were still providing. A sharp shake of your head was enough for them to be wide open again. “No.” you breathed out, “I’m not ashamed.”

“Fuck.” he hissed, moving faster now- a sign he was losing control, while still careful not to make too much noise. “You’d deserve far less than this… Less than being fucked on a royal bedding. Your behaviour would be better suited for a brothel.”

You whined again at his words, and moved his hand from from your jaw onto your mouth, pressing it there with both of yours to muffle yourself. Your hands barely covered his. His rough breath skimmed your neck once again, and his lips travelled down to your shoulder, biting once more where his teeth had sunk before.

You felt your drenched walls starting to flutter around his cock, and you knew he felt it too, when the bite got tighter and the thrusts erratic. “You’re so tight… It’s driving me wild.” he whispered ruggedly, moving his lips across your nightgown and up to your neck, biting on your pulse point while pressing his hand tighter on your mouth, knowing of the scream you’d let out.

“You want me to spill inside of you?” he asked into your ear, making you nod fervently and clench around him, hoping that answer to be enough. Yet, Aemond’s hand turned your face towards him, his silver hair brushing against your face as his fresh and sharp scent of thyme. “Beg for it, then.”

You would have rolled your eyes, hadn’t the pleasure of his cock pounding into your quivering cunt been that overwhelming. “Please…” you whined into his ear, “You will have me boneless into your arms in mere seconds…I want your cock inside of me until you cannot move any longer.”

Aemond released your face with a grunt, only to press his hand against your lips once again, this time making you arch your back against him. His other hand delivered a slap to your pussy- the sound wet, incredibly arousing, before it moved to your waist, bending it further. “Spoilt little princess.” he growled into your ear, picking up the speed of his thrusts.

Your hands found his once again, one wrapping around his index finger. Your eyes closed shut as you tried to remember that your brother was still asleep at mere feet from you two. “You’re unbelievably pretty like this…” he whispered, his thrusts starting to fall erratic once again.

The angle with which his thrusts hit your insides, the depth of them, made you feel as if your insides were bursting, and eventually, you came, trembling around Aemond’s cock with need, until his grip on your waist slipped, the palm landing onto the mattress as he released himself inside of you.

His breath fanned across the skin of your cheek as he tried to regain his composure. His hand released your mouth and found your shoulder, rubbing the thumb against the thin material. “Please… Tell your father I will marry you.” he whispered, brushing his lips against your jaw. “I cannot stand pretending to be partial to you.”

You closed your eyes, taking his hand into yours and wrapping his arm around your waist, “He will be against it.”

“Then tell him I’ve ruined his precious daughter.” he said, his grip tightening, “Tell him I have marked you with my cum more than once, that I count every time, and that I will do it again.”

[ggirlthatgotawayy]

me when i remember i can write decently

(new aemond ff in an hour maybe<3)

[ggirlthatgotawayy]

Purple Necklaces (Death Kink, Fontaines DC)

summary: if there’s a perfect word that can describe what you feel towards Aemond Targaryen, that is ‘hate’, and you are perfectly aware that he feels the same. Still, it was 1971 when The Persuaders published ‘Thin Line Between Love and Hate’

trigger warning: hate, violence, explicit and sexual language, degrading terms, hate again, choking, slapping, bruises, deep throating, use of a belt, etc…

word count: 3.5k

supposed reading time: 15 minutes

note: short story no glory. BEEN TOO LONG I KNOW! unfortunately for you, i have an obsessive behaviour towards men, and this WHOLE MONTH has been dedicated to Grian Chatten, whose spit i want in my mouth <3. but Aemond’s always in my thoughts, so here’s something for ya. also, i feel like this should have more trigger warnings, but i don’t know what to put.

-💎

‘i’m there in five’

That’s what you texted Aemond Targaryen. He usually wouldn’t have received anything: you would have just showed up at his house with a grimace that reflected his own, and he would have made you come into his flat, pretending reluctance, before grabbing your hair into his fist and crushing your lips together with a hatred you had rarely ever felt.

That word was the preferred one to sum up your relationship: hatred.

You were completely fine with it, to be honest, and he seemed to feel the same. Three months ago it happened for the first time, him taking you. You recalled the batting rain outside the sweaty London pub, the too many drinks, and the usual way he looked at you- through furrowed brows, his mouth threatening to curve into a grimace in front of everyone. Of course, your friends knew about the strong feeling you felt towards one another, reason why, when that night you both disappeared into the crumpled bathroom for ten minutes, they didn’t really notice.

Would have you, in their position? Would have Aemond? You didn’t think so.

That night, which was majorly deleted by the countless drinks consumed- it had been Aemond’s birthday, and he had said that he would have payed for everything; you simply could not lose the opportunity to get plastered with the money of someone who never even offered a cigarette- hadn’t even touched the memory of the way he had taken you: fast, hard, with a fist curled around your hair and the other hand printing his fingertips into the flesh of your thigh.

It had been silent, with your forehead on the mirror in front of you, and your mouth opened in a pain and a pleasure you had had no clue your mind would have played over and over again. It had been the complete opposite of all your other encounters, which filled his almost empty bedroom of your cries, muffled by his hand, and the scarily strong words he directed towards you.

Today, you had texted him for the mere fact that you knew it would have made him angry. Exactly like you had expected, when he opened the door with a grimace, his first words were: “What the fuck do I care what time you arrive?” he said, then tutted and let you come in, “Move.”

You rolled your eyes and walked past him, leaving your bag and coat on the nearest chair, “Was just tryna be nice.”

“Talk properly,” he hissed, slapping your ass so hard you gasped and covered the hit spot with your own hand. You didn’t even have time to say something among the lines of: I talk however the fuck I want, that his hand moved to grip your face, his fingers digging into the soft flesh of your cheeks. “Why do you insist on coming back if I hurt you this much?” he whispered, his breath hitting your lips.

You didn’t have an answer for that. The only reason your mind could master up was that your bodies were made for each other. That there was this invisible pull you felt towards him you just could not ignore, a pull you believed he also felt.

After all, you and Aemond were complete opposites: he was methodical, meticulous and sharp-edged where you were disorganised, disoriented and soft, with sensitive skin that always carried the signs of his touch, days after you had been together.

Certainly, though, you were not going to tell him that you believed you two to be tied spiritually- he would have spat in your face even harder than he usually did. So, you looked him in the eye, trying not to take your gaze away, trying not to show how much of an effect he had on you, although he already knew.

He tutted and moved his hand to your neck with a momentary gentleness you knew would disappear in the nearest future. His thumb grazed your pulse point, his eyes following the movement, “You saw your mother last week?”

You nodded, the movement meccanic and nervous, but your eyes didn’t leave his. “She’s alright.”

“Hmm…” he murmured, his grip already tightening, “Did she see your neck? Or did you cover it up?”

You knew he was referring to the marks he always left around your throat, that amethyst necklace you saw each time you looked in the mirror. “I covered it up.” you answered, your tone low for the shame he provoked- unfortunately, it all made you even wetter.

He scoffed out a laugh, his lips curving into a cruel smirk, “Good girl…” His grip on your neck tightened further, his thumb pressing onto your pulse point more forcefully before releasing it. He took a step back, his hands finding the button of his jeans. “Knees,” he ordered, his eyes on his movements, “I’m tired of hearing your voice.”

You looked at him as he lowered his trousers to his knees, and complied as quick as you could when his eyes found you again. Hands joined behind your back, as he liked it the most, you prepared yourself at what was to come.

Aemond let out a breath, his cock now free of his boxers. Taking a step closer to you, he massaged it slowly, as if he wanted to show you he wasn’t craving you, he could wait as long as he pleased, but the rugged breath he let out said otherwise.

He brought his tip to your lips, traced them, and nudged them, silently ordering you to open your mouth. When you obeyed, he let you close your lips around him, taste his precome, without pushing his cock deep inside right away.

But when your eyes met his, he was quick to ball his fist into your hair and pull you so close your hand went to his thigh for balance. “Hands behind your back.” he grunted out, starting to pound his hips into your mouth.

Only when you obeyed he pulled away enough to let you breathe, but his harsh movements still had you choke around his cock, salivating like a dog in the deepest summer.

“Fucking slut,” he hissed, voice venomous as he thrust his hips forcefully, “Take it all.” He fixed his grip on your hair, pulling it tighter and away from your face, so he was sure to see your eyes as he made you do what he wanted to. His free hand went to your throat, massaging its length as he pounded, feeling his cock stretch it out under his palm and groaning at the touch.

He loved seeing you choke, the sight of tears filling your eyes could get him over the brink in a heartbeat, but he always held back, always grounded himself by remembering how much your only presence frustrated him on a daily basis.

He loved seeing you struggle, it fed his sadistic nature in a way nothing else did, and it made him think that keeping you around was worth it, after all. “You like that.” Aemond stated, “Like being my little plaything… Knowing that you’re here only because I love taking it out on you.” he snarled, his hand on your throat moving away momentarily to slap your cheek, before taking his firm hold on you once again.

Still, it wasn’t enough. It had been too long since he had you in this situation, with the whole thing you had to go at your mother’s, and the fire inside of him wasn’t quelling as much as he wanted to. With a groan, he bent to pull his jeans up, the hand on your hair still firm, not letting you take a breath. He slid his belt out of the loops and fastened it around your neck, using it to dictate the pace of you sucking on his cock, pulling you close to meet his every thrust.

Surprised by his actions, your hands gripped the belt, one going over his. “I said hands behind your back, princess.” he grunted out, slapping you across the cheek with his free hand, harder than before. “Don’t make me say that again.”

The desire you got of apologising to him was only refrained by the fact you could not speak, because the sensation wasn’t new, despite the way you were treated by him. But the whine you let out around him made him understand what you meant- despite the hatred, he had learned to read your body language quite well.

He let out a small, cruelly mocking laugh at your sound, which made you remember the first time you had apologised to him while you fucked: it was your second time, the one after the bar. It had been the dead of night, his fingers had been inside your mouth as he slammed into you- an attempt to keep you silent. But after a particularly violent thrust, you had bitten his fingers so hard he had grunted, his movements had stopped, his hand retracting after forcing your mouth open again. “You filthy…” he had trailed off, eyes wide. It was then you had apologised, voice shaking and faint, and his mouth had curved into the only real grin you had ever seen on his face.

But this time, there was no grin at your apology. He took the belt off your neck, and with feral eyes brought it down onto your back. It wasn’t extremely hard, nor painful, but it was enough for his cock to slip out of your mouth, your forehead resting against his hip. You didn’t like it, didn’t like it at all how it left you breathless and wide eyed.

Aemond, however, either did not care or did not notice, because his belt found your back once again, faster, more sharply. You fell on the floor, “Stop! Stop it!” you hissed, your back arching as if he were about to hit you again.

Instead, there was a beat of silence, before the sound of the metal on the belt rang against the tiled floor. He fell on his knees beside you, his arms wrapping around you as he held you tight and pressed his cold hand on the red he’d just left on your back, under your shirt. “Shh…” he whispered into your ear, and, only for a second, you thought he was about to apologise, that your roles would have switched for a mere second.

He didn’t. “Let’s go to bed, mh?” his tone was still cold into your ear, and maybe it was his warm breath, skimming against your neck that made you nod and, with the help of his arms, get up and walk to his room.

You hated his room as much as you hated him. You looked around, mouth agape, as he undid the zipper of your jeans and slid the material down your thighs, quieter than usual. You wondered if you had scared him that much when you screamed, but your thoughts were interrupted when his hand collided with your ass, making you gasp.

“You’re so… Pliable, you still have my fingertips on you from last week.” his voice, velvety and quiet, a stark contrast with his cold and sharp hits, said against your ear as you stepped out of your jeans, his hands continuing to squeeze your sides.

“You like it.”

He did, you realised when he did not say anything back. “Never as much as you bent over.” he said, nudging you towards his perfectly made bed. You did, kicking your jeans blindly, knowing the simple act would have infuriated him.

Sitting on the bed, your hands on either side of you and your legs crossed, you looked up at him defiantly. “What if I don’t want to bend over?”

“I will bend you over.” he said simply, taking a small step forward.

“You so desperately want to see what you did on my back?” you asked, taking off your shirt and throwing it carelessly somewhere on the floor.

His fists clenched and unclenched at his side, his eyes narrowing as he looked down at you. Letting out a soft sigh, he approached, gripping your hips and turning you on your side. You felt the bed sink under his weight as he settled down beside you, his fingers trailing down your back, on the print the belt had left.

“Do you want me to apologise for that?”

“No.” you told him, shaking his hand off of you and moving to stand on your knees on the bed, looking down at him. He was so handsome you did want to turn around, so you did not have to look at him. With a sigh, you reached over sliding his shirt off of him and throwing it next to where yours had fallen.

“Don’t treat my clothes the way you do yours.” he sneered, getting up to take off his boxers and freeing his cock once again. He did not turn you on your back as he had previously stated, but his eyes remained on your knickers, the sides of which he traced with his thumbs.

“You’re better off without.”

“Mh…” Aemond muttered, suppressing a grin at the words that left your mouth. His thumbs hooked the sides of the only piece of thin, wet fabric that was left between you and slid them off, squeezing in his hand, which he fisted beside your head.

With his free hand, he guided his cock to your cunt, brushing the tip against your dripping folds before thrusting inside you in one motion, a grunt coming out of his mouth while yours opened in silent pleasure mixed with pain. His hand gripped your thigh violently, his grip so strong he could stop a hemorrhage with it.

Still buried to the hilt, his lips pressed into a tight line, he said, voice cold and strained, "See how easily you give yourself to me? You're nothing but a whore who needs to be fucked hard."

The whine you let out made him pull out almost completely before slamming into you deep inside again, because your mind had started to crave his words as much as your body had always craved his and his touch. You never had words to speak when he was inside of you, you felt as dumb and as speechless as he made you out to be.

He threw your knickers away, his hand now free to wrap around your throat as his hips started to move into you faster and faster. “Do you like it? Knowing that this is where you belong, under me, taking every single inch of my cock.”

His words made you unable to think of anything, to feel anything, not even the sheets under you, but his hand on your flesh, his cock deep inside your throbbing cunt. “Aemond, please…” were the only words that you were able to get past your lips.

“Fuck…” he breathed out, leaning over you and biting your soft cheek. “Say it again.” he taunted, before straightening up once more and leaving your neck, grabbing and marking both of your thighs with his fingerprints, slamming into your pussy even harder than before. “Say, ‘please, Aemond’.”

You whined, your body jolting forward with each thrust, and back again because of his hold. “Please, Aemond…” you cried, your walls beginning to tighten around him.

“Christ, you’re going to make me cum like that.” Aemond hissed, rotating your leg so he pounded against your arse. He used one hand to steady himself, the other to grip your face, that already fell limply, to angle it towards him. “You want to cum, princess, don’t you?” he sneered, “Do it. I want you to fucking writhe around my cock.”

