notnormalthings-blog

[notnormalthings-blog]

This post has single handedly resurrected me

The pain I felt in my chest after reading the last two paragraphs was something close to a heart attack 💔. I can’t wait to see Daemon go full Liam Nesson Taken mode on his ass.😤

The Lost Haven (6/?)

[ modern mafia • Aemond x niece • female ]

[ warnings: uprotected sex, incest obviously, smut, the angst, injection of a sleeping drug, violence, bad, bad things ]

[ description: The vacation from eight years ago still haunts his memories and doesn't let him forget what happened between him and his niece, the daughter of his sister and Harwin Strong. Their paths separate and he immerses himself in his father's mafia world until the day she calls him for the first time since those events. Sexual tension, dark, dangerous, withdrawn, thirsty Aemond. ]

Author’s note: As promised, this is another, this time official modern version of The Fall from the Heavens. In this version, Daemon is not related to the family, but is simply Rhaenyra's husband and the leader of the second gang, Alys and Larys are also not related to each other, but Larys is Harwin's brother. I will partly refer to the original series, hiding some easter eggs, and some will be a completely new, fresh plot. As in every universe, only Aemond calls her Rhaenys and this is not her real name (she is unnamed character and the others also do not know that he calls her that). There will be a lot more brutality and angst in this version, so watch out. You can read this as a standalone story.

Series & Characters Moodboard

* English is not my first language. Please, do not repost. Enjoy! *

Next chapters: Masterlist

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She had felt the closeness of his body all night: his arms locked her in his embrace every time she rolled over on the bed, with a murmur of satisfaction finding with her a new position in which he could snuggle into her.

Although he kept his hand on her bare buttock, desperately wanting to feel her skin, she did not perceive this touch as sexual per se: there was a need for physical affection in him that only another living, warm body could give.

He smelled of alcohol, cigarettes, mint gum and intense, masculine perfume. This combination dulled her and relaxed her making her fall asleep again immediately even when she woke up, his touch, his presence, their bodies entwined together soothed her.

She was sure that in the morning he would wake up horrified by everything that had happened, begging her to go to the pharmacy to get the pill that would prevent any unplanned pregnancy, the effects of their ill-considered excess.

He, however, took her again, more tenderly and slowly, making her feel so good, too good, because, after all, it should feel bad, it should be disgusting, it should hurt.

But it didn't.

She was too wet, he slid into her too easily, he was trying too hard to rub against the spot from which shivers of pleasure ran through her, making her womanhood twitch with convulsions of sweet ecstasy.

She felt remorse for not standing up to him, for opening her thighs to him twice even though she had promised herself that it would never happen, that it was just her hideous deviation that she would keep to herself forever.

"Are you taking pills?" He asked when it was all over, and she froze, snapped out of her reverie.

"No." She muttered, knowing what he meant, what he was going to say.

She felt like vomiting at the thought.

He surprised her when his lips placed a warm, gentle kiss on her cheek.

"It's your body. But know that I'd like to be the father of your child. Someday. You decide when. If ever." He whispered in her ear and she froze completely, shocked.

I'd like to be the father of your child.

Someday.

If ever.

How could he say something like that?

She felt a twinge of regret towards herself that something in his words brought her a strange relief.

He couldn't be her boyfriend, her husband, but he could be the father of her children.

"I…I don't know what I'll do yet. I need to think about it." She mumbled, feeling her heart pounding like crazy, not knowing what she was supposed to respond to his words.

She heard him swallow hard, as if something hurt him in what she said.

"Let me know when you've made your decision about...you know. Please." He whispered, and she felt a squeeze in her throat at the thought that he wanted to know what she was going to do.

Whether or not she would buy the pill in the pharmacy.

She pressed her lips together at the thought that even if she complied with his request, it wouldn't change anything.

"So that you won't answer me?" She asked in a shaky voice, hearing him lift himself on his arm at her words.

"I'll. I swear I'll. Hey. Hey, look at me." He said, but she didn't believe him, because she knew he would hurt her again.

They were destined to do so.

It was just a pleasant dream, nothing more.

"I mean it. I swear. I…" He didn't get to finish because they both flinched and pulled away from each other, terrified when they heard a loud banging on her door.

"Open up." Daemon called out and they both stood up as if burned, dressing quickly.

"Wait a minute!" She said, handing him his shoes and jacket.

"Go to the toilet." She whispered to him, running quickly to the door herself when she heard him lock himself in the room.

Fuck, fuck, fuck, fuck!

She swallowed loudly, trying to control her panic and opened it, looking at her step-father with big eyes. She opened her mouth, but he spoke up first.

"Get changed, we're leaving immediately." He said dryly, looking her over from top to bottom, his brow furrowed.

Did she overlook something?

Could he see what she had just done?

"But why so sudden? I'd like to have breakfast. Has something happened?" She muttered, trying to sound as casual as possible.

"Viserys is dead." He said, and she froze, feeling her heart stuck in her throat.

With a remnant of her strong will she held herself up from looking behind her, towards the toilet.

God, he'd definitely heard that.

"– what? – but –"

"They called the ambulance, Alicent found him dead in his bed. Who was banging on your door last night?" He asked, and she swallowed hard, feeling a cold sweat run down her back.

She couldn't lie, she had to think of something.

"Aemond. We talked about the past." She whispered, looking at him pleadingly, asking him to leave it alone.

"Is he here?" He asked coldly, stepping inside, looking around the room. His step headed towards the toilet, and she stood in his way.

"Y-yes. He was drunk and fell asleep on the floor. You scared me, we didn't know what to do." She muttered, feeling burning tears of shame and horror under her eyelids, the fear that squeezed her lungs made her breathe with difficulty.

One more time, just this one more time let me lie, she thought.

Please, this one more time.

"Get out of there. Now." He directed his words towards the door, which opened a moment later.

Her uncle came out of there pale, trembling all over, though she had no idea whether from fear or because of what he had heard.

"Go to your mother. She needs you now. Your older brother is completely drunk." Her step-father said, and her uncle passed them without a word and left, not even bestowing a single glance on them.

She pressed her lips into a thin line, clenching her thighs together, feeling his semen begin to flow down her leg.

She took a deep breath, trying not to burst into sobs and to keep up appearances that nothing had happened.

When Daemon's hand touched her head and pulled her to him, making her hit his chest, when his arms closed her in a secure embrace, she burst out into a loud, miserable cry.

She was pathetic, she was dirty, she was worthless, a simple whore, a vessel for his seed.

He did what he wanted with her, and she allowed him to.

"We'll go to the pharmacy. We'll sort it out. Don't worry." He said, and she felt both gratitude and horror at his words.

We'll sort it out.

He knew.

Her distraught mother went with Alicent and her siblings, and she, Daemon and her brothers were to return home together. On her way out of the building she spotted her uncle smoking a cigarette, his gaze blank and absent, directed somewhere in the distance.

He heard their footsteps and turned, meeting her gaze – the way he lowered his head in shame, looking away made her feel tears under her eyelids.

Of course it had ended like that.

It was just a dream, nothing more.

"We'll stop at the pharmacy on the way. Your sister is feeling unwell." Communicated Daemon as they set off, driving out of the car park.

She looked at her uncle again through the window and saw that he was looking at her, his eyebrows arched in pain, his lips parted, as if he regretted letting her go without saying goodbye.

She swallowed hard, resting her forehead against the glass, unable to focus on Jace's or Luke's questions, fearing what would now happen to their grandfather's business.

That's what everyone was wondering now, she thought.

As they drove down to the shopping arcade near their house, Daemon stopped in the parking lot and looked at her over his shoulder.

"Are you going to manage on your own or should I come with you?" He asked, and she felt her heart squeeze with pain.

She was afraid.

"Can you come with me?" She muttered, feeling tear after tear begin to run down her cheeks. Jace touched her shoulder, terrified.

"Do you feel that bad? Did you poison yourself with something?" He asked and she nodded, looking straight into her step-father's eyes.

"Yes. Yes, I poisoned myself with something very badly."

The experience of walking into a pharmacy with her step-father to buy a morning-after pill was one of the strangest and most uncomfortable things she had experienced in her life.

The lady pharmacist looked at Daemon grimly, as if she assumed he was responsible for all the fuss, putting her into a state of utter embarrassment.

Even though she tried to stand up to him, Daemon paid up and told her to hide the pack in her backpack as soon as they walked out of there.

"Read the leaflet carefully. Do everything as it says."

"I know." She muttered, for some reason bursting out crying again, wiping her reddened cheeks with her hand, trying not to think about the curious stares of other people around them.

"Everything has consequences. It will be fine. Don't worry. I won't say anything to your mother." He said, and she nodded.

It was the right thing to do, the logical thing to do, the safe thing to do.

This was the right thing to do.

When they got home, she went upstairs to her room and locked herself in, saying she wanted to take a shower. Daemon and her brothers were waiting for a call from her mother, and her stepsisters were in classes, so she had apparent peace and quiet.

For now.

She sat down on her bed and pulled a small packet with one pill inside from her backpack. She unrolled the leaflet and started to read, but couldn't concentrate.

I'd like to be the father of your child.

Why did he say that?

Did he want to have a clear conscience?

She swallowed hard, burying her face in her hands, not understanding why she had doubts.

After all, she was so young, still going to university. How would she explain her pregnancy? What would she tell her mother? That it was casual unprotected sex with a stranger, that she could have taken the morning-after pill but was an idiot?

She wanted to call him, to talk to him, but immediately afterwards she thought that he would tell her anything so that he himself would not feel remorse, the end result being that she would be left with a swollen belly, grief and humiliation alone.

She pressed her lips together and took the tablet out of the packet, grabbing for the bottle of water standing on her bedside table and hesitated, wanting to put it into her mouth.

Yes.

No.

I don't want to.

But it's the right thing to do.

I don't want to.

But I can't do it alone.

I don't want to.

I could love this child.

I have always wanted to be a mother.

I'm scared.

No one will understand.

I don't want to.

She closed her eyes, stood up, went into her bathroom and threw the pill into the toilet, flushing it down, letting it flow along with her certainty that what she had done would have no consequences.

It will be what is meant to be, she thought, sitting down with no strength on the cold tiles, feeling an emptiness in her heart.

When Daemon asked her if she had done the right thing she said yes.

She wasn't sure if he believed her or not, but he stroked her head anyway before walking out and leaving her alone.

By the time their mother got home it was late in the evening: from what she had managed to overhear it appeared that Viserys was really dead, that he had died in his sleep, that he had not suffered and that she was to go to the notary in two days' time to hear his last will.

That was what everyone was worried about.

What share of the estate would go to whom.

She shuddered, feeling the vibration of her phone in her hand, and froze when she looked at the display.

Aemond.

He was calling her.

She swallowed hard, locking herself immediately in her room, panicked, feeling her heart pounding like crazy.

She answered the call and put the phone to her ear, hearing a noise on the other end, as if someone was driving a car.

"Yes?"

She heard him grunt, as if he was afraid of what he was about to say.

"How are you?"

What kind of question was that?

What was she supposed to answer that?

It was great sex, uncle, maybe we'll be parents soon?

"I don't know." She said, walking closer to the window, not wanting anyone in the corridor to hear that she was on the phone.

She heard him swallow hard, feeling involuntarily how difficult it was for him.

Why was she making excuses for him so easily?

"Did you…go to the pharmacy?" He asked finally.

"Yes."

"And?"

"No."

There was silence on the other side for a moment.

"No, what?"

"I wasn't able to do it. I don't expect anything from you." She said in a trembling voice. "I'll manage on my own. If it turns out that…"

She didn't finish, preferring not to say it out loud.

She heard the sound of the key turning on the other side and the silence indicating that he had turned off the engine.

"I want this. If it's going to happen. I want to be a part of it."

"It sounds right only in your head."

"No. I mean it."

She closed her eyes and swallowed hard, wanting to tell him first that she didn't need his pity, but reminded herself after a moment that this was the day his father had died.

She sighed quietly, looking out the window at the courtyard of her house.

"And you? How do you feel? With everything that's happened."

"Depends on what you ask." He replied, but his tone of voice changed, becoming cool again.

"About your father."

"We knew he was seriously ill. That this was probably his last birthday."

They were quiet for a moment, however there was something warm in that silence, some kind of understanding and comfort.

"You said you didn't regret it." He said finally, and she drew in a loud breath at the memory of what they had done.

She didn't know what she was supposed to answer.

She was sad, bitter, disappointed, but did she regret it?

No.

"I still think so. But I didn't get my hopes up about anything, if that's what you're aiming for. Daemon won't tell anyone about this. He won't…"

"Why was it so right?"

She froze, feeling heat in her lower abdomen at his question.

"Since it was wrong. So fucking wrong." He continued, as if his darkest, most disturbing thoughts were pouring out of him. "Then why it was so pleasant?"

"The forbidden fruit tempts most." She whispered.

She heard him swallow loudly, drawing in air deeply, as if something in her words pained him.

"Is that what it was for you?"

"I don't know. And for you?" She asked angrily, not understanding what he wanted to hear from her after so many years of silence, after he had come to her room in the middle of the night without a word of explanation and fucked her like there was going to be no tomorrow.

"I wanted…nevermind." He hissed.

"No. Say it." She demanded, hearing him twist in his seat.

"For eight years you pretended I didn't exist, I deserve this." She said in pain, feeling a squeeze in her throat so strong that she ran out of breath.

Don't hang up, please don't hang up.

"I want to try." He said at last, so quietly and uncertainly that she barely heard him.

"I don't understand."

"I would like to study archaeology. You wrote me that if I asked you to, you would help me get into university." He mumbled like a small, embarrassed child, startling her completely.

What?

"I…well, but…there are only two months left to submit the documents. What day is today? Thursday. Are you thinking about full-time or part-time studies?" She asked, walking over to her calendar, trying to count in her head how much time they had.

God, there was a desire in him to change something.

She knew that if she discouraged him, she might soon find out that someone had shot him in the head.

"Only part-time classes are an option." He replied finally. "Is it manageable? Do they have any…requirements?"

"Passed final exams in high school, preferably in history or a language." She explained. "There are also entrance exams, but they are not difficult."

"I had the best result in the history final exam in the whole class." He muttered and she nodded, feeling a rush of adrenaline.

"Good. That's very good, Aemond. It can be done. If you want, come to my University tomorrow, we can talk to my professor about whether a personal teaching plan would come into play if you got in."

"Is there such a thing?"

"Yes, for students who are working at the same time."

"Really?" He asked, a note of hope in his voice that made her heart clench.

"Yes. Text me when you can be there, the professor has class until 3 p.m. Okay?"

"Okay."

"See you tomorrow." She said and hung up, looking at her phone screen in disbelief.

She didn't know why she jumped up and down with happiness, why she believed that things would change, that she would really get him back.

She wanted so badly to know that there was still hope for both of them.

Throughout the next day she feared he would give up and not come.

She thought with horror that he was, after all, a complete stranger to her.

What did she know about him?

Despite her doubts, he finally wrote to her.

How did he know where he was supposed to arrive?

She figured he might have looked it up on the internet and went out to meet him, intending to pick him up from the car park. When she saw his car pull into the driveway she approached him, keeping a safe distance. He got out of the car and automatically reached into his jacket for his pack of cigarettes.

"There's no smoking allowed on University premises." She said.

He lowered his hand in a gesture of impatience, furrowing his brow.

"Are you fucking serious?"

"Yes. Let's go. We'll find my professor in the teachers' common room, he's just having a break between lectures." She said, and he moved behind her, looking around at the walls of the large, brick, old building from the 19th century.

"Does he know I'm coming?" He asked uncertainly, clearly tense.

People passing him looked at his face, at his scar.

She felt uncomfortable with the thought, angry for some reason that he couldn't just walk down the corridor in peace.

Was it always like this?

In the shop, in the office, in the restaurant, at school?

Everyone looking at him.

"Yes."

When they got there she knocked on the right door. Her professor, Mr Addams, was a hearty, grey-haired, rather short man with big glasses and a short, elegantly trimmed beard. He was a man of great passion and they immediately found a common language through which he began to take her on his private excavations as a help.

In this way, she managed to collect any savings of her own.

"Professor. This is my friend I mentioned to you." She said, glancing over her shoulder, her uncle's face pale and terrified, his healthy eye wide open.

Good God.

Her professor held out his hand to him, and to her relief he showed any social reflexes and shook it.

"My pleasure. Miss Strong spoke of you in all superlatives. Please, let's go to my office." He said, moving briskly down the corridor with a bundle of keys in his hand, and they moved to follow him.

Mr Addams opened the door to the room and invited them inside into a small study with a high window, all lined with wooden panelled walls, an oak bookcases filled to the brim with books, a desk and several chairs all around it.

The professor sat behind the table, sighing heavily, indicating their seats on the opposite side.

"I'm listening." He said, and she looked at her uncle. He gave her a horrified look, convinced apparently that she would do everything for him.

"So. My friend didn't have the opportunity to study because of his job. I was wondering if there would be the possibility of personal teaching plan or part-time study in that case." She said finally. The man raised his eyebrows and scratched his chin.

"Classes can be studied in part-time, but you have to do a lot of practice hours on excavations, as you know, Miss Strong. They are obligatory." He said.

"Yes, but my friend works at night. He could take part in them during the day. Right?" She asked, glancing at him out of the corner of her eye. Her uncle grunted, tense, not knowing where to look, his fingers clenched into fists.

His face then when Jace took his boxers from him, his loud sobs, his hands clenched into fists as he stood up to his waist in water.

"Yes. Yes, that would be possible." He replied lowly, trailing his fingers along the armrest.

The professor nodded.

"Well, if that's the case, then please prepare yourself for the exams. Then we'll see what comes of it." He said and rose, nodding at them.

"Is that it?" Her uncle muttered, looking at her with big eyes, as if he expected to be questioned for hours by this man.

"Yes." She replied. "Thank you, Professor."

When they went outside and said goodbye to Mr Addams they stood in awkward silence, not knowing what to do with themselves.

"If you'd like, I'll wait and drive you home." He offered, not looking at her but somewhere to the side, pretending to read something interesting on a poster hanging on the wall.

"No need. Mum will pick me up." She replied.

He glanced at her out of the corner of his eye and grinned under his breath.

"They pick you up and drop you off like a little girl?" He sneered, making her feel an unpleasant sting in her heart.

"Ever since someone put a rape pill into my drink, yes."

His expression changed, filled with sudden shame and discomfort. He grunted and scratched his chin, embarrassed.

"Do you know who did this? I can take care of it. For your comfort." He added, as if to make amends to her for his ill-considered words.

"Larys Strong." She said, and he looked at her shocked as if he didn't believe she had said that.

"What?"

"I already told you. He was telling me about my father."

"But it wasn't him who put it into your drink, it was one of his people, right?"

"He asked me if I wanted a drink. I said no. Then he ordered water for me. I took a few sips from it and struggled to get to the bathroom."

Her uncle stared at her wide-eyed, breathing loudly through his nose, his lips pressed together in a way from which she felt fear and a cold sweat on her back.

"Son of a bitch." He hissed, running his hand over his face, turning his head away, clearly thinking of something she didn't like.

"Don't interfere. Go home." She said impatiently. He looked at her, surprised.

"And when are you going to teach me?" He muttered.

"What?"

"For the exams. I need you to help me. How do I reconcile what I have to do at night with studying if I don't know where to start?" He asked, and she sighed heavily, burying her face in her hands.

"Okay. Okay, I'll help you. I'll pass you the study books somehow." She said finally, giving in, recognising that she had no choice, that whether she wanted to or not, she had to help him get out of this life that was destroying him every day.

She didn't want him to die.

He stood over her and stared at her, his warm breath enveloping the top of her head.

"Can I touch your hand?"

She lifted her gaze to him and met his eyes, one blank, staring dully ahead, the other red with emotion, his full lips parted involuntarily in an accelerated breath.

She held out her hand towards him, and he took his from the pocket of his trousers, grasping her little fingers in his.

There was something frighteningly natural about the way they intertwined, how perfectly they fit together, how right they looked in a tender embrace.

"Walk me out."

And off they went together, walking down the University's sidewalks, holding hands as if they were a couple.

There was something childlike and naïve about it, about how tightly their fingers clasped together, how close the embrace was, how much they needed proof that nothing was over between them.

She thought it was a pathetic attempt to reclaim their lost childhood.

She let go of his hand as they stopped at his car and watched as he got in without a word, only to drive away a moment later without even bestowing a single glance on her.

She spent the rest of the day during class unable to focus on what she was hearing, pondering how she was going to fool Daemon and her mother into thinking she was spending time with someone else while she was actually helping him study.

She concluded, when she saw her stepfather's face behind the wheel and not her mother's, that it might be worth it to just stop lying.

When she got into the passenger side of the car and Daemon set off, she began to speak at once.

"I'm helping Aemond get into University."

Daemon snorted at her words, surprised, frustrated and intrigued all at the same time. She clamped her hands on the fabric of the backpack lying on her lap, dreading his answer.

"Interesting."

Is that all?

"I want to help him prepare for his exams. He has very little time."

"No."

She swallowed hard hearing him say the word coldly and confidently.

"Why?"

Daemon switched on his indicator and turned at the crossroads even though he should have been driving straight, leaving her stunned.

"What are you doing? Where are we going?" She muttered, feeling her heart start to pound like crazy with terror.

"You'll see."

They stopped in one of the busiest streets in the city: her stepfather had told her to get off, so she did, moving a moment later right behind him towards one of the pubs.

"Not open yet, mate." Said a tall, stocky man in a black suit stopping him with his hand.

"For me it is. Mate." He scoffed.

The man wanted to say something, but someone from downstairs called out to let them in.

A woman.

They went down the stairs inside: apart from them and the bartender, who was mopping the floor, a beautiful black-haired woman was sitting at one of the tables, bent over a laptop. Seeing her stepfather she stood up and approached them with a smile that was both seductive and disturbing.

Her eyes were unnaturally green.

"Well, well. Fucking Alys Rivers. The world is small." Daemon said and shook her hand in a gesture as if they had once been partners.

"What brings you here?" She asked softly, directing the gaze of her bright eyes at her, her voice melodious and deep.

The woman examined her figure from top to bottom, as if she had just been looking at something tasty.

"I came to show my step-daughter the brutality of life." He explained, glancing at her over his shoulder with some kind of pride, as if he was just about to teach his son some very manly and important things.

Alys Rivers cocked her head at his words, glancing at her with a look that frightened her.

As if she had heard of her before.

"Oh. I see. Well, I won't disturb you. It was good to see you. Give my regards to your wife." She said and returned to her seat, clicking something on her laptop again.

Daemon moved forward and sat a table at the other end of the room. She sat next to him, tense, and after a moment a man came out of the back room who had not noticed them, walking straight towards the black-haired woman.

It was only when she saw his face that she understood why her stepfather had taken her there.

He had three long scars on the left side of his face.

The man only noticed them when the woman pointed her finger at them. He nodded at them and Daemon reciprocated the gesture, looking at her.

"Guess who left him such a beautiful reminder."

On the way back home, she was silent, because that was also the state of her mind: it was empty. No thought, no feeling, no sound or word flowed through her: images from outside the window flashed before her eyes, as if she were watching a film.

A passive observer of someone else's life.

"Robert wasn't the only one. There are seven others. Most recently Tyland. They were in arrears, and Otto is very much on his word. I worked for him, just like your one-eyed uncle." He said, and she looked at him shocked.

"What?" She muttered.

"I slammed them with a baseball bat until they looked like a red tomato. They had all their facial bones broken. They looked like completely different people afterwards." He said, and she lowered her gaze, feeling discomfort, horror, disbelief.

She rarely thought about what they did to people who didn't pay them on time because she knew that if she started doing it, she wouldn't get a single peaceful night again.

"Your uncle is now his dog. The faithful hound he has raised for himself for eight years. Even if some part of him would like to run away, he knows he cannot bite the hand that feeds him. A dog can only have one owner, and that is his grandfather, even if you wish it were otherwise."

"Don't speak about him like that. As if he wasn't human." She exclaimed in pain, looking at him in disbelief. Daemon shook his head.

"You don't understand. He's brainwashed. He's trapped in his big cage and he thinks he's free. But as soon as he tries to take a step too far, Otto will react and you'll get the message from him that he's not going to university and he'll never see you again. If it was just about fucking, I'd be able to understand it. I also did… reckless things when I was your age, but you get involved, naively mistaking his euphoria at meeting you after eight years for affection that could change anything."

Each successive word from him was like needles that, one by one, drove into her heart, a bucket of cold water that made her begin to quiver, red with shame, sadness and regret.

Some part of her knew he was right.

She closed her eyes, seeing in her mind the face of a man with three scars.

He had done this to him.

How could the hands that touched her so tenderly, so softly, do such a thing?

A dog can only have one owner, and that is his grandfather, even if you wish it were otherwise.

She knew that the comparison her step-father used was cruel and derogatory, but she understood in a way what he was warning her about.

Her uncle was lonely and manipulated by his grandfather, full of complexes and insecurities that made him cling to what was safe and familiar, which if there was too much risk would cause him to withdraw.

She realised that he would never choose her.

What happened between them was pure coincidence, the result of their collision in a place and time beyond their control.

A desperate attempt to connect again.

She spent the rest of the day in the garden, watering the flowers and weeding around them, trying to calm and soothe herself. The sight of them, those beautiful, vibrant colours of their petals gave her pleasure, comfort in a state where she felt she would never experience any other joys in her life again.

The next day her mother and Daemon went to the notary to hear her grandfather's last will. Everyone was tense and sullen from the morning, knowing what it meant.

A war of influence was looming over what Viserys had left behind, pubs, clubs, businesses, more than half of their entire family's source of income.

Jace and Luke were restless, looking out of the windows once in a while, talking loudly about the fact that whatever their mother was getting, Otto would surely want to take from them by force, and they would never agree to that.

"Stop it." She muttered, sighing heavily. Baela, who was sitting next to her, squeezed her hand in hers, sensing her uncertainty.

