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cherrysoulth · 1 month

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RUTHLESS: SWAY

💕Pairing: Hoseok x Reader

📝Summary: Second part of Ruthless

✏️Genre/au: Non-Canon, Romance, Action, Smut, Bikerlife

✏️Rating: PG 18+, explicit

📝Wordcount: 3901

⚠️chapter warnings: explicit smut, dominant attitude , semi-public sex (while people are sleeping in the same room)

Hii! Did you stumble across this work? Glad you're here 😊 It has a previous part. Please, let me know your thoughts once you are finished. Feedback keeps me motivated to write 😁

Note that English is not my first language, so please if you find grammar mistakes, let me know. :)

As your three motorcycles enter the town, it is obvious that it's been brought to life by the biker event. People in leather jackets walk the streets jovially engaged in conversation and different types of bikes fill the parking of every hotel, bar or restaurant. The rather small village, normally rather quiet, is now louder than it has ever been.

It is a vision that gives you a tingle. The older you get the more you grow into how these conventions go rogue at night and how the excesses make people more real, more true to themselves. You expect to show that to your beloved Hoseok. Lure him into the lust for freedom that your kinfolks feel. Although something in the way he fucks tells you that is innately his. Maybe he’ll be just as fascinated as you were the first time you came here.

It's on those nights where, in the past, you and Namjoon would sit over the only building standing at the old factory terrain and drink beer as you watched the elders lose their shit over alcohol, plant-based “medicine”, and attractive people.

The night was only meant to be for the adults, those who could drink and do “legally” all those things, but it was pretty easy to escape through Namjoon’s backyard to attend as his mom was sleeping or still at the party with Joon’s dad. One only had to get down his room’s window, hold on the ledge and place their feet on the lower window before jumping, then salvage the first line of trees from the forest right down a path next to the house and access the dirt road to the farms. Lastly, take the lead to reach the end of the town, where the solar was.

It was in one of those escapes that you met Yoongi, who had turned twenty-one just four months prior but was looking for a place to watch the scene just like you two did and caught you in the act.

He looked so good in his seventies style, with those dark cat eyes that seemed to look into your soul and those long black locks falling over his temples, caressing that majestic jawline. Had you not been sitting, you could have dropped to your knees with the instant infatuation you felt.

In a matter of two days and two long nights, you had spent more time talking than sleeping or taking care of your own needs. By the third, Friday night, when Jungkook arrived, and Namjoon had the pleasure of his company -when leaving his side wasn’t leaving him alone or ditching him- you and Yoongi took the road back into town. In Yoongi's hotel room, a discreet double-bed little room with wooden walls and flowered curtains, he showed you what it was to lay with a man.

You laid under him the next morning, and after a nice breakfast in his room, you left him with a gentle kiss at his door while he was still only wearing his leather trousers.

Upon returning to Namjoon’s home you realised he wasn’t happy about it. Although he didn’t say a thing as you explained it all to him, his nostrils betrayed his mind even more than the white knuckles over his knees as he sat down crisscrossed. He asked multiple times if you had used protection and if the guy had been gentle. If he had treated you with respect.

He did. He was a perfect gentleman. The perfect one-night stand.

None of you exchanged numbers, and whether that had ever been an issue or not, you never saw him again. You only spoke about him around that time and you only remembered him when people spoke about the first time. With that, he became a good memory. Yoongi the Nomad.

Hoseok is well aware of that. He has been for years and he has brought it up recently, right by the time you started to talk about the journey. He wondered what would happen if this time Yoongi was there.

The only thing you said was that he could have been before, but you never saw, missed him. Hoseok argued that it was impossible for you to just miss him. Especially since old habits die hard, and you and the guys were still looking for higher places to oversee more of the area and watch people exist.

You concluded that it didn’t matter. It was just a one-night stand, and it had never been a thing to begin with. Likely, he would not even remember you.

It’s the view of the hotel that has brought all these thoughts back, but when your eyes meet the antiquity shop, everything dissipates. The first time you stepped into the main street that branches and leads to a single cul-de-sac neighbourhood, what caught your attention was this shop. The view of flowered windows and clean facades, pretty well-taken care trees and bushes adorning the pathways, was stunning and brought a sense of community that not every town has, wasn’t the best of it for you. That shop, with its little mysteries and history, was a reason you once wanted to move in.

A charming sensation that you shared with Taehyung now.

You both had stopped almost synchronised, and Jungkook had to move his bike backwards to reach you again. Hoseok looked at it from behind you and with an audible smile commented, “The magic shop!” Causing you to chuckle with sincere animosity, that was at the same time shared with the other two.

“We should come check it out tomorrow morning,” said Taehyung over the noise with a little shout. You agreed.

The way the leaves create shadows on your way in this spectacularly sunny day, makes you want to lift your hands to your sides and close your eyes. Since you are the one riding, you allow the thought to escape your mind. Hoseok’s hands around your waist keep you grounded and hot on your seat.

This town makes isolation feel like paradise. That's how you perceive the air. Paradise. That is the word.

This many people are the only thing that disturbs the town’s peace. But as opposed to what normally happens to the otherwise calm towns, people love to have this many guests here. It's like people in town are the most welcoming hosts to a bunch of brute-looking rascals. Feeling included in that description.

Maybe it's because, when the event happens every two or three years, people are responsible enough and do the bare minimum to not leave a mess behind them when they leave. Maybe it’s because some of you are charmers. Or maybe it’s just because you remind old people of their youth, and when respectful youngsters sit to listen, they can reminisce about those times.

It could be easily the last since by the time you are near Namjoon’s parent’s house, you see a bunch of elders sitting in the town hall garden watching the lengthy and straight street.

You park the bikes in front of the white fence house with new apricot paint covering its outside walls, and old memories come dancing to you like little nymphs, giving you a new smile as you dismount.

A family barbecue is being set up in the yard already. The two-story home looks just like it always has: neat, with well-attended flowers on the windows and an entranceway, like most of the town, and you can see the flower bushes over in the backyard white panels. Everything that is wood is white. Giving it that dreamhouse aesthetic that the European colonists brought two centuries ago. That detail gives you the ick, but it certainly fits the American dream the world has been infested with through Hollywood.

The garage door is open, with a Chevy Impala sitting in the right spot while a Nomad Triumph Bonneville T100 bike and a camo Yamaha Dragstar 650 rest at its left. Namjoon’s and his dad’s. In the driveway, there are two more bikes, your uncle’s Neev Nakshatra 650 Bobber and Jimin’s Bavarian Fistfighter Custom BMW R nineT. If it wasn’t for you being related or long-time friends with the owners of those bikes, you are sure those bikes would be lust-busters.

They surely seem to give Jungkook a mental boner. His eyes are glued to that direction, and he forgets for a second that he is meant to park his bike.

Namjoon is the first one to come from the inside of the fence to receive you, apparently hands on deck with the barbecue because he has a brownish apron that covers him chest to knees and still grips a pair of tongs dripping sauce from them. He looks at them when he realises that all of you are staring at the item in question.

“Oh…” he says, looking at it with surprise and then showing that perfect smile of his. “How was the journey?” he asks kindly.