You cried, the sound muffled by the grip on your face. The new angle, which bent your spine, pushed his cock even deeper inside you, making your body tremble frenetically, and his words, spat into your ear, made you do just that. “That’s it, you fucking whore…” Aemond said as you convulsed around him, which pleased him in ways you could not even begin to imagine.

Once he had carried you through your climax, he pushed you onto your back, taking a step away and staring at you with ragged breaths. Your juices coated his cock, and he wrapped his hand around it, stroking it slowly before he approached again. “…I’m going to fuck you again.” he stated, spreading you and entering you roughly, his hands falling on either side of your head as he leaned in and sunk his teeth into your shoulder, relishing in the gasp you let out.

Your cunt was still throbbing around him, sore, even if he was not moving, and his warm mouth, on you, his lips brushing against your skin as he retracted, made your eyes roll back into your head. “And you’ll cum again… You’ll cum again as I tell you how much I fucking hate you.”

You hated how you nodded fervently, your lips sinking into your lower lip to recreate, however pathetically, the way he had just bit you. Aemond started to pound inside of you once again, a moan escaping his lips as he threw his head back. He pulled your hips up, so you were forced to sink your head onto the mattress. “Aren’t you ashamed? Being so fucking easy…” he said, his breathing accelerating as his hips slammed against your ass.

“You’re so- fuck!” Aemond breathed out, his thrusts becoming erratic. When he felt as if he could not hold it in any longer, he pulled out of you, his chest heaving and his eyes closed. You fell onto your back, your arms draped over you as you stared up at the white ceiling of Aemond’s bedroom.

“You’re the worst. I fucking hate you.” you told him.

“Says the whore who just came on my cock…” Aemond said, spreading your legs and positioning himself between them. His hand found your cunt, and he didn’t hesitate to plunge his fingers inside of you, moving them deep and slowly. “Fucked by someone who despises you… Fucked by someone you despise… Very smart.”

“Shut up.” you whined, your hands wrapping around his arm, too weakly to stop his movements. He grinned, pulling his fingers out of you and giving you a slight slap against your pussy, before positioning his cock back at your entrance and slamming back inside.

“How fucking dare you? Telling me to shut up?” he said, taking both your wrists into his hand and pinning them above your head, his fingers intertwined with yours, squeezing them. He couldn’t help the chuckle that escaped your lips as he pounded into you, and he leaned in, his breath against your lips. “Who does this beautiful cunt belong to, huh?”

“To you.” you breathed out, your eyes fluttering shut. You didn’t fight it anymore, you fucking couldn’t, and it only worsened when he let out a small laugh, and his other hand went to your breast, caressing its underside with his thumb, making your skin tingle.

“Mh… It does.” he murmured, his face hiding in the crook of your neck. He often got like this when he was about to cum, especially when he wasn’t fucking you from behind. “You look yoo beautiful like this.” he grunted, leaving a hit kiss on your neck before pulling away and turning you on all fours. “Like this…” he breathed out, “Like this you’re gonna take my cum.”

With that, he slammed inside of you again, his strides purposeful and his fingers digging into the skin of your hips. He loved the sight if you like this, as you stretched yourself out like a cat, your sweet pussy tightening around him. “You’re mine.” he groaned, his hands holding you tight against him, “I love… You’ll always be mine.”

He let out a groan, his thrusts becoming erratic once again. But this time, he didn’t stop, continuing to pound inside of you until he emptied himself completely, a cry exiting his lips.

Aemond fell onto the bed beside you, his hand resting beside your hip. Looking down, he let his fingers graze your soft skin while he regained his breath. When you let out a laugh, short, breathless, your mind still enveloped in the haze of all that had just happened, his jaw tightened.

He got up, grabbing his boxers from where they lay on the floor and sliding them on, “Get dressed and leave.” he spat, not trusting himself to look at you. He had to bite the inside of his cheek again when another laugh left your body. He loathed you even more when you were like this- you seemed fucking drunk.

“I love you, too, Aemond.” your sweet voice reached his ears, making him stop dead in his tracks. When you laughed for the fucking third time, he tutted and shook his head.

“Move that arse of yours, and leave my fucking house, Princess.”

[ggirlthatgotawayy]

Like an Animal, Driven by an Inexplicable Desire He Had Never Felt Before

summary: Aemond Targaryen does not have friends and he does not wish for any. At the Cambridge University, he has everything he wishes for: free time, studies that interest him, money, and a perfect table to study on. Of course, when he sees you sat on his chair, one of the pillars of his perfect life crumbles, shattering on the ancient university’s stone floors.

trigger warning: obsession for both tables and girls, explicit and sexual language, degrading terms, choking, masturbation, slight stalking maybe.

word count: 7.2k

supposed reading time: 29 minutes

note: for feck’s sake, this took FOREVER. i’m sorry, but at least this one is kinkier than the others, so… ALSO, i have many ideas for next ffs, AND OMG THE NEW FONTAINES DC MUSIC VIDEO?!?!? thank you ireland, i love you deeply (never been)

-💎

Aemond Targaryen was weird- or so he told himself as a reason why he was twenty and still did not have one friend.

His highschool years had been hell to say the least: he used to feel like everyone noticed him and how he was always alone, but at the same time nobody noticed that he was not such a bad person to be around- not after some time, anyway.

University, on the other hand, had him feeling like he was not as bad as highschool had made him out to be. He realised that he needed to be discovered to be understood, and if nobody had the time to do so, that wasn’t his trouble. He still had no friends, but he had stopped caring right at the start. He had his studies that kept his mind sharp and trained, free time he used to train the body and still more moments to stare at the ceiling of his dorm in comfortable silence.

He had his spot at the ancient library of Cambridge University, where the light was soft but still lasted enough to make him feel how much he accomplished during the day. Aemond appreciated immensely the space that he had carved out for himself, for it was silent and empty and held the perfect warmth in the reoccurring rainy and humid days without being suffocating.

The spot at his table- the seat in front of the last shelf that was filled with books on Theoretical Physics, his major, had its chair complete of all screws and it did not creak when moved, never warm for nobody sat on it- was the the one near the window, so the sound of rain fell on the glass provided a calm white noise that had him go on with his studies without much effort. He also adored how no table was beside or behind him, which meant that no other student could see him there, but from his chair he could easily rest his eyes on most of the other study tables, which meant that he could look and sometimes stare at people without being noticed.

The perfection of said spot was sacred to him, that was the reason why rage boiled into his whole body when he was someone occupying it when he came into the library.

It was a girl, a stash of literature books sat on the place usually reserved for his physics material. Her hand was in her hair and she was chewing on her pen cap- a thing he found extremely irritating- while her eyes scanned the page she was reading.

What was she doing there, sat on his chair?

He was aware that it did not have his name on it or anything of the kind, although he wished it did. Such a problem had never presented itself before: that was the reason why he stopped in the middle of the corridor and the hold on his school bag tightened at the point his knuckles were white.

He was staring at her, and he was aware that people might have started staring at him after the amount of seconds he spent there like a shot-up mule, but he couldn’t help it for a long time.

It infuriated him how prettily she sat there, as if nothing was wrong, as if he were invisible although he was standing right in front of her. With her colourful highlighters and her legs put into a position that no human could find comfortable to sit in.

When his body finally permitted his feet to move, he reached the table and tapped his index finger on the wood, making the girl raise her eyes. Ignoring the way her gaze made him feel as it travelled his body before settling on his face, he spoke, “You’re in my seat.”

“Excuse me?” you said, furrowing your brows and straightening up.

Despite he was aware you did not ask that for him to repeat his words, he did, this time even more angrily, “You. Are. In. My. Seat.”

A grimace spread on your lips as his rude words reached your ears for the second time, and you could bot help but reciprocate the tone he had used, “You haven’t used it for at least a whole hour- I got here first.”

Your answer only served to make his anger rise, but he did not bite his tonge and deprive you of another stiff reply, “I come here every day. It’s practically my seat.” The word ‘practically’ was said to avoid that phrase he expected you to say: ‘I don’t see your name anywhere’. That would have not only gotten him even closer to slamming his hands on the table, but they also would have left him with no intelligent reply.

Your point was valid, and he was aware of it. It irritated him greatly how calmly you answered, despite the grimace on your oretty lips. But he found your following actions irritated him even more so: you rolled your eyes and shifted your stuff to the other half of the table, before getting up from his chair and sitting on the one opposite of it. “I hope you’re happy.” you said as you walked behind him.

“Hm.” he answered curtly, walking up to his usual seat and sitting on his beloved chair. He did stare as he took his books out of his school bag, appreciating and loathing how you resumed your studies without any semblance of annoyance.

He tried to study for the whole two hours you sat in front of him, but a sweet and fresh scent seemed to linger in the air around him, making his trousers tighten and his teeth sink into the inside of his cheek.

He liked to think he would have quickly forgotten about you in the short span of three days if you hadn’t sat in front of him again the following day. He had gotten to the library an hour before his usual study time and settled his things down, pretending he was not expecting you to show up and study in front of him again.

The way your eyes did not meet his sent a wave of annoyance crushing into him, but it was nothing compared to the wave of heat that would have hit him if you made eye-contact with him for even a split second.

You seemed impervious to his cold eyes on your scalp and to his very unsuccessful intimidation tactics, and he found it surprisingly refreshing, although immensely irksome. Aemond fixed his glasses on the bridge of his bose and let out a sigh, careful not to make any noise. He would be damned if he wasn’t able to study another day because a mere pretty girl sat in front of him.

But the words escaped his mouth before his brain was even able to register them, “You seem awfully committed to my table.” Aemond felt ashamed for his words for the first time in his whole life: never had he ever lost control of his mouth in such a way. He could get over the betrayal of his body from yesterday, yet his mind had also failed him despite it being what he redeemed himself good for.

“It’s the best one.” you answered, making his thoughts reel. Had you also noticed how much perfection surrounded his table? Was that the reason why you had chosen to occupy his chair yesterday, and not any other of the four seats?

“I’m aware.” he muttered under his breath, before letting his eyes fall on the open book in front of you. “And I suppose you need the best lighting to read those flowerry passages you study?” The mock was clear on his tone, for he had no intention of hiding it.

“Do you have problems with my choice of studies?” you asked as your eyes lifted from your book to meet his cold blue ones, and he basked in the slight annoyance in your voice like a lizard under the sun.

“Not at all,” he said calmly, but a hint of a grin gave out how much he was enjoying getting a reaction out of you, “Just seems like a waste of time when there’s real work to be done.” He tutted and raised his eyebrows, shrugging his shoulders imperceptibly, “To each their own.”

He saw your eyebrows raise as you looked down on your material, and he felt victorious for your surprised expression at his bastard words. But your absence of a reply irked him in a way that rarely happened- maybe he wanted to hear more of your voice, maybe he merely wanted to get even more on your nerves…

So he spoke again after some seconds of silence in which he desperately tried to find something else to say, “Also, I’m trying to concentrate here. So, if you don’t mind…” he trailed off, gesturing to your belongings that occupied half of his table, half of his territory.

He saw the way your grip tightened around your blue biro, signalling that he had succeeded in bothering you again. You gave him a fake smile and flipped your notebook open, making clear you had no intention of moving your things, “I believe half of the table is perfectly enough for you.”

Biting the inside of his cheek, Aemond gave the same smile back to you, and looked back down at his textbook, but instead of words his mind replayed the way you had walked up to him just minutes prior, and he found himself staring wide eyed at the paper.

His thoughts were interrupted by the sound of your pen scratching against paper, drawing his attention to the way your hand moved gracefully, tapping your lower lip in concentration as you thought of what to write before putting it down on paper. He quickly turned his gaze back to his book, biting back a groan.

Since when were pretty girls so distracting to him? He pushed his thoughts aside and focused on the task at hand, but not before casting a sideways glance at you, a mixture of irritation and fascination swirling in his blue eyes.

After other three hours spent on studying- today he was able to concentrate slightly more than the day before, although the sound of your voice haunted his thoughts like a pleasing even if annoying melody- the sound of your chair against the stone floors made his head shoot up.

You gathered your things and pushed the books into the already overflowing bag you carried around. He was sure the covers of the books would bend horribly in such a position, but he made no comment on that. His eyes followed you even if his head didn’t move as you put the chair you were sat on back in place, which he appreciated, before you turned on your heels and made your way back out of the library.

He stared at your ass in an inappropriate way: the fabric of the blue jeans you were wearing gave him a perfect view, one he had no intention of missing. He wanted to say something to you, maybe a mocking “See you tomorrow.”, but no words came out of his lips.

He was not aware when his table became your table, despite the fact he thought of it extremely often. He had never studied as few as he had done in the three weeks you had sat in front of him in the library: he could smell the perfume you wore when you weren’t there, and he realised he was either going mental or you had walked there some moments before him; he noticed the nail polish on your nails and the way you changed it every weekend; he memorised the order in which you put your earrings, and the fact you wore three on your left ear and two on your right.

One day, you left the library earlier than usual. “Bye.” you told him with a small wave of your hand- you had started saying goodbye to him on the Tuesday of the second week.

Aemond let out a “Hm.” in response, hiding how he would stare at you until you were no longer in sight. Leaning back on his chair, he realised he knew an extremely limited amount of things about you- as in proper things, not your earrings, your nails, your books, or the bitten caps of blue pens. He knew your name and your studies, and that, he decided as he stared at the wooden door you had just disappeared behind, was far too few.

His chair creaked when he shot to his feet, and he rested his palms on the flat wooden surface to gather his thoughts. The library held a great amount of personal information in its yearbooks, and Gods be damned if he did not find you in one of them.

The waste of time that he could have spent studying or resting heavied upon him as he scanned the thick pages of the previous year’s yearbook, but then he took a deep breath, and his nostrils filled with your perfume as if you were there, pressing your sweater against his nose. That kept him going on with his research, and it also made him realise that, yes, he was going mental.

Apparently, you were so good at spelling you had won multiple awards for the school. The news made him click his tongue and shake his head, almost bothered, almost as if a picture of him wasn’t in that same yearbook for his chess award.

His eyes stilled on the picture, on the softness of your hair, evident even from there, on the soft curve of your lips and their rosy colour, and on your eyes, which have been making his trousers tight for weeks now. And you were staring right at the camera, and at the viewer.

Aemond Targaryen did not blink for a whole minute, maybe two. When he felt as if your face was imprinted onto his eyelids, he walked over to the photocopier, and before he knew it, he was staring again at your picture, only this time he was in his dorm, sitting on his bed, with his cock in hand.

It was a temptation he had weakly fought too long to resist, and despite the slight guilt he had felt before undoing the button of his jeans, he felt victorious at the accomplishment.

Said ‘accomplishment’, anyway, became a deep obsession, an overwhelming need that he needed to satisfy every single day after the study sessions you and Aemond had going on.