"They're coming back!" Jace called out as he ran out into the driveway and they followed him, looking with big eyes at Daemon's and his security guards' cars.

Her stepfather stepped out of the car with a broad smile as if he was the winner of some world championship, however, her mother was pale and her face expressed horror.

"Everything. Viserys bequeathed everything to your mother in his will." He said spreading his hands as if he had received a blessing from God himself.

Jace and Luke ran up to him and hugged him as if it was the best day of their lives, but she and her step-sisters felt exactly the same as her mother.

Terror.

Everything.

Her uncles, her aunt, his second wife got nothing.

"How can this be?" She mumbled, shaking her head.

"He left them some big estates by the sea and in the city. I don't give a shit. Tonight we're celebrating, my dears, we're having a banquet!" Daemon exclaimed as he walked into their house, but she approached her mother, who was barely on her feet.

"Mom?" She muttered.

Rhaenyra looked at her and shook her head, following her husband into the house.

She knew what she was thinking about.

Otto will never leave it like this.

"Each of you will have a bodyguard assigned to you from today. We are reinforcing the security of our home, each of us can now be a target. You do not speak to anyone from that part of the family without consulting me or your mother." Said her stepfather, holding a glass of champagne in his hand, glancing at her out of the corner of his eye, giving her a protracted, uneasy look.

She lowered her gaze, feeling discomfort in her stomach, having the impression that she had forgotten how to breathe.

Taking advantage of the fact that Daemon was in euphoria and he, along the other men who worked with them had made a party, she went back to her room. She lay down in bed hearing their laughter and loud conversations downstairs, not understanding where their reason for joy came from.

Did they love killing each other so much?

She shuddered as her display lit up – she reached for her phone with her hand and unlocked the screen as soon as she saw that he had texted her.

She swallowed hard, looking around, wondering if she should do this.

Everyone was downstairs, the security guards were drunk.

Maybe she could sneak out?

She knew the code to the gate, maybe no one would notice her if she went out the back door.

Uncertainty, fear and trepidation squeezed her heart, but some part of her wanted to believe that he really cared, that in a situation where all seemed lost he was willing to reach for the one thing that gave him hope.

Today he lost everything, she thought.

Can I take more away from him?

So she packed her books from her first year into her backpack and left the room quietly in her sweatshirt and shorts, not even trying to go for her shoes, heading for the stairs. Apart from one drunk, sleeping security guard and two men talking in the kitchen, she didn't see anyone.

She lay down on the floor and began to crawl forward, feeling like a commando on an important mission, seeing from a distance that they didn't hear her. She rose as she entered the dark hallway and quietly opened the door.

She lifted her gaze up to the camera facing the exit and cursed under her breath, stopping halfway.

She had completely forgotten about it.

What now?

She looked around, trying to remember exactly what the image from the cameras she had seen once looked like when she and Daemon were searching for something on the recordings.

One, two, three, four she started counting and spotted an area she was sure the range of none of the cameras included. She ran in that direction, propped a bucket lying next to her feet and struggled to climb the wall, pulling herself up with a groan of effort, leaping over to the other side, almost breaking her legs.

She hissed, falling onto her hands – when she lifted them she saw that she had scraped her skin there and on her knees.

She sighed heavily, recognising that she would survive such injuries and that they would be nothing compared to what Daemon would do to her if he found out she had escaped.

She'll just give him the books and go back home.

She breathed out loud when she saw his car around the corner, its engine and lights on. He opened the door from his side, looking at her with big eyes, and she quickly pulled off her backpack, giving it to him.

"Take this and get out of here." She muttered, but his hand grasped her wrist.

"– come here –"

"– I have to –"

"– come –"

She stared at him, panting hard, knowing involuntarily what he wanted, feeling the squeeze between her thighs at the thought that she wanted it too.

Comfort.

"– I –"

"– it won't take long –"

He closed the door behind her as she let his arm pull her around the waist – she clumsily sat on top of him, trying to make herself comfortable on his lap in such a tight space. She lifted herself up on her knees to slide her shorts off while he looked at her with a misty gaze, unfastening the belt to his trousers.

"– good girl – such a good girl –" He breathed out, releasing his erection immediately, throbbing and dripping with desire, ready to give her what she needed.

There was no time for any other kind of caress, so she positioned herself over him, lowering herself slowly onto his thick, smooth tip, feeling how wonderfully he opened her for himself, stretching her warm, moist walls.

"– fuck – fuck, baby –" He muttered, clamping his hands over her firm buttocks, panting and moaning loudly along with her, sliding into her in one, deep thrust.

The feeling of him deep inside her was full of tension, her interior suddenly stretched to the limit on his throbbing erection, which he began to thrust slowly into her with trembling, tentative slaps full of impatience.

"– ah – G-God –" She mumbled, feeling how her slickness helped him to force his way into her body again and again, filling her so wonderfully.

Why it felt so right when it was so wrong?

Her hands embraced his neck, their foreheads touched each other as his palms on her waist forced a quick, sharp, violent pace on her from which her nipples hardened, the pleasant tickle in her lower abdomen caused by him rubbing her where she needed it made her gasp.

"– Aemond –" She mewled, trying to find a rhythm with his body, rolling her hips back and forth, filling herself again and again with his swollen, hot manhood, feeling pleasant, warm tickle in her belly.

"– do you hear it? – do you hear how well you take me? – only you – fuck –" He gasped, pounding into her with loud, wet slaps of their hips, listening how her twitching cunt clicked with his every push. His hand sank into her hair as his moist lips brushed hers, inviting her into the warm, sticky kiss full of their saliva.

Their tongues licked and teased each other, intensifying their sensation, building a swift path to their fulfilment, their bodies slammed against each other greedily with their embarrassingly loud moans of pleasure.

It seemed to her that they were too ashamed and shocked by the situation, by what they were doing, and how pleasurable it was, how liberating it was, to fuck in his car against everyone and everything, the sticky juices of their forbidden fruit running down their thighs each time his cock sank into her weeping pussy again.

She was terrified that, despite the speed and brutality of his thrusts, his hands caressed her body so tenderly, stroking her hair, her neck, her back, her buttocks, her cheeks, allowing his lips and tongue to join hers in loud, chaotic, wet kisses full of their moans.

She couldn't stop the tension that was growing in her lower abdomen, the pleasant tickling in her fingertips and the clenching deep between her thighs that proved she was about to come.

"– where? –" He mumbled into her mouth, her hands stroking his sweaty, soft cheeks, letting the messy, greedy thrusts of his hips give her the pleasure she so needed, her lips parted wide as the aggressive, stupefying fulfilment full of relief shook her body.

"– here – right here, uncle –" She gasped, feeling only pleasure, only relief, only bliss.

He groaned loudly, helpless, and came hard inside her, throwing his head back, panting heavily along with her. He hugged her face to his sweaty neck, exactly as he had then, that night in the hotel room, his half-hard, pulsing manhood filling her with the remnants of his seed.

"– I think I'm in love with you –" He whispered in a trembling voice, making the sound stuck in her throat with emotion.

She parted her lips, not knowing what to answer him, thinking with embarrassment that she somehow reciprocated his feelings.

His hand slid off her head while the other continued to stroke her bare buttock, his soft erection still throbbing deep inside her as his lips placed a warm, soft kiss on her forehead.

"– forgive me –"

She only drew in the air loudly, shocked, and clenched her hands on his black T-shirt when she felt the needle jab into her neck. Her squeal of horror, grief, and disbelief sounded unnatural, as if she were a small animal being butchered.

Her body became numb, the image around her became blurred and unclear, a heavy, dark sleep descended on her mind as she simply relaxed in his arms, feeling his hand stroke her head again, his cheek nestled against her forehead all wet.

He cried.

[notnormalthings-blog]

oh my🤭🤭 this oneshot got me feel some type of way

Appearances (Oneshot)

[ canon • Aemond x little sister • female ]

[ warnings: incest obviously, fingering, smut, angst, sexual tension, obsession, mention of arranged engagements ]

[ description: All Aemond cares about is the recognition and attention of his younger sister, but she seems to ignore him and shun him, driving him to an ever-increasing state of withdrawal and dark, grim agony. Something inside him snaps when his grandsire announces that it is time to marry her off. Sexual tension, understatements due to lack of communication, obsession. ]

My other works: Masterlist

_____

It seemed to him, though because of this his throat squeezed in desperation and rage, that his little sister was simply afraid of him. He couldn't explain her behaviour otherwise, the way she quickly looked away, meekly lowering her eyelids adorned with her long, dark lashes, playing with her fingers in a nervous gesture.

She was the only one who didn't have their pearly white hair, the only one who didn't have the eye colour due to the gods.

Even when she witnessed his duels with Criston Cole, when she could see how much he had changed, how skilful he was in wielding his sword, defeating him again and again, all around him the applause full of admiration and appreciation, she did not congratulate him, she turned and left the square, no longer bestowing even a single glance on him.

Confronted again with her wordless rejection, he thought in the back of his head that she was disgustingly ordinary with her dark hair and eyes inherited from their mother, that she could be the daughter of some commoner walking up to his knees in the mud feeding his pigs.

However, his great annoyance usually lasted only a moment, after which he went back to his state of despair.

He didn't follow her, wanting to spare himself this humiliation and discomfort, feeling his heart twitching in rage, in shame that he so desperately desired her attention, a few words of recognition, one warm look.

He saw her one morning through the window speaking to her servant, gesturing vigorously and laughing pearly, joyfully, and he thought with regret that she was consorting with people who might take advantage of her, who cared only about her position.

That if she were his he would protect her from them.

She would be safe.

She was so careless, innocent, wise and naïve at the same time, looking at him with those big dark eyes of hers when someone in her presence annoyed him, begging him with her gaze not to explode.

His tongue was like a blade, cutting anyone who approached him, she knew this and was afraid to open her mouth in front of him, imagining for sure how cruel his reaction would be.

He didn't know how to explain to her that he would never hurt her, his sweetest little sister, his greatest joy.

He watched from the distance like a cool, sinister shadow as her fingers intertwined with Helaena's, stretched out side by side on their armrests during supper, observed her leaning towards her with a sweet smile, whispering something tenderly, from which their older sister giggled quietly, there was something mythological in these scenes, making a shiver run down his spine.

He knew that they sometimes met in her chamber and even slept together, confiding in each other about their feminine affairs that were beyond his comprehension, however, he couldn't stop the feeling of burning jealousy that filled his chest when he thought of how he wished it was him she visited at night.

He thought then of how tender he would be towards her, how his arms would enclose her petite, delicate body in his tight, firm embrace, protecting her from anything that might frighten her.

He imagined how wonderful she would smell, her oils teasing his nostrils constantly, sweet and intense, looking at her figure seated next to him he felt the need to bite into her flesh like a ripe fruit.

He thought she would taste like a peach.

When at last they had finished their conversation and her beautiful, slender hand reached for her cup her gaze finally met his, her plump, glistening lips parted slightly, as if the intensity of his gaze frightened her, her breasts quivered in quick, shuddering breaths.

He felt what he saw in his breeches, his length all swollen, demanding her closeness.

Wanting to keep her attention on him he lifted the platter with her favourite dish, sweet cinnamon pie filled inside with apples, he saw that she blinked quickly, her cheeks flushed at the realisation that he knew she favoured them.

He watched her swallow with difficulty, her trembling hand set her goblet aside, his manhood throbbed hard when their fingers brushed in the air as she took the silver platter from him, she lowered her gaze, embarrassed, her sweet, soft lips parted to whisper a quiet, barely audible thank you.

He leaned back again, looking at the pleasing profile of her face, her long eyelashes gleaming under the warm candlelight, a drop of sweat on her skin shimmering like a small diamond ran down her neck.

Gods, how he craved her.

He wanted to touch her, stroke her shamelessly exposed back with his large hand, rough from holding the hilt of his sword, and dig his nubs into her warm, soft skin, with a subconscious gesture proving to whom she belonged, that she had been his right, his delight and his duty since she was born.

Why didn't she realize this?

He watched with a squeezed throat as she took a piece of pie into her mouth, the involuntary lick of her tongue with which she brushed her lower lip focused all his attention.

The thought that this fleshy lips could in the same way clench around his painfully swollen cock, suck it and squeeze it, barely able to fit it in with her sweet cry of effort.

He grunted, looking away, feeling his length twitching and pushing against the tight material of his breeches.

She didn't look at him again that evening, absorbed in a discussion with their mother and grandfather as he drank Dornish wine, staring dully ahead, its tart aftertaste melting on his tongue.

"I spoke to your mother about the importance of slowly deciding on a suitable candidate for your husband, my love." Began their grandsire with his eyebrow raised in satisfaction, directing his words to his younger sister, who froze in mid-motion, he saw that her hands, in an involuntary reflex of terror, clamped down on the material of her gown.

She remained silent.

"She's still too young, for god's sake." He hissed out feeling rage like a burning fire pulsing through his veins, he grew hot, took another quick, deep sip from his cup, an uncomfortable silence fell around him.

Otto grunted, turning with a creak of wood in his seat, his fingers stretched out and clenched into a fist on the table top in front of him, apparently wondering why such a sudden and aggressive reaction on his part.

"I understand that as an older brother you feel responsible for her safety, however, she is now of the right age and has begun to bleed, and that's why…"

"Father." Muttered their mother, looking at him pleadingly, clearly not wanting him to bring up such intimate and sensitive topics at the table, moreover in the presence of other men.

He saw out of the corner of his eye how his sister dropped her gaze, her dark eyes shining from the tears of shame that had gathered under her lids, her brows arched in pain.

If she had only asked him to marry her he would have done so at once, freed her from this laughable obligation that her marriage to some mere lord would be.

He felt his jaw clench at the thought that no one would ever love her as devotedly, dearly, warmly as he, her blood, her protector, her brother.

"In the coming months, we would like you to meet a few candidates we consider worthy of your hand." Concluded their grandfather, taking a deep sip of wine from his goblet, he felt rage filling his chest when he saw that his sister merely nodded her head, accepting her fate without a word of protest, looking down at her plate.

He got up from the table, bitter and furious, leaving the hall without a word, unable to look at her, once again letting his anger take over him, accusing her in his mind.

Her lack of reaction, her lack of opposition, when it was so obvious that her husband could only be him, him, him.

He walked into his chamber, undoing the buckles of his tunic, throwing it angrily to the ground, remaining in only his chemise and breeches. Although he did not usually do so, he reached for the wine jug and poured himself a full cup, grabbing it and sitting down with it in the chair by the fire, tilting his head back, letting out loud sigh.

He shuddered when he heard a quiet, tentative knock on his door, and ran his hand over his face, guessing it was his queen, as usual wanting to be his voice of reason, to come to him with her stoic calm, explaining to him why he had to accept the responsibilities that faced their family, including those standing before his sister.

He didn't feel like having this discussion, however, he acknowledged with reluctance that he couldn't dismiss his own mother.

"Come in." He said coolly, staring into the flames.

He heard the creak of the door opening and closing a moment later, glanced involuntarily over his shoulder and froze, feeling his heart stop in his throat at the sight of her, beautiful, teary-eyed, her face all flushed red with despair, her fleshy, plump lips parted in a hastened breath, her brow arched in pain.

"Lēkia (big brother)." She mumbled out with difficulty, choking on her own tears, he stood up at her words looking at her with eyes wide open in shock, driven by some sudden emotion, moved that she had come to him as he had always imagined she would, vulnerable and desperate, seeking refuge and a reassurance in his arms.

"Come closer, hāedar (little sister). Come." He whispered softly, extending his hand to her in a gesture of encouragement, and saw that she moved tentatively towards him, looking up at him with her wonderfully dark, large eyes, tear drops glittering on her lashes like little stars.

He parted his lips and swallowed loudly when her soft, warm hand touched his, thought with tenderness that compared to his she was so small, so fragile.

When he dared to lift his other hand to her cheek she twitched, wrinkling her eyebrows, breathing loudly, distrustful like a forest nymph who was afraid of a stranger's touch, simultaneously craving his closeness and fearing it.

He breathed quietly as she let his nubs touch and run over the wonderfully soft, firm skin of her pink cheek, her eyelids closed for a moment, a quiet, sweet sigh leaving her lips.

"Are you afraid of me?" He asked in a calm, low, trembling voice, ashamed of how scared he was of her answer, of her rejection.

She looked at him surprised, her lips parted in astonishment as if she didn't know what to reply to his words, her quivering fingers touched his hand stroking her cheek.

"I fear your harsh judgment, brother. It seems to me that my person often arouses your frustration and impatience." She muttered in shame, lowering her gaze, he felt a squeeze in his throat at her words, not believing what he heard, what she confessed to him.

I am afraid of your harsh judgment, brother.

It seems to me that my person often arouses your frustration and impatience.

How could she think so? Was his eternal desire, his suffering so expressed in his gaze, his facial expressions, his gestures?

Did she perceive his rage at the lack of her closeness as his constant displeasure at the sight of her?

He was horrified by how deep the misunderstanding reached, he didn't know what he should do to fix it now, to reverse it, he ran out of words that could describe what he felt.

How glad he was that she was standing before him now, that she trusted him, that he had adored her from the moment she came into the world, cherished her with a love that was warm, tender and devoted, that he believed she had been born to be his, his sweet joy, his beautiful little sister.

He swallowed loudly, parting her plump, fleshy lips with his thumb, looking at her in emotion, feeling a painful tightness in his throat.

"My sweet sister, where did these words come from? How could I feel anything but adoration towards you?" He asked softly, feeling her whole body quiver at his words, her mouth parted involuntarily, letting his thumb go deeper, between her puffy, sticky lips.

Something changed in her gaze, dreamy and warm, from which he felt heat in his chest and lower abdomen, her fingertips digging into the skin of his palm.

"Ivestragī umbagon issa (let me stay)." She whispered in a trembling, uncertain voice, and he felt his breath caught in his throat, his manhood throbbed aggressively in his breeches at the thought that she wanted to stay in his bed, in his embrace.

His surprised silence made her lower her gaze, ashamed, apparently panicking at the thought of what she had suggested, of how indecent it was, surely thinking that he would now despise her.

"Very well." He muttered quickly, not wanting her to leave his side.

She lifted her hopeful gaze to him and nodded, swallowing loudly, her cheeks pink with emotion. He rubbed his thumb over her wet skin and leaned over her placing a tender, lingering kiss on her forehead, her wonderful scent filling his lungs again.

He grasped her petite hand in his, guiding her towards his bed, sitting down on it with his face towards her, letting her stand over him and decide what would happen next, looking at her pleasant, girlish figure in front of him.

It seemed to him that she had no idea what they were doing, whether it was right, he could see thoughts and doubts running across her face, fears of what would happen if their mother found out.

"Come. Do not fret. Your big brother would never hurt you." He whispered in a voice trembling with emotion, he was hot, his heart pounding like mad in his chest, he felt butterflies in his stomach, a sweet delight of satisfaction spread through his body.

His words emboldened her, she stepped closer to him, standing between his thighs, breathing loudly, he sighed and closed his eyes as she took his face in her soft hands, stroking it for a moment with gentle, slow movements that made his throat dry up, he felt with horror that his cock was completely hard, all swollen and throbbing.

In a gesture of desperation he snuggled into her abdomen, clasping his large hands on her back, he heard her surprised gasp, her hands froze upwards for a moment before they began in a soft, calm motion to stroke his head as if he were a small child.

He closed his eyes, snuggling into her body, the material of her gown pleasantly delicate and soft, he could feel her flesh throbbing from beneath it, her womb that could swell with his inheritance, his dragon seed that could root deep inside her if only she noticed his devotion and love, if only she understood that they had always been destined for each other.

He clenched his fingers tighter on the material of her gown when he felt her lean in, enclosing him in her embrace, his face locked between her shoulders, her womb and her breasts, enveloping him in her warmth, her hands running down his back with such tenderness and gentleness that he closed his eyes, wanting to focus only on that feeling.

"I am terrified, lēkia." She whispered softly, her breasts trembling in a broken breath, he moved away to look at her, his hand cupped her soft, warm cheek.

"Marry me, issa dōna rūklon (my sweet flower). Marry me and I will protect you. I will caress you, adore you, hold you in my arms, I will give you everything." He said in a quivering, low voice, placing the emphasis on the last word, so final, direct, betraying how desperate he was.

She looked at him for a moment, shocked, her lips twitching in disbelief, in terror and something else that shone in her dark eyes, but which he did not comprehend.

"You don't have to do this. Sacrifice yourself for me." She mumbled with a blush of shame, as if she thought his suggestion stemmed from his logic and tactics, from helping her not to leave her home, rather than from his feelings.

"How much longer do you want to torment me? Shall I fall on my knees before you and beg?" He asked resentfully, pain emerging from his throat with every word he spoke, her eyebrows arched in disbelief, her breasts began to rise and fall rapidly in accelerated, ragged breathing.

Her face expressed that only now did she realise what he meant.

"Marry me, brother. Marry me and never leave me again." She whispered so quietly that he barely heard her, they looked at each other with wide eyes, not believing what had just left their mouths, flushes of shame and doubt burning their cheeks.

He shuddered and drew in a loud breath as she placed her hands on his shoulders and climbed tentatively into his lap, startling him completely, he felt a jolt of heat, his cock so hard that he felt like it was about to explode.

All he felt was a squeeze in his throat and the heavy pounding of his heart when her soft fingers gently grasped his hand, her face blushing with embarrassment and despair, a sigh full of arousal escaped her lips as she pulled her gown up, slipping it slowly between her legs.

They both opened their mouths wide and gasped loudly, surprised apparently at how intimate and shameless this sensation was, he thought in disbelief that she was leaking with desire, her hot entry pulsating restlessly under his fingers, her hand pressing them harder against her quivering flesh, eager to feel him deeper.

"− please − please −" She whimpered, breathing loudly, looking at him pleadingly with her dark eyes full of tears, he stared at her in shock wondering if it was possible that he had made a mistake, that he had misjudged the situation, that contrary to what he thought, she was reciprocating his affection.

His lack of hesitation, his nubs that dug into her fleshy, hot womanhood surprised her so much that she squealed and hopped up on his lap, he put his free arm around her and held her in place, not letting her escape.

"− easy, little dove − shhhh −" He hushed her, his two fingers sinking into her plump muscles, collecting her moisture that leaked from her thirsty, throbbing core, he stared at her, seeing the expression on her face indicating that this experience had shocked her, sweet, soft moans erupted from her puffy, glistening lips, her hips involuntarily began to move to the rhythm of his hand.

"− that's it − let me take care of you − brothers know what is best for their sisters, don't they? −" He hummed low as if he were speaking to a small child, she only nodded, clearly having trouble concentrating, he sighed in pleasure as she wrapped her arms around his neck, her moist, sweet lips pressed against his in a sticky, loud kiss.

He murmured into her mouth with delight, thinking with awe that indeed her skin felt like the flesh of a fruit, wet and sticky to the touch, his nubs teasing her bud hidden between her folds, he could feel her bouncing in his lap and trembling all over, quivering in his arms as his fingers roamed around that spot, their breaths raspy and loud, full of desire.

"− y-yes − right here, lēkia − mghmm −" She babbled in between their messy, saliva-wet kisses, he dared to slip his tongue between her plump lips answered by her sweet purr of pleasure, his hand all soaked with her juices, his long, slender fingers digging into her skin in circular, sure motions.

"− just like that − soaking wet for me − issa dōna hāedar (my sweet little sister) −" He cooed in delight, feeling his swollen length pushing impatiently against his breeches, thinking only of how wonderful it would be to feel her, to watch his fat cock open her wide, her tight folds glistening from her moisture.

"− mhm −" She hummed between passionate, deep, ferocious kisses, a combination of their lips, teeth and tongues licking against each other.

She tilted her head back and moaned loudly as his fingers slowly made their way inside her, exploring her throbbing, swollen core, his thumb pressing her pearl, his nubs searching intensely for the spot he'd read so much about in books, and when he found it her walls began to clench around him in convulsions, a pathetic whimper escaping her lips.

"− o-oh gods, brother, yes, please, please, please −" She mewled desperately, clasping her hands in his long hair, rising and falling on his fingers with a loud click of her moisture, he grasped the nape of her neck with his free hand and pulled her close, forcing her lips, swollen from his caresses, to join his in sticky, hot kiss.

"− come on, little one − I can feel you are close − thaaat's it, there we go −" He gasped out into her throat when a powerful shudder ran through her body, her moans of delight erupting from her mouth again and again as her hot muscles began to clench greedily around his fingers, sucking him inside, his hand all sticky with her fulfilment.

He was panting loudly along with her, cuddling her quivering body, thinking of how wonderfully warm and fleshy her insides were, how perfectly she would squeeze his cock once he could possess her whole, his sweet wife, filling her to the brim with his seed every night.

He intended to perform his marital duty with passionate devotion.

"− such a good girl − you did so well for me, dōna hāedar −" He praised her, wanting to reassure and soothe her, stroking her soft hair, pressing her face to the hollow of his neck, his hand between her thighs cupped over her pulsing, moist womanhood.

The smell of her wetness, of her flesh, of her sex filled his entire lungs, so lewd, ungodly and wonderfully carnal, his lips placed involuntarily little butterfly kisses on her beautiful face, her eyes closed, her lips slightly parted in delight and disbelief, her hands clenched on the material of his chemise.

He grasped her fingers in his and lifted them to his lips, kissing them with tenderness and reverence, his other hand stroking unashamedly her plump bare buttock hidden beneath the material of her gown.

"Now it's my turn."