“Well, it was entertaining,” says Taehyung, looking at you and then at Hoseok, raising his brows when he turns back to look at the host and stands from his leaning position on his bike. He was the first to dismount, although normally, Jungkook is the most effective to unpack. Still obsessed with the vehicles, he dismounted after you left his stuff over the bike and went to check Jimin’s bike without a second thought. In fact, his eyes are still on the shiny chrome of the engine as Taehyung updates the President on what things you enjoyed during the trip.

You were apprehensive about him spilling the beans about what happened in the hotel on your way, but you know Taehyung is anything but stupid. As Namjoon gets closer, however, Jungkook loses interest in the bike, approaching him too and hugs him. Then Namjoon hugs Taehyung and tells him to beef up, letting him know his mom will, most likely, not leave him alone when it comes to food.

Sometimes you ask if Jungkook’s love for Namjoon is truly that platonic since his eyes shine differently when he looks at him.

When Hoseok is introduced to Namjoon, the latter’s jaw tenses for a second.

“I have talked to you about him on many occasions, remember?” Namjoon nods but stares at him a second too long before he looks at you and gives you a warm hug.

“If he doesn’t treat you well enough, let me know, I’ll—” he says, clearly worried.

“Easy, big bear. He’s a good guy,” you mutter before breaking the hug, taking a small squeeze of his well-built forearm. When you return to your boyfriend’s side, his poker face makes you think that something about the interaction was not his cup of tea.

When Namjoon moves to grab a couple of bags that were meant to be taken inside and then moves to go back to the garden with your group, only Taehyung and Jungkook follow. Hoseok retains you with his hand on your waist.

“What’s up, Hobi?” you ask him as you clearly notice his intentions.

“What is your relationship with this guy?” he asks, looking at them walk inside the fence. They look back for a second, but Taehyung says something for them to keep walking.

“Oh…Yeah, that. Well, as I told you, Namjoon treats me like a little sister. Such a shame you never met before because you have a lot in common. Now that you and I are together though, he’ll be on your ankles like a Collie. He is like, ‘Me protect baby’,” you explain to him and then roll your eyes. “Sometimes I think that these men are still in the prehistoric days,” you chuckle and shake your head.

“Hmm,” Hoseok seems to weigh the situation for a second, and you wait to see what else he has to say. “So you have talked about me with him,” he says, placing a triumphant smile on his face. “Was my baby gushing over me with her best friend?” he teases, and you slap his chest.

“I don’t gush, you moron,” you say, scrunching your face, faking disgust exaggeratedly.

“I couldn’t disagree more,” he says, kissing you as he stands quickly and starts to run to the backyard before you process it.

“Hey!”

Namjoon’s parents' backyard soon fills with a dozen more people, members of the MC, and they all greet you effusively upon arrival. One of the large and imposing men, Ravas, puts you on his shoulder and says he's taking you home with him, before the ex-president-turned-sergeant on arms, warns against his health.

Hoseok seems surprised and Namjoon looks embarrassed about it but you are a good sport since you’ve known him and most of the tribe since you were very little. Your response is to try and wrestle him, like you did back in the day.

In some sense, you know they do it to test your new boyfriend, see if he's ‘good enough’ for their ‘little princess’. You can't really complain since they do that with the other women related to the members too and has resulted in being one of the many good ways to judge a character.

To no one's surprise, you manoeuvre with your legs to use the weight of your body, bouncing from one side to the other while grabbing him by the neck and jumping away from him when he moves his hands to try to hold his balance. There is applause and you smirk when the guy looks up and pushes his hair back.

After that little play, the beers and food flow through the garden animatedly.

Namjoon keeps sending glances towards you and Hoseok when he hugs you from behind as you listen to Joon’s dad recall the moment when Jungkook first got on a bike.

Namjoon’s dad had left for work, and he and Jungkook were at home alone since his mom had an earlier schedule. Namjoon had just gotten his bike licence and he was showing Jungkook his bike when they had the brilliant idea for him to teach the youngster.

Without too much thought, Namjoon took Jungkook for a ride on the back going to the furthest lonely road in the mountains nearby, almost half an hour from home. There, he swapped places with Jungkook and told him to start it.

Namjoon wasn’t stupid or reckless—Jungkook had already been on smaller bikes and been able to balance, but a bigger bike is always a bit more difficult to manage due to the weight and dimension.

Jungkook was too excited to test ride it because Namjoon’s Forty-eight Harley Davidson was awesome and he got too carried away with the speed, although the eldest shouted at him to slow down as he winded along the road.

Fortunately, the moment when Jungkook fell from the bike was when he was reducing the speed to stop next to Namjoon, so the only injuries he received were a forearm burn and some gravel pokes on the face. For the pride of his family man, a scar stayed under his left eye. Like a war medallion.

Jungkook can’t avoid scratching the almost imperceivable white skin that has prevailed from that day’s memories as Namjoon pats his shoulder proudly. He has come a long way since that day and will soon join the rest of the men who are now under Namjoon’s command. The place where he has wanted to be since he was old enough to be on top of a two-wheel fury.

A little sense of jealousy overcomes you as you see him being surrounded by the men. You will not be given the chance. Just because of what you have hanging from your chest and what doesn’t hang from between your legs. Not because of your lack of capacity but because of your lack of male genitalia.

“Wanna go for a walk?” suggests Hoseok. You notice he hasn’t even looked your way, but he seemingly just sensed your contradiction.

“I think that would be great.”

You two take off through the neighbourhood's private path to the woods without interrupting the scene, although from the corner of your eye, you see how Namjoon looks your way.

The path is lined by flowers and the shadows of tall trees that beautifully lead the way into the wilderness. If one could call it that.

It is well taken care of. The ground is clear of dead plants or any other visually uncomfortable objects. There are mouldy old trees fallen here and there but they only add charm to what looks like a little piece of heaven.

Hoseok holds your hand, fingers entangled, as you walk in complete silence. His mere presence and his light touch bring some sort of peace to the troublesome sense of not belonging that you have felt just some minutes before.

“I don’t think I’ll ever understand. Because I’m not you. Because that part of your life has never really called to me like it does to you. But if you want to talk about it, I’ll listen,” he offers with a gentle tug on your hand, making you stop to attract you to his body in a hug.

“I couldn’t choose to be born a woman,” you say. “I don’t regret what I am but stupidly it’s like they don’t consider us as people when it comes to being part of a club. Like there’s some sort of legal gap in which everything I am and can do holds no weight to belong in their circle. Like I’m just some side thing,” you say, raging and feeling your tears almost fall. “It’s like they can see my talent only for the entertainment it brings, not a quality to consider. It’s frustrating,” you mutter, pressing your head against his shoulder.

“I think you are amazing,” he says against your temple. “So I think I understand your frustration when it comes to this,” he adds, kissing it. “You deserve better.”

After holding the hug for a bit in which you feel valued and loved, you keep on walking, going up the mountain and taking the left turn to go a bit down in the direction of the lake where you fished with the families just a summer ago. At this very moment, you feel bitter at the memory, because if they truly valued you as one more of theirs, they should be able to keep in mind your feelings and bend the rules like others have done in recent years.

As you sit down next to a thick logged tree, you feel like you need to blow off some steam. You sit and straddle a slightly surprised Hoseok.