He felt fifteen in a way he hadn’t felt when he had been that actual age, and he secretly relished in it, both for the physical pleasure and for the adrenaline the immoral brought him.

He started to wonder, as he looked at you biting your pen and not really hiding anymore the fact that he was staring at you, what your reaction would be in the impossible situation that you would find out about the picture he kept safely put into his nightstand, second drawer to the left.

Would you slap him? Demand the picture brought to you? Sue him for stalking? Run away and avoid him ever after? The possibilities were endless, really, but also impossible to come true: the only ways you could ever find out were by rummaging through his stuff or by him telling you. Completely impossible indeed- nothing that would ever come true.

When he noticed you were staring at him, he realised he needed to get out of his thoughts. “What?” he asked, clearing his throat and sitting up straighter.

“I asked you for a pen.” you repeated, holding out your open palm and waiting for him to pout the requested object on it.

He gave the pen he was ‘using’ to you, bot mreting your eyes and pretending to be focused on his textbook, although the slight contact of your skin under his made him shiver pleasenty, “Don’t bite on it.”

That day he left the library before you, after he realised he was not going to study anyway, and it was better to spend his time doing something he knew he was going to enjoy.

Aemond opened the door of his dorm swiftly and carelessly left his bag on the floor, before sitting down on his bed with a sigh, his eyes locked on the second drawer. He did not reach to open it immediately: he had the sensation he was still being observed, still in your presence.

But since that piece of paper was imprinted on his eyelids, he really did not make a big difference whether he had it in hand or not.

He lied down, his hand massaging his length through the constraining fabric of his jeans. He closed his eyes when his fingers wandered close to the cold button, and imagined you standing before him, no useless fabric to cover your curves as you looked at him with thise eyes he had been idolising for weeks.

He imagined himself reaching out to tangle his hand through your hair, tugging you forward rather roughly before forcing you down with your knees on the softness of the carpet.

He undid the zip of his trousers and freed his cock, massaging it and imagining himself stroking it over your face as he held you close tt, so much the lenght often brushed against the skin of your cheek.

He groaned as he made you suck his tip, pulling it out as he pleased to trace the contours of your mouth before pushing it past your lips again. He imagined his hand taking a better hold of your hair and pushing your head further down his cock, making you take it whole as your eyes were still locked on his.

He craved that pretty, soft and definitely sweet mouth around him, warming him up as he fucked it roughly, making you choke on his cock.

He imagined seeing your ass reflecting on the mirror beside the bed, and your dripping cunt peeking out of it like a treasure he would take and use. He imagined making you take him down to his base as he reached down to grasp the soft flesh of your ass, molding it in his hand before delivering a sharp slap to it.

“Fuck.” he hissed, opening his eyes and quickly reaching for the left corner of the second rawer of his nightstand. He pulled out your picture and fucked his hand furiously over it, his mouth hanging open in pleasure.

He could feel himself about to reach the edge when someone knocked. The movements on his cock stilled instantly, trying to figure out if his mind had tricked his ears into hearing it, but when the noise came again he shot to his feet, your picture still on his hand as he haphazardly tucked his throbbing cock back into his jeans.

He wished he hadn’t opened the door when he found you standing outside of it, your hair tied back as it often was when you studied, and your bag still on your shoulder.

His expression was weird, you found, with his usually pale cheeks flushed and his normally perfectly put together silver hair slightly messy on his head. You wondered what had caused such distress on him, but you did not ask. You only offered his pen back to him after you realised he was not going to greet you. “I didn’t give it back: you ran away.” you explained, and extended your hand some more when Aemond didn’t take it right away.

He finally did, and the weird thought that he tried to make as little contact as possible when taking the pen from your hand settled in your mind. It was quickly swept off when he muttered a thank you and tried closing the door.

“Wait.” you said, your brows furrowed. His movements halted, and, although you didn’t notice, he dug the pencap into the palm of his hand so as not to scream, while trying desperately to hide the photo of you he still held in his hand, the one he used to open the door. It was crumpling under his grip and onto the metal of the doorknob, and the fact bothered him greatly. “You don’t invite me in?”

You saw him tense even further at your question, and his eyes darkened, and his voice came out hoarse when he finally spoke, “Why would you want to?”

You shrugged your shoulders, “‘Cause I have nothing to do.”

Aemond’s hand tightened on the doorknob, and, despite himself, he took a step back. “What makes you think I also have nothing to do?”

“I bet you never do.” you answered simply, entering his dorm and brushing your shoulder against his since he hadn’t opened the door all the way. “What were you do-“

But before you could finish your question, Aemond interrupted you with one of his own, “How did you find my dorm?”

“I have friends, on your contrary.” you answered dryly- which was his fault, really: he was the one who had started the bitchy comebacks that he called conversations between you two, and you made up your mind that he was going to be the one to cease with the childish behaviour, if he was ever going to. “One of them has the dorm in front of yours.”

“Mh.” was his answer, as it was for most things, you had discovered during your study hours. “Make yourself useful, then: I can’t find a book of mine. It’s called ‘Gravitation’.”

Why you were complying to something Aemond Targaryen had asked of you, you did not know, but you started looking for the tome anyway.

Thankful at your distraction, Aemond put back the photo on the second drawer, which he had left open, before pretending to care about that book he had already given as lost.

The space of his dorm was extremely neat, making you wonder how on Earth could he have lost something in such a place. You scanned half of the room, and then switched places, both of you not trusting the other’s searching skills.

There was no sign of that stupid book anywhere, so you decided to ask, “Have you checked your drawers?” as your hand was already on the handle of the second drawer of his nightstand.

“Yes!” he quickly said, but it was too late, because your eyes grew wide. You looked at him, taking in his stiff position and the tightness of his lip. What in the world was Armond Targaryen doing with a picture of you inside his nightstand?

Your eyes went back to the picture and you took it, feeling the crumpled material under your fingers and raising it, showing it to him. “I do look quite good in here.” you teased him, and a grin formed on your lips.

What was wrong with you, smiling at the actions of an obvious creep that kept your photo near his bed? You always had a thing for odd guys, and Aemond Targaryen was the closest incarnation of your type you had ever laid eyes on: always alone, intelligent out-of-the-ordinary, a complete cunt to whomever, and ethereally beautiful. But you would usually consider that picture slightly crossing the line- tonight was not the case.

You noticed his jaw clenching tightly, his eyes fixed on the photo. “That… Is not what it looks like.” His words made you scoff, and you noticed how your casual amusement surprised him greatly- it was surprising you, too. “Give it back.” he ordered then, walking quickly around the bed and next to you, still crouched down on the ground.

You squirmed away from his attempts at snatching the picture from you, and held it against your chest. “Why?” you asked with a mischievous grin that showed your white teeth, “Is it a treasure you must keep safe?”

“It’s none of your business.” he replied sharply, yanking his hand forward once again, this time taking the photo from you. He looked at it, then at you, his eyes hard, but you could see the embarrassment he desperately tried to hide behind his meticulously crafted facade.

“What do you do with it?”

“…What?”

“What do you do with my picture?” you asked again, looking at him through your eyelashes and with a grin on your lips you could bot contain- everything was just so exciting, for you had never thought you would have the chance to tease Aemond Targaryen in such a way.

“I will tell you again that it’s hardly any of your business.” he retorted, trying to tear his gaze away from yours. He put the picture into his left pocket with too much care.

“Well, but it is.” you said with a shrug, your eyes persistent on his face, “It’s me in that picture, no?” The fact that you were right seemed to bother him greatly, and his fists clenched at his sides.

“Indeed.” Aemond gritted out of his teeth as he finally looked at you, too. You saw it behind his eyes, the struggle he was feeling in trying to come up with something marginally more acceptable than what he actually did with that picture. “I find it helps me focus.”

You scoffed out a laugh at his pathetic response, and the thought that he fucked his hand while looking at your picture started forming into your mind. You leaned forward by resting your hands on the soft carpet beneath you, so you were closer, so close your breath hit his face.

“What is it you do with my picture, Aemond Targaryen?”

He swallowed thickly, and the notion that you were affecting him so greatly made your grin spread even wider. “I told you: it’s nothing important- I…” he turned his head to the side, unable to form a coherent sentence with you in such a proximity. “I just…”

You looked down, only to be met with the prominent bulge in his jeans, and then looked back up. “Mh…” you muttered, raising a hand and turning his face back towards you. “Don’t be scared,” you reassured him with the most mischievous tone you had ever spoken, “You can tell me.”

“Stop it already.” he breathed out, distancing himself from you and sitting down on the carpet, his back pressed against the wooden tiles on the side of the bed. His hand reached his face, massaging his forehead to both cover his eyes and relieve some of the pressure you had him feel.

You narrowed your eyes despite being aware that he could not see you: you were not going to give up until those words came out of his lips. So, you sat on his lap and took his hand off his face, feeling him stiffen even more. “You don’t think I was asking nicely enough?” you asked him, tilting your head.

He breathed heavily at your closeness, and his eyes closed instinctively, almost as if having you this close and looking at you at the same time was too much to handle. “What if you don’t like the answer?” Aemond whispered, opening his eyes but settling them down, on your shirt.

When he realised you were not going to reply, he bit the inside of his cheek. “I use it for inspiration…” he told you, definitely aware that the short answer was not going to be enough for you. So, when you asked him what kind of inspiration he was referring to, he continued, “I masturbate to it.”

That made a filthy, wide, and pretty grin spread on your lips. You reached behind him, pulled the picture out of his pocket and unfolded it. “I think I look pretty here, don’t you?”

You saw blood rush to his face when you pulled the picture back out, and his voice was hoarse and strained when he spoke, “Yes… You look very nice.” but that did not stop his lips from curving upwards slightly into a small smirk.

“And… What do you imagine doing to me?” you asked, leaving your mouth slightly opened as you stared down at him. You were aware that the question was risky, that guys like Aemond weren’t the kind to ask you to take your clothes off, and not even the kind to give such an order. No, Aemond Targaryen was the kind to rip them off and discard them on the floor without a care.

He raised a brow at your directness, and his smirk deepened. His eyes went down to meet your lips, hungry and dark. Beneath you, you felt his pulse quicken and his cock getting even harder. "I imagine grabbing you by that beautiful hair of yours, pulling your head back so I can see the desire in your eyes, and then..." he paused, his voice thick with lust, "ramming my cock down your throat until you choke on it."

“That’s the sweetest thing you could say to a woman.” you answered, your breath hitting his face as you grinned at him. Your hand went up to his hair pulling it back twice before gripping it.

You saw his eyes widening slightly at your tug, but he did not pull away, but leaned into the touch instead. “I suppose I’ll have to express myself in such a way more often.” he said, his voice hoarse. His hands then finally gathered the courage to grip your hips- which they did as tightly you did his hair- and they pulled you closer, so you were chest against chest.

His body was warm, even through his white shirt and the jumper worn over it. Your hand on hisbhair automatically loosened its grip, giving him the freedom to brush his nose against your cheek. “Do it again, then.” you breathed out, hating how he had gotten control of the situation in a matter of seconds.

“Oh,” he said with his usual tone, the apathetic one from which transpired only challenge, yet the strength with which his grip tightened on your hips betrayed and exposed him completely, whether he was aware of it or not. “You want to hear about how I want to take you from behind?” he stopped briefly, breathing deeply before continuing, “Want to hear how I’ll fuck that little cunt while the only audible sounds will be your screams of pleasure and that of my hips slapping against your ass… Occasionally my hand will contribute.”

You cleared your throat after his words, and got off his lap, your hand falling away from his soft silver hair in the process of your standing up. Aemond looked up at you, his mouth slightly parted as he took you in like a goddess. “Are we waiting for anyone or do we start?” you asked, making his pupils dilate even further, and his mouth close in sudden seriousness.

He swiftly got up from the carpet, and his hand found the base of your throat in an almost natural gesture. “You want me to fuck you, pretty girl?” he asked, massaging the tender skin without putting any pressure into the motion. But, when you nodded in response, he used his grip to bring your mouth onto his, so he could give it a bruising kiss.

Aemond’s hand moved to cradle the back of your head and angled it so he could slip his tongue inside more easily. When you finally kissed him back, he groaned in pleasure, and his arm sneaked around your waist, holding you flush against his chest as your tongue tangled with his.

The taste of your lips made him so greedy he leaned in even though your bodies were already as close as possible. His free hand travelled down your body until it found your ass, and gave it a rough squeeze that made him groan against your lip. Pulling away, you kissed his cheek, going lower with each one until you reached his jaw.

Aemond’s head fell back, his mouth parted and his lips reddened, his eyes closed. You felt his hand stiffening and tightening around your body, and under your lips, his heartbeat was thummering wildly. “Strip.” he ordered, his voice coming out like a strained plea.

Biting your lower lip, you realised he had loosened his grip on you the only necessary amount for you to obey. You took off your jumper, discarding it carelessly on the wooden floor, before moving your hands down your body with his eyes following their every movement until you undid the button of your jeans.

Ravenous eyes, he had, as he took in the flesh you exposed little by little, and when you unzipped your jeans he decided to take matters into his own hands by roughly tugging them down so they pooled at your ankles. He raised you so as to make you step out of them and threw you onto your back on his bed.

His knee landed on the space on the mattress between your legs while he kept himself up with his arms. His lips reclaimed yours, and his hand found your hip, squeezing it before moving his fingers to trace your stomach, and then down, over the black lace of your underwear. “You’re as wet as I’m hard.” he hissed ruggedly at your lips with a hint of triumph in his voice, the back of his fingers tracing your covered but drenched slit. “Filthy little slut.”

A moan came out of your lips when you parted them, and the little contact that had caused such a reaction in you made you think that, maybe, you really did crave his touch as much as he did yours.

He left the bed then, straightening up and bringing his hands to the button of his jeans right away, “Knees.” he said, already knowing you were going to comply. Once in the position he wanted you in, he ran a hand through your hair, brushing it out of your face, as the other one pulled his pants down.

He freed his cock and bit his lip, before guiding your head towards him. You kissed his tip, looking up at him as you did so and watched him letting out a slow breath. “Take it, pretty girl… Suck it…” he said, seemingly giving you control of your movements.

But mere seconds later he was already using the grip on your hair to guide your mouth up and down his shaft, at the rhythm he desired. Groaning as you took more of him into your mouth, his grip tightened, making your eyes water for the pleasurable pain, and he grinned. “That’s it,” he encouraged, “Take my cock like a good little whore…”

“Do you have an idea of how many times I’ve imagined this?” he continued in a sultry but strained voice. He pulled out of your mouth briefly, letting you take a breath while he slapped his length on your lips. “Every night I lay here in my bed, stroking myself to the thought of your lips wrapped around my cock, your pretty eyes looking up at me with nothing but submission."