_____

Aemond Taglist:

(bold means I couldn't tag you)

@notnormalthings-blog @nikstrange @zenka69 @bellaisasleep @k-y-r-a-1 @g-cf2020 @melsunshine @opheliaas-stuff @chainsawsangel @iiamthehybrid @tinykryptonitewerewolf @namoreno @malfoytargaryen @qyburnsghost @aemondsdelight @persephonerinyes @fan-goddess @sweethoneyblossom1 @watercolorskyy @randomdragonfires @apollonshootafar @padfooteyes @darylandbethfanforever9 @fudge13 @snh96 @rwdkarla @echos-muses

[notnormalthings-blog]

I am so glad he went to her friends and apologised, yay for communication🥳

The moment between them at the end was so soft and sweet 😇 but also sexy😼 lovely ending for this chapter

The Taste of Shame (5)

[ dom!modern • Aemond x friend sister • female ]

[ warnings: sex content, smut, angst, aggression, possessive behaviors, remorse, feeling of shame ]

[ description: Aemond works as a professional dom, fulfilling the various fantasies of his female clients - however, he guards his privacy and does not enter into any relationships with them, recognizing that he does not want or need it. It turns out that what he wants and what he doesn’t no longer matter when he meets his friend’s younger sister for the first time. Slow burn, sexual tension, doubts related to sex work. ]

Series & Characters Moodboard

* English is not my first language. Please, do not repost. Enjoy! *

Next chapters: Masterlist

_____

Nothing more than kisses and cuddles happened between them that night, and although he was dying of lust and desire feeling her so close, he felt surprisingly good about waking up feeling her warm, soft hand stroking his cheek.

He lay there for a while with his eyes closed, just focusing on how pleasant and innocent the experience was, so far from what he had been doing for the last four years of his life.

He felt a kind of peace and fulfilment, a relief that she was still with him, that she had given him the chance to show her what he really wanted.

He opened his eyelids slowly and hummed quietly, stroking her back lazily with his large hand, she smiled sleepily at him, her loose hair in a slight disarray that, however, only added to her charm.

He pulled her close to him and kissed her in a drawn-out manner with a soft click, she purred into his mouth with a smile, surprised. He sighed, pressing his forehead against hers, devastated by the fact that they both had to go to their classes.

He texted her as soon as he arrived at the university, wishing her a good day and thanking her for giving him another chance, that he was happy and that, if that's what she wanted, they could meet without sex for now, just to be in each other's embrace.

For the first time in a long time, he felt proud of himself.

He felt mature.

They had agreed to spend the weekend together, maybe go to the cinema, have a beer at some pub or watch a series at his house, just relax together.

Like a couple.

He pressed his lips together with satisfaction just thinking about the fact that the more he was honest with her the more he got the feeling that things would work out, that they both had a weakness for each other and that maybe something would come of it.

He didn't like the fact that she kept lying to her family about spending this time at her friend's house, but he understood that she didn't feel ready yet, neither of them talking about anything officially recognising that it was a tad too early.

That evening when she arrived at his place they set off straight for his favourite pub housed in an old, eclectic building full of old photographs and paintings.

They sat at the bar, he liked that she was dressed as usual, in high-waisted trousers with her T-shirt tucked in. This didn't make him feel obliged to dress smartly, finding sitting in his black trousers and tight sweatshirt appropriate.

They ordered themselves a drink each, glancing at the TV hanging above them, news from their country was just airing. He glanced at her out of the corner of his eye, tapping his finger on the tabletop, and felt his heart squeeze when she noticed this and smiled at him.

He felt like kissing her, but refrained.

"What are you thinking about?" She asked lightly and he swallowed loudly, flinching as the barman handed them their orders. He took a quick sip of his whisky and grunted.

"About how… how I'm glad I told you about it all then, after the lecture, you know?" He hummed, glancing at her out of the corner of his eye, feeling hot in his lower abdomen at the thought that she was so close, that he was going to spend as much as two days with her.

He swallowed hard feeling the throbbing in his trousers, trying not to think about the fact that they would be sleeping in the same bed.

She smiled gratefully at his words, lowering her gaze, he stared at her admiring under the light how long and shiny her eyelashes were when she sat in that position.

"− I'm very happy too − you surprised me, but I felt that you were stifling something inside you and that you were suffering − the very first day I saw you outside our house −" She said softly, taking a slow sip of her drink, looking up at him after a moment.

He was silent for a while, just looking at her gentle face, at the expression of serenity that shone from it, that somehow gave him a sense of security.

"− I suffered for many reasons at the time −" He muttered in a slightly trembling voice. "− mostly because I realised that because of what I was doing, I could never have you −"

"− you have me −" She said with embarrassment, her eyebrows arched in slight amusement and a kind of tender emotion. "− you have broken into my heart and fill it completely −"

He licked his lower lip involuntarily, looking at her intensely, feeling her words in the form of heat on his cheeks and in his trousers, he found to his dismay that he had become completely hard and shifted in his seat. He stared at her for a moment with his lips slightly parted, unable to get a word out.

I think I'm falling in love with you, he thought, but nothing came out of his throat.

Ignoring the other people standing and sitting at the bar beside them, he cupped her cheek in his free hand, leaned over and kissed her, clinging to her soft, moist lips for a long moment, hearing her quiet sigh of delight. Her fingers ran over his hand and then kissed it, in a gesture so tender that he felt ashamed.

He had done such fucked-up things with those hands, and now her innocent, warm lips were kissing him as if he were a saint.

He had no idea how he was supposed to keep his hands to himself this night.

They both grunted, seeing the other's gazes on them, and moved away from each other, changing the subject.

They chatted for a while about her studies and the new book on modern philosophy she was reading when suddenly someone patted her on the back, two guys and a girl stood behind her smiling.

"Hi! It's lovely to see you, what are you doing here?" Asked the one who touched her, embracing her, her eyes lit up in joy at the sight of them and she quickly greeted them, licking her lips, glancing at him uncertainly.

She didn't know what to say.

"We went out for a beer together." She said shyly pointing her hand at him, he felt his jaw clench feeling their gaze on him.

He turned his head away, impatient, hating being the centre of attention, angry that whoever this guy was was touching her as if he had known her for years.

"Aemond, these are my friends from the year, Paul, Mark and Rose." She introduced each of them after a moment.

He looked at them warily and nodded, unsure how to behave, annoyed that they couldn't just have a peace and quiet.

"Would you two sit down with us? We could join tables." Said the other boy, who he had just found out was called Paul, and he felt himself starting to boil inside, he had a feeling that frustration was clearly visible on his face.

"No, thanks, we've made an appointment for two." She replied quickly, clearly feeling uncomfortable herself, Paul laughed and raised an eyebrow.

"A date?" He asked amused.

He put down his glass loudly and turned to him standing up from his seat, towering over him, the boy swallowed loudly, looking at him startled.

"Yes, it's a fucking date, do you have any more questions? Anything else you want to know, to describe to you in detail the plan for our evening, or did you get enough information? Hm?" He growled with a hint of menace, stepping towards him, forcing him to step back, he felt the grip of her hand on his arm holding him down.

"Aemond, please, he didn't mean it, it's just a joke." She mumbled pleadingly, clearly terrified, grabbing his hand, he felt his heart heat and his throat tighten.

"Sorry, mate, I didn't mean to piss you off. It was stupid, my tongue's too long sometimes. Okay?" He asked embarrassed and frightened by how decisive his response was, reaching out his hand to him.

He glanced at her out of the corner of his eye and saw that she was looking at him hopefully, with a plea that he behave as he should.

He struggled to swallow his pride and rage and grabbed his hand, squeezing it tightly and warningly, looking him straight in the eye.

When he let him go the boy swallowed loudly, he and the other two moved towards the empty table wishing them a good evening.

They sat back down at the bar, he glanced at her seeing that she was pale, her hands trembling as she reached for her glass and took a sip of her drink.

"− I-I'm sorry about them − they're very nice, really −" She mumbled, and he swallowed quietly, fiddling with his glass, embarrassed by his sudden outburst, by the fact that he was acting like a jealous, insecure child.

He grunted without looking at her, rubbing the tip of his nose with the top of his hand.

"− I'm sorry too − for my outburst − I didn't mean to be unpleasant, I just − I just haven't seen you in a long time and I wanna spend this time with you alone −" He choked out, licking his lower lip, feeling a tightening in his stomach at the thought that she might think he was being aggressive and insane.

"I know. I want it too." She said softly and only then did he dare to look at her, her eyes expressing understanding and peace. He shuddered when she put her hand on his, leaning in, placing a soft, tender kiss on her soft skin.

As they were about to leave he hesitated and headed towards the table where her friends were sitting. He grunted quietly, Paul paused in mid-word and looked at him with concern.

"Sorry. My reaction was exaggerated. I didn't mean to be unpleasant." He said lowly, swallowing softly, looking away, feeling strangely exposed, his hands clenched into fists.

Paul twisted in his seat, looking at him surprised, and scratched his cheek.

"Come on, I shouldn't have joked like that. I hope you don't cross us off and maybe we can go out in a bigger group for a beer one day." He suggested, and he hummed under his breath, nodded and headed for the exit.

As they left the pub he felt immediately as her warm, small hand grasped his and intertwined their fingers. He looked at her surprised, feeling that his cheeks were hot despite the coolness of the evening.

"− do you feel uncomfortable? −" She asked in a trembling voice, wanting to let him go, seeing his reaction, but he quickly grabbed her again, entwining their fingers back together, squeezing her even tighter.

"− no − your hands are cold −" He muttered, not looking at her, just walking ahead, thinking only of how his heart was pounding.

He thought he felt like a teenager in high school who was holding the hand of a girl he had a crush on for the first time in his life.

Even though they had already slept together for some reason he now felt ashamed, there was something definitive in this gesture, some confirmation of what they both dared not talk about.

By the time they arrived at his flat it was late and they decided to go to bed. Watching her enter his bedroom in only his Tshirt he felt that he was all hard and swallowed with difficulty, looking away.

He wasn't sure he'd be able to bear it, he'd wanted her since she stepped into his doorway.

He put his arms around her as she snuggled into him, kissing the top of her head tenderly, stroking her hair with his hand.

They lay like this in silence, however, he felt them both squirm, his manhood throbbed in his sweatpants and pressed against her body for a moment. He pulled away from her, not wanting to make her uncomfortable.

"I…I think I should sleep in the living room tonight." He choked out with difficulty, feeling that he was hot, a cold sweat on his back, he had the impression that if he didn't leave the room immediately he would just throw himself at her.

She looked at him with furrowed brows, pain and defiance in her gaze.

"− why? − don't go −" She mumbled and he swallowed hard, looking her straight in the eye.

"− you know why −"

They stared at each other in silence for far too long, he felt them both breathing faster and faster, her lips parted as his hands clamped tighter on her body.

He didn't know when her lips were on his, their fingers clenched painfully hard on their bodies, he pulled her to him, she moaned loudly into his throat feeling how hard he was.

He felt her begin to rub against him and they both began to pant into each other's mouths, with a quick, impatient movement he forced her to pull his shirt from her body.

"− fuck −" He growled looking at her bare flesh, hot and soft, his.

He didn't stop her when she reached for his T-shirt, looking at him pleadingly, and he pulled it quickly over his head, throwing it to the floor, untying his sweatpants, looking at her with his mouth wide open, breathing fast.

"− will you let me ride you? −" She mumbled, trembling all over.

He swallowed loudly and thought he would agree to anything to feel and cum inside her, desperate with desire, feeling like his cock was about to explode.

"− I − fuck, just come here −" He breathed out, laying on his back, gripping her shoulder and pulling her to himself. They looked at each other dreamily, panting loudly as she sat on top of him.

He tilted his head back and groaned low with pleasure as she slid his cock into her at once, not waiting a moment, resting her hands on his chest, her tight walls sucking on him greedily.

"− oh God − yes −" She mewled raising and sinking onto him with quick, sure movements from which he ran out of breath.

He tightened his fingers on her waist, rooting into her with brutal, quick thrusts from which they both started to moan, her insides wonderfully tight and hot, all wet, allowing him to slide in and out of her with ease, he made sure that with each of his thrusts the fat head of his cock rubbed her where she needed it.

"− fuck − fuck − don't fucking stop −" He exhaled with difficulty, feeling that he had never wanted to come so badly in any woman before.

He felt like his mind had stopped working, all he could think about was her hot insides, which he was stretching apart with his thick cock with each aggressive thrust of his hips, there was something final and raw about it, just pure desire.

"− Aemond − p-please −" She babbled, rubbing her upper wall with him, each time she sank down on him giving his root a wonderful squeeze, his cock twitched inside her every time she did this, in no other position had any woman teased him so wonderfully.

"− o-oh fuck − keep going − harder, right here, fuck, yes −" He gasped in pleasure, tilting his head, feeling her sink all the way onto him, clenching his fingers tightly on her hips, forcing her to let him deep inside her, responding to her every motion with a thrust, they were both panting loudly in desperate need of it.

He looked at her beautiful body glistening with sweat, her breasts bouncing softly with each of his stabs, he felt that he was a few pushes away from orgasm, her walls clenching against him like crazy, wanting to keep him inside her.

"− I-I − I'm gonna cum −" He choked out with difficulty, embarrassmed that his fulfillment was approaching so terrifyingly quickly, his cock twitched and pulsed heavily inside her.

He gasped when her hand ran over his cheek, she was riding him with a loud click of her moisture, their bodies slapping hard against each other again and again.

"− me too − oh God, Aemond, yes −" She mewled, tilting her head back with her eyes closed, moaning sweetly with pleasure.

He shuddered as he felt her insides clench on him in orgasm and just let go, cumming inside her, clasping his hands tightly on her hips, rooting his seed deep inside her, sighing heavily with pleasure.

"− fuck-fuck-fuck −" He mumbled, moving his hips for a moment longer, feeling her hot body fall on top of him, her breath surrounding his face, her breasts pressed against his chest.

He slipped his hand quickly into her hair, the other stroking her back, panting loudly along with her, unsure if he had ever before in his life come as hard as he did now, when he was driven simply by pure, unbounded desire.

"− I'm sorry −" She whispered quietly, and he shook his head, not even having the strength to open his eyes.

"− no, baby − that was amazing −" He muttered, pressing his cheek against her head, focusing on how wonderful it was to be inside her, to feel her warm body with all of him. He hummed with contentment when he felt her kiss his neck softly.

"Looks like we didn't last too long with our decision." She whispered warmly with amusement and he snorted involuntarily, trailing his fingers down her back.

"Mmm."

They lay in silence, listening to the night sounds of the city outside the window and the quiet ticking of the clock, feeling at last relieved and at peace.

Something between them was different from their first night, the sex was different too, more open, wild, tender.

He realised with amusement that for the first time he had let go of control, allowed someone else to take the initiative.

Still, he didn't feel dominated or threatened, what she did was merely a manifestation of her desire, of how much she wanted him, letting him admire her, simply taking pleasure from her body.

He ran his fingers through her hair and hummed under his breath.

"We can do it again one day if you want. I enjoyed it." He murmured, placing a lazy, warm kiss on her forehead. She lifted her head and looked up at him, the tips of their noses almost touching.

"If you'd like to repeat what we did back then…you know, when I first came to you…then I think we could try it too. Once in a while." She said embarrassedly, and he involuntarily licked his lower lip, unable to hide the dangerous gleam that appeared in his eye.

"Deal."

______

Aemond Taglist:

(bold means I couldn't tag you)

@its-actually-minicika @notnormalthings-blog @nikstrange @zenka69 @bellaisasleep @k-y-r-a-1 @g-cf2020 @melsunshine @opheliaas-stuff @chainsawsangel @iiamthehybrid @tinykryptonitewerewolf @namoreno @malfoytargaryen @qyburnsghost @aemondsdelight @persephonerinyes @fan-goddess @sweethoneyblossom1 @watercolorskyy @randomdragonfires @apollonshootafar @padfooteyes

[notnormalthings-blog]

I too would take a peak to see the man who whispers such sweet words in my ears every night. My girlie did nothing wrong 😤

curious to see your take on this myth and how the story will unfold. Love you Hagi🫶🏻

The Man with the Cold Lips

[ Amor • Aemond x Psyche • female ]

[ warnings: sex content, oral sex, fingering, smut, angst, domination, violence, trauma, mourning ]

[ description: After she is attacked in a fair by a strange man and narrowly avoids death, her father the king decides that from now on she will be watched over by one of his ‘ghosts’, a assassin acting on his orders, wearing a black mask. The man follows her like a shadow, accompanied by their past, which keeps her awake at night. Gothic horror love story, angst, sexual tension, very dark Aemond. ]

This story is several requests combined into one: sworn protector x female; Amor x Psyche; Phantom of the Opera! Aemond x female. I took the liberty of creating a completely new story from this, having only elements of each of these requests.

Series & Characters Moodboard

Part 1 - The Man with the Black Mask Part 2 - The Man with the Empty Heart Part 3 - The Man with the Lost Soul

Yesterday's trailer and the panel with ewan did something to me, so I think that dark aemond is the most appropriate thing I can give you today and that's it. It begins!

* English is not my first language. Please, do not repost. Enjoy! *

Next chapters: Masterlist

_____

Although she knew it was dangerous, after what had happened she forbade telling the king about what she had discovered. Some part of her hoped that Prince Aemond was alive, she was willing to help him regain the throne if only he would agree to spare her brother's life.

She spent the rest of the day alone in her chamber, covered in thick furs, thinking hard about what had happened.

About Vhagar.

He told her she knew his name, so he must have been someone she had seen on a daily basis before. Her discovery frightened him enough that he was willing to kill her - however, did he really want to do it out of fear of her father's wrath and the fact that he would lose his position, or was it something else?

She bit her lower lip at the thought that a part of her suspected she might be working with the prince, to be his liaison, a devoted servant who by some miracle had managed to get into her father-king's closest guard.

He gave up the idea of murder because he knew that even if he had faked her suicide, the king would have blamed him for not watching over her and he would have lost everything, so he came up with another excuse, hiding himself behind sheer terror, hoping that she would believe him.

However, what purpose did what happened between them afterwards?

She pressed her lips together, feeling the heat in her body at the memory of that overwhelming feeling of fulfilment, that wonderful tickling and tension rising in her lower abdomen with each of his thrusts.

She placed her hand on her womb, swallowing hard at the thought that he had come inside her, that she could expect a child because of his seed.

She squeezed her eyelids shut, trying to breathe calmly, thinking only of how much better it would have been if he had let her die that night.

Her father had demanded, despite her objections, that she join the funeral feast in her mother's honour, so she walked reluctantly down to the great hall, her ghost following her at a greater distance than usual.

She thought that he himself was horrified by what had happened between them and the consequences that might follow.

She sat down at the table next to her brother, her father smiled at her and she reciprocated the gesture, thinking with amusement about how easy it was for her to pretend.

"There she is, my daughter. My treasure, my greatest support." He said with a pride from which her throat squeezed; only a few years ago she would have believed his words. She felt him grasp her hand and she reciprocated the embrace, stroking his skin with her thumb.

"She's no longer a child and I've decided it's time to find her a suitable candidate for a husband." He said lightly, she felt her heart stop, the smile disappeared from her lips, on her face only pain mixed with disbelief.

They were at a feast dedicated to the funeral of her mother, his queen, and he was discussing her marriage.

"I ask that willing lords report to me on this matter." He said contentedly, letting go of her hand, and she closed her eyes, trying to calm herself.

She felt him standing behind her, felt his menacing, dark aura, and wondered what he was thinking, if he imagined her lying in bed with another man, letting him sink deep between her thighs.

She left the feast quickly that evening, explaining to her father that she was tired, which he accepted with understanding. When she entered her chamber her servants helped her to pull off her mourning gown, once again offering her condolences, blowing out all the candles one by one.

She lay comfortably under the thick layers of furs, looking out the window at the cloudless sky full of stars, thinking about what had happened, unable to believe that by some miracle she was still alive.

As she began to slowly fall asleep she shuddered suddenly, she heard the door to her chamber open, Vhagar stepped inside without a word and closed it quietly behind him.

She watched with a rapidly pounding heart as, with an unhurried, lazy step, he approached her windows, untied the curtains and covered the only source of light with them, repeating this act until complete darkness fell around them.

She could see nothing but blackness.

She heard the sound of metal hinges opening, then the sound of a belt being unbuckled and the rustling of robes falling to the floor.

She lay still, her lips parted in horror and disbelief, felt once again this familiar, throbbing sensation between her thighs and embarrassing, sticky wetness.

She listened to his footsteps, the old wood creaking under his feet as he finally climbed onto her bed, she heard it bend under his weight.

She felt the touch of his hand on her cheek and trembled, taking a deep breath, realising he wasn't wearing gloves, his warm breath wrapped around her face.

She tightened her hands on his bare, muscular shoulders as his fingers slipped into the ties of her nightgown and just ripped them open, she squealed when she heard the sound of the fabric being torn and a cool breeze surrounded her flesh.

"− I won't stop −" He said in a trembling, deep voice, so startlingly clear that shivers ran through her, her mouth parted wide in a helpless moan when she realised he wasn't wearing a mask.

She squealed loudly, her body arching all over, her hands clenched in his hair when she felt it, his cold, wet mouth clamped down on her warm breast, playing with her nipple, sucking and licking it, the spot between her thighs throbbing with pleasure and desire.

"− oh − oh, gods −" She mumbled out, never having felt anything like it in her life, his hands ripped her chemise off her and only then did she feel his whole naked body pressed against her skin, it was such an overpowering, shocking sensation that she was out of breath.

She wanted to enjoy every second of what was happening, his lips teasing her nipple with a loud click, clearly taking great pleasure from it, his hands tightened on her hips, forcing her to spread her thighs wider in front of him, her fingers stroking his hair, she thought with a trembling heart that they were unexpectedly soft and long.

"− we can't −" She choked out with an effort, wanting to retain the remnants of her sober thinking and decency.

He, however, only chuckled under his breath, amused, his hand from her hip slid down between her thighs, she whimpered loudly as his fingertips ran over her heat, collecting the moisture that had already managed to flow out of her, oversensitive and delicate.

"− should I leave you like this? − I'm not that cruel −" He hummed under his breath with a kind of excitement from which she quivered all over, she heard him raise himself higher on his elbow, his nose ran over her cheek, she gasped as she felt his fingers begin to apply more pressure, in sure, circular motions teasing the spot hidden between her folds.

All she could think about was that he wasn't wearing a mask, her hand rised involuntarily to touch his cheek.

"Tsk-tsk." He hissed as he caught her wrist, his tongue ran over her upper lip, his middle finger made its way inside her, searching with it for the spot he had rubbed earlier with his length. "Don't."

She mewled with delight and her body shook with a shiver of pleasure when he finally found it, her hips responded to his touch with desperate movements, her mouth parted invitingly, letting his tongue deep into her throat, their lips joined in a sticky, loud, hot kiss.

She panted loudly along with him, stroking his hair as she felt him slide his finger out of her, impatient, his lips sucking and brushing her fleshy skin again and again as the tip of his manhood pushed against her entrance, thrusting forcefully inside her.

She clasped her hands on his bare back feeling the scars beneath them and cried quietly into his mouth, trying with difficulty to fit him inside her, he throbbed all over in arousal, her breasts pressed against his chest in the tight embrace of their bodies.

They both started to moan between loud, wet kisses as he began to root into her hot core, this time she was so wet that a few pushes of his hips were enough for him to begin slipping into her with ease.

"− mmm − that's it − so fucking good −" He panted into her mouth, gripping her hips tightly with his hands, stretching her tight walls with his length with every movement of his hips.

She moaned helplessly beneath him, stroking his hair, neck, shoulders and back, all sweaty from exertion, their lips finding each other in messy kisses over and over again.

"− fuck − do you really think I'm going to share what's mine? − that I would allow some mere, petty lord take you? − hm? −" He hissed out and she felt her walls clench tightly on him at his words in pleasure, heat surged through her lower abdomen from which her head completely spun, her helpless whimpering answered him.

"− p-please − I − ughmm −" She babbled, unable to focus on anything other than how he rooted his manhood into her, how wonderfully it teased the spot hidden in her walls.

She wrapped her legs around his waist, wanting to feel him closer, tightening her fingers on his back, she heard him groan low feeling it, speeding up, thrusting into her like crazy.

"− you want it, don't you? − my seed − deep, deep inside you − fuck, say it −" He breathed out between quick, deep, brutal thrusts, she felt him looking at her, felt his hot breath on her face, his forehead pressed against hers.

"− y-yes − please − fill me, fill me, fill me −" She mewled, both of them moaning loudly as a powerful orgasm shook her body, her core began to clench against him, forcing him to let go, his length twitching all over as his semen spilled deep inside her.

"− good gods, yes, take it −" He exhaled in delight, his thrusts sloppy and desperate, pushing his seed as deep into her as possible.

"− you're mine − I'm going to fill you every night − gods, you're going to bear me so many children −" He gasped in bliss, slowly coming down from his peak, the whimpers of pleasure coming out of her lips at his words, she wasn't sure she'd ever experienced anything like this in her life.

"− please −" She mumbled quietly like a helpless child, running her hands over his naked skin, wanting to remember that wonderful feeling, they were both hot and sweaty with pleasure, their bodies sticking to each other, her breasts pressed against his chest.

They both sighed when he finally fell on top of her, embracing her, their fingers sinking into each other's bodies, wanting to feel each other as much as possible, though she wasn't sure if two people could connect in any physical way more than they did now.

She could feel his loud, raspy breath against her cheek, the tip of his nose running over her hot skin, as if he wanted to check that it wasn't all just the result of his imagination.

"− stay − stay inside me −" She whispered, and he sighed quietly, as if relieved, with a gentle movement of his hips sliding his already half-soft manhood fully into her, hiding himself deep inside her.

Even though she knew it was wrong and irresponsible, that she couldn't trust him, that he was a traitor, she had never felt safer with anyone before, her eyelids closing involuntarily, having not experienced a peaceful sleep for so long.

"− don't open your eyes until I leave −" He whispered in her ear and she nodded, stroking his soft hair, her lungs filled with his scent, male sweat, steel, dust and fire.

His arms held her in a tight embrace through this night and many nights to come, making the days blend into one for her.

Each time he came to her he would cover the windows with curtains so that she could see nothing, and then sink his lips and tongue into the warmth between her thighs, groaning in delight as he felt how much of her moisture flowed out of her, only to end up rooting deep into her, as he promised, filling her with his seed.