He easily gets the hint as your lips find each other and your tongue twirls with his and you suck the end of it. It is simply amazing how easily he gets in tune with you. His face between your hands keeps you grounded as he presses your core against his bulge, holding you by the hips.

His lips are soon on your throat and quickly your back finds the floor as you kiss his forehead. His lips meet your cleavage followed by a grunt that turns into a growl, causing your skin to prickle in goosebumps.

“Stupid bastards,” he mutters against your raised skin. “I would kill for this pussy and these titties,” he adds, squeezing your breasts as he takes a mouthful of the right one. You moan for a second but then start laughing and so does he.

“Thank you, my love,” you mutter. Putting your fingers on his overgrown hair that smells so much like him. “I could not imagine my days without your dick either,” you respond, pressing your lips together before a lighthearted laugh escapes the both of you.

“That has an easy solution,” he adds.

“Does it?” you question with an eyebrow raised as he looks at you from above.

“I could put it in and not take it out,” he replies, convincingly, raising on his ankles and putting his hips against your ass, grabbing you by the waist as he makes grunting noises and mimics being inside of you by grinding effusively.

“So obscene,” you feign surprise.

“Oh? Is it?” he says. He grabs the edge of your trousers and pushes the centre button open. “I can prove to you just how obscene I can make us,” he leans forward and takes your bottom lip between his, sucking it with a low growl.

“Please,” you beg, insane for his ministrations. Any sense of decorum is thrown into the lake.

You look around as he does and the place is deserted at the moment. With the log covering you from the main path, it doesn't seem like such a bad idea.

Hoseok manoeuvres you on your hands and knees so that your clothes are easy to work around while allowing him to control your body. He pulls your ass up and pushes your trousers and panties down just enough for the warm air to hit your pussy and then his mouth takes it over. You use his shirt under your arms to bite as he devours you like a man starved.

“I love it, fuck! I love it!” he mutters against it as his tongue works you like the chords of a guitar, like a master player. You moan, just loud enough to not be caught if someone were to pass by. “So fucking good…” he growls.

When he believes you’ve been undone enough by his mouth and tongue, he rises to his knees. You hear the rattle of his belt as your head rests on the piece of clothing under you.

He pushes inside slowly at first but is so eager that he takes a quick pace almost immediately. “Goddmanit,” you mewl, biting the clothing again before you hear him giggle.

Having dozed off almost right after putting your clothes back in place, under the nice breeze that created waves over the smooth surface of the lake, you wake up when the air has refreshed and sends a chill down both your spines. The sun is already on its descent, and you suddenly realise it’s been hours since you left the house.

As you descend the path, held by the hand again, you notice the music is still playing from the house but that the sound of chatter is much more subtle than when you left.

“Where were you guys?” Jungkook asks as you open the backyard door that you previously used to access the path. There you can see people are still gathered but some have already left.

“Maybe they couldn’t keep their hands from each other,” says a very drunk Taehyung, who is sitting with an arm holding the weight of his face as he seems about to doze off.

“Nah,” says Namjoon, also drunk and slurring his words so they sound drawn out, “not our Army. She wouldn’t just be so public about it,” he adds excitedly like it’s funny.

“If we did,” you say looking at him in the eye, “it’s none of ya’ll’s business.”

With that, you take Hoseok by the arm and head inside where Namjoon’s parents are starting to make some side dishes to accompany the meat leftovers from lunchtime. When you look back, hearing the laughter from your friends, you are surprised to see Namjoon taking a sip of his beer, his eyes digging holes at Hoseok’s back.

I hope you enjoyed this. Let me know your thoughts and reblog to let it spread 😊 See you soon! ~

I want to thank @moonleeai for the beta work 💜

#bts au fic #bts smut #bts angst #bikerlife #explicit smut #semi public sex #hoseok x reader #hoseok smut #hoseok x you

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cherrysoulth · 1 month

Text

Lykirī

PAIRING: Aemond Targaryen x wife!reader

WARNINGS: loss of virginity, fingering, oral sex (f and m receiving), handjob, we ride him bitches, dom/sub tones if you squint

WORD COUNT: 8.9k

Author's note: an early Christmas gift for those who celebrate!! For those who don't, just a regular smutty piece. This was based on a request where wife!reader rides Aemond. Merry Aemondmas :)

MASTERLIST

taglist: @zae5 @multyfangirl @chompchompluke @arcielee

"You are to marry the King's second son. Prince Aemond Targaryen."

Those were your father's words. Your sister had looked at you almost with pity and a hint of relief since that fate had befallen you and not her. You had simply nodded, accepting the fate decided by your father, just as thousands of other daughters before and after you would have done.

Your mother had come to comb your hair before going to bed, and without much ado, she had told you what would happen after the wedding, after the banquet.

"All you have to do is try to relax your nerves, and I promise it will be less painful.”

The thought had stuck in your brain until the wedding day. And the aura emanating from the prince didn't help. He was stoic to the point of looking like a statue, his posture rigid as a spindle, and there was something unsettling about him that made the hairs on the back of your neck stand when he took your hand to recite the wedding vows. Fear, but also a foreign giddiness prickling your skin upon feeling his calloused fingers around yours.

The banquet had not helped either. Prince Aegon had behaved like a court jester, drinking to the point of wondering how he could stand upright, poking his brother with cruel jokes about his eye and a whore who had made Aemond a man many years before.

You didn’t know what kind of unpleasant memories your good-brother had just summoned in his brother’s mind. That woman and her cheap perfume, that way it had clung to his skin, to his thoughts for days after his only ever trip to Flea Bottom.

Then the elder Prince had approached you with his breath stinking of Dornish and it was then that Prince Aemond broke his icy silence, standing up abruptly and looking down at you. "Come, wife. It is time for us to retire."

Prince Aegon had clapped his hands as if in front of a hilarious show, saying "Finally some fun! The bedding!"

The entire crowd present at the banquet had escorted you to the prince's chambers. The servants had removed your dress, leaving you in your underskirts; you had unconsciously covered your chest, crossing your arms to hide from the greedy eyes of the men peering in the doorway, Prince Aegon in the front row with yet another cup of wine clutched between his fingers.

Master Mellos invited you to lie down on the bed, and you obeyed, swallowing, while a host of servants shielded you from view as the Maester made his humiliating inspection.

"All is in order, your Graces," the Master informed the Prince and Queen. And that was enough for Aemond to completely slip the iron mask off his face and go straight to the door. "The show is over. Get out."

"Oh, come on, little brother. Let me watch, at least. I could give you some tips."

Aemond had towered over his brother, and from your seat on the bed, you were able to see the eldest brother shrinking by the moment. "This is not some common whore you're speaking of.” Aemond seethed “She is my wife, and you will owe her the respect she deserves. One more lewd word from your mouth, and I will rip your tongue with my bare hands. Am I being clear?”

"Gods, brother, are you already so cunt-struck?"

He never got an answer, only the door being slammed right into his face.

You stood in the middle of the room, torturing your hands as he looked at you from the door. He seemed unsure of what to do, until he cleared his throat and took a few tentative steps in the room.

“You could have some wine, if you wish. It may…help you.” He said, but as he said this, he seemed to regret his own words, given how his mouth twitched as if he had just tasted something sour. Memories could come just like that, sudden and sour.