He tapped his dick against your lips, silently telling you to open your mouth. When you did, he pushed back inside, moving slower this time. “And now you’re really here… On your knees for me.” He tightened his hold on your hair, pulling you back so he could look down at you. "Open your eyes. I want you to see who's fucking your face."

When you did and he took in your watery eyes caused by the way he was treating your mouth, his grin turned predatory. He pushed you back down, making you take him in til the base, and holding you there for some seconds, while you forced yourself not to choke on him.

He savoured the sensation well enough before pulling out. He moved his hand from your hair to your arm and pulled you up, before his hand moved back up to cradle you face. He kissed you again, with his mouth agape and his breath shaking.

When he moved his lips, he touched your cheek and angled your head to expose your throat before touching that. ”You’re so beautiful…” he breathed out against your flushed skin, forming goosebumps on it. He spun you around, his hand caressing your bare skin as he pressed his chest on your back.

Found the back of your bra he opened it with ease, sliding down your skin and letting it fall onto the floor. As his lips kept their place on your neck, both of Aemond’s hands found your breasts, kneading them with need but gentleness, brushing his thumbs against your nipples and making your breath hitch.

“Bend over.”

His command was executed by him when one of his warm hands found your back and pushed it down, while the other held your hip. He caressed the curve of your ass, chastely at first- as chaste as that kind of action could be- before kneading the flesh with a sharp intake of breath.

Your hands landed on the softness of the mattress, and he helped you get on all fours onto the bed by accompanying your legs with his hands. One of his index fingers hooked in the side of your knickers, and then travelled to the string that passed between your legs, pulling it aside to expose your dripping cunt to the warm air of the small room.

His fingers teased your entrance, lubricating your slit, before pushing inside, making a sweet moan come out of your lips. Aemond established right away that such a distance was far too much, so his free hand sneaked up to wrap around your throat and pulled you back until you were pressed against his chest.

Massaging your pulse point in tandem with his fingers inside of you, you let your head fall back onto his shoulder. “I didn’t think you knew how to fuck.” you said with a grin, although subtled by the pleasure his tapered fingers were provoking you by caressing the walls of your cunt.

Despite himself, Aemond scoffed out a small laugh, “It’s because I study Theoretical Physics, isn’t it?” When you nodded in response, he quickened the pace of his fingers, making your walls contract around them. “Interesting.”

Slipping his digits out of you and making you gasp in protest, Aemond bent you back down until your face collided with the mattress and your ass was completely exposed to him.

He quickly rid himself of his clothes, while his eyes did not leave once your beautiful form. Once you were both completely naked, except for those little black lace knickers he had all the intention to keep on, he took hold of his cock and brought it to rest on your ass, before giving your cheek a sharp slap, making you jolt forward.

Aemond scoffed once again, “For this few?”

“Shut it- I wasn’t expecting it.” you retorted, turning to look at him, but he pushed your face back around once you took in his smug expression, silently telling you to stay still where he had put you.

He slapped your cheeks with his length and probet at your entrance, teasing you mercilessly and making you want to push him on the bed and do it yourself. But not much time passed before he was not able to keep up his act any longer.

With a ragged breath, he pushed into you in one motion, burying himself to the hilt and making you moan and roll your eyes back in pure pleasure. He held you still with his grip on your hips for some time, taking in the feeling of being inside of you with his teeth sunk into his lower lip.

"Mmm," he hummed in pleasure, watching as your body quivered beneath his touch. He bent over, leaning his forehead onto the centre of your back, between your shoulder blades.”

He reveled in the feeling of your cunt gripping him tightly, welcoming him in. His strokes were deep and measured when he started to move, his breath coming in hot bursts against your neck. "That's right," he growled, breathing heavily, "take my cock like the little slut you are."

“Fuck…” you muttered, your hand reaching between your thighs to touch yourself. But he stopped you, blocking both your hands behind your back, almost hurting you.

“None of that, pretty girl.” Aemond said, swallowing thickly. He used his free hand to pull your hips back towards him, forcing his cock deeper inside you with each thrust. “You’ll cum with my cock tonight… Only that way.”

He spun you around, making your hair spread onto the softness of the white duvet. Gripping your thighs and digging his fingertips into the soft flesh, he parted them, entering you again, filling you up again, making you moan loudly again.

Your hands, now freed from his grip, found his hair and tugged at the short silver strands that curled slightly, pulling him towards you until your breath fanned over his face. “Is it how you had imagined?” you asked with a grin, trying to hide the fact you desperately wanted to know, “Fucking me… Is it how you had imagined?”

“Better.” he hissed, grabbing your face and pressing his nose against yours, “Real… But just as tight.” He then crushed your lips together in a bruising kiss, pounding at you like an animal, driven by an inexplicable desire he had never felt before.

You moaned into his mouth when he quickened his pace even more, making your body quiver under his. The way his fingers were leaving litteral fingerprints on the skin of your thighs was making your head spin in pleasure.

Scratching his back and marking him with angry red signs just as he was doing on you, you urged him deeper, rougher, and he obliged without a word. His hand left your face to hook the back of your knee, and the sudden shift in position made you scream against your mouth, making you feel like he was splitting you in two.

“Fuck, Aemond!” you hissed, feeling your walls quivering around his cock as he pounded at you almost as if you were a piece of meat he could use as he pleased.

From the look of his face, from his eyes that seemed injected with blood and pure, unbelievably strong lust and recklessness, you understood how he, too, was on the edge. You suddenly realised that he did not have a condom on, that the passion had been so strong you both hadn’t even thought about it. But you realised you could not care. You realised you wanted to cum inside you, to fill you up.

With the thought in your mind, you came around his cock, your vision going black and your ears whistling as Aemond emptied himself inside you completely. With his strength drained, the grip on you loosened, and he leaned himself on you.

Your legs remained wrapped around his waist as you regained your breath, and hopefully some strength, although you didn’t mind the feeling of him on top of you, still inside.

“Shit…” he murmured against your neck, as your hand still gripped his hair tightly. “I’m completely obsessed with you.”

[ggirlthatgotawayy]

You Now Smelled of Flowers, and He Loathed how Perfectly it Suited You

summary: You had always known that, despite being wed, you and Aemond would have never gotten along, especially because none of you tried anything but staying as far as you could from one another. Weirdly enough, Aemond made your relationship changed by asking for help.

trigger warning: wrote this while on ovulation, explicit language, mention of self harm, mention of lost of virginity, sexual content, name calling(wife), pretty chill sex tbh

word count: 9.4k

supposed reading time: 38 minutes

note: BITCH THIS HAS A FUCKING VIBE. anyway, i love the dialogues in this. also, thnkx for more than 200 notes on the last one ARE YOU KIDDING. love ya

-💎

He couldn’t sleep, which was far from anything new, really. He took a deep sigh and stared at the ceiling. He could hear the soft rain falling on the stone walls outside his room, but he made no movement to check how much was entering his chambers like he normally would.

His head was killing him, and he could hear his heartbeat banging against his skull. He’d been loathing the night since the day he’d lost his eye.

That had been the fateful day that ruined his entire existence, and also the reason why he was awake in the hour of the wolf, when the entirety of King’s Landing should have been deep asleep.

He had often dreamed about cutting off his scarred skin. Surely, the action would provoke not only the risk of infection and an immense amount of bleeding, but also a wider- and so more irritating- scar on his face.

That was not what he had desired during the open-eyed dreams he’d had about slicing open his face once more, no. What currently appealed him was the tranquility that would come with the first stages of the healing process: no itch, nor irritation.

Just simple, pure pain.

He sighed and swung his legs off the bed. His eye did linger on the butter knife left on his table- it had caught the light coming from the hearth and reflecting onto the blade- but he got up and walked out of his rooms.

He wandered for a brief moment what you were doing. After all, a husband ought to worry for his wife’s whereabouts, whether he was loving or as Aemond was, which included a rather long list of disparaging adjectives- such as: abrupt, sharp-tongued, curt and cold when it came to those brief and definitely insignificant moments in which you two exchanged some words; unapproachable, uncaring and unresponsive when you needed his assistance (which happened only in one occasion, for the lesson was learnt fast); tense, silent and falsely indifferent when it came to your nearness.

Anyway, the thought of you being asleep brought an only slight sense of calmness in Aemond, for he reasoned that half of the couple- if one could call you two such- could find comfort in the confines of a bed in the darkest hours the night had to offer.

What he did not know was that you were far from asleep. Your life at the castle did not include much- quite the opposite, in fact. And you put your foot down so that you would never get used to such a disgraceful thing. You were, after all, the Rogue Prince’s daughter, and nothing in your body was ‘still’.

So, most of your nights were spent awake, walking around the interminable castle until the muscles in your legs hurt from tiredness or reading until your eyelids fell shut on their own.

Usually, the nights’ hours were not passed in the shared chambers you had with Aemond, but you found they had the perfect view of the full moon in that day’s clear night sky- despite the soft rain.

That was the reason you were there, your hands on the wet stone of the window ledge as you looked at the city below you. The rain was wetting part of your nightgown, but that was not your concern.

Rainy days in King’s Landing were not something usual this season, and it reminded you of Dragonstone in a slight way that you redeemed to be enough for comfort.

The chambers were beautiful, despite the obvious memory that surfaced in your mind: the wedding night. It hadn’t made you as excited as you and your sisters had dreamed them to be when you were younger.

You were aware that those hopes were a mere product of the fantasy of young and unaware children that loved to spend their days in the confines of the island, braiding their hair and taking about the dreams of the nights’ passed.

Still, hope hadn’t been a crime for your mind yet. You hated the mixed feelings you had felt that day. You recalled the unusual feeling of anxiety that had set into your gut in the morn and that carried through the hours of the day.

The memories of the ceremony were not many, aside from the grimace on your face that persisted through the wedding, celebrated under the Faith of the Seven and not in the tradition of Old Valyria, which you thought to be the rightful one.

What you remembered vividly, was the night. Hating Aemond Targaryen for what he’d called your cousins through the years of your childhood and early adolescence seemed nothing but rightful. And still…

You remembered his hand on your lower back as he’d walked you to your new shared chambers, and the way his warmth had seeped into the fabric of your dress.

You remembered the way he had not looked at you as you’d taken off the intricate wedding dress and left it on the floor after you’d stepped out of it.

He had put out the candles and told you to lie down on the bedding with a nod of his head before extinguishing the last source of light with a blow.

He had stripped completely before he’d also climbed on the sheets, making the mattress sink under his weight.

You had expected roughness and pain throughout the whole action, for many ladies of the court who had a friendly relationship with the Princess Regent, had told you what to expect would happen to you in the weeks preceding the wedding.

It did not come, that stinging sensation, the sharp feeling of the hardness entering you. He had worked you with his fingers the exact way you did when you were alone, almost making you think he had known your body despite having never seen it.

You had to repress your moans by biting the inside of your cheeks, and you remembered feeling glad that he could not see your face in the darkness that enveloped the chambers under his wish.

He had not kissed your lips once, but he had continued moving his fingers inside you until he had redeemed your cunt wet enough to be fucked.

That was when he had turned you around so you lied on your stomach and had pulled up your hips- the biggest contact he had offered you that night.

He had put a hand on your hip- it had been warm and comforting, despite it being distant at the same time, and it had stayed there for the whole time.

You had not come, for you forced yourself not to. His thrusts were determined: slow and steady at first, and grew faster as he continued taking your purity. But you had not finished, for the pleasure you had felt seemed so unexpected and abnormal you simply could not let your body do so.

But he had, and both of his hands were on your hips when he’d emptied himself inside of you. And then he had stilled, and you had heard his rough breathing and the sweat on his palms as he had slid them down and off your body.

He had walked out after his climax, leaving you on the marital bed, empty, still biting the inside of your cheek to withhold the moan you had let out once the heavy doors had closed behind him.

You remembered getting off the bed and feeling your legs weak. But you had still gone in front of the full length looking glass in the chambers, turned, and looked at your reflection from behind your shoulder. You had seen his seed trailing down the inside of your thighs.

You had touched yourself at the sight, thankful for being alone. You had done so many times after that night, and the mere thought sent a flush to your cheeks.

As you looked outside the window at the city below- still a number of candles burnt, but you could hold the number with your hands- and sighed, the sound of steps coming from outside made your head turn sharply to the dark wooden door.

Out of your deepest surprise, Aemond came in. He froze when he saw you, but made no move to step back, “Wife.” He greeted you, his eye falling from your face and finding an armchair.

“Husband.” you replied, tearing your eyes from what was his obviously tired form. But they found him again when you heard the sound of him sitting down. The way his hand was on his scar, the way his fingers traced it angrily, made your brows furrow. “Are you faring well?” you asked, for the silence was already starting to be uncomfortable.

Still, all he replied to your seemingly harmless question was: “Mh…” You could not resist to tut and turn once again to the sky.

Why did you even think you had the chance to have a normal opportunity for a conversation with him? Gods, you sometimes wished he were a mute, so he would have an excuse to substitute his words with those daft sounds.

You dug your nail into the skin of your finger and tried to contain the urge to walk away. After all, you were there first, and you would be the one who’d stay. What was he doing there, anyway? As far as you were aware, your shared chambers had been empty since that night of two moons ago.

Despite these thoughts, you started musing how lucky you had been to end up with someone like Aemond. He was far from the best husband, and so was clear to everyone, but he was also far from the worst.

He did not talk- even if it sometimes infuriated you; if he had lovers, his relationships were discreet; and, as he was rather far in the line of succession, especially now that Rhaenyra had birthed five children, he did not crave for an heir- testimony was the fact he had considered his duty fulfilled after taking your virginity.

“If I am correct…” His voice made you snap out of your thoughts and you turned around, looking at how his tapered fingers were still pressing onto the scarred tissue. The strain in his voice was obvious as he continued his request, “You have quite the experience with poultices?”

Your eyebrows raised at his words. How in his Seven Hells did he have that information? You may have flaunted yourself about your prowess now and then, but that had happened a long time ago, many years before your wedding.

“Y-yes.” you said, clearing your throat and turning to face him, leaning against the window ledge, “What is the matter?”

You saw how his eye avoided any form of contact, deciding to set on the stone floor instead. “I might need something to… Ease the pain from my scar.” You were extremely sure that Aemond Targaryen’s scar, in that exact moment, hurt him way less than his pride after having asked for help.

You bit the inside of your cheek to contain a grin at the thought. “Alright.” you pushed yourself off the ledge you leaned against and walked towards the door, “Come to the maester’s laboratory.”

He followed without a word, walking behind you and silently letting you know he had no intention of speaking another word for the foreseeable future. You had no intention of saying anything else whatsoever, so the walk to the laboratory was punctuated by the sound of your and Aemond’s boots on the stone floor.

His eye was stuck on your form as you walked in front of him, on your hands joined behind your back. He had not seen you so clearly since that night of two moons ago, for he had since then forced himself to stay as far from you and from the places you visited as was possible for him.