He always rose before dawn, she could see through her closed eyelids that the first rays of light were sneaking into her chamber despite the curtains, that if she opened them she could see his face.

She feared, however, what she would see.

All she could think about all day was the night, what he brought to her along with the brutal, deep thrusts of his hips.

When he took her, he would say that he was her husband, that only he had the right to touch her, that she would only bear his children.

She was his.

He used to show this to her by standing closer than usual when she was eating or reading, by no longer leaving when she was taking a bath or changing, staring at her shamelessly, promising her servants in her presence that if they said anything to the king, he would end their lives.

"Vhagar doesn't mean it and he would never hurt you against my will. Am I right?" She asked coldly, frowning at him as the terrified girl tried to attach the long sleeves to her gown with trembling hands.

"Mmm."

When they were alone he would dare to approach her from behind as she sit, his leather-gloved hand running over her throat only to grasp her cheeks tightly and lift her face up, forcing her to look at him.

She stared into his eyes obscured by the dark material, at his mask, indifferent, cold, mocking, his thumb gently massaging her skin.

He didn't need to say anything, she could feel the tension between them quivering in the air, making her feel a throbbing inside her.

"Tonight I'm going to make use of those lips." He hummed softly, parting her lips with his finger, she closed her eyes, feeling that she couldn't last, her hand lifted swiftly the thick layers of her gown and slid deep between her thighs, sinking into her moist warmth.

He sighed quietly, looking down at it, clearly taking satisfaction from the fact that his mere presence made her unable to bear it, that she needed to relieve herself.

"− do you want it so badly? − me fucking those moist, sweet lips? − hm? −" He cooed, and she only whimpered, tilting her head back, resting it against his stomach, with a loud, embarrassing click rising and falling on her fingers, teasing her pearl at the same time, feeling her nipples grow hard with arousal.

"− please −" She mumbled, although she didn't know what she was asking for, they couldn't do it now, they had to wait until night fell, like every day.

"− you look wonderful like this −" He murmured, stroking her cheek with his thumb, his voice trembling slightly, she knew that he was already completely hard, that he was dying at the thought of being deep inside her at night. "− so devoted −"

She mewled at his words and felt him clamp his hand over her mouth, stifling her moans that escaped her throat as she reached her peak, she felt her walls clench on them hungrily, wonderful waves of heat surged through her body again and again, she heard him gasp with satisfaction as she saw her body spilling in front of him on the chair.

"− mine −"

That night as they lay in complete darkness, both of them falling asleep, his nose snuggled into the hollow of her neck, his arms embracing her tightly, his soft manhood deep inside her, she dared to ask him the question that had long been pressing against her tongue.

"Are you Prince Aemond's envoy?"

Her question hung in the air as if in the void, she felt his body freeze, for a moment he did not breathe, his fingers tightened on her soft skin.

Silence.

Long, cruel, cold.

"Yes."

She swallowed loudly, a shudder went through her at his words. He felt it and leaned in, placing a soft, warm kiss on her shoulder, his fingers squeezing her breast with affection.

"I want to help him. Can you convey this to him?" She asked in a whisper and felt him flinch all over, letting the air out of his lungs in disbelief, she felt him lift a little, his hot breath on her cheek.

"What do you mean?" He asked in a trembling, low, deep voice, as if he couldn't believe what he was hearing. She pressed her lips together feeling her heart pounding like mad.

"I will support him if he spares my little brother. If he agrees, I'll do whatever he wants." She said in pain, feeling a tightness in her throat, his lips pressed quickly against her skin, greedily, violently, kissing and sucking her, his length throbbing hard inside her.

He began to move again, slowly rooting into her with a sigh of delight and relief, saying no more until they reached their peak together, panting loudly, their bodies heated and quivering with exertion.

"− be patient −" He whispered in her ear with such tenderness that she felt her heart squeeze, heat spilling over her lower abdomen. "− soon − I promise you, we'll be married soon −"

After what he said, she fell asleep filled with hope, with the fact that she wanted to believe his words, that he would really protect her, that perhaps a great bloodshed could be avoided this time.

That they would really get married.

She thought that now, that everything had come together in her mind, she could finally look at him, her future husband, the man who had taken her for himself, who brutally and indivisibly stormed into her heart.

That was why, even though she had sworn to him that she would not do so, hearing him get dressed in a hurry she lifted her eyelids.

She felt her heart freeze, her throat squeezed so tightly that she couldn't catch her breath.

He sensed something was wrong, subconsciously realised she had broken her promise and lifted his gaze to her, his hands clenched on the belt of his coat.

A large scar ran across his right cheek, in his eye socket not a blue iris, as it seemed to her when she looked at him through the thin black material, but a sapphire, glinting dangerously in the first rays of the sun, his lips clenched into a thin line, in his healthy eye pain, disappointment and anger.

"You shouldn't have done that."

_____

Aemond Taglist:

(bold means I couldn't tag you)

@its-actually-minicika @notnormalthings-blog @nikstrange @zenka69 @bellaisasleep @k-y-r-a-1 @g-cf2020 @melsunshine @opheliaas-stuff @chainsawsangel @iiamthehybrid @tinykryptonitewerewolf @namoreno @malfoytargaryen @qyburnsghost @aemondsdelight @persephonerinyes @fan-goddess @sweethoneyblossom1 @watercolorskyy @randomdragonfires @apollonshootafar @padfooteyes

[notnormalthings-blog]

So glad i’m not the only back in their hunger games phase

— Drowning (Hunger Games AU)

Part one / final part

Aemond Tribute x Fem!ReaderTribute

Rating: Explicit +18 (graphic descriptions of death, blood, torture, sex, exhibitionism (?) depressive thoughts, PTSD, happy ending - or as happy as the hunger games allow)

Summary: Emotions run high in the arena, but the end approaches quickly. It's time to make a decision.

English is not my first language

••••

••••

A scream cuts through the air.

You turn your body toward the human sound (even though it's so painful it's almost animalistic). You hear, a few seconds later, Aemond's voice - calm, always calm - and you run as fast as you can. You breaks nimbly between a stand of trees, feeling your chest tighten in apprehension.

You can't lose him.

He is your ally, after all. The only person in this arena who isn't trying to kill you.

It's the only reason.

There's a body on the ground: the boy from District 4. Aemond killed him.

There is a net hanging from the tree above, full of thorns. A trap. And there is Aemond, bloody hands gently lowering a small figure to the ground, and your heart stops in your throat.

He looks up, looks straight into your eyes. The expression on his face is something you've never seen in the time you've known him and, deep in your heart, you wish you would never see again.

“It’s okay,” Aemond says to the girl, as you approach with cautious steps and an alarmed expression. “It’s – it’s okay. It's okay. You did well."

His voice doesn't falter. You fall to your knees as the girl chokes, her mouth full of blood. Shireen, one of the tributes from District 11, with small, no calluses hands and a dying gleam in her eyes.

She breathes something and Aemond cradles her head. “Shh, it’s okay,” he repeats.

You are useless. You can do nothing but watch as life slowly leaves the girl's small body.

Aemond can't do anything either, but he smoothes her hair – she's only eleven years old – and says in a low voice that she's going home, he repeats this many times, until her chest stops rising.

You close your eyes.

The cannon explodes; once, twice. There are stalks of tall yellow flowers, and you pick them, with tears in your eyes; Aemond, carefully and gently – words you wouldn't use to describe someone as mortal as him – places the flowers around her.

“Aemond,” you say, crouching down next to him in the grass. His one blue eye is red and empty, but he meets your gaze and nods sharply.

You don't say anything to each other. There's nothing to be said. It's just another death, another child murdered in the name of entertainment.

You don’t stop him as he rests his forehead on your shoulder. He doesn't cry, or say anything, or even breathe at a different pace. But he's feeling it. This is his grief. He trembles. This death seems to have reached Aemond - the same Aemond who has killed several other tributes over the past few days. And you wonder if this child reminds him of anyone.

You extend your hand between your bodies and he accepts it. The innocent blood on his palm now bringing the two of you together.

You two officially don't move away after this.

It gets cold at night. With the heat that had permeated the forest all day, the humidity that came with it quickly turned to cold when combined with the pale face of the moon. You're glad Aemond is there. Together you can curl up against each other and share body heat, where alone you would have to curl up uncomfortably between tree roots and shiver as you try to sleep. It wouldn't be a pleasant situation and the man's strong body is more than welcome.

Pressed with his back against a tree with you between his arms and your legs intertwined, it's perhaps one of the most intimate situations you've ever been in. Of course, the Games you are both participating in are anything but romantic. You are cold and wet and in the struggle between life and death. In short, it should have been something you hated doing, and that you wished you never did again, and yet, you found great comfort in it.

You were never one to get close to other people besides your family. Having Aemond around, being able to suffer this hell together, made you think that being like this, so close to another person (so close to him, specifically), isn't the worst thing in the world.

The more time you two spend together, the more you realize that the two of you could become great friends quickly if given the opportunity, rather than just survival buddies. God, maybe you both were even something more, under the right circumstances. But at the same time, the more you realize how attached you're becoming, the more you realize it's going to hurt when one of you dies - an inevitable fate in here.

It's not a pleasant feeling.

“You’re good at this,” You tell him, when there are only six of you left.

Aemond doesn't look at you, but he raises his eyebrow, his attention focused on the water lapping at his calves. His arrow rests on his outstretched bow, slowly following the path of a large fish swimming lazily toward the bait floating before him. “In what exactly?”

"Survive."

The arrow shoots out, pinning the fish to the ocean floor in one fell swoop. The poor animal writhes frantically under your control until Aemond lifts it from the water and throws it onto the rock you're sitting on. You make sure the fish doesn't fall back into the water, landing a blow with your dagger to end its torment.

"Is this a compliment?" Aemond ponders, returning to look for more fish in the water.

“I believe so, here,” you respond with a dry laugh, throwing the fish’s blood into the water.

"But?" he hums, sure there's one in your sentence.

“But,” you begin, voice soft and low, as if that would keep the cameras from hearing or people from seeing the two of you. “You shouldn't be. In a normal world, in an ideal world, you wouldn't need to know how to kill other people. You wouldn’t have to commemorate a massacre.”

“Do ideal worlds exist?” He asks, sullen and frowning, gaze narrowing and focusing on another fish.

You smile slightly, blood staining your hands. “For the right people, yes.”

There are five of you when you kill for Aemond.

He was recovering from a bite from a wild baboon (a little gift from the gamemakers to move the game along), the wound having almost severed the artery in his leg, when a girl with sharp shark teeth runs by, a knife in her hands at the ready to dig into his flesh and take him out of the game.

It all happens so fast and yet so slowly.

You, who until then had been tending the fire, look up when you hear her footsteps. It's automatic, even instinctive, the feeling of protection even invades your chest. You can't let her touch him. You barely notice when you act, but you are immediately on your feet, with your whip in your hand, ready to attack. With the sound of wood burning in the flames, the girl screams as the long rubberized rope wraps around her throat like a snake, pulling her away from Aemond and causing her to trip over a fallen stone. Your dagger was drawn (once again, before you even realized it; instinctive and automatic) and soon you were on your knees on top of the girl.

She growled and bared her teeth at you in a desperate attempt to regain some control, but the tightness of your whip around her neck and the way your dagger darted in and out of her flesh didn't give her much room to maintain any facade of courage.

The events that followed were a little confusing to you, but you were vaguely aware of Aemond's eventual grip on you as horror took over the cold determination in his eyes and you finally stopped stabbing the woman long enough to realize that she is already dead.

You widen your eyes and let Aemond pull you away from the corpse. “Come on,” he says, taking your hand as he begins to lead you toward the riverbank. He pulls more insistently when you just look at him. Your mind is swimming, the sick is taking over your stomach. This wasn't a death like the others - this time you wanted to kill. You couldn't stand the thought of Aemond being hurt, so you - rationally - chose to kill her before she could do it. It was premeditated, it was intentional. You would do it again. “Come on, Y/N.” he insists, pulling harder.

When you seem to have recovered from that, or at least enough to walk, you stumble after him, eyes wide and blood-soaked weapons still clutched tightly in your hands.

“A-Aemond,” you whisper, as the monotonous rush of the river comes to meet you, lapping at your ankles with an icy sense of reality. “Aemond, I...”

“I know,” he assures, bending over and wincing in pain as he begins to wipe the blood from your hands.

It takes a few more minutes for you to finally start crying, the first heartbreaking sobs piercing the false calm of the river. Aemond closes his eye, pulling you against his chest to muffle the sounds, one hand on his bow while the other wraps around your waist. You can feel how tense his body is, knowing there's a chance another tribute is nearby.

But he doesn't let go of you. He keeps you safe and tight in his embrace as you break, ready to pick up your pieces when you're done.

There are only four of you when you and Aemond kiss.

It's a kiss of need, it was definitely not premeditated on your part, but it's almost sweet because of the strawberries you both ate.

You don't want to fall in love with Aemond, not when you know it will lead to nothing but pain.

This is not how love should be.

Love shouldn't happen in the arena. Love should not flourish during games, under rocks and thorns, dirt and blood. Love shouldn't bloom before every pair of eyes in Panem. Love shouldn't happen here at all.

Love shouldn't happen under any circumstances, except that it does.

Love happens in the arena. Love blooms throughout the game, under rocks and thorns, dirt and blood. Love blooms before every pair of eyes in Panem. Love happens in all impossible circumstances, and the Capitol loves it.

As the sunrise is inevitable, the female tribute from District 12 finds herself falling in love with the male tribute from District 2, in front of the cameras, the Capitol and all the districts of Panem.

The nation watches your every move, your every interaction. The eyes are on you all the time, on the poor star-crossed lovers, on the two young people who fell in love amidst the chaos. Circumstances, however, make things a little hard to believe; It's hard to believe that any kind of genuine love can blossom and grow when both are exposed to the crowd, desperate for survival and mercy.

But happens.

There is no time to make friends here, no time to grieve, to mourn the death of some tribute you became close to. There's definitely no time for love, but Aemond, who maintains an aloof and cruel facade to everyone - but is actually someone who is impetuous, brave and always so protective, doesn't care about that, apparently. Aemond doesn't care about the terrible, wrong timing, the rules, or the consequences; Aemond only seems to care about you, and it's scary to the point where you can't even explain it.

You no longer know if you're willing to do anything and everything to get back home alive, not if it costs you Aemond.

In many ways, you are afraid of love. Of what love could do to you in the remote case of falling in love with Aemond - the way he seems to be with you. Of what you could do for love. Of what you could do for Aemond, of what you could do to save him. The death of the girl with shark teeth is proof of how insane love could make you.

You don't want to fall in love with Aemond. But games don't care what you want or don't want.

The kiss was gentle – slight as a feather at first, and then all at once. You almost believe it didn't happen, that you were having a dream or something. Until his mouth returns to yours with more conviction this time. Pressing, crushing against you, making you taste the rain on his lips.

Your fingers dig lightly into the back of his wet neck. Both of his hands are on your hips, his tall body pressing you against the damp rock. He presses harder and harder into your mouth. He pulls away only to thrust again. He lands on you, taking a dive - it feels like he's been on the edge for too long.

You lose feeling in your legs, grateful for the other hand that rests on your waist and the rock behind you, but he pulls you against his body as he leans in further. One of your hands flies to his chest, grabbing a fistful of his shirt and bunching it between your fingers. Aemond doesn't mind – and in fact, he moans into your mouth.

Out of desperation. Of repressed feelings that have been exploding for weeks.

You shiver, not from the cold of the rain, but from the way the noise vibrates against your lips. He gasps, filling the smallest space left between your mouths between each gap.

His tongue appears, asking for permission which is granted before you can think clearly about the matter. You don't hesitate, and fuck, his tongue is hot as he thrusts into your mouth. His eagerness is evident by the way his fingers dig into your hips and how his head tilts to the side to have more room to thrust. The world goes quiet and all you can feel is his tongue licking yours. All that can be heard are his breaths mixing with yours. All you can think about is how good it feels to think about something other than death and blood for at least a moment.

Your chest feels like it's imploding. Falling apart and then rebuilding and falling apart again with each kiss. His tongue moves against yours like he's trying to taste you - drink all of you. His fingers dig in like he'll die if he lets go of you. His strength is truly unparalleled, and his grip on your hips could almost hurt if you weren't so caught up in the pure, unadulterated emotion of his actions.

There is a moment when you come apart for air, and in addition to the waft of oxygen, some sense of reality seems to enter your system at that moment.

Neither of you says anything for long seconds, the weight of what just happened sliding over your heads, just like the torrent of rain.

It was one of the best moments of your life, but the cost would be too high.

"This..." You begin, licking your lips, your vision blurred with all the water falling from the skies - or was it just your eyes? "This can't happen again. This - Aemond, this will end in-" you stutter, now even saying the words out loud was difficult. But Aemond knows what you're talking about.

He knows that your destiny involves nothing but pain and separation.

"It's already happened, little bird. Don't you see?" He whispers, resting his forehead against yours. "There's no going back now for us, we've come too far." The heavy drops of rain travel from his eye patch until they slide down the scar on his cheek and before you knows it your finger is there, gently tracing the jagged edge of the damaged flesh. Aemond sighs, but doesn't stop you, his blue gaze slides between your eyes and your swollen lips.

This moment – the feeling of Aemond pressing you against the rock, his forehead against yours, your touch in his scars, your breaths together and the freezing rain washing your bodies – is so present to you that it must be real. And yet it's so far outside of the experience that it feels like a fantasy. It looks like a trap.

You breathe and apply pressure to his shoulders to get him to move away, your expression hardening into something akin to determination; but you know it isn't, not entirely.

"This cannot happen again, Targaryen."

You don't stay to see his expression.

It happens again. Because feeling is pure and beautiful and it flourishes against all odds in a place where there is no room for pure and beautiful things. It's a miracle, really. And miracles can't just be ignored like that.

You find a cave that night. The rain hasn't let up, it's cold enough that you can see your breath with every puff, and the cave offers the best opportunity to stay warm. It's more vulnerable than the trees, of course, since you won't be warned if the other two tributes try to get closer and you won't have anywhere to run either. But, as Aemond points out, there's no point in freezing to death on some rotten branch, not when you've already come this far; so close to the end. No, you both will die fighting, one way or another.

The anxious expectation of the end approaching, the separation impossible to avoid, the prospect of living without feeling at least once what it's like to be with each other...

The collision between the two of you is inevitable, really.

It's dark, the only light comes from the moonlight outside and it's just enough to illuminate you upon him: a vision, bathed in a soft white.

You lean forward, resting your hands on his shoulders and his muscles flex under your control as your fingers struggle to hold on. He reaches out to steady you, curling around the flesh of your hips to guide your movement - a slow, steady movement of your hips on top of his.

Your thighs are spread wide, they have to be to match how wide he is beneath you, and the position leaves your back arched, the fabric of the blanket that surrounds you two barely able to stay stable over your body.

You fought it, God knows you did. And even now you still feel, deep down in your soul, that allowing yourself to have it...having him...will do more harm than good. This story is not like the ones in romance books, where the prince and princess get together and live happily ever after. There are no happily ever after here. All that will be left of this is a broken heart, yours or his; or both.

But there is a duality in your feelings.

Because you also want him to remember you. You want him to carry you on his skin forever, in his heart. And maybe that makes you a stupid, selfish girl. You wish you could grieve and care about it, but the truth is, you don't care. You could die here - you probably will. Die for Aemond. You don't know at what point you decided this; but you know it does. You don't want to win if it means his death.

In these last moments, you want to be selfish for once. Feel him once.

You want Aemond. You want him in all the ways you wouldn't have allowed yourself before.

The sleeping bag below him is incredibly uncomfortable, you know it is, but he grunts and pants softly, his back against the icy rock wall. His feet sink as he plants them into the ground to push you, burying himself as deep as he can.

“God, yes.”

You push yourself further into him and his hands move to your waist, encouraging you to maintain the curvature of your ass.

“Yeah, darling.” He hums lowly in the darkness, right in your ear, the husky gravel tone all the more intimate with how quiet he's being. “Ride it, just like that. Show me how much you like this, little bird.”

You do it – Christ, you do it – doubling your efforts with a soft groan and sinking your knees into the sleeping bag to lift yourself higher, only to sink further into it. You do this a few times, his hand sliding to cup the weight of your breast through your shirt and when his thumb slides over the pointed button, you place your hand over his, holding it in place with a squeeze.

There's a quick, hazy flicker of your eyelashes to the cave entrance as the thought that they - all of Panem - can (and are) watching this moment crosses your mind; it's quick and fleeting, but Aemond notices it.

“I want them to see.” he murmurs, scattering kisses and sucking the flesh below your ear. “I want them to know what they are taking from us.” His lips trail down the column of your throat as one hand undulates your hips against his. “I want them to see me loving you. I want them to see that it’s beautiful.”

You don't know who exactly the words are for, but at the moment you can't bring yourself to care. You know your friends are watching, you know everyone in Panem is watching. You grab Aemond's hair tightly, bringing his face closer, wanting the indelicate touch of his teeth, the silky caress of his lips. You're going to die and you no longer care what people see or don't see. They'll see whatever they want, anyway. As long as it entertains them, they don't care what's moral – or what's real.

Your other hand trails down his torso, your fingertips barely grazing his skin beneath his shirt as you slide, slide, slide on his lap. His abdominal muscles are hard and prominent and you trace each one of them.

His face is one of admiration, of ecstasy, his blue eye is dark and lost in lust, hooded and sleepy as he looks at you. The silver strands tied into his usual high ponytail contrast with the dark rock behind him, and you want to brush a few damp strands of sweat from his forehead, but you wait; give it to him instead. Allow him to feel your wet, tight pussy around him; drinks in every sigh that leaves his lips parted, every twitch of his eyebrows and the rosy tone on his pale cheeks.

Your chest tightens as he grabs your chin, dragging you into a rough kiss. He runs his hand through your hair and back, pulling your body down so that you're pressed against him. The thin blanket covering you both slides down and rests on your hips, and if it wasn't obvious before what the two of you were doing, it certainly is now. Even though you're both mostly clothed, it's impossible to ignore the undulations of your body against his.

You push your chest against his as he traces your cheek, rubbing the side of his face against yours, imprinting his scent on you like an animal.

The noises your pussy makes are obscene, the sloppiest, wettest sounds as you slide down his shaft, and Aemond buries his face in your neck. You bite your lip hard, taste the copper on your tongue as he lifts his hips sharply, his thick, long cock hitting the perfect angle, slapping loudly against your skin, stretching you to the edge of pain.

He bites your sore lips and you respond with your mouth, running your fingers through the baby strands at the base of his neck. As you jumps panting on his lap, you caress his face sweetly, pushing up and riding him even harder. His hand, so big, cups the cheek of your ass, giving an intense, painful squeeze that makes you clench your teeth, narrowing your eyes.

“Such a good girl riding my cock like that,” he growls against your lips, hand affectionately stroking where he hurt you.

He is in control; even if it's you riding his cock, he's the one in charge, getting pleasure from you and making you feel it too.

Your breathing becomes loud, echoing in the icy cavern, desperate as you shake and shudder above him, gripping tightly onto his broad shoulders.

“Do it, Twelve. Let them see how beautiful it is.” he whispers like a command, like a destiny set in stone. And you obey.

Your hips rock faster and faster, and you feel the sticky mess as all your nerves go up in flames. Aemond continues guiding your ass to rub against him, his commanding voice turning into weak grunts. He deals with it, though. He holds back and deals with it while letting you to shake and roll your eyes, to scratch his shoulders and bite your lip to keep from screaming as you throw your head back. He allows you to rise and fall from your crest until there is nothing left but labored breaths and tired eyes.

Finally, he chokes. His breath hitching at the burning heat of your cheek as he lifts your hips enough to pull his cock out. Long pale fingers gripping his length, stroked up and down once, twice, three times before you pull his hand away, closing him in your own hand and dragging the pad of your thumb dangerously over his leaking tip. Aemond resists and furrows his eyebrows at you in a warning look, but hisses through his teeth as he spills over your hand. He trembles as you work him, up and down, his cock pulsing between your fingers, jets of cum gushing out - hard, dirty kisses on his neck turning into kitten licks and small kisses against his warm skin.

You think Panem had a great show. Aemond Targaryen, flushed and sweaty, all silver and eye patch - he is almost an icon at this point. And he is undone, because of you. For you. With you.

Not that you're any better. Sweat drips down your temple and you can feel the heat emanating from your cheeks.

You hope he remembers that.

"I'm sorry."

He says quietly after a few seconds - minutes? You are not sure. But you slowly realize he's referring to the painful grip on your ass, his fingers carefully massaging the bruised skin.

You snort.

"No, you don't."

Aemond responds with a mischievous smile, his head hitting the rock behind him.

“You’re right, I’m not sorry at all.”

You lean your forehead against his, smiling sideways.

“I’m not sure if they’re going to kill us or ask us nicely to do it again, honestly.”

Aemond raises an eyebrow.

“They probably can't decide what people want to see more of. That might buy us some time. Think about it this way, little bird."

He helps you compose yourself, before you both settle under the thin blanket. Aemond wraps his arms around your waist, kissing your cheek.

“I don’t remember seeing anything like this in the Hunger Games before.” you whisper, the sound of the rain outside almost drowning out your voice.

And it's truth. There have been all kinds of cruelty, shocking and disturbing scenes in the arena. But you've never seen sex.

Aemond laughs.

“They’ll have to remember us now, then.”

You smile and then feel the smile slowly disappear.

That's it. There are only four of you left now. Soon this would be over. It was a goodbye.

The most beautiful of goodbyes.

You fall asleep wrapped in Aemond's arms and shivering, but not entirely because of the cold.

You and Aemond are hunting on top of a hill when you hear the announcement that changes everything:

“Attention tributes, there has been a rule change. I am pleased to inform you that there may now be two Victors, as long as they belong to the same District. Happy Hunger Games! And may the odds be ever in your favor!" You and Aemond pull away at the sound of the voice and with each word you can feel your heartbeat slow, your stomach sink and your vision narrow on Aemond's furrowed brow.