“You must relax, my prince. Have some wine, maybe? No need to worry, I will take care of you just as a prince deserves to.”

“I’d like to keep my mind clear, my Prince.” You said, keeping your gaze down, hearing his fast and deep sigh. “Fine.” he said, straightening his back as a soldier. After all, wasn’t this just another duty?

It wasn’t just that though. You were his wife now, the future mother of his children. It was his duty and his right to claim you as his own.

“Lay on the bed.”

With your heart pounding in your ears, you did as you were told but when the mattress dipped under his weight, you did not expect to see him with his clothes still on, the eyepatch firmly in its place. More so, you did not expect the harshness of his gestures as he held your waist to turn you around. The air hitched in your throat as your face met the mattress and a strange sorrow gripped your heart. Did he not want to look at you? Did he not like you?

“Try to stay still and it’ll be over shortly.” he said. He was trying to sound reassuring, but his voice came out cold and flat. His fingers latched on your underskirts, hiking them up, filling you with embarrassment as you grow completely exposed beneath him.

Aemond knew what to do. He may not have been as depraved as his brother, but he was still a man. And once in a while, when his hands would not suffice, some maid or servant girl would’ve had to bear, quite keenly on their part, his intimate attentions.

As his hands began to glide on your thighs, you shivered and said “Wait…”

Slowly your head turned to look at him, cheeks red and breath slow and anxious. “Am I not allowed to look at you?”

Your words seemed to stun him for a moment. The mere thought of you wanting to look at him made him realize how wrong he was behaving. You were his wife, not a common whore to bend over and have his moment of bliss. He had even told Aegon. That was not his intention, but there was a gap between how he felt and how he acted, a limb severed by years of pity looks and feelings trapped in his mouth and swallowed.

Almost gently, he made you turn but once you were facing him, he pinned your wrists on the mattress, unable to touch him even if you had gathered enough courage to do it. You tried to brace yourself for what your mother had told you. But she had not told you that he would touch you there, that all your senses would go numb except for that one brand new feeling between your legs. But he seemed enthralled by it just as you, his mouth parting to let out slow puffs of air as you grow wet and swollen against his fingers.

Your breath was labored, coming out in soft pants that made your cheeks purple. More so because he kept circling his deft fingers on your core while looking straight into your eyes, reveling in the way you were answering to his call, in the way he was shaping your need, your desire.

“You never touched yourself, did you?” he asked in a husky voice.

You barely shook your head and his eye glinted with something dark as he brought his face close to yours “Good. I shall be the only one inside you.”

He swallowed your shaky breath with this mouth, kissing you for the very first time, apart from the shy, almost prude peck exchanged after the wedding vows. Your lips moved shyly, trembling with the coiling pressure between your legs. And just when you thought this heat, this delicious aching couldn’t grow more unbearable, he sticked a finger inside you, spilling a loud moan right against his mouth.

One of your wrists twisted in his harsh hold, willing to touch him, to grip on something, but he didn’t let you. “Easy…” he blew on your lips “Relax. It’ll feel good, I promise…”

It surely felt good to him, to feel the tightness of your cunt squeezing his finger. He curled it and you squinted your eyes, choking a gasp that made him smirk proudly against your jaw. “Gods, you’re so tight…” he breathed as he kept rubbing slowly against your walls.

“It’s—it’s too much—“ you cried out with pain and pleasure running together, breathing his scent of ash, leather and a hint of something minty.

“How will you take my cock if you can’t even take my finger?” He whispered with benevolent cruelty, moving his finger faster and deeper.

Certainly your mother had not told you of the obscene wet sounds you would hear, of the uncontrollable moans coming out of your mouth, of his soft growling next to your ear when his breeches became too tight.

He had lined the tip of his hard manhood to your entrance, catching your breath away as tried to still your nerves, but the pain came altogether. You felt like he was cutting you from the inside. Tears filled your eyes, squinting for the painful stretching. You knew he was restraining himself; he didn’t want to hurt you more than he already was. And you almost felt affection for him, most men would not have bothered.

Then he had started to move, you felt that stranger body rubbing over and over against your walls, and finally the pain soothed, but not completely. You could tell he was enjoying it, his ragged breath and faint moans told you so, as well as the curses hissed through his teeth in a language you guessed was Valyrian. And then he had stilled completely, gripping your hips hard and firm while you felt a hot wave pulsing through your core.

The next morning, you could barely sit down for breakfast, and your aunt had looked at you with concern and a hint of amusement in her eyes. She was a veteran at court, a long-time widow, and quite happy to be so. It was her who suggested your betrothal to the Prince.

"How are you feeling, sweet niece?"

"Awful." you said promptly, shifting your weight on the seat.

"Well, this is the kind of anguish all women must go through."

"I thought that was giving birth to another human being."

"Oh Gods, no. That is the ugly part. This is the good one," she said with a sly smile "I suggest you enjoy it as much as you can."

At the time, you didn't really understand what she meant. The first night with the prince had gone...well, you thought. But he certainly enjoyed it more than you.

The second time was better. Your muscles were still sore, but the pain was but a faint discomfort compared to the pleasure you felt for the very first time in your life.

The third time he went down on you, bringing you so close to the edge only to deny your release, with cruel enjoyment on his part, making you whine with shame at the loss of his mouth and tongue on your folds.

The fourth time he bent you down on the breakfast table, all things falling in a mess of cutlery. He had pulled up your skirts and lowered his breeches just enough to thrust in, unraveling a special spot deep inside of you that had you mewling like some primitive beast.

The fifth time he had you writhing in bed, hair stuck to your head with sweat and hands clenching the sheets while he had you peak three times in a row.

It was then that you started to think your aunt was right.

That was indeed the good part.

“Are you afraid?” he asks, with a soft taunt on the tip of his tongue. You drag your eyes away from the gigantic beast before you and almost scoff. That is enough for him to laugh, quietly, but still not quietly enough for you to not notice and wonder at the view.

It’s been merely one moon since you’ve been married to Prince Aemond, and you could count on the fingers of your hand the times you have seen him laugh. It was eerie at first, you feared all the things you heard about the One Eyed Prince were true. That he was cold as stone and just as hard. And he was. But the more you spent time together, the more you were able to make cracks, and let light through.

“I’m equally afraid as any little mortal of right mind would be in front of the largest dragon in the known world, my dear husband.”

His lips stay quirked up, but his eye widens, as it always does when you call him that. He steps close to you, a few of his long strides are enough for him to tower over you, and the ground below your feet shifts.

“Come.” He says, taking your hand, “I promise she won’t eat you.” This time you deliberately glare at him, and he raises an eyebrow. “Do you need some other kind of persuasion to trust me? Perhaps like the one I used this morning?”

The early afternoon sun makes his face almost hurting to watch, or maybe it's just his bold gloating that makes his appearance so exhausting.

“That was not persuasion.” you remark, hiding the tinge of red on your cheeks “It was coercion.”

“Hmm. You didn’t seem so hostile when I made you come twice before breakfast.”

"I was hostile to the chance of the maid assisting with what we were doing."

"The maid should know better than to enter while my wife is undressing."

His eye roams over you just as he had done that morning, hunger clouding it, making your insides shrink. "Perhaps it's best if she knew. Someone must be aware of how cruel my husband is." there's a soft tease in your tone—something you are still learning, but true nonetheless.