He tried not to let himself be bothered by the fact that you had decided to play his game and not try to initiate a conversation as you would have normally done. But mostly, he tried not to let his eye linger on the hypnotising sway of your hips and of your blood red skirt.

The colour annoyed him. You were supposed to be his wife, but the fabric and embroidery held nothing resembling the ones the women in his family wore, and everything to do with women he was not supposed to care about.

Once you reached the airy chamber, the rain rhythm had picked up, but the sky had begun to shift its colours to those that belonged to Dawn.

The smell of pot marigold began to fill the room once you put the plant into boiling water, and you had to gather the courage to take a small jar from a shelf and walk towards him. You did not know why he’d asked for your help when the highest maesters with the best training in all of Westeros were in King’s Landing to tend to any problem the royal family thought they had.

Also, why would he do it if, when you approached, he eyed the jar and the transparent gel it contained with wariness, his jaw tightening? And why had he said he needed assistance if he squirmed away when you raised your hand to apply the poultice on his cheek.

“Aemond-“ you sighed, but he interrupted you.

“What is that?”

His sharp tone made you bite the inside of your cheek so you did not roll your eyes at him. “Aloe. It could alleviate the irritation if you let me put it on the scar.”

Aemond had the audacity to tut at the words that came out of your mouth, but he complied and turned his head to the side. The small victory that filled your chest was shortly replaced by the need to be wary, for you had to take off his eye-patch.

There had yet to occur an occasion when he’d taken off the leather that covered his eye, and you did not know if your curiosity was strong enough to invade his privacy in such a manner.

But you reasoned it was him that asked your help, despite the truism that he did not crave for the touch that came with it. So, you took an internal deep breath and brought your hand behind his head to grab the strand of the patch and take it off.

He did not move, he seemed to be frozen with the cold of beyond the Wall. You thought his breathing had ceased, but when you saw the twitch of his jaw- which he was shutting so tightly his teeth might have snapped- you released a breath.

He was beautiful, and you had known so for a very long time, but nothing would have prepared you for the sight in front of you: the blue sapphire was bigger than you expected, and it caught the light of the few remaining candles right away, casting an eerie and soft light to his features. If anything, it made him more delightful to the eye, in a frightening way.

You told yourself to stop looking, or he would have definitely left. So you unscrewed the lid of the jar and took some of the gel onto two of your fingers before bringing it to his cheek.

His skin was scorching hot, so much so that you felt it even through the cold substance you were applying to the scar. His violet eye was fixed on the stone wall, not moving and inch, but you saw and felt the tension in his entire body, and you couldn’t help but wonder if it was your presence that caused such a reaction or the fact that you were touching his scarred cheek in a manner you had never seen anyone do, not even his mother.

You straightened up and screwed the lid back on the jar, turning swiftly around and walking back towards the marigolds. You closed your eyes shut and took a deep breath- that may have been the hardest thing you’ve ever done, on the same level of claiming your dragon.

He watched you, more insistently than he’d wished to as you strained the marigolds from the boiling water. The fresh sensation the aloe left on his cheek reminded him of your fingers, and that made him need to sink his nails into his palm. Suddenly, he felt the room was not airy enough, and he got up swiftly to walk to one of the tall and narrow windows. Taking a deep breath with his eye closed, he asked with words that came out more curt and strained than he’d intended: “What is it you are making now?”

“The poultice I was talking about.” you said quickly, your voice slightly higher than usual. It made Aemond wonder if he was what had your voice raise in such a way, if that was the effect he had on you, because the effects you had on him was making him bleed from his left palm.

Aemond nodded stiffly, letting out a deep breath and feeling the fresh air of the morning hitting the still not absorbed aloe on his scar. “And how often should I apply it?” he asked, hoping you would not notice the fact he was trying not to breathe the flowery scent anymore, because your skin definitely smelt the same way now, and he seemed unable to drift his mind to any other thought.

“As many times you feel you are in need of it.” you answered, putting the marigolds into a mortar, the action leaving a slight yellow tint on the tip of your fingers.

Why was he looking at you? When had he turned around and let his eye wander to your face? He cursed himself internally, for the only candle that was still burning- the one set on the counter where you were working- was casting a warm light across your features, making them even softer, prettier than they needed to be.

He wanted to put that fucking candle off- that was the reason why he approached, of course. “How will I know when it’s working?” he asked, uttering the most superficial and mindless question he could muster. But he forgot about it when he noticed your fingers stilling momentarily at his nearness, and when they started smashing the marigolds again, your movements were not as precise any longer, but more erratic.

You answered the obvious, “If your scar does not pain you as much…” but the softness of your voice almost made Aemond grin. He restrained himself, however, as he halted his steps and stood right behind you.

You felt the heat of his body seeping into you, and you felt foolish for the feeling your mind mastered up, because he was not touching you. “So,” he said, the leather covering his arms cracking when he crossed them in front of his broad chest, “can I come to you each time I feel pain, wife?” His tone was challenging, mocking even, but you heard the slightest bit of hope for you to accept that involuntarily slipped out of his mouth. "What if it's in the middle of the night?" he continued, stepping closer still, making his forearm brush against the middle of your back. "Will you rise from your bed and tend to your husband?"

You sighed and turned around so you were facing him. He was closer than expected, but you tried not to let the things his nearness provoked from showing on your face, despite the breath that caught in your throat. “If you so need it, husband, I will.”

You clearly saw his pupil dilate as you turned and looked up at him, making the purple of his iris almost disappear completely as it got swallowed by the purest black. The sapphire did not have any available source of light to catch, but Aemond was handsome nonetheless. You were completely aware of the blush on your fair skin, showing bluntly to his hungry gaze, but you told yourself that he was most obviously also affected by the closeness of your bodies.

“Good,” he said, almost spat. But then his hand raised and tucked a strand of hair that was left out of your tresses behind your ear. His hand lingered purposely, letting you feel the scorching heat of his fingertips as he trailed them down to your jaw. “I would hate to suffer needlessly.” You saw his eye drop to your lips.

The only occasion in which your lips had met had been the wedding ceremony, and the contact had been brief, chaste. The sudden memory made you wonder what he would taste like. You were aware that he drank green tea most morns and every evening, so that was certainly an option.

Aemond's thumb brushed your cheekbone gently, ghostly, tracing a path down to your neck, stopping just short of your mouth. He could feel the rapid beat of your heart pounding against his fingertips. "Perhaps you can apply it yourself tonight...wife." He whispered, his breath burning pleasantly against the soft skin of your cheek.

The words you spoke next made you doubt all the hatred you had felt all these years towards the man that was now in front of you, asking you to service him and making the undergarments covering your most intimate part wet. “If you wish me to.”

He stepped back, releasing you from his hold, but the heat between you remained palpable. “Yes,” he replied, his voice husky with barely contained desire. "I think I'll enjoy that."

Despite the need you now felt for his touch, you were extremely grateful when his hand fell from your face and he walked out of the maester’s laboratory, leaving you with the poultice you were making for him.

You had never felt like this, what was getting to you? Pleasing a man in such a way? Yield to his desires without hesitation? And he was not any man: he was the one who had married you against your will and fucked you from behind before leaving you alone for interminable days. And he was now deciding you worth of his attention?

You closed your eyes and took a deep breath, and opened them again as you released it. You took the mortar back into your hands and continued on with the poultice, forcing yourself to forget who it was for.

Aemond arrived at your shared chambers with fast steps and faster breath. He needed to get a grip of whatever it was he was feeling and stop acting as if he actually desired you. It was an ignoble thought, the one he’d had back in the maester’s laboratory with you. Fucking without the sole intent of procreation was a sin, and he would not inflict such a stain upon himself for someone he had not cared to know for the two decades of his life.

Still, he poured two goblets of Dornish Red and did not touch his until you came back with the poultice in hand.

His eye fixed on you until you stood in front of him, and then he gave you one of the goblets. “Thank you.” you replied as you took it, brushing your fingers against his in the motion. His skin was still hot, but not as much as before. Your eyes stayed in his as you both drank the fresh liquid quickly.

Then, letting out a breath, you unscrewed the lid containing the marigold poultice and took some on your index and middle finger, bending over towards him. He tilted his head to the side, leaving you the space you needed right before your fingers came in contact with his cheek.

His nails dug once again into his palm at your nearness, and also because he had been right: you now smelled of flowers, and he loathed how perfectly it suited you.

Even as his nails stabbing his skin did something to distract him from your perfume, his thoughts were far from calm. He couldn't ignore the way his pulse quickened whenever you touched him, or the way his cock stirred in his breeches at the mere sound of your breath, which was also not the one of a tranquil individual.

“I am done.” you said with haste, straightening up and screwing the lid back on the jar and leaving it on the table, near his goblet. His eye moved to you, taking in your flustered expression and the pink colouring of your cheeks.

Silence stretched between you two as he sat on the chair and looked up to you as you stood in front of him. You did not know whether you wished to run away from him or sit on his lap and grind yourself on him until you shivered with pleasure.

He answered the question for you when he said, “You may leave now.”

You did stand there for a moment after those words exited his mouth, looking at him as his hand fished the eyepatch from his pocket and put it back to cover his sapphire eye. You pressed your lips together with strength to remind yourself what was happening, and you turned and left.

❀❀

What had been tormenting Aemond Targaryen the most, was that he was reminded of you each time he applied the poultice to his scar. He had tried to stop, but it had become almost a drug, both because it made him stop wanting to cut his face and because he smelled you each time. It made it way easier to fuck his hand thinking of you.

A month had passed since the time he’d last spoken to you, and the contents of the jar you had given him were completely gone. It was a perfect lubricant, and it also did something for his scar, which could have been a double win for you, if he’d told you.

It was the perfect occasion to seek you out again without seeming to have interest. He had used every remaining bit so as to show you he had waited as much as possible before coming to ask for help.

He squeezed the glass in his hand as he knocked at the doors of your private chambers, and when your sweet and calm voice told him to come in, he pushed them open. You were sitting in front of your vanity looking glass, braiding your hair simply as you prepared for going to sleep.

“Wife,” he greeted you, relishing in your surprised gaze that met his in the reflection of the glass. He showed you the empty jar, “I find myself in need of your services once again.”

Your brows furrowed, and he was aware that the amount of time in which the poultice had finished must have seemed incredibly short in relation to the quantity of the product. Fortunately, you stood from your chair and relaxed your eyebrows again, approaching him and taking the jar from his hand. His hands were scorching hot once again.

“Do you wish to wait for me here while I make it?” you asked, purposefully ignoring the way his eye was burning holes into your scalp, seeking for visual contact.

“I will come with you.”

As you walked, Aemond’s eye remained fixed on the tantalising way the skirt of your gown moved, and Gods forbid the thoughts that surged into his mind while you climbed the stairs before him.

It could be easy for him to bring you into his bed and satisfy his desire, but he had a completely developed need to strain himself until he could not take it any longer. It made whatever it took far sweeter, and you would have been the most palatable thing he will sink his teeth into. Because he will sink them.

Once you reached the maester’s laboratory again, Aemond sat down on a wooden chair, crossing his ankle over his leg and looking at you while you worked. You did not glance once at him, and you were proud of that as you boiled the marigolds into the water again. That was until he spoke.

“Do you have a lover, Princess?”

That made you turn sharply around, almost touching the pot. You blocked your hand against your stomach, “I beg your pardon?”

"I merely asked if there was another man who had the privilege of warming your bed on these cold nights." His tone remained even, but there was a tightness to it that he couldn't quite mask.” he cleared himself, before standing from the chair and walking towards you with his usual slow and measured steps. “There is nothing wrong with the notion.”

Your mouth fell open at his words, and you weren’t able to answer his question but with a small shake of your head. The notion made you feel slightly out of place. You had always thought Aemond had other women, but the question he asked almost assured you he did, and it made you feel betrayed in some way, because you did not have anyone else. Or, well, anyone at all, because you did not have Aemond.

“Hmm.” was his answer, before his eye moved from you to the pot behind you, “I believe the marigolds are ready.”

You cleared your throat and turned back around to continue with your poultice, draining the flowers and moving them to the mortar to smash them. The scent filled the room again, and you closed your eyes, repeating the motion mechanically and hoping he’d turn away and go sit back on that fucking chair.

❀❀

Three weeks later, Aemond Targaryen was once again at your door, demanding more of that poultice. You wanted to ask him how in the Seven Hells had he been able to finish such an amount of product in twenty one days, but you contained yourself and sighed, walking out of your room and towards the maester’s laboratory without a word, knowing he would follow.

Your strides were faster, and you held your skirt up so as not to trip on the fabric. You wanted to get this done as quickly as possible, so you ripped the stem off the marigold petals as the water boiled, throwing them into the pot before leaning against the countertop.

You closed your eyes and took a deep breath, knowing Aemond was watching you intently. Fortunately, your hair was down that day, and it covered your face completely.

It was when a soft breath hit your bare arm that you opened them again, and, tilting your head, silver strands came into view before a black leather eyepatch.

“You smell just like them.”

You tucked your hair behind your ear, so as to be able to look at his face without obstacles. “Is it a bad thing?” you asked in a small voice, and despite wanting not to care about his thoughts for he most certainly did not know you, you cared about his answer.

"No," Aemond replied softly, his gaze dropping to your lips for a fleeting moment. His hand twitched ever so slightly, as if he wanted to reach out and brush a loose strand of hair away from your face. Instead, he clasped his hands behind his back, maintaining his usual poised demeanour. He had learned long ago to hide his true desires beneath layers of stoic indifference. "Quite the contrary," he added, his voice low and husky. "It's... comforting."

You pressed your lips together and turned your head back towards the marigolds- it was time to drain them, not time to blush for the childish words that came out of the mouth of Aemond Targaryen.

Still, how did he do that? How could he always make you feel so small and incompetent with a mere stare. As you transferred the flowers into the mortar and began to smash them, you started thinking of any way, any question that could make him as uncomfortable as he’d made you.

“Do you have a lover?”

You saw him straightening up after the words left your mouth, and you realised you had hit the spot. His hands joined in front of his lap, and he stared down at you as you continued to smash the marigolds- your position made him seem even taller than he already was. “That is hardly any of your concern, wife.” he answered coolly, turning his gaze back to the crushed flowers.

Your movements halted, and you looked up at him, an unbelieving smile on your lips, “Why are you free to ask such questions, yet when I do so you are not willing to answer?”

His eye betrayed nothing of what he felt, except for the distaste he seemed to reserve to you when you talked to him. “You chose to answer, however pathetically.”

The smile, false as it was, faded from your lips. You preferred the version of him that asked you uncomfortable questions and stared at your every move, no doubt. This version made you want to slap him across the face.

And that’s exactly why you did it. He did not move much at the impact- he almost did not move at all- but you hoped it stung as much as it did in your hand. “Then ask a fucking maester for this daft poultice and leave me be.” you spat, grabbing your skirts and walking out of the chambers.