You can barely hear him as he questions, “Why the fuck would they change that? It doesn’t make sense, there are no more district pairs and-”

You watch Aemond look over your shoulder and see his one good eye widen in disbelief.

“Hello, Aemond, dear.”

You can only focus on his lips as he mouths an 'Alys' in disbelief.

You turn to look at her too; her hair is messy around her face, a joyful expression in her eyes, there's blood smeared on her chin from a split lip (and you know she killed the fourth tribute), but outside that, she looks good. “Did you hear the announcement, Aem? It's not perfect? I knew we would be the last two left." Then her eyes slide to you. “Or we will be, soon” she laughs and you feel an uncomfortable shiver run up your spine. Her gaze is feline, cold and calculating.

You are acutely aware of the fact that you are between two highly skilled tributes who have trained specifically to win these games. And for a terrible moment you doubt everything you experienced with Aemond; his words, his care, his affection, certain that everything was just a facade. Maybe...maybe it was all part of the plan; to take you out of the game.

You step back so you can have both of them in view, the point of a triangle, hands going to your weapons tucked into the waistband of your pants. But when you look at Aemond's face your doubts evaporate. His jaw is clenched as he shakes his head at Alys' words. “It won’t be the two of us, Alys. You are not my partner.”

The woman's mouth closes in a frown, ready to retort, but you speak before she does. Which definitely surprises the three of you. “Maybe – maybe you should consider it, Aemond. That way you two could survive.” You are also surprised by your words. But there is no way you can leave this arena alive. One way or another, in the end you would have to face Aemond. And you're not willing to do that.

Aemond responds in disbelief: “I don't give a shit about it. I’m not going to win or leave these games without you, we’re a team. Don’t say this again.”

"Well, neither do I." You counter.

Alys lets out a loud laugh, “Oh fuck, what is that? Are you two in love? This is pathetic. See how weak you have become Aemond. This is really sad.” She advances further, each step making them more tense.

Aemond raised his bow, ready to shoot. “Alys, stay where you are.”

She hums, pretending to think about it. And then her head tilts to the side, something mischievous dancing in her eyes. She starts running towards the two of you and Aemond doesn't hesitate, shooting an arrow and another right after, both in quick succession, the first misses and the second could very well have missed too due to all the impact it had on her.

The arrow lodges deep in her arm, but she just grunts and keeps running. And then she's off the ground, leaping high like a cat, suddenly too close as she flips over Aemond, landing just behind him. She arm fast and tight against his neck as he stumbles back to her in shock. The whole thing happens in the space of a few seconds, and it's really hard to follow.

"Try something and I'll stick it in you, and your poor little girl will be next." She threatens before he can try to fight her, the arrowhead in her arm is ripped off and brought to his neck, hot and wet with her blood. She laughs, "By the way, thanks for that, idiot." You meet Aemond's gaze to find surprise reflected in it, he had the bow and another arrow in his hands but upon realizing his situation and her threat he drops his hands to his sides.

“This is your last chance Aemond, declare me your partner now or be ready to die. I will have you, or no one else will.” She presses the sharp tip of the arrow harder into his neck as an indication. Aemond doesn't respond, but his expression closes into something indifferent and cold.

You're breathing fast, scanning the two of them, trying to think of something. They are close enough that you can reach them if you are quick, but far enough away that it is too risky to use your weapons. You could hit Aemond.

You would just have to rely on the first option, and a lot of luck.

With no time to waste, resolute and semi-confident, you straighten up and, as she speaks, you make deliberate eye contact with Aemond. He nods subtly, understanding that you're going to make a move.

“You’re not going to enter the Capitol at my expense, you were supposed to be my and-” And before she can finish, you throw yourself as fast as you can towards her. Alys notices your movement, but you don't stop. She reacts after a few seconds and presses the arrowhead into his neck with enough force to pierce and draw blood, but you're already on top of her by then.

You both fall to the ground in an ungraceful movement, and you bring your hand to the wound on her arm, dig your fingers inside and twist, she lets out a loud scream, equal parts pain and shock from your quick actions. The woman's strength is surprising, even with your advantage of surprise she still manages to dominate the fight after a few seconds. You regret not paying more attention to hand-to-hand combat during your training sessions.

You fight and try to punch her, but everything becomes useless when she turns you on the ground and closes her hands around your neck, pushing and pressing your body to the ground like a train. There's nothing to do; no matter how much you scratch her arms and try to get her off of you, she doesn't move.

She squeezes your windpipe tightly, knocking the air out of your lungs with a single blow. It's impossible not to think about the irony of it all. This was exactly how you made your first kill here in the arena and this was how you would die.

As you think about this, a large hand closes in her hair, pulling her head back roughly half a second before the blade of a dagger slides down the length of her throat.

Blood flows from her throat to you, splattering onto your cheeks and clothes. You watch as her blue-green eyes widen in disbelief and her lips stutter gurgling, choking sounds. The grip on your neck loses its strength and she collapses beside you a few long, agonizing seconds later.

Boom. The cannon sounds.

You keep looking at the sky, however, seeing without seeing the image of Alys Rivers of District 2 there, waiting for something, waiting to hear something. Waiting for Gamemaker to announce that, miraculously, after you fought so hard, they decided to let two tributes from different districts win.

But nothing comes.

You swallow hard, swallow the lump in your throat and slowly prop yourself up on your elbows to meet Aemond’s gaze. Resigned to the fact that there really is no happy ending for the two of you. Even if you both had come so close.

You stand up as the wind shakes the tall grass and trees on the hill, your strands blowing around your face in the icy breeze. It's ironic how the game slowly got you here; to the top, to the end. You can almost taste it - death and victory. At this point, you are no longer sure if there is any difference. You don't know why you thought it existed.

Once again, maybe for the last time, you're standing next to each other, watching a hovercraft arrive toward Alys, proof that people are watching and even greater proof that they've decided it's not over for the two of you. And it's a slap in the face, a reality check that leaves you almost breathless, clouding your vision until all you can see is Aemond's pained countenance and parted lips.

When the hovercraft leaves with Alys Rivers' body, Aemond shakes your hand and begins to speak softly, you look at your clasped hands.

“I never wanted to participate in the Games. But I always trained for it and once I was chosen at the reaping, I decided I would win. It would be a chance for my father to finally notice me, after all. Something that would guarantee his approval, that would make him finally see me. But now..." he looks at you, the wind rustling the silver strands in his ponytail. "Now I don't want this, I don't want any of this, not his approval or his adoration. I just want you. And if winning games means losing you, I don't want that."

His words might as well have been a blade, piercing your heart. You could feel his sincerity and his raw honesty - it was also a reminder of how young you two were. You shook Aemond's hand and began to speak.

“When Cyntia's name was called, I didn't really think carefully before volunteering. Everyone thought it was courage and sacrifice. But actually, I didn't think it through. She's only 12 years old. She and my younger sister often play together. I didn't think, I just offered. It wasn't courage. It was instinct." You look at the horizon, the beautiful sight of the sky preparing for sunset, a sigh escapes your lips. "But I knew I'm was a dead woman walking up to that stage. I knew it, people in the Capital knew it, even my family knew it, deep down. But I told myself I would try, because I wanted to make them proud. In games, though, you made me hope, Aemond. You made me stronger, and you made me believe, especially because you just kept me moving on. I'm so happy that even in the midst of pain and terror, I was able to experience this. So now that I know this feeling, how can they ask me to come back without you?"

Aemond placed a kiss on the side of your head.

“Little bird, you have people who will miss you and cry for you. I don't. It's only fair that you go back to them."

You turned to look at him in disbelief and anger. “I would cry for you, you idiot! I would miss you! How can you say that? No, no, you can't come with that shit to me now. You can't. Aemond, I already told you that I will not return without you and I will not.” When your voice broke, tears rolled down your cheeks and your eyebrows crossed, Aemond reached out to you with gentle hands and gaze, but with firm words.

"Well, neither do I." The look in his eye told you how serious he was.

You shook your head in denial, moving a few meters away, running your hands through your hair and walking from side to side, while Aemond slowly followed you with his gaze. You watch him, hovering at the edge of the cliff, his almost white hair blowing in the wind, so serene and beautiful.

You looked beyond Aemond to the sky and felt an idea forming in your mind, crazy and desperate, as well as fatal if it went wrong. But it's something. A small glimmer of hope in the darkness.

You close your eyes and open them to Aemond, looking over his shoulder at the fall and looking at him knowingly.

It only takes a few seconds, but Aemond understands. His expression tightens in pain for half a second, but he controls himself and nods. You walk back to him, Aemond offering his hand as, without any words spoken, you climb with him onto the edge, the wind seeming stronger now, your hair in your eyes and your body swaying. You turn to curl your fingers into the lapels of his coat and pull Aemond towards you until you both teeter lightly on the edge, foreheads pressed against each other before sharing one last soft kiss; salty in taste with your tears.

You allow yourself to look at Aemond one last time, the image burned into your mind before tilting your head and looking down. There is no shield this time. It would be a free fall. Aemond snaps you out of those thoughts when he shakes your hand and, after you nod once, in sync you both swing forward.

"WAIT!" The gamemaker's voice echoes like thunder in the arena. You squint at the setting sun. “Wait, just…” There is a pregnant pause, the noise of the wind the only sound in the arena, until… “Ladies and gentlemen, it is my pleasure to present to you the victors of the 73th Hunger Games – Aemond Targaryen of District 2, and Y/N L/N of District 12!”

Aemond - having immediately pulled you back when the person started speaking - tightens his arms around you as if he would die if he didn't. You collapse on the ground smiling at each other, in disbelief and exhausted.

You two would be leaving the games. Together.

“Damn, we won,” he murmurs, a comfort in a voice so broken you think you could listen to him forever, but the words are your undoing.

No, you think. We lose.

And Aemond knows it too. You sob helplessly as you burrow your nose into his neck, smelling citrus and the forest. He just squeezes you tighter, mirroring the same feelings.

The reality is that you both lost more than you would have if you had died in the Games. Realistically speaking, it wouldn't have been worth living with all the blood on your hands. But the dull thud of his racing heart beating against your own chest makes you selfish.

How could you let him die? How could you not have been selfish? Is it fair for you to kill a million tributes in this arena, even if it destroys you, if it means he's still alive, that he survives?

Yes, it was, apparently.

“I got you, little bird. I got you."

The words ring out with the firmness you've only heard in the arena of the Games. He pulls you both through it.

You are inclined to trust him, as you have from the beginning. You will still trust him, even if you never recover from the horrors you went through in here.

(You were prepared to die the moment you volunteered. As much as you fought and killed to get home, you don't think you could have done it alone. A part of you hoped, after you met him, that Aemond would be the one to do it with you, that he would be the one to eventually kill you. That you two would be the only ones left, and by dying, you would guarantee that Aemond would survive, that he would win.)

You've believed this version of events so much that being here with him, both of you coming out alive and together, seems like an unrealistic dream.

Aemond crushes your bodies, and you feel like the two of you could become one person, one soul, one mind, right here in this moment.

He cups your face gently between his palms, like always, because it's your favorite place, barely moving away.

“I got you,” he repeats, more slowly. “We will stick together no matter what happens outside, we will be together.”

You close your eyes tightly and nod.

This was the two of you. Insurance. Together. Caring for each other the way you both deserved, the way that left behind only warmth instead of cold. As if everything was right in the world. Even if it wasn't, in fact. Even if ghosts haunt you for the rest of your lives.

“Are you okay, little bird?” he asks softly as he sees fresh tears falling from your eyes, the grip you keep around his neck tightening.

And as the orange of the sunset shines on Aemond's sharp features, you think that's all you need – to watch him as the world collapses and rebuilds itself around the two of you, as his one eye fills with something shiny again, broken and yet so miraculously whole. Connected, breathing slowly - afraid that someday you will need to let go.

You smile softly, a small twitch on the left side of your lips, "No. I'm not."

You kiss his lips, gentle and pure.

“But I will be.”

Tagging: @croatianprincess @sylasthegrim @fan-goddess @supmymainhuman @navyblue-eternity @gothicxs @loving-enemy @ostricx @azperja @echos-muses @aemondsdelight @schniiipsel @snowprincesa1 @maviee @ammo23 @dark-night-sky-99 @deeeeexx @hotdsworld @darylandbethfanforever9 @malfoytargaryen @qyoquixote @pick95 @moonxhunt @tired-ninfa @fcbformulaeri @daydreamy-me @magnificentdelusionr @lovelymoonkiid @babyblue711 @very-straight-blog @namelesslosers @chainsawangel @miss-madness67 @arcielee @ratfromdeepspace @brianochka @greenowlfactif @qyburnsghost @rwdkarla @dontforgetoctober3rd @at-a-rax-ia @atheyrie @jhroseok @helaenaluvr @msss0 @santi-259 @strangersunghoon @eternally-passionate @skythighs @alitaar

•••••••

[notnormalthings-blog]

You always come up with such interesting concepts, I’m in love with this!!

I don’t think Helaena would feel any anger towards her as she had no part in their deaths

So if her father is responsible for their deaths, then I don’t know how safe she is with Aemond being her protector🥲

The Man in the Black Mask

[ Amor • Aemond x Psyche • female ]

[ warnings: angst, violence, assassination attempt, mention of the murder of multiple people, descriptions of murders ]

[ description: After she is attacked in a fair by a strange man and narrowly avoids death, her father the king decides that from now on she will be watched over by one of his 'ghosts', a assassin acting on his orders, wearing a black mask. The man follows her like a shadow, accompanied by their past, which keeps her awake at night. Gothic horror love story, angst, sexual tension, very dark Aemond. ]

This story is several requests combined into one: sworn protector x female; Amor x Psyche; Phantom of the Opera! Aemond x female. I took the liberty of creating a completely new story from this, having only elements of each of these requests.

Series & Characters Moodboard

* English is not my first language. Please, do not repost. Enjoy! *

Next chapters: Masterlist

_____

Her father, the king, only realised how many enemies he had after a man dared to attack her while she was strolling around the fair during one of her walks. He wanted to get closer to her and slipped a dagger out from behind his cloak, if it hadn't been for the woman selling fish and her shouting, she wouldn't have noticed him or the steel gleaming in his hand.

She did what any other person in her position would have done, which is to say, she screamed in terror, stepping back, bumping into a wooden makeshift table full of vegetables, which toppled over with her, the assassin giving up at the last moment, terrified by the sudden outbreak of panic, and disappeared among the crowd.

Some elderly man helped her up, the knights of her father's guard rode up on horseback, alarmed by these frightened noises, one of them, Ser Lucas, her father's friend from his youth and the great rebellion furrowed his brow as he saw her face.

"Princess?"

She wasn't sure if her father was more furious with her or with the man who had tried to attack her. He commented on her irresponsibility and disobedience, her recklessness, and expressed outrage that her guards had not even noticed how she had escaped them.

"I just wanted to see the fair, my king." She said in a trembling voice without looking at him, she stood before him with her hair loose, wearing a beautiful navy blue gown with sleeves that reached to the ground, her shoulders bare, on her hips a delicate golden belt made up of tiny eyes in which sapphires were framed.

"That's enough." He said agitated and impatient, raising his hand in a gesture of frustration, his dark hair and beard adding to his seriousness, his brow furrowed in anger. "Until you learn prudence, one of my ghosts will not leave your side."

She looked at him, horrified, and then turned her gaze to the man standing beside him, a few steps behind his throne, his figure hidden completely in shadow. He was dressed all in black, a hood over his head and a black mask on which a single tear was outlined under his right eye.

It was said that it was molded so that the people they were killing would have the feeling that they had compassion for them, that they were just a tool used by someone else.

People called them ghosts because they weren't seen on a daily basis - or at least that's what it was believed. They were forbidden to take off their mask or speak to anyone but her father, and were his principal emissaries that found his enemies, invigilated them and killed them.

Since the days of the rebellion and the overthrow of the earlier king, her father was perpetually in fear of an attempt on his or his children's lives, so he found, she supposed, people desperate or fond of killing, those who owed him everything and had no reason to betray them.

She passed and saw them extremely rarely, only during sumptuous feasts in the company of guests or gatherings of magnates from all over the country.

They stood then by her father's side, as always in the shadows, though invisible, constantly reminding her of their presence with their very posture, menacing and stony, the people around them afraid to look at them.

She didn't know how many of them there were in total, they were almost identical and differed only in height, besides that they wore the same clothes, masks, hoods and black leather gloves, probably to avoid staining their skin with blood.

The thought that someone like that was to accompany and guard her sent shivers down her spine, she had feared that her father would now know of her every move, that she would never leave the fortress again.

She lowered her gaze, saying no more, listening to his orders to find the man who had attacked her, whom she had described in detail to the other ghosts.

She left, feeling that if she stayed there another moment she would vomit.

It seemed to her that these black hooded figures were sucking the life out of everyone around them, that they were a walking harbinger of death and misery.

That night she heard his voice for the first time.

Her guards were outraged when he dismissed them.

"You are not a king, by what right do you command us?" Asked one of them, a cold, deep, mocking voice answered them.

"Shall I inform the king that not only are you incapable of guarding his daughter, but you refuse to obey his orders?"

She heard someone's growl and an unclear voice full of impatience, the clack of steel and armour proving that they had walked away and she was left alone with the cold murderer outside her door.

She pressed her lips together, felt her eyes burning due to the gathering tears at the realization that she had never felt more alone and abandoned than she did now.

She wriggled in bed, as she did every day, unable to fall asleep. It was raining loudly outside and she looked towards her window, seeing nothing but darkness. She felt small and even though she was lying under several thick furs, she was cold.

She rose slowly, putting a soft cashmere shawl over her shoulders, lighting a candle that illuminated her chamber with a pleasant, warm glow.

There is a man behind that mask, she thought.

He was not a ghost.

If she made any kind of bond with him, she would stop being afraid of him.

She walked to her door and stood in front of it for a long moment, feeling her heart pounding hard and fast. She swallowed hard and opened it with a loud creak of old wood.

Her candle instantly illuminated his figure, he was standing exactly opposite her door, leaning against the wall with his hands clasped in front of him. She wondered if he was asleep in that position, but after a moment she noticed something behind the translucent black material in the area cut out for his eyes, a blue iris staring at her.

She looked at him for a moment, wondering if he would move, but he stood like a statue, it seemed to her as if he were made of stone.

Was he supposed to stand like that all the time?

Her father had told her that he would gift her his one ghost.

Would they be exchanging? After all, he had to sleep at some point.

"What's your name?" She asked uncertainly, softly, wanting to sound as open and honest as possible.

Silence.

A long one.

"How am I supposed to address you if I don't know what your name is?" She asked again, looking at him pleadingly, asking him to let her at least get a little closer to him, to be able to give him humanity.

Silence.

She pressed her lips together and thought something else would make him speak.

"Should I complain to the king about you not answering my questions?" She asked lowly, wrinkling her eyebrows, wondering where she had got the courage to speak to this man in this way. A shudder went through her when she heard him let out a breath, as if he had given up, resigned.

"Call me any name you see fit." He said in a low, deep, indifferent tone, as if the fact that he had to talk to her frustrated him incredibly and he didn't understand what she wanted from him.

She felt a tightening in her throat at the thought that there was no more human thing than being given a name, it was the first thing given to a child at birth, and he renounced it.

"Shall I name you?" She asked shaking her head, not understanding what he was implying, and he turned his face to the side, despite the mask she could feel the growing impatience beating from him.

"Yes. My Princess." He added after a moment, his words razor-sharp, cool, angry, mocking. She had the impression that he treated her interest as something completely unnecessary, apparently it suited him to remain in the shadows and he had no intention of coming out of it.

She looked at him with pain mixed with disappointment and thought he reminded her of one of the horrific mythological beasts her mother had once read to her about before bed, a great mighty dragon that sowed death and destruction.

"Vhagar."

She heard the word she had spoken echoed, followed only by the sound of rain, and felt that there was something final in what she had done.

"I will always treat you with respect and I will never make you do anything to humiliate you or offend your good name." She choked out with difficulty, wanting him to understand that they were condemned to each other and that this in itself was a misfortune, however, it would be even more so if they both pretended that he didn't exist, that he was just her shadow that followed her everywhere.

He did not respond.

She closed herself back into her chamber only walking towards her bed feeling that her legs were trembling. She lay down on her bed covering herself with thick furs, frozen and terrified, closing her eyes, praying to the gods to show her mercy.

That they would not lock her away in this cold, stone fortress forever until her father claimed to have found a suitable candidate for her to marry.

As she did every day, she also prayed for someone else.

Someone who had lived in this chamber before her.

The next day she got up awake, a terrible headache accompanying her from the moment she opened her eyes. She sat down at the table, covering herself with her shawl; overnight the wood in her fireplace had burned out.

She lifted her gaze as she heard the door to her chamber open, her servants entering with golden trays on which they served her breakfast.

She saw Vhagar follow them inside, his hands entwined behind his back, it seemed to her that his footsteps made no sound, that he could sneak up on someone silently.

"You're supposed to taste everything first." He said to one of them dryly and emotionlessly, the girl looked at him apprehensively, clearly already knowing stories of men of his ilk and what they did.

"My Lord?" She choked out, clearly not understanding what he was asking her.

"Anything the princess wants to eat or drink − you are to taste it first. This is how it will be from now on with everything you bring her. Do you understand?" He asked coolly and insistently, and she nodded, lowering her gaze, pale.

"Is this necessary, Vhagar?" She asked looking at him with a furrowed brow, he turned his face towards her but answered nothing. He looked back at her servant after a moment.

"Begin."

"I've lost my appetite. Take this away. You can eat it all, let it not go to waste." She said raising her hand, allowing them to leave turning her head to the side, looking blankly at her wardrobe standing on the other side of the chamber.

She saw out of the corner of her eye that he hadn't moved from his spot, that he was looking at her, his aura giving her shivers, she knew he was about to say something.

"My Princess…" He started and she turned her face towards him. "…are you going to eat your breakfast, or do I have to shove it down your throat?"

She looked at him with huge eyes, feeling her heart pounding fast, shivers went through her, she thought with horror that he was mad.

"That is all, Vhagar. You may leave." She said in an unobjectionable voice, clasping her hands in her lap, trying to hide how much they were trembling.

He stared at her, his black tear-streaked mask seeming even more frightening and mocking to her, cold and lifeless.

"Mmm." He hummed, though it sounded more like a purr, bowed barely visibly and left her chamber.

She let out a loud breath, burying her face in her hands, feeling a desperate burbling in her stomach from hunger, thinking that she would not give him the satisfaction of letting him dominate her life, ordering her servants around, locking her in a cage.

She asked her servants to help her dress, she put on this time a light-coloured gown with a fine gold belt around her hips made up of tiny chains, some of her hair pinned back in a bun, some falling down her bare back, her sleeves reaching all the way to the ground.

She walked out of her chamber without looking at him, without telling him where she was going, hearing that he immediately moved to follow her.

Her shadow.

She saw the ladies of the court looking at her, terrified of who was accompanying her, as if she were being followed by death itself, people turned their faces away and froze in silence, not knowing what to do, how to react to this unwanted sight.

She headed for the main castle library hearing him enter behind her, but stopped at the door when it slammed behind them, standing in front of it with his hands folded behind his back.

She was starving and decided to distract her mind with some reading. She picked up a few books on the history of her country, sitting down at one of the large oak tables right by the window to get more light. She opened one of the books in front of her, looking for the chapter that interested her.

"You may sit down, Vhagar." She said dispassionately, not wanting him to think she expected him to stand there like some stone pillar, but he didn't move from his place.

An hour passed before he spoke to her, snapping her out of her reverie.

"You need to eat." He communicated a little more softly than before, she felt him looking at her, but she did not lift her gaze to him, uninterested.

"My servants will not taste my food. You yourself watch the cooks and what they put on my platters." She replied with reserve, answered by a long silence.

"Very well."

She looked up at him, sighing quietly, his face turned towards her, she knew what was the reason for his impatience, what he was afraid of.

What would the king think if it turned out that under his watch she had begun to refuse food and starve herself? How would that reflect on him as her protector?

She rose from her seat, putting her books slowly back on the shelf, returning to her chamber without changing another word with him.

As she sat down to supper with her father, her younger brother, and his closest associates, the king immediately asked her what she thought of her new sworn protector, who stood behind her chair right next to the wall, as usual, hidden completely in the shadows.

She swallowed loudly a piece of the roast she had just had in her mouth, noticing with a kind of discomfort that her father spoke of him as if he had given her a thing, not a man.

"Thank you, Father, I do indeed feel safer in his presence." She lied, clutching the wine cup in her hand and taking a loud sip from it, wanting to end the subject quickly.

The king nodded, looking impatiently to his confidant secretary, a companion to all the major battles won during the rebellion.

"Has Prince Aemond's body been found at last? It's been eight years, for goodness sake." He said sternly, impatient; as far as she understood, only his body of the entire Targaryen family had not been found after the great massacre that had taken place in the fortress where they were now feasting.

Lord Ronan grunted loudly, shifting in his seat, blinking rapidly as if thinking of what to answer.

"We are getting closer, my lord. We're searching the city's underground, likely to find his corpse soon. The cut of the sword fell right on his face, he couldn't have survived that." He said with a certainty that was filled with the need to sound as convincing as possible, which did not escape her or her father attention.

She lowered her gaze, setting down her cup with a loud clang of metal on the wooden tabletop, looking down at her plate, losing her appetite completely.

The entire royal family slaughtered in their beds after her father at the head of the army stormed into the fortress, elected by the people to rule after the inept reign of King Viserys.

"With apologies, I will retire to my chamber. My king. My prince. My lords." She said bowing in turn and moved ahead, not waiting for her father's permission, she heard rustling behind her, she knew her ghost had not left her side.

They walked in silence through the dark corridors of the fortress illuminated only by the warm light of torches, she knew the way to her chamber by heart. Her mind, however, was elsewhere, wondering what would happen if Prince Aemond lived.

If he came in with his army and slit their throats as her father had done to his family.