He had ripped your nightgown with his bare hands when the maid entered to help you dress. She fled hastily, but you barely spared a glance at her, already lost to the fierce claim of his hand between your legs. He had taken you, twice, and then ordered you to dress, forcing you to have breakfast with the Queen and the Princess with your thighs still sticky with sex, sticky with him.

And he had been there, sitting just in front of you, with a piercing and delighted gaze.

He pulls your hand, and you follow, getting closer to that living relic that is Vhagar, Queen of All Dragons. She raises her monstrous head and looks straight at you with her amber eyes.

It is the first time you step so close to her, and even if you thought about it a lot, your heart is pounding fast, and your breath comes out slow and labored. She's a dreadful wonder.

She flares her nostrils and smells you, making a low rumble which results in a gust of hot wind that ruffles your hair and skirts.

“Lykirī, Vhagar.” Aemond says quietly “Issa ñuha ābrazȳrys. Kostā pāsagon zirȳla.”

You look at him questioningly, and he answers. “I told her you are my wife. And she can trust you.”

You cast a curious look at the dragon and then back at him “Is that all it takes? You tell dragons to trust you, and they resist the urge to turn you into their meal?”

Aemond curves his lips and makes you step closer, standing behind you and guiding your hand on the old green scales. “It takes much more than that.” he whispers in your ear “You have to surrender to them, completely. A dragon is no slave.”

You feel the heat beneath your palm, but it’s not that that makes you swallow; it’s the heat of his breath on your neck, right into your ear, scorching his way into your brain and inflaming every thought.

“What does Lykirī mean?” you ask, and you hate how your voice cracks on the edges.

He smirks because he knows, he always does. But he does not answer. Instead, he pulls your hand again, and you follow, circling the beast until stopping before the intricate ropes that lead to the saddle.

“Aemond, I don’t think—”

“You are my wife and you will ride with me on dragon back.” He said, commanding.

Truthfully, you gladly want to obey; there is just a slight difference between picturing riding a dragon and doing it.

Even the climbing to get in the saddle is a challenge on its own, but he helps you until you firmly seat yourself in it. Aemond sits behind you, and you look around with widened eyes, as if you are looking down from the highest tower ever built, except this is a living one, made of fire and breathing fire.

He leans over you to grab the reins, and you tense, waiting with bathed breath.

“Dohaeras, Vhagar. Soves!”

She lets out a loud screech that makes your ears hurt, but you have no time to even register it because she's already moving. You grip Aemond’s arms and brace yourself against his chest when Vhagar lurches onward and opens her huge wings to take flight.

She goes up and up, above the clouds, and your head is dizzy, with fear, with euphoria, until you are laughing like a child, like you never did in your entire life. Aemond lets go of the reins and laces his arms around you, angling his head to look at you, his silver hair violently ruffled by the wind. “How does it feel, my sweet wife?”

There are no common words to describe it. Now you know why they say Targaryens are closer to Gods than men. No man could claim a dragon or rule the skies.

“I feel like I’m close to the Gods.” you say, and he tightens the hold on you “Dragons do not answer to Gods.” he says, burying his nose in your hair “Where does this leave us?”

You turn your head to look at him, and you feel like you are looking at one of them. And yet he looks like he’s beyond any God.

“Above them. Above the Gods.”

“Hmm.” He croons, breathing your scent through his nose, and then his right hand grabs your skirt and dips underneath, until you feel his cold fingers grazing your skin. “I will make you feel like one.”

He cups your core through your small clothes, and you whimper, gripping his arm harder. He feels your heat through his palm, hotter than Vhagar’s own fire, and he sets the fabric aside to properly touch you. “My sweet wife.” he whispers, sliding a finger between your folds “Always so ready for me.”

“Aemond.” You say, holding your breath, trying to oppose but your voice cracks, and your body with it, already answering to his call. You see clouds before your eyes, but it’s all a blur, all your senses are enslaved by his touch, rubbing lazy circles on your bud. Too slow for your liking, for your need. Your hips arch and buck, chasing his hand for more friction, and he laughs, darkly. “What is it? What do you need, sweet girl? Tell me.”

He takes your chin with his free hand and forces you to turn your head and look at him. His hold is ruthless, but his tone is almost pleading. “Tell me.” he orders and you feel like he’s smothering you, sweeping away all the air from your lungs. “I-I need more…”

“More of what?” he asks, stopping altogether. “Show me.”

You look him in the eye and swallow, heat inflaming your cheeks, but there’s no place for shame, not here. It is just a faint ghost passing through you, and then it’s gone. Your hand pulls the gown up, and you place it on his, like a feather. “Here.” You breathe on his mouth “Inside.”

The howling wind does nothing to muffle his growl, and then he’s kissing you, harshly, teeth clashing and biting your lips as he accepts your plea, sliding a finger inside of you.

A strangled moan escapes you, and he swallows it, darting his tongue in every corner of your mouth. He releases your chin only to grab your leg to further open them and then he adds a second finger, moving them deftly until reaching that special spot. Your head falls back on his shoulder, gasping loudly, digging your nails into his hand.

Your breath is ragged and fast, and you uselessly try to stifle moan after moan even if there are only the skies to hear.

“Don’t.” he says grazing your lobe with his teeth “I want to hear you. I want you to scream for me.”

Your mind goes blank, as does all your restraint. You feel the tide coming to crash you, hips moving on their own accord, chasing and chasing. And then you’re drowning in it, mouth falling open and flesh and bones clenching and trembling.

He grunts softly when your nails scratch his skin and his fingers slip out, glistening; he raises them to his lips and tastes every drop of you. Still panting, he takes your chin once more with his sticky fingers and licks your lips, so you taste yourself on his tongue.

Your head is still dizzy when Vhagar lands in a clearing in the King’s Wood, but this has nothing to do with altitude. Your limbs are heavy when he helps you dismount, your legs buckle. There is a tautness knotting your bones, itching your fingertips.

You wish to touch him, because you have never, not as a wife would touch her husband, not as he has done with you.

It is only a moon and yet he has taken you almost every night and every day. He has touched you everywhere, he has molded you to his liking, and you let him do it with giddiness, undoing yourself like clay in his hands. He had put his mouth on you, and you have discovered he particularly enjoyed it, because he has done that at the most inopportune times, even in some dark corner of the corridors.

And you wondered if you could do the same with him—not because you have to, but because you want to. You want to claim him just as he claims you, relentlessly.

And he really is. He is relentless, he doesn't give you the time to wander with your hands, to discover, to touch. Fire burns him quickly and you are ashes before you realise you are burning with him.

“I didn’t know my wife had claws.” He says at one point, while you are going back to the Keep.

You wake from your thoughts and turn, watching him raise his hand to show the red marks on the back of his hand, and the sight makes you almost proud—proud to have left a mark of you on him. But you want more, and he wants more. You know it; it takes a brief look at his breeches to know that he wants more.

You dart your eyes around, but there's no one. So, you stop. Trying to gather all the boldness you never had, you step closer to him and take his hand in yours. Your eyes look up slowly, glinting with uncertainty and bravery. "Then let me soothe your pain, husband."