❀❀

You had never loathed and yearned someone in such a way.

The mere sight of his walk, so rhythmic and precise, made the hairs on your arm stick up, and the sound of his steps had your ears inevitably tense up, and they made you hope that he was walking to come to you, to make you go mental again. But he never did.

Even if you heard his steps outside your chambers at night, stilling in front of the door, even if he stared at you across the table during dinner, even if you found him occupying spaces he never used to be in, he did not speak a word to you. It made you incredibly frustrated, and the desire to slap his face again made itself palpable.

It was another full moon, however, and, having lost the last one for Aemond Targaryen, you decided you were not going to cower again. You made your way to your shared chambers despite you wished not to stand in the same room as him and pushed the doors open after taking a deep breath.

You found him there, but you were not going to give him the satisfaction of having a reaction to his presence. “Husband.” you greeted him with a curt nod, your eyes not truly meeting his as you walked to the window. You lent your hands against the window ledge and looked at the source of pale light coming from the night sky.

When he did not greet you, you felt a sense of pride, for that made him a childish man, a pathetic one. Although the urge to speak to him, to ask him if the poultice the maester made was working, to ask him if he could not sleep, was strong, stronger was the need to hate him. So you bit your tongue and stared out the window.

He crossed the room slowly, his boots echoing against the stone floor, making the hair on your neck stand up. However, you did not turn around. "I see you've finally decided to grace me with your presence." He spoke, his voice dripping with disdain. "Mind telling me what's so bloody important about that window?" his sharp voice cut through what could have been a pleasant ten minutes.

“Tonight is a full moon.” you answered, not taking your eyes away from the sky, although you swallowed heavily. “And I was not trying to avoid you, merely going about my day.”

He let out a dry, mirthless laugh. "So, you're here because of the moon, not for me?" His tone was laced with bitterness. Aemond stepped closer, standing just behind you, his warm breath brushing against your neck.

He placed his hand on the window ledge next to yours, his fingers so near yours you could feel the heat emanating from them. You took your hand away, crossing your arms in front of your chest. “Bold of you to imply that I am here for you.” you said, feeling both repulsion and a strong arousal at his nearness.

“I imply nothing.” Aemond replied curtly, but his next words dripped with challenge: “These are the chambers in which we are supposed to share a bed. If you are not here for me, I do not see why you should be here at all.”

You turned to face him slowly after his words, your eyes going from his chest covered in dark green fabric to his face. “I will leave, then.” you announced.

Before you could do any move- which you were not going to, for those words were only spoken to make him react- his hand came up and grabbed your wrist. His hold was strong, but it did not aim to hurt. "No," he growled. "We are wed. You will stay." A flash of anger ignited in his good eye as he held your gaze. "If you're so determined to ignore me during the day, fine. But nights are mine." The words were spoken with a low, menacing undertone that left little room for argument. He didn't release his hold on your arm, waiting for your reaction.

But you did not give him the satisfaction, for you turned back around and faced the window, not uttering a word back to him. His grip tightened momentarily, making you feel how boiling his skin was, before he released you.

You heard the sound of his boots, and you turned around despite yourself, thinking for a moment that he was going to walk away. But he filled two goblets with red wine and brought one back to you.

“Am I to consider this a symbol of truce? Or the apology you cannot utter?” you asked him, taking the cold metal in your hand and bringing it up to have a sip.

“Consider it what you will.” he said, his tone still harsh as he did the same thing, but his eye moved to your lips, watching as the liquid slightly tinted the inner skin of your lips of a dark red.

You sighed and turned back around, keeping the goblet near your chest as you looked at the night sky with way less interest than you had when you had come in. You heard him putting the goblet on the windowsill, before he exhaled an intentionally deep breath, hitting your skin and making goosebumps rise.

He looked at the moon too, for some moments, and you wondered what he was thinking about. Then, out of the blue, he took a step forward, making his chest touch your back, and he wrapped an arm around your waist, pressing his palm flat on your stomach. “I did not realise the moon was so much more captivating than I, Princess.” he murmured in your ear, standing so close your perfume filled his nostrils.

“I will continue to pretend it is.” you answered after hoping your voice would not come out broken.

You heard the brief chuckle he let out against your neck as he leaned in closer. “Is all this because I did not answer your question the past moon? Or for the words I spoke?” he asked, his hand moving left until it rested on your hip, “I will admit it might have been a slight overreaction.”

You let out a scoff at his words, taking a big swig of wine to try and forget about his hand on you. “At least you acknowledge it.”

When his hand moved to your arse, squeezing it softly with his warm hand, you thought yourself about to drop the goblet. You were glad when he took it from you with his free hand, that touched yours extremely more than necessary, and finished the few remaining drops before settling it down the windowsill beside his. “I also said you smelled of marigolds, did I not? I said I found it comforting.”

“You did.” you said with what was your remaining voice, before stating more confidence, “You brought me the wine as an apology.”

“I did.” he blurted out, his hand stilling for a moment before it went back to your hip, as did the other one. “I am sorry.” he confessed then, making you feel far from pathetic after having Aemond Targaryen apologise with no hint of sarcasm in his voice.

But when he squeezed your hips, brought you back to reality and pressed his erection to your back, he made you suddenly realise what was happening. His breath ghosted on your neck before the tip of his nose brushed your jawline. “Does my apology satisfy you, wife?” he asked in a husky whisper as his hands roamed your waist.

The warmth of his body seeped into yours and into the fabrics you were wearing. You imagined he felt the same fires stocking his insides when he breathed out as if oxygen was just given back to him. He brought you closer still, massaging his cock with the curve of your arse, as if the mere contact was enough to fulfill his burning desire.

You leaned over the windowsill and rested on your elbows, arching your back nonchalantly and looking at him from behind your shoulder. “I believe it appropriate.”

At your actions, his mouth fell agape, and he looked down at your arse, pressed against his lap in such a tantalising manner he seemed about to rip the fabric off in one tug, letting this game you played cease. His hand moved to caress your back, and it returned to your hip when his eye found yours once again.

He pressed himself harder into you, as if to be sure you felt the extent of his hardness, the full lenght of his desire. “Do you wish for me to show you just how sincere my apology can be?”

You bit your lip, looking at his strong hand covering your hip and wrinkling the soft fabric of your nightgown, and nodded.

Aemond let out a deep breath at your consent, and he bent over you slowly, eyes closed, as he massaged your hips roughly. “Shall we move to our bed, then?” he asked, using the possessive adjective purposefully.

It made you grin, and you straightened up as he did the same, before facing him. With a hand on the side of his neck, your nails grazing the contour of his jaw, you led him to the bed, before pushing him to sit on the softness.

You reached behind your back, and undid the bow that kept your nightgown tight. He spoke when your hands moved to the button at the back of the collar, “Can I be of any-“

“No.” you interrupted him, looking at how his violet eye darkened at your firm answer. You let the light fabric glide down your shoulders before you bared your chest to his view, and then your stomach, and your legs.

You took a step forward, completely naked before him. He breathed out again, raising a hand and placing it on your hip, almost testing if you were really not just a product of his fantasies. “Devine.” he said in a whisper, genuine and unfiltered, as he ate you with his eye as much as he could, taking in everything possible in the dim light of the full moon.

Your hand found his shoulder once again as you climbed on top of him, the softness of your thighs against his sides. Your hair concealed both your faces from whatever else was in the room, and you took off his eyepatch right before it fell discarded on the stone floor.

It was obvious the slight discomfort he felt, but he did not let it linger, for his tapered fingers trailed down your waist to your thigh and felt every dip and curve in its way. “May I touch you?” he asked, the purple in his iris completely replaced by the black of his pupil as he stared up at you, his thumb tracing the edge of your pussy.

One of your hands left his shoulder to find his between your thighs, and you guided two of his fingers to your entrance, letting out a breath as he began exploring your wet folds.

Aemond’s mouth parted at the feeling of your slick cunt, testament of your desire for him, and slowly pushed inside, relishing in the tightness around his fingers. He started moving slowly, curling his fingers before sliding out of you completely and filling you up once again.

You started to grind your hips against his hand, coating his milky skin with your arousal as you threw your head back and moaned. The sound made the grip of his hand on your hip tightened so much you were sure it would have left a bruise, but you did not stop him.

Your nails scratched at the base of his neck, giving him the signal to pick up speed. His fingers moved faster, making you cry out as he leaned forward and started tasting the skin of your neck like a man starved, nipping and kissing, licking and biting.

Another moan escaped your mouth, and his fingers went even faster, fucking your tight cunt until, added to the sound of your moans and his rugged breathing, there also was that of the wetness inside of you.

Heat flushed through Aemond as you moaned on top of him, the sound alone enough to make his cock swell with anticipation. He was mesmerized by the way you responded to his touch, each gasp, each little movement driving him madder with desire. He thought he might just release himself simply from watching you ride his hand, but he fought it back. He wanted more, so much more, and he wouldn't let his own pleasure interrupt this moment. The feel of your cunt clenching around his digits, your body writhing with ecstasy, was worth far more than the temporary relief of orgasm.

In a swift move, he picked you up and stood upright, keeping his fingers inside your cunt even as he laid you on the bed. He moved on top, one of his legs between yours, and he slipped his fingers out of you.

At the missing contact you whined, bringing him closer with a hand on the side of his neck. He let out a satisfied smile and leaned into your ear, “Patience.”

His lips found yours hungrily, then, making you taste the wine you had just consumed and the fire that burned on his tongue, while his hand still cupped your sex possessively. You moaned against his hot mouth, rolling your hips to tell him you wanted more.

He grinned and broke the kiss, and before you knew, his hands were gripping your thighs, sinking into the soft skin, and his mouth hovered over your dripping pussy.

You wanted to ask him what he intended to do, but it became quite clear when he replaced his fingers with his tongue, savouring every last drop of your juices, ready to bring you to the brink of pleasure.

You moaned loudly, finding his hair right away and pulling the silver and silky locks to urge him closer to your dripping heart. Your feet lied on his back as you closed your eyes, a sensation immensely stronger than the one you felt alone started to be felt in your lower stomach.

Aemond's breath was ragged, his lust evident in every touch, every kiss, every stroke of his tongue against your sensitive flesh. As he teased your clit, his one good eye focused intently on your face, drinking in the sight of your pleasure.

Your taste was intoxicating, your cries music to his ears. He craved this, this raw display of passion and trust, and he intended to make the most of it. He slid his tongue inside of you, thrusting in and out before returning to your clit and replacing it with his fingers, relishing the way your muscles contracted around them.

He felt your body tense, your breathing quicken, and he knew you were close. He increased his efforts, determined to make you scream his name- or whatever title you chose to give him in that moment- to the heavens.

You came undone, your orgasm crashing over you like a tidal wave. Aemond continued to lick and suckle at your clit until the last tremor subsided, only then crawling up your body to claim your mouth in a possessive kiss, sharing your taste with you.

Your vision returned when his lips collided with yours, finding entrance to your mouth right away and caressing your tongue with his. You moaned into his mouth, willing your legs to stop shaking after your orgasm.

He broke the kiss, and brought his hand to his lips, tasting you on the fingers he’d used to bring you the best pleasure you had ever felt. He looked down at you as he did so, shifting position so as to remind you of his hard cock pressing against your thigh.

“Strip.” you breathed out in what sounded much like a plea to your ears, but the frantic motions in which he did what you said made you understand how desperate he was to stretch you out.

He quickly revealed his toned and flawless chest to your eyes, before taking off his trousers with equal haste. Stepping out of them, he locked his eye with yours as he slid off his breacheas. He took his hard cock in his hand, pumping it slowly as he positioned himself on the bed once again, the pressure of him on his knees making the mattress sink.

Precum leaked from his head, and you remembered how it felt to have his seed inside of you after your wedding night. He gripped your knee, spreading your legs apart guiding his cock over your still trembling pussy.

His breathing was extremely laboured as he looked down, “I do not have a lover.”

The confession made your eyes shoot up to his, wide and attentive for what he was about to say, but no other words of the matter came out of his mouth. “You… You do not?” you breathed out, needy for another reassurance.

His eye went to you, and he shook his head. Then he licked his lips and leaned down to your ear. He left a ghost of a kiss on your cheekbone, making the skin tingle, before moving to your ear. “No, sweet wife… But, if you must know, I have fucked my hand countless of times thinking of this perfect cunt of yours… And of your smell, most of all.” he whispered huskily, his hand coming to rest on your hip, squeezing the flesh.

He left you wordless and with ragged breathing as he straightened up. His hand found his hard shaft again, and he slapped it against your pussy, coating your clit with his precum and making you squirm for the touch on the still sensitive part.

He watched your reaction with dark intensity, a hint of satisfaction flashing across his features at your responsiveness. His thumb stroked the bundle of nerves lazily, even if completely aware, while his cock teased your entrance. He knew you were ready, yet he took his time, prolonging the torture for both of you. "Do you want me?" He asked, his voice low and gravelly.

“Yes!” you almost yelled, making his lips curve into a predatory smirk. With a triumphant grin, Aemond positioned himself at your entrance, feeling the wetness and warmth that awaited him. His hand left your hip, gripping your breast instead, rolling your nipple between his thumb and forefinger, teasing you even further.

When his hand moved back to your hip, but he made no sign of moving, you rolled your eyes, “Aem-” but you could not finish saying his name that he thrust into you with a ferocity that was just short of violent, and a groan escaped him at the sensation.

Despite the loss of gentleness that he offered to you as he took you for the second time, you could not deny that was exactly how you wanted him to fuck you. Your moan reverberated loudly through the walls of your shared chambers as he pounded into you with a ferocity that made your walls clamp down on his length.

His hips snapped forward with unrelenting force, burying his length deep within you, eliciting another loud moan. The sight of you writhing beneath him was enough to make him lose control, but he fought to keep himself in check.

He savoured the feel of your body tightening around him, the way your breasts bounced with each thrust, and the soft whimpers that fell from your lips. Aemond couldn't help the thought crossing his mind: she was his now. His to claim whenever he wanted, his to protect, and his to pleasure. It filled him with an unfamiliar sense of satisfaction that bordered on possessiveness. "Fuck," he growled, the sight of his cock disappearing into your depths driving him closer to the edge.

He pulled out abruptly, causing you to gasp in surprise and protest. He hooked both hands under your knees and spread you out to him. “Was I blind to wait this long to take you again?” he asked almost to himself as he drank the sight of you, glistening and trembling for his attention.

With one swift movement, he entered you again, making you feel another orgasm approach. You sunk your head on the pillows, your mouth opened as he started thrusting again, moans of pure bliss and satisfaction coming out of his mouth.

One of his hands moved to find your soft thigh, “I want you to look, wife.” he said almost pleadingly. “I want you to look as I claim you again, as my seed fills your beautiful cunt.”