She stood in front of the door to her chamber, glancing up at his tall black figure towering over her like a cold shadow.

"Thank you for your devotion, Vhagar. Rest now." She said turning her head and opened the door, but stood in half step, surprised to hear his voice behind her.

"How does it feel to sleep where she slept?" He asked with a kind of excitement, as if the thought of it gave him satisfaction.

She felt her heart start pounding like mad, a cold sweat on her back at the thought of Princess Helaena bleeding to death in the bed she was now sleeping in.

She looked up at him, in the light of the torch she could see through the black fabric his blue irises, his pupil looking at her in such a way that she had the impression that he was a predator who was looking at his prey, whose entrails he was about to tear apart.

She was silent for a long moment.

"Horrible." She said dispassionately lowering her gaze.

"I imagine her lying in my place and all I can think about is that the same thing will happen to me one day." She muttered, feeling his heavy gaze on her, there was some kind of tension between them, though she didn't know why. "I pray every day for her forgiveness."

"Ghosts do not forgive." He said coldly, as if stating some foreboding, indisputable fact, a shudder went through her and she looked at him with a pained expression, furrowing her brow.

"What else can I do?" She asked in a trembling voice, but got no answer, his black mask with a tear running down his cheek looked at her indifferently.

"Sleep well, my princess."

_____

Aemond Taglist:

(bold means I couldn't tag you)

@its-actually-minicika @notnormalthings-blog @nikstrange @zenka69 @bellaisasleep @k-y-r-a-1 @g-cf2020 @melsunshine @opheliaas-stuff @chainsawsangel @iiamthehybrid @tinykryptonitewerewolf @namoreno @malfoytargaryen @qyburnsghost @aemondsdelight @persephonerinyes @fan-goddess @sweethoneyblossom1 @watercolorskyy @randomdragonfires @apollonshootafar @padfooteyes

[notnormalthings-blog]

THEY ARE SO ADORABLE

this story makes my day better without exception

The Prince and The Fox (7)

[ modern! • Aemond x friend! • female ]

[ warnings: kissing, fluff, swearing ]

[ description: After the events of her childhood, despite her best efforts, her neighbor and the younger brother of her friend Helaena, Aemond, does not want to know her. This state lasts until a house party organized by his older brother, Aegon, during which an incident occurs that will change their relationship forever. Slow burn, angst, toxic ex-Alys, rough Aemond. This is several anon requests combined into one fic. ]

WARNING: The main plot between the characters takes place in high school. Yes, in high school. The belief that teenagers wait with an intimacy when they are in love in high school is ridiculous to me. Aemond and the character here are the same age. Don't ask me how old they are, in my country you are of the age of consent in your first year of high school and an adult in the last year of high school, so if it is more convenient for you, think about it that way and decide for yourself. In this story, I am not following the trail that they are magically friends right away, but how they become friends and what that even means. I'm writing this fic to give the perspective of young, lost people, not adult women who want to see exactly themselves in everything they read. If that's all you expect, this isn't the fic for you.

I don't want whining about this in my comments or asks. I will delete these and block you. You have been warned.

Aemond + Evans Series Moodboard

This is my first story that has its own playlist, but yes! Get in the mood! Story Music Playlist. Song used in this chapter: Rammstein - Du Hast

* English is not my first language. Please, do not repost. Enjoy! *

Next chapters: Masterlist

_____

From the day he called her there was a change in him that surprised her. He would come up to her at breaks of his own accord, stand and talk to her, telling her about his day, what he was reading and playing. After what he wrote to her, Alys never spoke to him again and he told her that he felt like a huge stone had fallen off his back.

They often wrote after school, complaining about homework or tests, no longer having the energy to study, tired and discouraged. They usually wrote for hours about nothing, sending each other memes or screenshots of articles they had just read, however, she enjoyed it very much and, most importantly, he enjoyed it too.

They always sat together on the bus listening alternately to his and her playlist. He let her lay her head on his shoulder, himself resting his cheek against her hair.

She knew she was in love with him, had known it for a long time, but she felt that everything was as it should be.

That they were coming closer together in slow, small steps.

He surprised her one day when they were standing at the bus stop. She already knew him enough to feel that he wanted to say something, but as usual he had trouble getting it out. He looked down at his trainers, his hands slipped into the pockets on the front of his black hoodie, his lips tightened.

After a moment, he grunted, not looking at her, she had a feeling his skin was rosier than usual, as if he was hot even though it was cool and unpleasant around them.

"I've been thinking a lot lately." He began, licking his lower lip as if he was carefully analysing the next sentence he wanted to say.

"I…em - well." He paused, as if he had lost the thought. She glanced at him with sympathy seeing how difficult this was for him.

"I figured if you wanted to, I don't know, hold my hand sometimes, or do some other dating shit, I wouldn't mind." He choked out quickly at last, embarrassed, his nostrils moving in an anxious breath, he wasn't looking at her.

She blinked, feeling herself blush, a hot sensation spread throughout her body, a pleasant tickle in her belly. She pressed her lips together, lowering her gaze, embarrassed.

Was he just telling her that he was ready to take things a step further?

That he wanted something more than friendship?

"Okay." She said softly, not knowing what else to add, as stunned by it all as he was, it seemed to her that she had never felt anything like it before in her life.

As usual they sat on the bus together, but this time she had the feeling that he had specially pressed himself tighter against her with his arm, his knee touching hers.

She was hot with emotion so she had to pull her jacket off, and as she returned to her previous position, she placed her hand gently on his.

He looked at her surprised and swallowed loudly, his cheek immediately pressed against her hair as she laid her head on his shoulder, his pleasant scent filling her lungs.

She felt him intertwine their fingers, his Adam's apple waved as he swallowed hard again, his thumb stroking her skin gently in a gesture of such immense tenderness that she felt emotional.

She didn't dare hold his hand as they walked down the shool corridor, she was afraid of malicious comments towards him from others, she knew he only dreamed of sitting in his shadow and never coming out of it.

However, he would sit next to her on the floor during breaks, listening to music with her on his headphones, he made her really like Rammstein, they often listened to her favourite song 'Du Hast'. He would sometimes send her great recordings of their concerts, which she watched with blazing eyes in bed in her bedroom.

What pleased Helaena most about their closeness was that she could spend time with both of them at the same time without fear of conflict.

They often played online games together on the PlayStation, something she hadn't done much before but had become addicted to because of them, also joining in remotely with them via her laptop when she couldn't see them.

She wrote him back quickly without a second thought, knowing that tomorrow was Saturday and she could sit up late with them.

She told her parents where she was going, grabbed a few things to change into thinking that if she stayed up late she would spend the night in Helaena's bed and ran across the street, knocking on their door.

She heard Vhagar's loud, excited barking and then someone's footsteps, Aemond opened it for her and invited her in.

"Hi!" She shouted loudly into the ether looking around for Helaena, she saw him give her a surprised glance, following her into the depths of their living room.

"No…we are alone. Helaena and Aegon have gone off somewhere, my parents are away until Monday." He said looking at her uncertainly, as if he felt he might have inadvertently deceived or confused her in some way.

She blinked, tightening her lips, feeling butterflies in her stomach.

They would be alone.

Like a couple.

"…if you don't want to, then..."

"− no, it's fine. What are we going to play?" She asked pulling her backpack off her back and placing it next to the couch.

They spread out comfortably on the large sofa next to each other with the pads in their hands, browsing through the various online games, unsure of what to play. They usually played as a group of three so they didn't want to continue through the levels Helaena was helping them with.

"How about this?" He asked lowly, opening a preview of a game in which the characters were warriors flying on dragons, fighting in sky battles against other players who were also online. The gameplay was for up to two players.

"Oh, yes, I've always wanted to play this!" She exclaimed excitedly, sliding slightly down in her seat, and he hummed under his breath, starting up the game, waiting for it to load.

They were able to choose their gender, outfits and equipment with great detail and also the appearance of their dragon, so it took them the first hour.

"A bow? Don't you prefer a crossbow?" He asked with some kind of disappointment looking at her choice.

"I want a bow." She burbled undaunted, moving on to her heroine's hair colour and what kind of hairstyle she wanted.

They decided they'd start with training to learn how to control their big sky beasts at all, and it turned out not to be easy to pilot them so that they flew where they wanted, didn't hit each other, and at the same time shoot at their opponent.

"Shit. This is a game for kids aged 12 and up. It shouldn't be that fucking hard." He muttered, clicking the buttons of his pad loudly, as soon as he shot his dragon flew off a bit to the side and the arrow didn't reach his opponent. She sighed loudly at his words.

"We are poor players. I don't know if there is any point in humiliating ourselves by fighting experienced twelve-year-olds who will destroy us after a few seconds." She said amused to watch them both get tired, she heard him chuckle lowly and felt her cheeks blush.

"Yeah. We can check out the exploring cities mode. There are whole maps here. Then the gameplay is about flying to specific points and completing missions." He murmured, quickly clicking something on his pad, switching them from training mode to travel mode.

"Oh, great! I love it!" She said happily, pleased with how nice and detailed the graphics were, their dragons flying side by side and circling over a large, golden city reminiscent of some medieval kingdom.

They played like this for a while, commenting only briefly on what they were doing and the dialogue between the other characters, occasionally getting into fights with someone, but without the control of the dragons it was much easier and they both got caught up in the story. She was surprised and blinked when she suddenly saw him press pause.

She glanced at him questioningly, thinking he had to go to the bathroom or wanted to get himself something to drink, but he just looked at her and slid a little lower on the couch so that their faces were at a similar height.

She could feel the heat in her lower abdomen and her heart beating fast, she felt her cheeks burning, she couldn't hold back a slight embarrassed smile. He hummed under his breath, the corner of his mouth curving upwards involuntarily.

"Wanna kiss?" He asked, and she felt a wave of heat surge through her body, she clenched her thighs together, feeling a pleasant pulsing and tickling between them, she felt like her lungs were filled to the brim.

She nodded her head.

He smiled and reached his hand up to her cheek, his warm, soft, wet lips clinging to hers in a sticky, loud, tender kiss. He pulled away from her for a moment to look at her, and then they embraced and kissed again and again, her hand slipping into his hair, soft and smelling pleasantly of masculine shower gel, she thought with her heart beating hard that he had taken a bath before she came.

She heard him murmur as she felt him reciprocate his kisses, once in a while sucking his lower lip between hers, his hand tightened on the nape of her neck and hugged her tighter, their warm bodies touching.

His hands roamed her cheeks, her hair, her neck and her back and although she felt desire in that touch, it didn't make her uncomfortable, it wasn't intrusive.

She didn't want him to stop.

She felt something begin to happen to her as they both began to breathe loudly, their kisses faster, deeper, more intimate, more greedy, accompanied by the embarrassingly loud sound of their saliva, their fingers pressed painfully tight on their bodies.

"− so pretty −" He breathed out into her mouth and she trembled all over hearing it, feeling as if a pleasant wave of heat had passed through her body, the inside of her core between her thighs pulsed hard, for some reason she felt that she was terribly wet.

"− mhm −" She mumbled only, deepening the kiss thinking only of making sure he didn't stop, that she wanted this, that she wanted him.

That she wanted him to touch her.

He paused for a moment, panting loudly, his nose pressed against her cheek as he felt her take the arm he was embracing her with in her hand and slide it lower, grabbing his wrist.

"− did I do something wrong? −" He whispered in a trembling voice and drew in the air loudly, surprised when she took his hand in hers and gently placed it on her breast covered only by the material of her Tshirt.

"− fuck −" He muttered in shock, involuntarily his fingers tightened tentatively on her soft flesh, she could feel his accelerated breath on her face, that he was looking at what he was doing, where his hand was. "− so soft −"

She felt his words between her thighs, sighing quietly, unable to believe how pleasant it was, how warm and large his hand felt, his touch gentle, full of curiosity, respect and uncertainty.

He kissed her again, still keeping his hand on her breast, kneading it gently, sighing in delight as she struggled to catch her breath, moaning quietly when she felt the tip of his tongue gently brush her upper lip.

"− fuck − mmm −" He hummed quietly, thrusting greedily into her lips, panting loudly along with her, her hand pressed his fingers firmly against her breast forcing him to squeeze her harder and he groaned low right down her throat, her free hand roaming through his hair, his tongue invading deep inside her mouth.

They pulled away from each other, terrified and moved back quickly hearing the sound of a lock being turned and someone's laughter, Aegon talking loudly on the phone.

"She pisses me off, she's always jealous, I don't even get a moment's peace. No, I'm not going back there, I'm already home. Hi little nerds!" He threw them a greeting as he ran up the stairs to the first floor in a few sure strides, and after a moment she heard the sound of his room door closing.

They both swallowed loudly, trying to calm their breathing. She pressed her lips together not believing what had happened, afraid to look at him, not knowing what she should do now. She felt a terrible tension and a throbbing that she didn't know much of what to do about, and she was ashamed to ask him about it, so she just grunted quietly, looking down at her hands.

"Em….so. Shall we keep playing?" He asked in a low, slightly hoarse voice, and she nodded quickly.

They played for a few more hours without saying much, but they sat closer together, their thighs and shoulders touching, she could feel his body with her every move.

Neither of them pulled away, quite the contrary, sometimes when she was waiting for him to move she would lay her head on his shoulder, as she often did on the bus, watching him play and hearing him swallow loudly each time, trying to concentrate on what he was doing.

At some point she felt herself start to fall asleep, it was late but she didn't want to go home. It felt silly to be left without Helaena for the night though and she was afraid that Aegon would tease both him and her later.

That's why she simply laid back in with her face pressed into his neck inhaling his pleasant scent and allowed herself to close her eyes, just for a moment.

"− hey − Foxy − are you asleep? −" She heard him whisper, his warm hand gently stroking her thigh.

"− mmm −" She murmured softly, embracing his arm with her hands, cuddling into him like he was a teddy bear, he was pleasantly warm and smelled of himself, just the way she liked it, it felt good and comfortable. She felt him kiss her cheek a few times.

"Sleep. I'll cover you with a blanket later." He whispered, launching some other game on the pad, apparently a single-player one.

She felt him take his arm from her grasp only to embrace her and hug her close, and she snuggled eagerly into his chest, laying herself comfortably, his cheek resting against the top of her head, all she could hear was the quiet clicking of his pad and the sounds of the game which he had turned down so that she could sleep in peace.

After a while she fell into a deep sleep, squirming in his embrace. Then she felt a sudden emptiness and muttered under her breath discontentedly, searching for him with her hand in the darkness.

She felt someone's lips kissed her hair and stroked her cheek, she smelled his scent, his warm body laid behind her back and embraced her, covering them thoroughly with a warm blanket.

She placed her hands on his intertwining their fingers, his face snuggled into the hollow of her neck, she heard him sigh quietly as if relieved.

She fell asleep.

____

Aemond Taglist:

(bold means I couldn't tag you)

@its-actually-minicika @notnormalthings-blog @nikstrange @zenka69 @bellaisasleep @k-y-r-a-1 @g-cf2020 @melsunshine @opheliaas-stuff @chainsawsangel @iiamthehybrid @tinykryptonitewerewolf @namoreno @malfoytargaryen @qyburnsghost @aemondsdelight @persephonerinyes @fan-goddess @sweethoneyblossom1 @watercolorskyy @randomdragonfires @apollonshootafar @padfooteyes

[notnormalthings-blog]

AAAAAAAAA

I love those two so much and their banter 🤭

this was lovely !!

» The Longing «

[ Aemond ✦ Targaryen x Baratheon! ✦ female ]

[ warnings: sex content, fingering, smut, angst, domination, ass slapping, degardation, possessive behaviour, orgasm denial ]

» The Impossible Choice Special Chapter «

Aemond through his duties as the Hand of the King is unable to keep his promise and accompany his wife on her journey to Storms End. To his disappointment this does not stop her and she and their son leave for what seems to him an infinite amount of time.

This work was created as part of a series The Christmas Drabbles which will consist of ten drabbles taking place after the events of some of my favorite fanfictions. Each of them is concerned with one feeling that dominates the characters at a given moment. This is my little gift to all my fans.

Word counter: 2.400

* English is not my first language. Please, do not repost. Enjoy! *

My other works: Masterlist

✦✦✦✦✦

When Aegon made it clear to him that because of the troubles with the riots on the streets of King's Landing, he would not be able to leave Dragonstone until things calmed down, he knew his wife would not take this well.

They had tried several times to arrange a date for their trip to Storm's End, however each time his duties as the Hand of the King prevented him from doing so. He had presented her with the King's decision over dinner, which they always ate together.

She entertained their son, who was trying with difficulty to babble his first words already, though it was more coming out as strange clusters of syllables. Lady Baratheon raised her gaze full of disbelief at him and shook her head.

"I will leave without you, Aemond. I will not explain myself to Royce for the third time. His first-born son was born and I promised him I would come to enjoy it with him. I haven't seen him for six months." She said with a frown, turning her attention to Daeron again, stopping his quick, curious hands from grabbing the bowl that stood close to her.

He felt his jaw clench at her words, his nostrils moving restlessly in a deeper breath, his brow expressing frustration at the thought that she was to travel anywhere without him, without her husband.

"It's dangerous." He replied coolly, wanting to show her by his tone of voice and attitude that he didn't like her suggestion.

She knew him enough to know when he was against her ideas.

She sighed heavily, looking at him with obvious impatience, however her voice was calm and composed.

"Appoint someone to travel there with me and Daeron. Even a few guards, if you see fit, I −"

"− with Daeron?" He growled lowly, looking at her in disbelief, and she shrugged her shoulders.

"Who will take care of him in my absence? Is he to stay the whole time with only his mummy while you are at a council meeting?" She asked, clearly trying to convince him that this was the most sensible solution, but he could not comprehend how the thought that she was to separate him from his first-born son could meet with his approval.

"He's my son." He said low, deep, menacingly, his hand lying on the table in front of him clenched into a fist.

"I know; but his father, through no fault of his own, is unable to keep his promise. His father, and at the same time, as it coincided, my husband, should understand my decision, just as I show understanding towards his." She said firmly, furrowing her brows, there was not a trace of fear or hesitation in her bright eyes.

He fucked her like crazy that night, rooting his manhood into her with deep, fast thrusts, listening to her moans of despair every time she was close to fulfilment.

He wouldn't let her come, punishing her for wanting to leave him, allowing her to reach her peak on his length only after his semen had filled her for the third time, teasing her pearl with his long, nimble fingers, from her throat, to his delight, only his name bursting out between her cries of delight.

Feeling the warmth of her body, her scent, her sweet lips pressed against his, his rage completely vanished from him, leaving only a burning desire for her not to leave him, to give him just a little more time to fulfil his promise.

He spent the whole night at the other end of the bed with his back turned to her when she told him that she couldn't let her brother down once again. He didn't even speak to her when she embraced him, when she told him that she would be back soon, that she loved him.

He thought, embittered and full of pain, that if she really loved him she would never of her own free will have decided to separate from him.

The next day, despite her request, he did not escort her and their son to the carriage. She stood over him as he pretended to read a book, uninterested in her words about how deeply sad she was and that she did not want them to part in anger.

He answered her nothing.

He regretted it as soon as she left, when he went to the window and saw that their carriages, accompanied by an escort, were heading away from Dragonstone to finally disappear. He pressed his lips together and swallowed hard, feeling the tightness in his throat and the pain in his chest, he couldn't believe he felt like crying.

Two weeks.

They had never been apart for so long before.

Although he tried not to think about it, their absence seemed to create a void in his mind and heart, his chamber suddenly seeming immensely dark and disturbing to him.

At night as he lay in his bed he would wake restlessly, reaching his hand to the side where she always lay, wanting to make sure she was safe, and he would open his eyes, terrified, looking at the cold material of his sheets, having to remind himself that she had left, that she was in no danger.

He knew she had a right to do so and that she missed her brother very much, but he still felt forsaken.

Nevertheless, when his servant brought him a letter from her, he took it from her and immediately told her to leave without waiting a second, fearing that something might have happened to them.

Her words, however, only expressed her joy at seeing her nephew and that he was in good health. She also informed him that she and Daeron were feeling well, although they missed him very much. She wrote to him about how she could not sleep at night and that she felt as if she had left a part of her heart somewhere far away.

He felt rage and bitterness reading this, but most of all this immense, overwhelming longing.

He did not write her back.

He did not allow his servants to help himself in the bath furious that they could not do it in the same order as his wife, did not have her hands or her scent, made him uncomfortable and only reminded him of her absence.

When at last the day of their return came he had felt tense and excited since the morning, but at the same time he was annoyed, his face stony, not expressing any emotion exactly as when they had met, when he had first seen her in Storm's End.

He did not come out to meet them when they arrived at the stronghold, he did not greet her when he heard her enter his chamber even though he immediately felt her scent, his manhood throbbed hard in response, as it always did, with desire.

He relieved himself in her absence by fucking himself with his own hand, cursing and at the same time summoning her in his thoughts.

At last she returned.

He sat bent over his book, his back to her, heard her soft, warm voice, tired from many hours of travel, heard her hand their son over to his mummy saying that she had fed him an hour ago and he should sleep soundly through the night, before the door opened and closed.

They were left alone.

He knew she was standing looking at him from afar, hoping that he would bestow at least one glance on her, that he would say something, but he only pressed his lips together and turned the page, pretending to concentrate on what he was reading.

He heard her quiet footsteps, the distinctive rustling of her gown, and then he felt and saw her soft, slender hand touch his arm, a shiver went through him. He swallowed quietly, straightening up in his seat, feeling his heart pounding hard, feeling that he was completely hard, that the only thing keeping him from throwing himself at her was his own pride.

"My husband." She whispered with pain, with longing, with hope, with relief and joy that they were together again. He felt a tightness in his throat, his nostrils moved restlessly, his fingers clenched tightly on the book that lay just on his thighs.

"Will you help me undress?"

He felt his length throbbing hard at his words, he let out a quiet puff as if surprised, for a moment wanting to suggest that she ask her maid to do it, but hesitated.

He pressed his lips together and put his book down on the table, rising with a loud creak of wood. He turned and looked at her, realising at once that he had made a huge mistake.

She was staring at him with those big bright eyes of hers surrounded by a fan of beautiful long lashes, her dark eyebrows arched in worry, in pain, in fear of his anger and rejection, her cheeks rosy from the cold outside and the warmth of his chamber, her lips slightly parted in a quickened breath, glistening and plump.

His.

She almost screamed when he grabbed her violently by her hair, drawing her to him, his tongue forced its way deep into her throat with his low groan of relief, he sighed quietly as she immediately grasped his cheeks in her frozen hands, her wonderfully puffy lips teasing him with full, passionate, moist kisses.

He decided that she didn't deserve to be taken like his wife, in their bed, tenderly and slowly, so he pulled away from her and turned her suddenly with her back to him, forcing her to lean over the table, pulling up the thick layers of her gown quickly.

"− you don't deserve for me to make love to you as a wife, do you? − a good wife does not abandon her husband −" He hissed with rage and she whimpered loudly when he slapped her buttock with all his strength, leaving a red mark on it from his hand.

"− answer me −" He said coldly, running his thumb over her heat between her thighs, watching with satisfaction as she leaked with arousal, twitching from his every move.

"− y-yes, I don't deserve it, my husband −" She mumbled with difficulty, giving in, knowing that even if she disagreed with him she couldn't stand up to him now, that he wanted her to be his obedient, sweet lover. He hummed with satisfaction at her words.

"− mmm − does a bad wife deserve to experience fulfilment? −" He asked calmly, his thumb beginning to circle around her pearl, teasing her, changing the pressure, her buttocks bucked more towards him seeking a source of more intense rubbing.

"− n-no − please − I've missed you so much −" She muttered, clenching her fingers on the cold wooden table top to which she pressed her cheek, her lips parted wonderfully in complete helplessness.

He licked his lower lip at her words, furiously slipping his thumb into her without warning, a startled cry broke from her throat as he began to press and rub her bud, hidden inside her between her muscles, he could feel his hand getting all moist from her juices.

"− how much? − were you touching yourself? −" He hissed warningly, and she swallowed loudly, nodding her head with shame.

He pressed his lips together in rage at the thought that she had done this even though he had clearly forbidden her to do so. He slipped his finger out of her and again slapped her buttock with all his strength, she sobbed loudly, closing her eyes.

"− my wife has disappointed me greatly −" He said low, darkly, deeply, undoing the buckle from his robe, reaching down to untie his trousers.

He heard her gasp loudly for air, terrified, as he gripped her hip in his hand and forced her to spread her thighs wider, she squealed when the head of his length began to push against her pulsating entrance.

He rooted into her with one sure thrust, beginning to move inside her immediately with a low, weak groan of pleasure that ripped from his throat, she squeezed him as wonderfully as ever, making him have to clench his eyelids shut, his hands clamped down tightly on her waist as he impaled her on his manhood with a loud slap of flesh against flesh.

"− fucking take it − that's right − ah − that's what you fucking deserve −" He growled as he sped up, pounding into her with aggressive, deep thrusts of his hips, each of his movements accompanied by the loud, sticky sound of her wetness running down her thighs, he slid into her with increasing ease.

"− Aemond −" She mewled as if begging him for mercy, for forgiveness, for fulfilment, and he sighed with relief as if only now realising that he was inside her again, that he would fall asleep beside her again, that she was back. They both started panting loudly, her hips responding eagerly to his every thrust.

"− is this what you wanted? − for your husband to fuck you like a servant, like a common whore? −" He hissed out between his thrusts, feeling her walls clenching against him greedily, she moaned helplessly and nodded her head. He chuckled under his breath, feeling the heat gathering in his lower abdomen, feeling that he was as close to fulfilment as she was.

"− come for your husband − prove to me that you can be a good wife −" He muttered in between his final, sloppy thrusts, hearing her loud, helpless whimper, her body shaken by a wave of pleasure from which her walls began to squeeze against him lustfully, causing him to reach his peak with a sigh of relief, finally feeling his seed fill her insides.

"− yes − fuck, yes −" He panted, moving inside her for a moment longer with the loud click of her moisture, his semen running slowly down her thighs.