Aemond’s eye widens, and the air around you turn heavy, forcing you to open your mouth to breathe. You take one more step and bring the back of his hand to your lips, kissing it gently while your eyes stay fixed on his face. The other hand goes tentatively to his chest and then slides down, and for once, just once, he’s the one answering your call. His eye darkens and his lips part when your hands bashfully grab the laces of his breeches.

But you should have known better. Targaryens and their desires. Doomed to take whatever they want, whenever they want, answering neither Gods nor men.

You barely blink and he grabs you by the wrists and forces you to the ground. Cold grass and bushes stinging your back make you gasp, but Aemond is already on you, watching you like a century-long thirsted man who takes a glimpse of a water spring, as if you could evaporate from his sight at any moment.

“Aemond, please.” you beg “let me—“

But his tongue is in your mouth, hot and scorching you alive. Your eyes flutter shut, and he hikes your skirts up, taking hold of your hips. You feel his bulge against you, hard and ready, and you can do nothing else than wait, pinned down like prey, all bravery a distant memory.

Suddenly he lowers himself down, lifting your skirts with haste until you’re completely bare half down. “No—Aemond, please I want to—”

“You want what?” he asks with a wolfish grin “Deny me your sweet taste? Iksā ñuhon, ābrazȳrys.” He said that already, you know what it means. You are mine.

“You belong to me. And this…” he swears placing your legs on his shoulders while looking at your aching core as a man who found the greatest treasure in the world. “This belongs to me as well.”

He runs his tongue up and down your wet folds, humming with delight as he tastes you and sees you squirm, arching your back on the stingy bushes. You moan loudly when he slowly swirls his tongue, not able to keep track of your hips starting to move on their own, thrusting into his mouth and the sight of you like this, makes him even wilder, pushing him to open his mouth and put it entirely on your cunt, sucking harshly until anything before your eyes becomes blurred.

Your legs on his shoulders begin to shake and curl, caging him further against you, but just when you are about to come straight into his mouth, he pulls back. A weak sob leaves your mouth as your hips keep bucking against nothing and he smirks at that, untangling your legs from his shoulders, running his tongue over his lips, to taste what's left of you on him. You look at him through dazed eyes and a tinge of annoyance for the denied release. “What?” he has the boldness to ask with a sly smirk “Did you not enjoy it?” he runs his thumb on his glistening chin and swiftly licks it. "Hmm. I most certainly did."

“Aemond, please.” you claw desperately at his shoulders and forearms, forcing him to lie on you, feel something that could soothe the aching between your legs. He seems keen to grant you this mercy, molding his crotch against you so you can feel how hard and desperate he is.

“Please.” you beg in a thin voice.

“Speak it plainly, my love. I want to hear it from your pretty mouth.”

You look at him straight in the eye and what you say next is not a request nor a plea. Your mother would be ashamed of you, but you can’t bring yourself to care.

You are not begging. You are demanding. “Fuck me.”

He doesn’t need more than a few moments to get his cock out of his breeches, and not a moment later he’s pushing inside of you, your back arching on the bushes and your throat fighting for breath. He groans and starts a relentless pace, lifting his weight from you just enough for him to look at his cock going in and out, the sight only pushing him to thrust harder and harder. “Look at you.” he croons, sweet and rough “You were born to take me, to be mine.”

Your face twists with pleasure, teeth biting your lower lip while he takes you higher and higher, higher than any sky a dragon could ever take you.

He soon becomes messy and sloppy, cursing under his breath, but you can barely hear him. Your mind is sluggish and everything comes muffled: him, the birds chirping on some tree, your wet flesh slapping against his in the lewdest and most blessed way.

He curses some more, and then he’s spilling inside you, his arched mouth opening and his eye closing like a man absolved.

And yet, he does not stop. He has not claimed enough.

“Māzis, dōna ābrazȳrys. Come for me.”

Your hand clutches something on the ground, something with thorns that pierces your skin with pain, but you can’t even feel that, because you are falling, legs trembling around him, and heart stopping for an endless moment of pure breathtaking bliss.

“Gevie.” he coos with his lips on yours, falling with his body on you, still clenching and pulsing around him. He stays right where he is, nesting inside of you, and now it is the only chance you have been granted to touch him. You put an arm around his shoulders, catching your breath, and look at the skies above, thinking you are indeed above them.

It was easy to explain the dirt and grass stains on your dress. It was a little less easy to explain the twigs in your ruffled hair when you and Aemond returned to the Keep only to meet the Queen Mother along one of the corridors. Alicent merely smiled at you with a tight smile and did not spare from giving a look full of daggers to her son.

"Seven Hells" you mutter when you go back to your rooms and catch a glimpse of the mess you are in the mirror.

Aemond stays on the threshold to close the door and grins, or rather, gloats.

You step out of your muddy shoes and start to pull the laces of your dress.

"What are you doing?" he asks, and you playfully glare at him. "Am I allowed to take a bath now? Or do you want me to go around all sullied? I fear there are no believable excuses for the state I’m in."

"You can tell them the truth." he says, walking to you and replacing your hands with his to help you pull the intricate laces.

You smile softly with your back turned before raising an eyebrow, asking "Which is?"

He keeps his eye focused on the dress, a slight furrow in his brow, and stoically serious, he says "That your husband fucked you in the King's Wood."

"I could tell the maid. I'm sure she won't be stunned after what she saw this morning."

He makes you turn so you can look at him, and the sight before you makes your heart sing. His eye roams on your face softly, a rare sight on him, always stoic, always sharp, like all the angles composing this beautiful sculpture of black glass.

You always thought of marriage as a strategic deal for men, and a way for women to prove their value to the world, giving those same men sons and daughters. But you care for him. And he cares for you. That look on his face is enough for you to know that he cares for you, not merely as a brood mare.

“Gevie.” he says, quietly, and he touches your cheek, softly, making you wonder how those same hands can be so delicate and yet so merciless at the same time.

“What does it mean?” you ask, even if you are sure he will not answer. You observed that when he speaks in High Valyrian he does it almost to himself, as if to protect something he does not wish the others to know.

But this time, he meets your eyes and lowers his hand. “Beautiful.”

You look at him with your heart pounding in your throat, and then you stand up on your toes, crashing your mouth against his, almost catching him by surprise. But he is all too deft at turning the game on his side, and a few seconds later, his hands are gripping your hips and his tongue is licking the roof of your mouth.

When the door suddenly opens, you pull back, spotting the same maid from that morning who, this time, can do nothing but suffer the Prince's wrath.

"Can't you just fuck off for once?!"

You hold back a laugh against his chest and the poor maid flees in a hurry. But when he pulls you to him, tilting his head to pick up where he left off, you step back and say, "I'm afraid the Queen has requested your presence. You should go, my dear husband. I promise that by tonight I will be completely clean."

"Tonight?" he asks, raising his eyebrow. "What is happening tonight?"

You shrug your shoulders and hold back a smile. "Innocence doesn't suit you, my Prince."

"Neither does you."

"I'm afraid this is your fault. You are sullying my soul as well as...everything else."

"You won't be of the same mind when you have my child growing in your womb," and he smirks, looking at you as if he's taking a sacred oath, and then walks away.