You bit your lip hard but looked down at his cock as he moved fast, making you take it inside, which you did greedily. It all made your walls tighten around his length even more than before, making him grunt out a moan.

“Gods,” he whispered gravelly, furrowing his brows in pleasure but still maintaining his gaze on where your bodies joined, “It’s so fucking perfect.”

He slammed into you even harder then, but his erratic thrusts made you understand he was about to finish. “Fuck…” he grunted again, and he leaned over your leg, bending it and letting his cock deeper inside you.

Your hand found his neck, bringing him closer while applying pressure to it as your cunt spasmed around him. You closed your eyes shut in pleasure, but the iron grip on your thigh reminded you to look as he had ordered.

So you sunk your teeth into your bottom lip, feeling your throat going raw at the contained screams of pleasure while you came around him. Your grip on his throat loosened drastically, for your strength was now completely drained out of you, but then he buried himself inside your cunt to the hilt, sliding out to do it again, all accompanied by his moans into your ear as he emptied himself inside of you.

You saw the arm that he was holding upon to give up, and, spent, he lay on top of your chest, his skin glistening in the candlelight due to the sheer layer of sweat on it.

Your hand found his hair, pushing the silver strand away from his face. He sighed heavily in a weak attempt to regain his breath, and rested a hand on your ribcage, letting his thumb trace circles on the skin. “We will continue once we have rested a moment.” he announced, making you breathe out a laugh and raise your eyebrows.

“Aemond,” you said with a lingering smile, your free hand finding his back and tracing the same circles he was on you. “It has yet to pass a minute.”

“I am fully aware,” he replied, moving to rest his chin on your sternum so he could look up at you. “We have been married for five moons now, and this is the second time I have you… I need more.” he said, his eye serious as he bent to leave a kiss on your skin.

[ggirlthatgotawayy]

i’m on my period and just wanted to say i’ve cried multiple times to Time Adventure (the song for the Adventure Time finale)

[ggirlthatgotawayy]

Not Cold Any Longer (modern au)

summary: Aemond is that guy you’ve known since you were kids, the one you’ve never talked to and that had gotten fucking weird. But you end up becoming friends, and you find out that not only he’s right about your shit boyfriend, but also that he’s a fucking ride that can keep you boiling hot all the time.

trigger warning: explicit language, mention of useless men, mention of Franz Ferdinand, sexual content, name calling, choking, slapping, loving, maybe other things.

word count: 6.2k

note: Aemond is not hotd-Aemond but the FontainesDC-hottie-freak (fuck me<3) . also english is my 3rd language and i haven’t written a complete smut since i was 13 (read, don’t judge) so yeah do tell me what you think

-💎

The cold air of the night was hitting your face, and it stung your skin despite your best efforts to hide it in the collar of your jacket. You didn’t want to go back home, you wanted to keep walking, to go to him.

From your house to his, there was a six-minute drive, which meant a forty-five-minute walk for someone who walked quickly. Perfect, you thought to yourself as you glanced around the dark street, not a sound to be heard.

Your mind raced back to earlier that day, to the reason why you were walking to his house. His words replayed in your mind over and over: “Don’t you fuckin’ understand?! Really?” he had shouted, his eyes wide and his mouth hanging open, but a hint of sadness was lacing them. He had tried to hide it, as always, like the rest of his emotions.

He had already told you that you were able to understand him despite his precautions- “I don’t fancy how ye keep readin’ me mind, love.” he had said with a soft grin and happy eyes. But that was a completely different circumstance; it was something light, about why he had started inviting you to gigs instead of bringing his friend, Sal.

Anyway, him telling you that you didn’t understand had your heart twisting in pain, both when those words had left his mouth and when you thought about them again.

He had gotten angry because of what you’d told him had happened with Ed, your boyfriend. His eyes had widened when you told him he’d left you waiting for an hour yesterday, because he ‘got distracted with his friends, and forgot to pick you up from your shift’. It was your anniversary.

But that wasn’t why Aemond had shouted to you that you didn’t understand- that came after. Earlier today, your phone had rang with his call: he had told you he was nearby, that his Ma had asked him to buy some bread before leaving for her shift, and if you minded if he stayed over a bit.

Spending time with him had become the highlight of your day recently, so a smile had curved your lips as you told him yes. He had arrived with a CD in his hands, “I know you like this shit.” he told you then, showing you the new album by Franz Ferdinand you had been planning to buy for weeks now.

You had gasped, and started covering his cheeks with kisses despite his half-hearted efforts to get away from your grip- half-hearted because his arm had already sneaked to hold your waist. “You’re mental.” you had told him with wide eyes, but he had just tutted and shrugged, leaving the CD on your desk and throwing himself on your bed.

“How did it go with the eejit?” he had asked you then, referring to Ed and your anniversary. His arm had been covering his eyes, but he took it away and looked at you when you hadn’t answered. “What did he do?” he had asked with a sigh.

You had briefly glanced at him before letting your gaze fall on the white and burgundy sheets of your bed. He wasn’t one who let go of this kind of things- not with you, at least- and you had known an answer was necessary if you weren’t planning on having him shut up and stare into your eyes for three hours.

So you had sighed heavily and brought your eyes back on his, “He didn’t show up.”

At your words, he had looked like he had stopped breathing. Then, he’d sunken his teeth into his lips, closed his eyes and let out a low and deep breath. “You’re aware he’s still breathing because you want him to?”

His eyes had opened again, and he’d directed them to you, waiting for your answer. When you’d nodded, he had continued: “Changed your mind?” he’d asked you, his tone slightly pleading, with a hint of hope. But you’d shaken your head.

You had seen his eyes closing again, and he’s let out another deep breath. “What did you do, then?”

“I walked.”

Silence had filled the air between you two once again, until he’d straightened up and sat on the edge of your bed. He had ran a hand on his face and settled his elbows on his knees, “You walked… Didn’t call me?”

“It’s just a ten minute walk.” you had tried to explain with a shake of your head, but he had stopped you.

“And now your throat aches.”

You had bitten the inside of your cheek at that. You were always cold, always wore two pairs of trousers to go to school, always had as many blankets as possible on your bed. Aemond knew, and each time you stepped foot into his house he had the kettle on, and the blanket that held the most warmth was folded and waiting on the couch, and he asked you right away if you wanted that ugly but incredibly warm sweater he never wore.

“It doesn’t.” you had told him, and it was true, because you were still healing from the last time you had the flue, and your antibodies were still strong.

“Mh.” he had said, nodding. You had never seen anger simmering quite as much as it did in him in that moment. “Why don’t you fucking leave him, mh? Still fuckin’ think he deserves you?” he had said, his voice rising at every word. “I’m genuinely curious, love- tell me.”

“Aemond…” you had said, interrupting yourself with a sigh. He had got up from the bed and walked over to the window, leaning his hands on the ledge. “I like him when he’s with me.”

“Well, that’s a fucking pathetic thing to say.” he had told you before turning around, his eyes as hard as ice, “That’s because you can’t find a bloody nice thing to say ‘bout him.”

“He’s still me boyfriend, though-“ you had tried to say before his shouts filled the room.

“And he shouldn’t fuckin’ be! It’s your fault he still is,” he had said, pointing a finger in your direction, “and it makes me fucking mental just thinking about it.”

“Then don’t, Aemond! It’s none of your fucking business!” you had tried to retort, but you had told it to yourself how daft your words had sounded, since it was Aemond the one always available to listen to you yap about how shite Ed made you feel while barely containing tears in your eyes.

“Shut up, don’t even fucking play this card with me!” he had yelled at you before taking a deep breath and pushing his black hair out of his face. That still hadn’t tamed the tone of his voice when he’d spoken again, “Don’t you fuckin’ understand?! Really?!” his eyes had been wide as he looked at you with a hint of desperation in hie voice, a hand held out to you in hope.

But your brows had furrowed, and your eyes had expressed nothing but confusion as you’d looked at him.

His hand had fallen and slapped his thigh, “Leave him, or don’t fucking talk to me again.”

He had walked away then, leaving you with wide eyes and the security that those words weren’t what he had been thinking about when he had told you that you didn’t understand.

And you admitted it to yourself as you walked to Aemond’s house at midnight, with the freezing cold of February seeping into your bones, that you might have waited a bit much to act on whatever you needed to act on.

But you did pat yourself on the shoulder for the strong punch you’d landed on Ed’s nose about an hour ago- which, in all honesty, was something you’d learnt from Aemond and the lessons he gave you so you could ‘have a wee chance to survive if they attacked you on the street’, if someone was to say it with his words.

After you had exited Ed’s house, a mischievous grin plastered on your lips, your thoughts had gone to Aemond right away, thinking about his laugh when you would have told him what you’d done. Your smile had fallen.

But it was fine, you told yourself as you walked faster in the dark night, because you were going to fix everything.

The truth was, you had never felt quite as empty as you did when Aemond had left your room that evening. And you had already known there that you needed to go to Ed’s and leave him- which you realised hurt your hand way more than it did your heart.

Aemond was right. Fucking Aemond Targaryen, the lad that wanted to talk to nobody at school except for you and Sal Quinn, the one that wanted no glimpse of a relationship, was right.

You needed to walk faster.

You took out your phone and flipped it open, pondering on whether or not to call him and ask him to pick you up on the street where Mae Allbrook lived. Realising that would have needed to stay still for at least three minutes as you waited for him, you flipped your phone closed and put it back into the pocket of your jeans.

You definitely didn’t do it because Aemond would have screamed at you for the entire ride back to his house- or better yet, for the ride and for the ten minutes he’d spend heating your hands up by rubbing them between his.

No, it was better to make your grand entrance at his house and have him freak out there, while you sat in front of the fire in his living room.

You let out a sigh when you saw the old, ruined red car, weakly lit by the nearby light pole. You almost ran to the door and jumped over the low gate, before taking out your phone again.

“Aemond,” you said when he answered. You heard the sigh he let out, and you understood how affected he, too, was about what had happened earlier that day. “I’m outside.”

He didn’t close the call after those words left your mouth, but you heard a stomp, and understood that he hadn’t even closed the call before launching himself off his bed and running downstairs.

The front door swung open in front of you, making your hair fly in front of your face. He didn’t wait for you to step inside, deciding instead to take matters into his own hands and grab your jacket to pull you in roughly.

Before you knew, he was muttering to himself behind you, his hands passing over your thighs over and over to heat them up. “You feel your hands yet?” he asked gruffly, not even trying to hide how he still remembered your last conversation word by word.

You nodded and said, “I’m not that cold.” but he tutted and shook his head, not believing a word. “Care to tell me the fuck you’re doing?” he finally asked.

“Apologising.” you answered after some seconds, slightly distracted by the way his wide palms transferred heat into the skin of your thighs. “You were right.”

You turned your head to look at him behind you, and he let out a sigh, stilling his movements and leaving his hands on the top of your legs. He threatened to move them to your hips, his movements slow and unsure, before his warm palms left your body and he got up on his feet, making you look at him from the floor, “I’m tired. Tell me if I have to bring you home or you crash here.”

You bit the inside of your cheek, getting up from the floor and grabbing your own arm with a hand. “Can I stay over?”

You saw the hesitation in his eyes as they met yours, but then he nodded towards the stairs, and you followed him to his room.

“Change.” he told you with an assertive tone once you reached his room, putting a hand in his wardrobe and throwing that ugly sweater and a pair of sweatpants at you.

You pressed your lips together to stifle a grin at his annoyed actions. But as you went to the bathroom to change, you couldn’t help but think about what his expression would be like when you finally told him.

His room was always quite dark and warm, and the dim light that came from the tank he kept Vhagar in made everything seem blue.

You approached him slowly, nibbling at the skin inside your lower lip as his eyes went from the ash tray set on his nightstand to you.

You could see the smoke of his Benson and Hedges coming out of his nose and going upwards. “Come here.” he said then, slightly defeated, but only half-heartedly.

So you climbed onto his bed and he reached out with a hand to touch your waist. “Still cold…” he muttered to himself before deciding to bring you closer to him.

He put off his cigarette on the ashtray and held you with his arms wrapped around you, a hand on the curve of your hip. “I’m sorry.” you told him, looking in his blue eyes you couldn’t quite see.

He didn’t say anything about your apology, but you felt his hand twitch on your hip. “What did you think you were doing, walking alone at this time?”

His features were lightened by those soft blue hues, making the sharp angles of his face even more so. You raised your hand and trailed your finger on his cheekbone. His skin was hot, and you felt him stop breathing at your touch. Your hand dropped back on the bed, “I left him.”

You started to worry when you didn’t see him starting to breathe again, but then he talked, “You’re not lying?”

When you shook your head in no, his hand tightened on your hip drastically. “Fuckin’ finally.” he said, letting out a deep breath. “What did he do?”

“Nothing,” you said with a shrug, “He just sat there, holding his nose after I punched him.”

You saw Aemond’s eyes widen, and the corners of his mouth curled up until they formed a wide grin. He started laughing, his chest shaking as he shook his head. “Wonderful woman…” he muttered, leaning his mouth on your shoulder, making goosebumps spread wildly on your skin.

He started caressing your hip then, going dangerously close to your arse as he always did. But still, what you felt was a deep sense of peace there: at his house, in his arms, surrounded by the smell of smoke and green tea that clung to his skin.

You’d known each other since you were kids, since way before he had started dying his hair black and got into the metal music he had definitely been listening to before you called him.

But you had never really talked until four months ago. You had your friends, he had his, all outside of school, and you both had never bothered trying to talk. It had all changed in a matter of days after an English Literature project.

It felt weird when you thought about it, trusting someone the way you did him after so few time, even if you’d known him for ever, because you’d never really talked.

“You know I love you, right?” you said then. It was out of the blue, really, but you couldn’t help it.

Those three words seemed to hit him more than you intended them to. He paused the movement of his hand on your hips and cleared his throat, straightening himself slightly. He still didn’t answer, though, but simply sighed and left a kiss on your forehead.

“I don’t care about you saying it back: I just want you to know I love you.” you said hurriedly but calmly, distancing yourself slightly to look at him, finally able to do it properly since your eyes adjusted to the dark.

He let out a snorted laugh at your words, and shook his head. “D’you think I don’t love you?” he asked you, his voice low and husky. His grip on your hip tugged you close so you were sitting on top of him, “That’s not the problem, princess.”

“I don’t understand-“ you tried to argue, but he laughed again, interrupting you.

“You do, love… You do.” he said before leaning close to your ear. His nose brushed against your earlobe, his lips against your jaw as his breath ghosted your skin and he murmured lowly, “You got me wrapped around your finger... Got me doing whatever you want me to.”

Your breath caught in your throat. Your hand was gripping his shoulder and your nails were definitely digging in his skin through his sweater, but he didn’t seem to mind.