He watched their joined bodies with a feeling of wonderful relaxation and fulfilment, placing his hands on the table between her head, leaning slightly just as she tried to catch his breath. He licked his lips, looking down at her beautiful, soft face, all red from exertion.

"I'm afraid this isn't going to be an easy night for you, sweet wife."

✦✦✦✦✦

Aemond Taglist:

(bold means I couldn't tag you)

@its-actually-minicika @notnormalthings-blog @nikstrange @zenka69 @bellaisasleep @k-y-r-a-1 @g-cf2020 @melsunshine @opheliaas-stuff @chainsawsangel @iiamthehybrid @tinykryptonitewerewolf @namoreno @malfoytargaryen @qyburnsghost @aemondsdelight @persephonerinyes @fan-goddess @sweethoneyblossom1 @watercolorskyy @randomdragonfires @apollonshootafar @padfooteyes

[notnormalthings-blog]

LET ME HAVE A CHAT WITH ALYS

The Prince and The Fox (6)

[ modern! • Aemond x friend! • female ]

[ warnings: threats, angst, mention a toxic relationship ]

[ description: After the events of her childhood, despite her best efforts, her neighbor and the younger brother of her friend Helaena, Aemond, does not want to know her. This state lasts until a house party organized by his older brother, Aegon, during which an incident occurs that will change their relationship forever. Slow burn, angst, toxic ex-Alys, rough Aemond. This is several anon requests combined into one fic. ]

WARNING: The main plot between the characters takes place in high school. Yes, in high school. The belief that teenagers wait with an intimacy when they are in love in high school is ridiculous to me. Aemond and the character here are the same age. Don't ask me how old they are, in my country you are of the age of consent in your first year of high school and an adult in the last year of high school, so if it is more convenient for you, think about it that way and decide for yourself. In this story, I am not following the trail that they are magically friends right away, but how they become friends and what that even means. I'm writing this fic to give the perspective of young, lost people, not adult women who want to see exactly themselves in everything they read. If that's all you expect, this isn't the fic for you.

I don't want whining about this in my comments or asks. I will delete these and block you. You have been warned.

Aemond + Evans Series Moodboard

This is my first story that has its own playlist, but yes! Get in the mood!

Story Music Playlist

* English is not my first language. Please, do not repost. Enjoy! *

Next chapters: Masterlist

_____

Never before in her life had she missed a class for any reason other than illness, bad form or some important trip. As it turned out, so had he. They went into a shop to buy something to drink and sat on a bench in a nearby park, watching people walking around.

She felt that he wanted to tell her something, felt that all this was not without reason.

He grunted after a long moment, opening his can of Coke with a loud pssst, he didn't look at her.

"She doesn't want to give me a break. She keeps texting me and calling me even though I don't answer. She's totally fucking out of her mind." He grinned, taking a deep sip of his drink, she heard the hiss of bubbles inside the can. He wasn't looking at her, just ahead.

She wondered what he wanted to hear.

Friendly advice?

"Why did you two break up?" She asked straight out, deciding there was no point in wrapping her mind around it.

He was silent for a long moment.

"Because she was praising me to the skies one time and humiliating me the next. She made fucking shit out of my brain. If it wasn't for Helaena I'd probably still be in it." He muttered, leaning forward, resting his elbows on his knees, watching the passers-by.

She blinked, pressing her lips together, feeling a squeeze in her heart at the thought that he was trying to open up to her, trying to let her understand.

To be honest with her.

"Do you want to see?" He asked suddenly, pulling his phone from the pocket of his black sweatshirt, taking another loud sip from his can in the meantime. She looked at him surprised, unable to believe that he really wanted to show her their private messages.

"I've got some interesting screenshots from a few months back." He muttered, leaning back and moving towards her so that their shoulders touched, showing her his display, scrolling slowly through the next messages with his finger so that she had time to read them.

"She had a habit of deleting messages like that afterwards, so I started saving them to remind myself when I missed her what she really thought of me." He chuckled, locking his phone again, tucking it into his pocket.

She felt her heart pounding hard, felt some kind of discomfort and pain.

"How long did it last?" She asked uncertainly, glancing at him out of the corner of her eye. He pressed his lips together, taking another deep sip from his can.

She remembered she had her juice and opened the wrapper to take out her straw, then stuck it in the carton and began to drink with a loud slurping sound.

He shrugged his shoulders as if he couldn't believe it himself.

"Two years. I've broken up with her a couple of times, but in all seriousness it was only a month ago. A fresh case." He muttered lowly, sipping the rest of the Coke he had in the can and crumpled it up, tossing it into the dumpster standing next to his bench.

A month ago.

When Aegon organised a house party.

She lowered her gaze, tightening her lips, hesitating to ask him the question that was pressing on her lips.

She decided she had to know.

"Why did you want me to stay in the room with you then?" She asked in a trembling voice and felt him cast her a quick, surprised glance. He grunted loudly, clearly embarrassed by this memory and scratched his cheek, licking his lips.

"I don't know. I…it just felt good with you, you know. So…tenderly." She muttered, tracing his fingers across his forehead, his head tilted, he was unable to look at her.

Tenderly.

"Do you regret it?" She asked in a tired voice, and he gave her a quick glance.

"What? I… fuck. No. It was one of the more pleasant things that's happened to me in recent times. So… innocent. The kind that when I think back on it, it makes my heart warmer." He confessed with shame, and she lowered her gaze, looking down at her blue orange juice carton, fiddling with it in her hands.

"I don't regret it either."

They said nothing more.

They went back to school for the last few hours and pretended nothing had happened. Driving home from school they listened to music together again on her earphones, sitting with their eyes closed. She saw his display light up from time to time, that his ex-girlfriend kept sending him new messages, desperate. He didn't even read them.

She asked him why he didn't just block her number, but he said he had done that before and then she simply buys a new card. According to her, he was just upset with her and was teasing her, pretending to be interested in someone else to make her jealous because she couldn't imagine that it was possible to stop loving her.

She thought with regret that she had found herself an easy target, a high school student, quiet and closed off, with complexes, who would never share with anyone else what harm she was doing to him and how she was slowly destroying his self-esteem, manipulating him and making him dependent on her.

They said their goodbyes and parted ways to their homes, however, she felt that something had snapped between them and even though she continued to feel uncomfortable and sad, she thought that this time he really took it seriously, that he really wanted to try.

Whatever that meant.

She recognised that they both needed a lot of space and that what they had now suited her.

She didn't hide her surprise when he called her in the evening when she was already lying in bed, preparing for a maths test. She answered with her heart beating hard, wondering what it could have been about, whether he wanted to wish her goodnight.

"She was recording us." He said as soon as she picked up, not even giving her a chance to say hello, despair in his voice, she felt like he was almost crying. She swallowed loudly, feeling a tightness in her throat.

"What do you mean?" She asked, lifting herself up on the bed to sit down, concerned.

"How do we…how do we…I…you know. God." He mumbled in a breaking voice and drew in the air loudly, breathing unevenly. "She's threatening to send this to the school principal if I don't come back to her. To our friends. She sent me one video to show me she's not bluffing. What the fuck am I supposed to do now?"

She pressed her lips together feeling the cold sweat on the back of her neck, her heart pounding like crazy, the seriousness and awfulness of this situation hitting her so hard that she didn't know what to say, what to do.

Of course he couldn't tell his parents or siblings about it.

"I… God, do you want to meet? M-maybe, maybe we can work something out." She mumbled with difficulty, not knowing what else to suggest, how to help him.

"Yes… yes, if you can, please, I can't stand being at home now."

She quickly dressed a warm sweatshirt over her pyjamas and told her parents that she would go out to talk to Helaena for a while.

She left her house and ran across the street with her trainers on her feet, he was standing far from his house, she saw to her shock that he was smoking a cigarette, his one leg moving in a nervous tic.

He was terrified.

She approached him and he threw her a quick, heartbroken look. He chuckled under his breath, rubbing the tip of his nose with the back of his hand.

"I know what you're thinking. I got what I deserved." He muttered in a trembling, low voice, and she shook her head in disbelief.

"What are you babbling about? Don't you have something on her? I don't know, can't you send her the screenshots you have, the ones where she humiliates you and say you'll send them to her friends too? Don't you have any naked pictures of her that you can scare her with?" She asked, speaking quickly, thinking intensely about what solutions he had. He shook his head.

"I deleted everything a month ago, I didn't want to go back to it, and she herself deleted everything from our chats that might be saved somewhere on the internet. Like she fucking planned it." He grinned under his breath in despair and took a drag on his cigarette looking sideways, his eyebrows arched in anguish, despair and regret, a single tear running down his cheek.

"A cyclops and a pervert. Fuck, that's what I needed. Why did I get involved in this." He uttered in a breaking voice, running his free hand over his face, all red.

She walked over to him and stroked his shoulder, looking at him with distress mixed with understanding.

"Come here." She said softly, and he sank into her arms as if without strength, snuggling his face into her neck, embracing her loosely, and cried aloud, her hands stroking his hair and back with tenderness.

"It's not your fault. You trusted her and she took advantage of you. What she's doing now is monstrous and she has no right to do it. You are not to blame." She said and kissed the side of his head softly, his free hand clamped down on her blouse, she felt that her neck was all wet from his tears.

"I'm so fucking scared. I'm frightened that my parents will see this." He whimpered like a small child with a shuddering breath, and she hugged him tighter, trying to embrace his large figure, to give him the shelter in her arms he so desperately needed.

Her heart was breaking.

"I know, I'm with you. We'll figure something out in a moment." She whispered, stroking his head and back reassuringly and felt his lips place a gentle kiss on the skin of her neck. She felt a warmth in her lower abdomen and a pleasant tickle between her thighs.

They stood like that for a moment until he calmed down, and then they sat on the pavement, their knees and shoulders touching. She slapped her hand on his thigh, getting a sudden idea.

"I know! Write her that if she sends this out, you will report with the same video to the rector of her university that she forced you to have sex before you were of the age of consent. You can go to jail for that!"

He looked at her shocked, tightening his lips, thinking strenuously, hesitant, terrified and uncertain.

"But…it's not true."

"How does it matter? She threatens you, so you threaten her! Clearly there is a big age difference between you, what she was doing was just plain grooming. Knowing that you were in high school when she videotaped it and on top of that you were younger than you are now, the police would certainly have taken an interest. Maybe you would have lost your dignity, but she has a lot more to lose. This will make her loathe sending anything anywhere!" She said with conviction, saw him lick his dry lips with his tongue, that he was increasingly convinced of her idea.

"Okay. Then what should I write her?"

She sat next to him looking at the screen of his phone telling him aloud what she thought he should write to sound as confident as possible, when they finished he swallowed loudly and clicked 'send'. They saw that she had read the message immediately and saw surprised as a wave of messages started to come in from her.

They looked at it in silence breathing loudly. She heard him swallow with difficulty, tense.

"Do you think she'll send it?" He asked in a trembling voice.

"No. She is shitting herself with fear."

_____

Aemond Taglist:

(bold means I couldn't tag you)

@its-actually-minicika @notnormalthings-blog @nikstrange @zenka69 @bellaisasleep @k-y-r-a-1 @g-cf2020 @melsunshine @opheliaas-stuff @chainsawsangel @iiamthehybrid @tinykryptonitewerewolf @namoreno @malfoytargaryen @qyburnsghost @aemondsdelight @persephonerinyes @fan-goddess @sweethoneyblossom1 @watercolorskyy @randomdragonfires @apollonshootafar @padfooteyes

[notnormalthings-blog]

fuck you, Cregan. I will serve you a good portion of punches for breakfast, lunch and dinner every day for the rest of your life 😤 so glad he lost his friends

I can read smut without having any reaction but this kiss got me giggling🤭🤭

The Prince and The Fox (3)

[ modern! • Aemond x friend! • female ]

[ warnings: kissing, mention of sexual abuse, violence, trauma ]

[ description: After the events of her childhood, despite her best efforts, her neighbor and the younger brother of her friend Helaena, Aemond, does not want to know her. This state lasts until a house party organized by his older brother, Aegon, during which an incident occurs that will change their relationship forever. Slow burn, angst, toxic ex-Alys, rough Aemond. This is several anon requests combined into one fic. ]

WARNING: The main plot between the characters takes place in high school. Yes, in high school. The belief that teenagers wait with an intimacy when they are in love in high school is ridiculous to me. Aemond and the character here are the same age. Don't ask me how old they are, in my country you are of the age of consent in your first year of high school and an adult in the last year of high school, so if it is more convenient for you, think about it that way and decide for yourself. In this story, I am not following the trail that they are magically friends right away, but how they become friends and what that even means. I'm writing this fic to give the perspective of young, lost people, not adult women who want to see exactly themselves in everything they read. If that's all you expect, this isn't the fic for you.

I don't want whining about this in my comments or asks. I will delete these and block you. You have been warned. Aemond + Evans Series Moodboard

This is my first story that has its own playlist, but yes! Get in the mood! Story Music Playlist. Song used in this chapter: Don't Bring Me Down by Electric Light Orchestra.

* English is not my first language. Please, do not repost. Enjoy! *

Next chapters: Masterlist

_____

From that day on, they both took off their earphones when they stood together at the bus stop. Her presence had apparently stopped being awkward for him and he had become addicted to listening to Kajagoogoo, although he admitted it reluctantly.

"They have a terrible band name, but that bass is fucking awesome. They got really into my head and it's good to listen to them in the background while doing something else at the same time." He muttered, without looking at her, scrolling something on his phone.

She knew this was his way of distracting himself from the stress of the conversation, that he wasn't good at it and pretended to be indifferent, his lips tightened.

Since the whole thing reached the headmaster of the school the matter became very serious and Cregan was not laughing anymore. The headmaster became very concerned about the whole situation and even though it was not the school where the sexual abuse took place, bullying did.

On the corridor cameras, Cregan could be seen knocking her over by propping her up with his leg, as one of his buddies scratched the word "liar" with his key on her locker.

Although these were not crimes for which you could go to jail, the principal invited her to an interview accompanied by the school psychologist. The headmaster asked her if she wanted someone to accompany her during this talk and she said without thinking: Aemond.

She surprised him when she asked him to go with her to his office, he was the only one to witness it all and she was afraid to be there alone. He just nodded and answered nothing, clicking something on his phone, and she breathed a sigh of relief.

They went there together.

The director approached the matter with understanding and quoted to her what he had heard the day before from Aemond.

"Your colleague told me that he witnessed the incident and that there is video footage of what happened. I also know that Cregan's classmates nag you a lot because they prefer to believe him. The psychologist and I thought that, if you agree, we would give his class some shock therapy and show them the part of the video that shows him hurting you.

Of course, we will only do this if you agree, however, we believe that if Mr Stark loses his credibility, you will regain your composure and be able to focus on your education rather than the unpleasant incidents you continue to face from them. We know that the footage shows nothing of which you would be ashamed, nor of course your exposed body." He concluded, glancing uncertainly at the lady psychologist.

She didn't know what to say, she could feel her heart pounding hard.

"Think it over calmly. It's just a suggestion and you don't have to do it. We want to help you and we know it's hard for you." Said the psychologist in a soft, calm voice.

She looked apprehensively at Aemond, who was staring at her out of the corner of his eye with his lips tightened, himself clearly not sure what he was thinking.

"It's your decision. You don't have to do it. But I think this bugger deserves it. He walks around the school like a king, he thinks you don't have the guts to show it. That you'll be embarrassed when he's the one who should be ashamed of himself." He said lowly, and she thought with pain that he was right.

Why should he spread rumours about her, lie that she wanted this?

"Fine." She mumbled, the headmaster sighed quietly.

"Do you want to be there when we show them this?" He asked lowly, and she shook her head quickly.

"No."

She delivered an excerpt of the video to the director that next day. He and the lady psychologist watched it to make sure that the video would not portray her in a negative light and make matters worse, but what they saw left no illusions.

She knew that the headmaster would go to Cregan's class with the psychologist at their advisory class and throughout the day she felt like she was going to die, her whole body was trembling, she hadn't eaten anything and she was cold.

As she sat during one of the breaks outside the classroom, staring dully at the floor Aemond sat down next to her and sighed, taking out of his pocket her favourite chocolate bar, Milkyway, which he must have bought from the school vending machine. She looked at him gratefully and shook her head.

"Have you eaten anything today?" He asked lowly and she shook her head again, lowering her gaze.

"I won't swallow anything. My stomach has been hurting since this morning."

"Hmm."

They sat side by side like that, their shoulders and knees touching, not speaking until the bell rang announcing that the break was over.

They sat down to their benches, the teacher came in, but she couldn't concentrate on what he was saying, terrified.

Everyone was watching it now.

She covered her face with her hands, thinking that she had made a mistake, that it would get worse.

However, to her surprise, as she walked out of the classroom she was approached by several people from his class who had also thrown unpleasant comments at her earlier, including his buddy, who shouted to her and Aemond at the time whether they were going to go fuck.

They stood for a moment as if they didn't know what to say.

"Hi. We saw the video. I…fuck." Said the boy, scratching his brow with his thumb, pale, embarrassed, horrified. "I…I really believed him. I swear to you I would never have suspected he was capable of such a thing. When I watched you pull away from him and he wouldn't let you go…fuck, a red light should have lit up in my head earlier as he said he was going to fuck you, but I thought, I don't know, that's what you want, that you're into him, not that…"

He stammered, all red, she could see he was barely holding back tears. He shrugged his shoulders.

"And yet I acted like a stupid piece of shit to you. Then, after all of that. I believed my mate, I thought I knew him." He said without looking at her, his other colleagues nodding.

"We're ashamed. He walked around talking about it as if nothing had happened, as if it was just your imagination. He cried in class as the principal came in and said what he was going to show us. I think he realised he was going to lose a lot of friends."

She looked at them all with her heart beating hard, scared and ashamed at the same time, not knowing what she should say to them.

Most of all, however, she felt relieved.

They had finally left her alone.

If she could consider that something good had come out of all this, it was certainly her relationship with Aemond. They only talked on the bus or while waiting for him at the bus stop, usually about school, teachers, homework, or music.

He played her songs on his earphones when she asked him if he could recommend something new to her, however, he always listened to Kajagoogoo with her on the way to school.

She liked the fact that this had already become their routine, something they shared, proof that they had established a bond, this time unforced, desired from both sides.

She found to her surprise that he was actually a very sensitive, calm man.

She really liked him.

Helaena was very concerned about all that had happened, and wrote to her often to find out how she was feeling. She didn't want to impose on her and didn't visit her at home.

However, one day she asked if she would like to stay with her for the night and sleep in her room, talk about everything that was on her mind and then watch Shrek together or another cartoon they loved as children.

She thought it was a good idea.

She arrived at the appointed time in the evening, Alicent opened the door, smiling warmly and embracing her.

Since the situation with Cregan it seemed that their families had become closer, her parents were extremely grateful to Aemond for what he had done and always greeted him when they saw him on the street or in the shop, embarrassing him.

She saw Helaena run out from over her shoulder and wave to her, holding two bags of their favourite Chips and a carton of orange juice.

Walking towards the stairs she swallowed loudly as she saw the exit to the garden, feeling an unpleasant tightening in her pit and a cold sweat on her back.

She squealed when suddenly Vhagar ran out at them from upstairs, wagging her tail and barking, happy that they had a visitor, almost knocking her over.

"Vhagar!" She heard his impatient, low voice. "Come back here! Immediately."

Vhagar ran up to him, looking at him with her big, pleading black eyes, and he sighed as he stroked her fur. She smiled at him as she passed him, they threw each other a brief, shy 'hi' before she disappeared with Helaena into her room.

Although she didn't want to at first, she felt she had to get it out of her, that she couldn't take it anymore, that it was poisoning her from the inside.

They were both sitting in their pyjamas, T-shirts and shorts on her carpet, a bowl full of crisps and two glasses full of juice between them.

"At first when he touched my thigh I thought - gee, maybe he really likes me that much that he can't stop, I don't know. I felt, I sensed something was wrong and I'm mad that I didn't push him away then! I went outside with him because I thought maybe I don't know, he wants to sit with me in an embrace, stroke me, hold my hand, kiss me. And when he slipped his hand under my dress, when he squeezed me, when he wouldn't let me move or pull away I felt…" She stammered, feeling her voice break, her throat tighten, tears gather in her eyes.

"…God, I just felt that I was very afraid of him, that it was very bad and terrible, that I didn't want it, that he was hurting me, that it was such a bad touch, I don't know how to describe it." She mumbled, Helaena looking at her with her lips slightly parted, her eyebrows arched in pain, her light hair tied up in a bun.

"It felt like I couldn't breathe, it felt like I wanted to scream, like someone was skinning me, it's this feeling of sudden panic, but also something else, like deep in your lower abdomen, this all-consuming fear and terror, like the air is stuck in your throat and you can't catch your breath." She muttered quickly, shaking her head, refusing to let the tears flow, her lips tightening.

"I don't know how he can think it's nothing. To live with the fact that I asked him to stop and he didn't." She shrugged her shoulders, Helaena got up and sat beside her, embracing her, letting her lie on her thighs.

She burst into tears when she started to stroke her head, when she told her that it wasn't her fault and that no one blamed her, that just because she hadn't pushed him away at first didn't mean he had the right to do what he did, that he had done it deliberately and premeditatedly, that no meant no.

She shuddered and lifted her gaze when she heard movement near her room, as if someone had moved out of place, and then the quiet sound of a door opening and closing.

Was he listening to what she was talking about? Was he eavesdropping on them?

She pressed her lips together, lowering her head, feeling ashamed.

She said she would go to the toilet to bring herself to order, but in fact she went to his door, hearing from it the song he had shown her a few days before, 'Don't Bring Me Down' played by the Electric Light Orchestra.

She knocked loudly and heard that after a moment the music quieted, someone's footsteps on the other side.

He opened the door and looked at her in surprise, involuntarily glancing down at her bare legs and then at her face again, swallowing loudly.

"Were you eavesdropping?" She asked reproachfully.

He pressed his lips together, looking away.

"Yeah. I'm sorry." He said low with sincere regret. "I wanted to know how you were feeling. How you're coping with it."

"Can't you just ask me?" She said regretfully, looking at him with her eyebrows arched in pain, feeling the tears under her eyelids again, emotionally unhinged from what she had recounted.

He looked at her surprised, she could see that he was uncomfortable. He let out a loud breath.

"I'm not good at this. At talking. I didn't know if I should ask. Whether it was the right thing to do. I don't know what more I could say." He muttered, shrugging his shoulders, looking everywhere but at her.

"You can ask me anything you want. I trust you." She said softly, and he swallowed loudly, as if for some reason her words caused him pain, as if he wanted to say something more, as if he had something on the tip of his tongue.

She waited patiently for him to pull himself together, for him to think through what he wanted to say. He looked at her.

"I hated you all these years. I hated you because I saw you as a person who does everything for show. For show you baked me cakes to make you feel good about yourself, for show you came here and apologised to me, always loud, always first everywhere, you always had to have your opinion about everything." He said low and fast, and she felt the cold sweat on her back and the frighteningly strong pounding of her heart as she looked at him in disbelief.

"When I heard what Cregan said to his mates I thought I should warn you. To say: be careful, he's planning something more, he's talking about you to his mates as if you were an object. But I didn't. Because I didn't like you." He muttered and she saw his lower lip tremble, his healthy eye red, his breath hitched.

"If I told you, it wouldn't have happened. Do you know how I have you saved on my phone?" He asked in a trembling voice, a single tear running down his cheek.

"Foxy."

She felt tear after tear begin to run down her face, she drew in air loudly feeling tightness in her throat, she felt like someone was tearing her heart from the inside out, a strange, broken sound came from her chest.

"Please, hug me." She mumbled so pitifully that his face contorted in a grimace of pain and regret, he pulled her to him instantly and she clamped her hands on the material of his Tshirt, sobbing loudly, his arms wrapped around her tightly on each side.

"− I'm sorry −" He muttered in a low, hoarse, breaking voice. "− I'm sorry −"

She lifted her gaze to him, trying to catch her breath, and he lowered his head to look at her, their faces almost touching, their hot breaths surrounding their skin.

She felt something strange looking at him so closely, she thought he had a lovely eye colour, that he had fine cheekbones, a pleasing nose and forehead. Something changed in his gaze when he noticed that she glanced at his lips and found them surprisingly full, they looked soft, slightly parted in his accelerated breathing.

She felt his body tense up, felt his fingers clench tighter on her back. All she could hear was the loud pounding of her heart and their breaths, nothing more.

"− wanna kiss? −" She heard him whisper, as if it was a kind of casual proposal, as if he was asking her if she felt like eating something or going for a walk.

She swallowed loudly, glancing at him again, and simply nodded.

She didn't have time to take another breath and his warm, soft lips were already on hers, she felt his hand on the back of her neck which drew her close, making his job easier, he sighed as if with some kind of relief.

She had never suspected that kisses were so wet and sticky, so noisy, but she didn't want him to stop, so she stroked his scarred cheek with her hand, closing her eyes, mimicking his movements, brushing her lips against his with a loud click.

She tightened her second hand in his short, light hair, feeling the heat in her lower abdomen, feeling the pulsation between her thighs, his lips wonderfully soft, moist and firm, he brushed and sucked her fleshy skin, their breaths loud and drawn out.

"− fuck −" He growled out between one loud click of saliva and the next, panting along with her, their kisses increasingly deep, intimate, passionate and wet.

They pulled away from each other suddenly, breathing as if they had run a marathon, looking at each other in disbelief.

"− I − are you all right? −" He mumbled, his healthy eye wide open in panic.

She just nodded, feeling that she looked just like him. She moved away from him and he let her go immediately, running his hand over his mouth and chin in a gesture of disbelief.

"− I − fuck −" He muttered and they both gasped when they heard the sound of the door opening, Helaena leaned her head out, clearly worried that she hadn't been back for so long.

"− are you okay? −" She asked loudly, surprised, and she nodded, looking up at him with her heart pounding like mad, swallowing hard.