You finally manage to take a bath and change clothes, and then you go to visit your aunt. She spends most of her time alone, sipping tea in the gardens, partly because she can't stand the other court ladies, partly because the court ladies can't stand her. Truthfully, you cannot blame them, your aunt speaks plainly—too plainly at times.

You sit down with her for tea, which you end up swallowing like salt, because your aunt takes it with a whole squeezed lemon, and no sugar.

"I saw you with your husband earlier. I may be too old for new fashion but mud on your skirt and twigs in your hair seem a bit too brazen, even for me."

You stifle a smile, recalling what happened. If only she knew he was brazen enough to have you utterly undone on dragon back, thousands of feet up.

Your eyes go distant while you fumble with some tablecloth threads, but your Aunt stares at you piercely, and grabbing her cup of tea she says "I love that look on you."

"What?"

She sips the sour liquid and puts the cup down. "That look. The I'm in love look."

"I am not!" you counter, cheeks going red.

"Of course you are. I've watched you two. I dare say he's falling way faster than you."

You look at her puzzled. Many things have changed in a moon. And you are sure you are utterly infatuated with him. But you did not know what to think of what he actually feels for you, if he even feels something. You know he cares for you, you know he loves spending time with you. You know he's passionate, possessive, almost soft at rare times. But in love? That seems too soon to consider, or to hope for.

"It is too soon to talk about love."

"In fact, I did not, my sweet niece. Falling in love and love are beasts of different species. Why do you think we say "falling"? You can't stop from falling. To love a person is an entirely different matter. Love is a choice."

You let those words sink but you prefer not to question your heart right now. There is a reason you have come here to talk to your aunt, even if you don't know how to address the matter without melting from embarrassment.

But in the end, who could you ask for advice? Your squeamish maids? The Queen Mother? Definitely not.

"Listen, I...I wanted to ask you something..." you start "It is uhm...a matter of somewhat intimate nature."

"Ah, my favourites." your aunt says, beaming "I am all ears."

You shift uncomfortably in your chair and swallow another sip of that dreadful tea "My mother...she explained to me what would happen between husband and wife to...consummate the marriage. But she didn't tell me...well, everything else."

Your Aunt is quick to raise her eyebrow "I gathered that your marriage had been consummated by now. Thoroughly."

"Y-yes, of course. But I...discovered...that there are other ways for a husband to please his wife...and I was wondering if...if I could…do those same things to please him."

Your aunt looks utterly puzzled for a long moment, and then, almost stunned, she says "Oh Seven Hells, child. You are telling me you never sucked your husband off?"

A few court ladies walking near turned their heads, going white as sheets, while you, on the contrary, take a nice purple shade.

"Oh, don't look at me like that, prissies. We all did it eventually." she dismisses them, waving a lazy hand, and looks back at you. "You should do it, if you wish. Men love it. Your uncle used to ask—"

"I don't want to hear that, auntie, I'm begging you." you say squinting your eyes.

"Listen to me, child. Men love to think they rule everything, everywhere. But it is not always like that. And if you want to rule your husband's heart, you must rule in his bed first."

That evening, Aemond wanted nothing more than to lock himself in his room with his wife and forget all the hateful political talk he had had to endure at dinner.

You had not attended, and that had bothered him. Never would he have thought of marriage as anything more than a duty, yet there he was, wondering where you were, who you were with, and why you weren't in his rooms when he set foot in there.

"Where is my wife?" he asks the maid, and she keeps her eyes glued to the floor, saying "The princess spent the evening in the library, your Grace. She told me that she would be—"

"I am here," you say, appearing behind the young maid.

You see his chest sag as if a weight is leaving him, and he casts an icy glance at the poor maid "Out."

He is rarely kind to servants, but you can tell by his tense shoulders that something is wrong.

"Aemond, what is the matter?" you ask as soon as the door closes, walking up to him with a hand behind your back.

"Where were you? Why weren't you at dinner?"

"I was in the library."

"For four hours?"

"It was a tough read—"

He grabs your arm, gripping hour wrist harshly, and you flinch. "Aemond, I swear to you.” you say watching his eye on fire and a sneer twisting his mouth “You can ask Maester Mellos."

Suddenly he lets you go, and looks down, closing his eye for a moment. But he doesn't apologize, he never does, and not because he is a Prince. It's just the way he is. He doesn't apologize, he doesn't say thank you, he doesn't say please.

"Aemond, what's going on?"

"I don't want to talk about it now. In fact, never. Not here."

You watch him carefully, and you nod as he moves to pour wine into a cup. You watch him gobble it up greedily, which is unlike him. So, you get close and move your hand from behind your back and say, "Anyway, I wasn't lying. I really spent four hours in the library...trying to decipher this."

You show him an old book, and the title catches his eye, cup held in midair. "Tales of the Dragonlords?" he asks frowning. "This is in High Valyrian."

"It is." you confirm as you move closer, and you steal his cup before saying, "Would you read it to me?" and you take a sip, of wine and courage.

He watches the liquid flow down your throat and then accepts the invitation, taking the book—the one he has read so many times he can recite it by heart. He opens it to the first page, but you say "No. Page 72."

There is a slight imperative tone in your tone of voice, and it thrills him, given how his eye glints under the candlelight. He drops it on the table, looking at you from head to toe, and says, "I'll read it to you later, sweet wife."

He steps closer but you back away saying, "Fine, then. I'll tell you what I understood so you can correct me or not." and at the same moment your own hands go up on your corset and you start pulling on the laces.

The gesture catches his eye like a moth to a flame and he stays silent as you pull all the laces and then slip off your dress, remaining in your underskirt. His gaze roams over you slowly, and with a soft smirk, he decides to play the game.

“Page 72, you said. How Dragonlords claimed Dragons.”

“Yes.”

"And why did it capture your interest? Do you wish to do it? Do you wish to claim a dragon?"

"I wish to conquer, not claim."

He comes closer and looks at you, breathing through his nose, restraining, always restraining, and then he's raising his hand to reach a lock of your hair falling on your shoulder, but you stop him, air as heavy as moss.

"The Valyrian sages say a dragonlord must surrender himself completely to the dragon. But it works both ways. The dragon must submit his will to their rider."

He looks at you without blinking, and you take his arms, guiding him closer until you turn and push him lightly on the bed. He sits and you slowly climb on his lap, knees caging his hips, heart is pounding in your throat like a hammer. You hear him taking a swift breath and pride pools in your bones because for once you have caught him off guard.

You can feel his crotch hardening by the moment, but the look on his face is not one of hunger or lust. It is pure and blessed devotion.

You wonder at the view, and your eyes roam on his face until...

"Can I take it off?"

There's no need to say what. His face goes hard as stone, eye looking away with discomfort, with shame.

"Please, Aemond." you whisper. "I want to see all of you. I want you to bare yourself to me as I did to you."

"It is not pleasant."

"I don't want pleasantness. I want you."

He stares at you for an eternal moment and then he caves.

A flash of sparkling blue catches you completely and you can do nothing but watch with lips parted, while he keeps his eye down.

You wrap an arm around his shoulders and lean your head against his to breathe one single word in his ear. "Gevie."

His arms are all around you, holding you so tight you might gasp for air. Instead you are smiling, breathing through his long silver hair. You are not sure if you aunt is right, if love is indeed a choice. You can't bring yourself to care because you are doing it already.