“And now…” he whispered , interrupting himself to let out an unironic laugh and shaking his head. “Now you’re sitting on my lap, pretending not to notice how fucking hard my cock is for you.”

You were breathing fast, so fast you felt the blood pumping in your ears, and his words did nothing to quell that. His smirk remained on his lips as he brought his cold blue eyes back to yours.

He tilted his head to the side, a strand of his dark, dyed hair falling over his eyes. “What do you plan on doing about it, then?” he asked, the teasing tone still present. But the way his eyes darkened, the way his grip on your hip tightened, told a different story.

Was it real what he’d said? That he loved you, craved you so much that his cock was rock hard after barely five minutes of you sitting on him?

“About…” you said, pressing your lips together, trying to gather the courage to complete the sentence. You found it when the corner of his mouth quirked up again and both his hands found their way to your arse, squeezing it and pulling you flush against him. The action made you let out a small sigh, but you decided not to let yourself fear him, so you raised a hand and brought the strand of black hair away from his face. “What do I plan on doing about your cock?” you said in a whisper.

His mouth curved into a smirk and he breathed out another laugh due to your words. He was usually the dirty one, even if you still didn’t exactly know how dirty he was. “Yeah, ‘bout that…” he confirmed with two slight nods of his head. “Now that you’re fully aware of what you do to me.” he added, letting out a deep breath.

One hand remained firm on your arse, keeping you right where he wanted you, while the other moved up to your face. He traced the line of your jaw with his thumb, feeling the softness of your skin and the pulse quickening beneath it. In that moment, all the cold you had felt as you had walked to his house for forty minutes was completely forgotten, disappeared in your mind like ash after a breath.

“What do you think I should do?” you asked, swallowing harshly. You suddenly felt stupid for the question, and you did even more when he snorted out another laugh.

He leaned forward, his lips dangerously close to your ear. "Why don't ye use your imagination, Princess?" he whispered huskily. The hand on your face slid back, cupping your cheek as his thumb continued to brush against your lower lip.

“Okay…” you whispered out in a breath as you nodded. Then you slowly leaned into the brief distance that separated you two, brushing your lips against his before pressing them into a kiss.

It was rushed, definitely stupid, but you wanted to try and see how it felt. His lips had always looked rough to you, chipped and bloodied in winter, but now, against yours, they were soft, boiling hot, sweet and incredibly inviting.

His hand tightened its grip on your arse, pulling you even closer to his body as his other hand tangled itself in your hair, angling your head for better access to your mouth.

His kiss was even gentle, which surprised you, but more than anything it made you want more. When his grip on your hair tightened and pulled on it just enough to make you wet but not enough to hurt excessively, a moan came up your throat and overturned into his mouth.

He pulled away before capturing your lower lip between his teeth and letting it go. His hand slapped your arse, making you jolt forward and making him laugh. “Slut.” he muttered, closing the distance between you two again.

You let out a chuckle against his lips, and started grinding your hips against his. Right away, he groaned and pulled you closer still, eagerly helping you with your movements.

His other hand moved from your cheek to your neck, fingers gripping gently but firmly. "Is that what you want, princess?" he growled, breaking the kiss briefly to let you breathe. His eyes bore into yours, dark with lust. "You want to feel me inside you?" he asked, voice strained and husky.

You were slightly startled by his hand around your throat, by his thumb stroking your pulse point like it was the most fragile and precious thing in his world. You bit your lower lip and your hands wrapped around the wrist of the hand that was holding you, which made his lips part in what looked like feral hunger, before nodding.

Your response was everything he needed to hear. His hand on your neck tightened slightly as he claimed your mouth once more, kissing you harder. His hips thrust upward, pushing his erection against your core, as if to emphasize his words. He let go of your hair, his hand trailing down your back until it reached your waist.

His lips moved from your mouth to your jaw, nipping at your skin before tracing a scorching path down to your neck. He loved the way you moaned when he bit you there, and he did so again, sucking hard enough to leave a mark. "Fuck…" he breathed against your skin, his fingers digging into your waist. He seemed to need to feel you, to make sure this whole thing was real. "Use your words, Princess."

A whine escaped your lips before you were able to reply, and you felt completely daft other then drenched between your thighs. “Yes,” you said, your words like a plea, “I want you inside of me.”

His eyes bore in yours for two seconds before he pushed you off him, making you land on your hands on the mattress. He pulled himself up, standing on his knees on the bed, “Take your clothes off.” he ordered with a nod of his head as he stared down at you, his tone leaving no space for arguing.

With a heavy chest, mouth parted and eyes wide, you complied. You unzipped his black jumper, trying not to be clumsy as you slipped it off your arms.

Still, Aemond seemed unable to wait, because he quickly threw the jumper off the bed before his fingers found the bow you tied to the string of his sweatpants.

He undid it as you took your shirt off. “How many fuckin’ pair of trousers you’ve got on?!” he growled, both bothered and amused when he found a pair of leggings under the sweats.

You let out a chuckle as he did the same, shaking his head as he pulled the first layer of fabric off roughly, before doing the same with the second.

He stopped when you were left with only your underwear, and he stared bluntly, pressing his lips together as his chest raised and fell heavily.

You moved your right leg to brush its calf against his clothed thigh, your eyes on his. His hissed in a breath, his hand gripping your thigh like he wanted to rip off the meat to eat it. “It’s your turn.” you whispered as you let your leg wander higher.

The action gained you his grip to tighten and a slap to be delivered to your thigh. But he complied, pulling his t-shirt off from the collar and blindly throwing it somewhere before pulling down his trousers.

He put a hand on your knee and settled between your thighs, crushing his mouth against yours once again. The roughness of Aemond's touch sent sparks flying across your skin, igniting a fire within you that burned out of control. He pressed you further into the mattress, his body aligning perfectly with yours. You could feel every inch of his bare torso, each ripple of muscle and scar, his heat enveloping you like a living flame.

His grip on your thigh loosened and his fingers went up until they reached you inner thigh, teasing you as if he wasn’t dying for it. You whined against his mouth, squirming under his touch.

He chuckled against your mouth, and he gave into your desires in a matter of seconds, sliding his hand inside your drenched knickers and exploring your folds. He breathed heavily on your wet lips after he had to break the kiss. He looked at you as he slipped a finger inside, and watched intently as your face contorted in pleasure.

“Think, Princess…” he drawled, his lips brushing against yours before doing the same on your cheek. He added another finger, making you let out a moan. “Think of each touch I give you tonight…”

He stopped his movements temporarily, taking his fingers out and making you gasp, to grab the sides of your knickers and pull them down and off roughly.

His mouth reached your neck while his fingers found your cunt once again, entering you in such a beautiful way your eyes rolled back. He started pumping his fingers in and out roughly, making your breath catch in your throat before it came out in a broken scream.

“Think of this, and then back at that fuckin’ halfwit that you let inside this beautiful cunt.”

Your wetness was completely coating his fingers at that point, and he seemed to enjoy it like nothing else, or so it seemed as you looked at him through half-closed eyelids.

He continued his assault, his thumb pressing against your clit, rubbing circular motions on it, as his lips left kisses, hot and wet, on the skin of your neck. They made you remember how his hand felt wrapped around your throat, and you found yourself craving it once again.

The memory and the sensations he was giving you only fuelled your wetness, and your orgasm drew closer. “Aemond…” you breathed out, your cunt clenching desperately around his fingers.

Just as if he was reading your mind, his lips left the soft skin of your neck to leave space for his free hand. You let out an embarrassing whimper when his fingers wrapped securely under your jaw.

“I think you’re liking it too much…” Aemond groaned, his voice husky and gravel as his fingers worked restlessly inside your pussy. “I should stop.”

Your hand found the wrist of the hand that was holding your neck when those words left his mouth, and you let out an irritated moan, kicking his side with a trembling leg.

He let out a small laugh, his pupils so dilated that his eyes appeared black. Aemond’s fingers went faster, making you let out a strangled yell as your eyes stayed fixed on his.

Your legs threatened to close, but he avoided it by getting closer, his breath now ghosting over your face. “You’re so fucking beautiful.” he groaned, crushing your lips against his as your pussy spasmed around his long fingers.

He kept them there after you climaxed, slowing the movements of his fingers progressively before sliding them out. He brought them to his lips like an instinctive motion.

He groaned at the sight of your flushed face, your eyes glazed with pleasure, and the way your body still trembled from the orgasm he'd given you, and definitely even for the taste of you he was licking from his fingers. You bet he loved reducing you to this state - wanting, needing, begging for him.

"Fuck," he breathed out, getting off the bed and taking off his boxers. His cock was hard, veiny, and you found yourself thinking of it inside you, stretching you out while you felt every singe thing he wished you to.

He opened the drawer of the nightstand and pulled out a condom, opening the plastic with his teeth and discarding both the useless pieces carelessly on the floor. He slid it on, barely looking at what he was doing before he nodded at you, “Take that shit off.”

You furrowed your brows and looked down, noticing you still had your bra on. You were still breathing heavily, but you quickly did as he’d asked.

He moved back on the bed, the mattress sinking under his weight as he approached you with hunger. He was like a madman- you had never seen him like this before.

He kissed you again, hooking his hand under your right knee and folding its leg over the other. It provided him with the perfect view of your ass and face, and it seemed to be the most beautiful thing he’d ever seen as he broke the kiss to take a look at you.

One hand found the top of your thigh while he used the other to hold himself up on the mattress. He leaned down and wrapped his lips around your nipple, making your hand fly to his hair and a gasp escape your throat.

His hand left your thigh and went to his cock, guiding it to your pussy. He teased your already tender flesh with his tip, making you both groan.

His mouth disclosed around your nipple and he lied his forehead against your shoulder. “Fuck…” he breathed out once again, shaking his head before straightening up.

His hand went back to your thigh, and he ground himself against you. His head rolled back and his eyes closed at the contact, his mouth fell agape.

And you, with his cock almost inside you and his hand pinning your body to his will, couldn’t help but look at him: at the sweat that clung to his body, at his long hair you craved to pull, at his fingers that had just made you cum like nobody ever did.

When he opened his eyes again, they locked on yours right away, staring down at you. Then, he thrust inside you in one, swift and steady motion, filling you up with his cock just like you wanted him to. You weren’t cold any longer.

You didn’t try to conceal the scream if pure pleasure that escaped your lips at his motion, and he didn’t hide his. “Shit, Aemond!” you moaned, brows furrowed as you looked up at him.

“Don’t look at me like that…” he grunted, punctuating his phrase with a thrust, making your body jolt forward despite the way his hand was holding you tightly. “I’m already trying not to cum.”

His words made you cheeks heat up and a grin spread on your lips as he began to thrust inside you. Your head fell back onto the pillow, feeling every vein on his cock despite the latex separating you- maybe you were fooling yourself, but you were fine with it.

Aemond’s thrusts left you both breathless, and filled the room with the sound of skin meeting skin in perfectly rough motions.

Nothing had ever felt as good as the feeling of him inside you, and the way you squirmed and gasped beneath him made him understand that perfectly, other than making you feel like a pathetic whore.

His hand on your thigh was leaving red marks that had the shape of his fingers, and you loved it. “Please… Harder.” you found yourself begging, and he complied.

His hand left your thigh, gave your ass a firm slap before balling into a fist and pressing into the mattress to hold him up. His other hand reached your hair and grabbed a fistful, twisting it between his fingers before tugging on it sharply, making you yelp and arch your back.

“You asked for it, pretty girl.” he said with a wicked grin, pounding into your with more force than before. His hips collided against the skin of your ass he’d just slapped, making it even redder.

In response, your hand wrapped around his arm and your nails dug into the fair skin, making him grunt and pull even harder on your hair.

He fucked you harder as a form of punishment which he knew would only make things better for both of you. “Look at me, Princess.” Aemond breathed out the order, his chest heaving and his mouth open.

When you did, he let out an uncontrolled moan and gave you a particularly hard thrust, “Who owns you now, mh?”

The dirty talk, the rough treatment - it all fueled your desire, pushing you closer and closer to the edge. That’s why your lips curved into a grin.

But he wasn’t playing, because his fist opened and he slapped your ass again, “Answer.” he ordered. There, you understood it was all about pleading you to tell him, to reassure him, that Ed was gone from your mind, that he was the one inhabiting it.

“You do.”

At your words, and your burning eyes that accompanied them, Aemond grinned, turning you onto your stomach and pulling you ass up, all without exiting your tight heat.

He pushed your hips down until your chest pressed down on the soft comforter, and he started pounding again.

The change of position made your mind go blank, and your eyes almost saw white for how deep he reached.

He leaned in, still slamming into your with from behind like wild animal- his grin gone. “Who owns you, Princess?” he asked you again with the most guttural voice you’d ever heard coming from him.

“You!” you screamed with the few air and fewer focus the new position left you, as you felt your second orgasm approach like a storm above a deep sea.

“Good girl.” Aemond breathed out, his thrusts becoming erratic and his grip tightening as he let out a loud moan. His pace quickened, his breathing turned even more ragged, and you could feel him as he started losing control.

“Aemond!” you yelled, your voice slightly muffled by the pillow pressed against your cheek.

Hearing you scream his name, seeing the pleasure on your face, sent Aemond made him go even more mental than before: he pounded into you harder, faster, the bed rocking underneath the ferocity of his movements.

And your vision narrowed, your thoughts filled only with images of him and the feeling of his cock pounding restlessly inside you as your cunt clamped down around his cock, like you wanted him stretching you wider, breaking you even more.

The sensation of your second orgasm hitting you sent him over the edge, and with few powerful thrusts and a low growl, he came, filling the condom up to the brim.

Spent, he let himself fall on the bed, careful not to hurt you as he pulled out and wrapped his arms around your waist, making your back press against his chest.

He buried his face into your neck, breathing heavily. You bit your lip hard, trying to calm down and speak, “You were slightly better than Ed.”

You felt him let out a breathed laugh against your neck, but that didn’t save you from the slap he gave your ass. “Shut up.”

You jolted forward but chuckled. Then freed yourself from his embrace, making him frown and lock his eyes on you.

You scooted down, enjoying his confused expression and showing it with a grin, until you lied with your chest on his legs.

You pulled the used condom off his still-hard cock with a wicked gleam in your eyes. You revelled in the way his breath caught in his throat at your actions, and even more so when his mouth opened in pleasure as you started cleaning him off his cum with your tongue.

His hand went to your hair, holding the side of your face as you looked up at the desperate look for more in his eyes.

“Shit…” he breathed out raggedly. “You’re such a slut…”

You grinned, and started trailing kisses up his stomach and to his neck until you sat on top of him again. You cupped his cheek in your hand and kissed him, aware of how he could taste himself on your tongue.

His arms held you tight against his warm chest, his forehead against yours as you broke the kiss, and you couldn’t help but think about how many months you had thrown at the wind when you could have been in his bed, warm and…

“I love you.”