And then he's kissing you, seizing your tongue with his in a fierce consuming way. He slightly hikes up your hips, and his hand tries to slide between your legs, but you lace your fingers around his wrist, breaking the kiss with panted breath.

"No." you whisper, and he looks at you almost questioningly, mouth open and chest heaving.

"Lykirī."

His eye widens and you smile, secretly. "I know what it means now."

He smirks at this and does not miss the chance to be the ever diligent scholar. "But you said it wrong. The R is hard."

“Lykirī.” You say again, following his lesson, and in the same moment your hand leaves his wrist and goes down to his breeches. He dips his chin to look at it, at your hands unsure, and he too looks unsure.

“You don’t have to—“

“I want to.” You say, and your voice comes out firm and clear. “Please, Aemond. Let me…let me touch you.”

He realizes now that in all the times you have been lying together, you never managed to lay a hand on him. He likes to keep people at distance. Too many wrong hands have been on him. The Maesters’, inspecting, debating, healing without healing. That whore, taking what it was not hers to take, not yet.

But he wants you to touch him. He has dreamed of it, in any way a man could dream of a woman’s touch.

He looks at you for a moment, chest rising slowly, and then, without taking his eye off you, he pulls the laces of his breeches and guides your hand around his cock. You look down, exhaling a long breath at feeling his hard and hot flesh already pulsing.

He knows you don’t know how to do it, so his hands guide you at first, going slowly up and down, and the air comes out of his mouth slowly and labored. You look up at him, his eye is pitch black, lid growing heavy with pleasure, and your core clenches, desire pools in your belly and flows down.

He must hear the call of your body, because he releases your hand, still stroking him, and goes right between your legs. You gasp loudly, and he hums, delight dripping from his voice just as you are dripping on his fingers. He starts to pump his fingers and you can do nothing but moan, clutching his shoulders with your free hand, the other still around his cock, but the act is growing lazy, your mind can’t focus properly on what you are supposed to do.

“Listen.” he orders you, fingers moving faster and faster, and you do listen. Your soaked flesh coming undone at his scorching touch. “Who else has you like this?”

But this is a question he’s asking himself. Because no one else will ever have him bare like this.

“You. Just you.” you say hoarsely, eyes closing and hips rocking on their own accord.

“And who am I?” he whispers just as hoarsely, and yet his voice is like a whip on all your senses.

“My husband.” you cry, feeling the wave ready to drown you “Ñuha zaldrīzes.” My dragon.

You cannot care less about how you said it, because then your mouth falls open, nails digging into his shoulder while your trembling hips keep riding his fingers, clenching them like a vice.

Your head falls onward, leaning against his forehead, and you try to catch your breath. You watch his wet fingers go straight into his mouth while he looks at you, humming with pleasure. “You look so pretty like this.” he says with the ghost of a smile on his lips “I should fuck you in Throne Room with the whole court watching, so they know how pretty you are when you come for me.”

You laugh with your cheeks flushing, and he slides an arm around you, and you know he wants to pin you down on the bed and fuck you until you are muffling nonsense in the pillow. But this is not his game. This is yours, and even if you don’t know how to play, you will win.

“No.” you say, climbing down from his lap, and he looks at you with hunger and a tinge of thrilling curiosity. “It is my turn to claim.” You say with all the bravery you possess.

Not a moment later, you are going down on your knees.

Another small victory, because his eye widens as he had never done before, and you can see that this, the sight of you on your knees before him, is something he has been craving for, even dreamed of it.

His breathing is slow, and you are not even touching him.

You place yourself between his knees and you lean closer and closer, anxiety twisting your insides, but you want to do this. “Lykirī, nuha zaldrīzes. Surrender.” you take him into your hand, tugging slowly, and your lips linger on the tip, heart pounding in your ears and eyes fixed on him. “Lykirī.” You say one last time and then you are swallowing him.

He hisses loudly and his lips part, hands clutching the covers until his knuckles go white. He’s like burning metal inside your mouth—hot and hard. At first, you just taste him, running your tongue over the head, and he’s cursing under his breath. His hands twitch on the covers, restraining and restraining, but there’s no need. You take his hand while looking at him and you release it from your mouth to say “Teach me.”

It’s like you have just poured fire on more fire. His eye goes wild, he takes hold of your head and starts to guide you again, making your mouth engulf him once more and deep down to the base and then up to the tip again, filling the room with a wet gagging sound. You get the gist of what you’re supposed to do, so your head starts going up and down and up and down, and he actually moans for you, head falling back for just a moment before looking back, he can’t help but watch as you fiercely claim him.

You watch his chest heaving fast and your jaw is starting to hurt but you don't care, you are too absorbed by the view before you. You are too thrilled by the fact that, for once, you have made him speechless.

He's always so bold in the bedroom, so cruel in deciding when and how to give pleasure, and now he's utterly speechless. He can only curse without breath, and gasp and groan.

“Kelītīs.” he manages to say at one point, voice all husky and cracking. You don’t know that word, and you have no time to ask because in a blink, he’s slamming you onto the bed and he’s hiking up your skirt, but you get on your elbows pushing him on his back and climbing on him.

“I’m not done, valzȳrys.” you say feeling his hard length inflaming your core, so you lay your hips on it as firmly as possible. “I claimed, but I did not conquer.”

“You are fucking torturing me.” he points out, bucking against you.

“Conquests could last for centuries, dear husband. You above all should know that.”

“All I know now is that I need to fuck you.” he says placing both hands on the sheets to pull himself up.

“No, I will.” you promise, rocking your hips once more “This is my conquest, not yours.”

You keep rubbing your drenched core on his length until a sheen of sweat glistens on his forehead, and he's so hard he's leaking from the tip. "You are twisted, wife." he says with a dazed tone and you smile even if you can't take it anymore, but you rock some more, saying "I'm a quick study. And I'm learning from the best."

Finally, when you are so wet you are dripping on him, you raise just enough to slide his cock inside of you.

You gasp together and you brace on his shoulders to start moving. You both know you are not going to last long, so you start rocking your hips slowly, taking him to the hilt until you struggle for air.

“Move…” he orders but you just take the opposite road, slowing your hips in a delicious torturing way. “Do you know what else the Sages said? A rider must know their mount, feel their heat below them.”

But Aemond does not have a single drop of blood in his head right now to give you an answer, let alone play your game; he's just fire that burns and burns and burns and just like the Sages said, you can feel his heat, burning below and inside you. He grips your hips and starts to thrust inside you like the wild beast you are supposedly claiming, until you are moaning so loud your throat hurts.

“Yes—” he growls as you bounce on him “Just like that—you’re gripping me so well—fuck"

You both turn sloppy, a mess of sweaty limbs and teeth biting, clutching at each other with bruising grips, pulling at the roots of his hair when you’re about to fall from the highest sky.

"Come on, my sweet girl. Let go for me." he breathes into your mouth, forcing you to move even faster "Let go fro your dragon. Seal your conquest." And you do.

He follows right after, spilling inside while digging his teeth into your neck like fangs on a prey, muffling his loud groaning.

And you are smiling like a fool, a lovestruck fool, but most of all, a conqueror.

Thank you so much for reading!! 💞💞

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