"− y-yes − I − I am coming −" She muttered and ran towards her, Helaena smiled at her and closed the door behind her.

She said she had already found Shrek online on her laptop and everything was ready to watch. She smiled and sat down on her bed next to her, trying to focus on what she was seeing, but her thoughts, as well as her heart, were with someone else, a few rooms away.

They kissed.

Good God.

An excellent start to a friendly relationship indeed.

_____

Aemond Taglist:

(bold means I couldn't tag you)

@its-actually-minicika @notnormalthings-blog @nikstrange @zenka69 @bellaisasleep @k-y-r-a-1 @g-cf2020 @melsunshine @opheliaas-stuff @chainsawsangel @iiamthehybrid @tinykryptonitewerewolf @namoreno @malfoytargaryen @qyburnsghost @aemondsdelight @persephonerinyes @fan-goddess @sweethoneyblossom1 @watercolorskyy @randomdragonfires @apollonshootafar @padfooteyes

[notnormalthings-blog]

finally things worked out for them🥰🥰🥰 Loved this fic Ange❤️❤️

Best Intentions - Chapter Three

Pairing: Tom Bennett (World on Fire) x f!reader Warnings: Angst. Smut. Mentions of shell shock/PTSD. Word count: ~3.9k

Summary: She deals with an unexpected visit and Lois forces her to take action. Final part. Series masterlist.

Author's note: I don't have a tag list. Please follow @fics-by-ewanmitchellcrumbs and turn on post notifications. Community labels are for cops.

She is inconsolable when she gets home, having walked the short distance from the wall back to her house, vision blurred with tears.

Her mum rises from the kitchen table, rushing to her and pulling her into a tight hug the moment she sees the state she’s in.

“Oh, love,” she coos, stroking her hair, “he’s a fool to have upset you like that.”

“He’s not a fool, Mum,” she sobs, snotty nosed and shaking, into the wool of her cardigan, “I couldn’t say yes, but that doesn’t mean I don’t love him.”

She loves Tom. She’s in love with Tom.

Deep down, she knows she’s probably felt that way all along, yet the admission shocks her all the same.

She feels numb for the rest of the evening, though grateful for the soothing reassurance of her mum. If nothing else, her endless cups of tea give her something warm to wrap her hands around, something to focus on besides how hurt Tom had looked when she’d said no to him.

It was the right thing to do, she knows this, they aren’t ready for such an enormous commitment, but she can’t help but wonder if making the right choice was meant to make it feel like her heart was being torn in two.

Puffy eyed and miserable when she awakens the next day, her mum offers to give her the day off from the shop. Wearily, she shakes her head, eager to carry on as normal.

“If I stop at home, I’ll drive myself mad thinking about it all. I just wanna get on.”

Her mum gives her hand a reassuring squeeze and a “whatever you think is best, love”.

Theoretically, the shop should take her mind off things, yet there are reminders of Tom in everything. As she’s restocking the sweet jars, her heart lurches in her chest when she gets to the sherbet straws, thinking about how their fingers would brush against each other when they;d share a bag. They were Tom’s favourites. 

When a man comes in to buy a cigarette, she rolls it around in her fingers after taking it from the shelf. It’s Tom’s brand. She’d always hated the way the smell of the smoke would stick to his hair and clothes. Now, the thought that she may never breathe in the stale scent of tobacco on his jacket when he pulls her in for a hug makes her eyes well up with tears, and she has to sniffle them away before turning back to the till to take payment.

Then there is the more obvious reminder living upstairs; Lois. As if summoned by the thought of her, she appears from the back, Vera nestled against her hip.

“You and Tom left in a hurry on Saturday, thought you’d both stick around after for a drink,” she says, bouncing the toddler gently in her arms.

“Oh,” she says, feeling anxiety gnaw at her insides, as her skin heats up with a mixture of shame and embarrassment, not wanting to reveal to Lois what’s happened between her and Tom. It still feels too raw to talk about. “Yeah, sorry, wasn’t feeling well. You and Connie sounded great though!”

She offers a smile that she hopes looks sincere and Lois looks at her with sympathy in her big, blue eyes.

“You mentioned the other day you were feeling a bit tired, everything okay?”

She swallows, nodding her head, just wanting the conversation to be over.

Her and Tom have the same eyes.

It’s excruciating to look at her. “Yeah, yeah, I’m fine now. Run ragged by the shop, you know how it is.”

Lois readjusts Vera against her hip, running a hand over her soft curls, before looking back up. “Well, if you find time to get away tomorrow, I’ve asked Tom to pop round on his dinner break. Been ages since I’ve caught up with him, would be nice to see you too, even if you can only manage time for a cuppa.”

She feels her throat run dry at this. If Lois has invited Tom round then that means he’ll have to come to the shop. She’ll have to see him. She isn’t ready.

She can feel a void opening in the pit of her stomach, dread prickling her skin. “Maybe..” she offers quietly, and is grateful that at that moment Vera starts to fuss, drawing Lois’ attention away from her.

“Better get this one back upstairs anyway,” Lois says, distractedly, “maybe see you tomorrow!”

She breathes a sigh of relief when she disappears into the back and up the stairs again, resting her elbows on the counter and putting her head in her hands.

Tom is going to be at the shop tomorrow. What on earth will I say to him?

Nerves flutter in her belly all morning the next day, her heart racing so fast she is sure that every customer she serves must be able to hear it. More than once her hands fumble when giving someone their change, sending coins spilling across the counter.

If it wouldn’t earn her a stern telling off from her mum, she’d close up for the day and go home, so that she wouldn’t have to see Tom when he inevitably arrives.

She has a hundred different things she wants to say to him; I didn’t mean to hurt you. I’m so bloody angry with you. I love you.

None of them seem appropriate.

It’s precisely noon when the bell above the shop door tinkles and she looks up from the stamps she’s sorting, met with the intense stare of Tom.

He’s on time. He’s never on time for anything. She feels her hands tremble, her breathing unsteady as she tries to organise her thoughts into something coherent. She curses herself, she’s wasted all morning deciding what to say and still has nothing.

Her hesitation is more than enough for Tom apparently, as he huffs, mouth twisting into a sneer, before striding into the back and up the stairs to the flat.

Bowing her head she feels her throat tighten, lips pulling downwards with the effort not to burst into tears. In all the years she’d known Tom, seeing him had never made her feel so rotten. She swipes angrily at her nose, inhaling a deep shaky breath before busying herself with organising what’s left of the day’s papers.

An hour later, Tom reappears in the doorway that leads towards the back, as she’s standing counting up the till drawer. Up close she can see the haunted look in his eyes, the dark bags underneath them. The night terrors are clearly as bad as ever, he doesn’t look like he’s sleeping properly. She wants nothing more than to go to him, pull him into a hug and comfort him, but can’t stand the thought of him pushing her away if she tries.

Once more she realises she’s staring at him without saying anything, he’s clearly waiting for her to make the first move, and she hasn’t. 

His eyes narrow in anger, and he breezes past her, muttering an irritated “piss off” as he goes.

The casualness of his insolence towards her turns her sorrow into anger, which she feels boil up inside her, erupting as she shouts “no, you piss off!” after him.

How dare he?! After everything, that’s all he has to say to me.

But it’s too late. The door to the shop is already closed. Tom’s gone.

Her sob catches in her throat, and before she’s able to stop it, a piteous wail leaves her, which she attempts to muffle with the palm of her hand. Hot tears roll down her cheeks, the painful twisting in her chest from Sunday returning in earnest.

“Hey, hey,” comes a gentle voice from behind her. The slender arms of Lois wrap around her, pulling her into a warm hug. “What’s all this?”

There’s no use lying to her now, not when Lois has seen her like this.

“It’s Tom,” she says, pulling away slowly, voice thick from crying, “we’ve been seeing each other.”

Lois chuckles quietly. “Well, I knew that, it’s not exactly a secret. What’s he done?”

She closes her eyes briefly, feeling shame wash over her. Would Lois be angry if she told her she’d said no to Tom’s proposal?

“He proposed to me, I said no,” she blurts, “but it’s not because I don’t love him! I still want to be with him, we’ve just never made it official, and I don’t want to rush.”

Lois goes quiet for a moment, her eyes widening in obvious shock at what she’d revealed. “Wow…Tom proposed?” Her eyebrows raise, and they stand in silence as she takes in the revelation, thinking about what to say next.

Chewing her lip, Lois nods and their eyes meet before she speaks again. “So, what did Tom say exactly?”

“Not much, he finished with me,” she says miserably.

“You told him you love him and he finished with you?!” She asks, her mouth agape.

“Well…no…I’ve never actually told him I love him…” she admits, averting her gaze, feeling her face grow hot.

“Well then maybe you should start with that?” Lois suggests.

“I can’t, Lois!” She cries, “He’s not been the same since he came home, you know he hasn’t. He needs to get help.”

“Yeah, he does,” Lois agrees, “but that’s not your job to do. It’s yours to be there for him, to let him know it’s not him you’re saying no to. He needs you, anyone can see that.”

She knows Lois is right. Tom has likely seen her rejection as a rejection of her wanting to be with him, thinking he’s too broken, when that is the furthest thing from the truth. The state he was in when he came to the shop earlier is proof of the fact that he just needs her to be there for him, but she has been too caught up in her own feelings to realise his. 

“Yeah, you’re right”, she says, wiping her eyes, “I need to speak to him. I’ll go to the garage tomorrow.”

“Or you could go tonight?” Lois suggests, “He doesn’t finish for another half hour after the shop closes, so you can catch him before he goes home.”

“Oh, Lois, I look a mess, he can’t see me like this–” she tries to protest, but is cut off.

“Yes, he can! Let him see you’re as upset by this as he is. He needs to know you care.”

She purses her lips. Lois is right. No use in putting it off. The longer she leaves it, the harder it’ll be.

Checking her face in her compact as she stands outside of the garage, she’s grateful that her tears haven’t done too much damage to her mascara. Only the faintest rim of red around her eyes suggests that she’d ever been upset.

The shutter is halfway down, suggesting that Tom is close to finishing up for the day. His feet are the only pair she sees beneath. Drawing in a steading breath, she ducks through the gap, righting herself as Tom regards her with a furrowed brow and widened eyes; an apparent mixture of surprise and anger.

“What are you doing here?” He asks sullenly.

She holds up her hands in mock surrender, attempting to keep her tone even, despite the way her voice wobbles. “Please, Tom, I’m not here to argue. I just wanna talk to you.”

“Got nothin’ to say,” he sniffs, wiping his hands on a rag and closing the bonnet of the sleek black motorcar he’s been working on.

“But I have,” she pleads, “so please just hear me out.”

She spots his jaw tick in annoyance, but he nods all the same, remaining silent, so she presses on.

“I need you to know that when I said no I wasn’t saying no to you, to us, just the proposal. I don’t think we’re ready.”

Tom rolls his eyes, throwing the rag down, sniffing before he replies. “Yeah, I get it, you wouldn’t wanna be stuck with someone that’s not right in the head.”

“Don’t say that,” she says sadly, a dull ache forming in her chest. “You’ve been through so much, Tommy, but you’ll get through it and I’ll be with you every step of the way, because I love you.”

“You what?” He asks quickly, head snapping up to look at her.

Her breath catches in her throat, her heart pounding in her chest.

Oh god. What if he doesn’t say it back? What if he tells her to go away and never speak to him again?

“I–I love you,” she stammers, feeling as though her vulnerability will swallow her whole.

“Say it again,” Tom says lowly, stepping towards her.

He’s so close she can smell the motor oil that clings to his skin. It makes the hairs on the back of her neck stand up.

“I love you,” she repeats with more confidence, gazing up at him.

In one swift movement, he grabs the back of her neck, pulling her to him and crushing his lips against hers. 

It’s not the four little words she’d expected in return, but the action expresses everything he needs to say.

I love you too.

She melts into it, kissing him back with equal fervour. His kiss is hungry, filled with desperation, yet it feels like coming home after a long journey. He tastes of tobacco and spearmint. She hadn’t realised how much she’d missed the pillowy softness of his mouth until it’s moving against her own. Absent-mindedly, her arms wrap around his shoulders, as Tom’s free hand grips her waist.

When they break for air, he presses his forehead against hers, breathing heavily.

“God, I missed you,” he whispers.

She barely has time to tell him she’s missed him too before he’s kissing her again, pulling the shutter all the way closed and maneuvering her backwards towards the car he’s been working on, yanking open the back door.

Bracing her palms against his chest, she pulls back slightly, apprehension at odds with the desire she feels. “We can’t do that here, that’s a customer’s car! What if we get caught?”

Tom shrugs. “Shutter’s down, and I’ve not fucked you for ages. Come on, no one will catch us.”

She giggles, taking in the sight of his lust-widened pupils and kiss-swollen lips. It sends a needy throb straight to her core, and she grabs him by the front of his overalls, pulling him back to her once more.

His tongue sweeps against hers, as he lays her down in the cramped confines of the back seat before climbing on top of her. His tall frame means he has to keep one knee pressed between her leg and the back of the seat, and the other on the floor.

“You sure there’s room?” She purrs playfully, brushing her lips against his neck.

“I’ll fucking make room,” he hisses, awkwardly shrugging out of his overalls, causing her to laugh.

“Something funny?” He mutters darkly, pushing his hand beneath her skirt, his fingers toying with the gusset of her knickers, before slipping inside the material.

She gasps as his digits press through the wetness of her folds, bucking against his hand. It’s been so long since she felt his touch like this that his hands upon her skin feel like a brand. “Tommy…” is all she’s able to whimper.

He smirks. “That’s what I thought,” he says cockily, his words punctuated by the wet sounds of his fingertips moving through the slick of her arousal. “This all for me?”

“Y–yeah,” she breathes out, and he withdraws his hand, making her whine.

“Don’t wanna let it go to waste,” he tells her, pushing his overalls further down, along with his briefs.

She bites her lower lip, watching him stroke the length of his erection, ruddy and shiny with arousal at its tip.

His eyebrows raise, lips parting as a look of realisation flashes across his features. “I haven’t got a sheath..”

“Oh, Tommy!” She cries out in frustration.

He frowns, his tone becoming defensive. “Well, sorry, why would I keep any here? Not like I make a habit of shagging in the garage, is it?”

She feels light headed with the intensity of her need for him. She isn’t sure she can wait for them to get back to his flat. Desire is the only thing fuelling her in this moment, alongside the words that leave her mouth. “Just pull out then.”

Tom’s eyes widen, a grin spreading across his face. “If you say so.”

He leans over her, pulling her underwear to one side, and guiding himself to her entrance. They groan in unison as he pushes forward, stretching her open on his length.

The feeling of being so intimate with him again after being apart is divine all by itself, however, being able to feel him fully without a barrier to separate them has her inner walls fluttering around him as he breaches her to the hilt.

“Jesus christ,” is all he’s able to grit out as he stills, allowing them both to adjust to the sensation.

“Please…please move,” she mewls desperately.

Tom pulls his hips back, before driving forward, the repeated motion causing the car to squeak and rock, yet it barely registers to her. Her only focus is the feeling of him inside of her, the way that every thrust brushes against a spot inside of her that makes her abdomen tighten like a coil.

“I don’t think I’m gonna last,” Tom pants above her, fogging the windows up, “you feel too bloody good.”

“Not yet,” she whispers breathlessly, the coil in her belly almost at its breaking point, “‘m so close…”

Tom groans, snaking a hand between them, fingers reaching beneath her knicker elastic to toy with her pearl in tandem with each deep thrust.

Warmth spreads through her, as she writhes beneath him, the pressure within her building until it finally gives way and she tightens around him with a wanton moan.

“Shitshitfuck–” Tom groans, withdrawing from her and spilling white hot ropes of spend across her thighs with quick, sure strokes.

He hovers over her for a few moments longer, simply looking into her eyes and stroking her hair. She’s certain that at this point right now she’s never felt more in love with him. It feels good to have him back. Her Tommy.

He helps her out of the car, careful not to stain the upholstery and gets her cleaned up. 

Finally, he breaks the silence, turning to her as they straighten up their clothes. “So what should I do with it? The ring, I mean. I can get a diamond put in, I–”

“It’s perfect, as it is,” she reassures him, cupping his face in her hands, “keep it for now. Ask me again when we’re ready.”

“Oh, I definitely will,” he responds, bumping her nose with his.

Over the next six months their relationship blossoms, with her spending more and more time at Tom’s flat. No longer “just mates”, they proudly hold hands as they walk down the street together. Shared lunch breaks are spent on their wall, passing a bag of sherbet straws back and forth.

Tom’s night terrors lessen. Over time he comes to accept that it would be good to talk to someone. It’s still a touchy subject for him, and he refuses to use the term shell shock because of its association with Douglas. Not wanting to explore anything as extreme as electric shock therapy, he opts to see a doctor who has adopted psychotherapy as a means of treatment.

With each session, he looks a little lighter, though still haunted by the memories of what he has endured in combat, the load becomes more bearable to manage, and her heart feels as though it could burst with pride for him.

It’s New Year’s Eve, as they stand on the rain-dampened pavement outside of the Ducie Arms. Tom sways unsteadily on his feet, six pints deep, as they look up at the sky, the colourful crackle of fireworks overhead heralding in a brand new year. 

He pulls her in for a sloppy kiss, and she happily reciprocates, despite the lingering taste of lager upon his lips. His eyes are glassy as he pulls the ring box from his jacket pocket, his words slurred.

“Will you–”

She shakes her head, placing her hand over his, pushing it gently back towards his pocket.

“Ask me when you’re sober.”

It feels terrible to reject him a second time, yet she knows to get engaged when they’re both not in full control of their actions would be a mistake.

Thankfully, in his drunken state he doesn’t seem to mind, simply nodding and pocketing the ring box once more.

When he wakes up the next morning, bleary eyed and complaining he has a headache, he has no memory of most of the previous evening, and she cannot help the pang of disappointment she feels.

Another six months pass, and Tom continues to improve. His night terrors happen irregularly and he has started to fill out again, not quite as bony as he was when he first returned to Longsight. He looks healthy, happy. It fills her with warmth to see him recovering.

Yet there is a constant nagging in the back of her mind. She has knocked Tom back twice now, what if he never asks again?

Vera is now walking and talking, and, needing more space, Lois moves out of the flat above the shop, having found a little terraced house with a garden for her to play in.

Her and Tom decide to take the step of occupying the space. Tom gives up his flat, and the two move in together. They spend most of their time together anyway, so it makes sense.

It’s their moving in day, and she silently curses Tom for being too tight fisted to pay a removal man to do this for them, as they carry his old sofa up the stairs.

She feels clammy with sweat by the time they place it heavily down in their empty living room. Huffing with relief, she sits down, wanting to take a breather before they carry anything else up. She wipes her brow, looking around the space with a slight smile on her face.

A fresh start for both of them. A place to call theirs. A space to create memories.

She is snapped out of her reverie by Tom calling her name.

“I’m not moving anything else until I’ve–”

She freezes, mouth agape as she turns her head and sees Tom on one knee before her, ring box open in his hand.

“Thought now felt like the right time,” he says, “so will you?”

“I’m all sweaty,” she says bashfully.

“You’ve never looked better. My wife, working hard to put all of our old shit in our flat. So how about it?” He asks, cocking his head.

Her heart flutters. He’s right, there will never be a more perfect moment than this.

“Yes,” she breathes, allowing him to slip the simple gold band onto her ring finger.

He leans in pressing his lips to hers and she smiles into it, running her fingers through his hair as he pulls away again, a mischievous glint in his eye.

“Still mates though, yeah?” He whispers.

She giggles. “Always.”

[notnormalthings-blog]

this is so interesting!!! The world building and atmosphere are out of this world🤩 makes me want to cozy up next to a fireplace😊

Lighthouse - Sailor!Aemond x LighthouseKeeper!Reader - Mini Series

Summary: You work as a lone Lighthouse keeper on a small island just off the coast. Everyday was the same routine, tending to your duties and the lamp with not much time to spare. But what will happen to your routine when a storm rages across the sea, and a handsome man washes ashore?

Warnings: This fic is 18+. Readers discretion is advised. Warnings will be added in their relevance. She/Her Pronouns. Drowning, descriptions of drowning, shipwrecks, dead body, fever, storms.

Note: Here is chapter one of Lighthouse hehe. This fic was inspired by me listening to the song 'Lighthouse' by The Waifs. Thank you all for being so patient for this. A it is going to be a mini-series, its going to be between 3-5 chapters long! I hope you enjoy! <3

Chapter 1: Cruel Seas

The waves rolled up the side of the rocky cliff face, salty sea spray disintegrating into the air like mist. The sky had turned a deep grey, a storm having rolled through the vast sea the evening before, which was now beginning to turn its way towards your little island.

You knew immediately from the sky that you would have a long night ahead of you, tending to the lamp at the top of the lighthouse to ensure that it stays lit for the duration of the dark night to come. 

It was an arduous and tedious existence. Day after day, the same routine, and not once could you stray from it.

Each evening before the sun would set, you would climb the many stairs to the top of the lighthouse and light it, ensuring that its wick was good for use and would last the night. And then when daybreak came, you would extinguish the flame as soon as the sun rose, unless of course, a storm or fog had crawled amongst the salty waves of the sea, which caused for extra vigilance and keeping it lit at all hours.

The lighthouse itself was perched on the top of the cliff of the small island you lived on, just off the coast. And on that island, you had all that you needed; A small cottage with one bedroom, a kitchen and a small privy out the back.

Outside of the cottage was your own modest vegetable patch where you grew what could survive the acrid sea air; potatoes, pumpkins, and any sort of hardy vegetable that was good for pickling and hearty meals. All other food was brought to you once a month by boat, or if you dared to leave your post, you would take your small boat back to shore, not too long of a journey, weather permitting, to go to the local stores or market to buy your wares. But if you were truly in a spot of trouble, you had a small messenger pigeon that lived in its own hut by the garden that would send word to shore about your dire needs.

You had lived and worked at the lighthouse for years, happy to be alone and in your own solitude, finding companionship in the books that you read, or the occasional ship that sailed by.

A man named William came every one to two weeks, an old friend of your father who would bring your reprieve, to deliver you food and any other supplies that you may need to keep the lighthouse in check; more oil, more wicks, paint, or items to repair any damage from the raging winds that raced across the surface of the small island. 

William was a kind man, older and sea worn. He had a wife and three daughters back on the coast, and on occasion would bring them to join you, or extend an invitation for you to join them, weather and duties permitting. They lived in the small town by shore, where you had been lucky to befriend shopkeepers and locals on your short visits. 

It had been only a few days since William’s previous drop off, and for the most part, the weather had seemed fair. Each morning and each evening you would log the skies and seas conditions into a worn little leather book for any changes, and then, you would prepare for the lighting of the lamp. But the evening before, the wind had changed drastically and the sky had darkened, and you watched from the top of the lighthouse as a storm broke just on the horizon, black cloud glowing with strikes of lightning that cracked through the darkness. 

You hadn’t risked going back down to your cottage to retire for the evening, instead, sitting yourself in your old wooden chair to watch the storm and ensure that the lamp was lit, and if any ships were to come to close to shore, they would be alerted by the light.

However, now it was morning, and the lamp no longer needed to be lit. For now. Though on the horizon, the storm continued to barrel towards shore, and you knew that you would have light it again soon.

Extinguishing its flames, you took the long winding steps down, crossing the small grassy knoll to get to your cottage, opening the old wooden door, which hinges squeaked and whined, salt rusting the joints. You whispered to yourself that you would fix it eventually, as you trudged to the fireplace and began to set it ablaze.

The cottage was cold with the winds of the storm that approached, and you shivered as you slowly lit the kindle, piling log after log into the hearth as you heated the home up. Your stomach growled loudly as you stood from your crouched position by the fire, joints complaining as exhaustion from lack of sleep, or food, finally caught up to you. 

You decided that now was the time, more than ever, to eat and rest before you’d have to return to the lighthouse. You lit the stove with a candle by the fire and sat your kettle atop, water inside ready to boil. On William’s last relief drop, he had brought a large sack of flour and even some milk for you, and so with this, you had churned your own butter and made a large supply of scones and bread for the coming week. 

The loud whistle of the kettle alerted you to the water boiling on the stove, steam pouring from its nozzle. You poured it over some tea leafs and unwrapped a scone from the cloth pile you had on the bench. As the tea steeped, you decided to spread some of the jam William’s wife, Celia, had made for you, using it sparingly before sitting before the hearth. 

You ate slowly and sipped on your tea with ease, eyes cast out one of the many windows to check the progress of the storm. The dark clouds were slowly rolling in, and by your estimate, wouldn’t reach you until at least the afternoon, and with time on your hands, you decided to allow yourself a small rest, laying your head back against your worn couch, closing your eyes as the warmth of the fire lulled you into a shallow slumber. 

-

The distant rumble of thunder pulled you from your light rest, half eaten scone wrapped in a smaller piece of cloth and shoved into the pocket of your skirt at the front. You would eat that later as you lit the lamp again before the storm arrived. As you cast your eyes out of the kitchen window, looking out to sea, you saw that it had approached far quicker than expected, and in fact, seemed to have regrown in size. 

You made quick work of it, throwing on your large waxed coat that swept around your ankles, buttoning it up to your neck as the beginning spray of water began to lightly mist at the windows of the cottage. Racing to the lighthouse, you climbed the steps with ease, years of the same routine causing you to be fitter than most. Once you reached the top you looked out to the swell, watching as the waves crashed against the rocky cliff face below, and then swept up against the small sandy beach of the island on the side. 

But it was not the storm that peaked your interest, you were no stranger to those. It was the objects that bobbed amongst the crashing waves, and lined your small beach. Concern coursed through you as familiar wooden planks, barrels, and other ship items crashed onto shore.

“Fuck.” You cursed.

There had been a shipwreck. 

But not at your island. 

It must have happened out at sea last night with the storm. 

Your eyes cast down to the sandy beach again, gaze darting up and down the shore, looking, searching, and hoping for any sign of survivors, if they had been lucky or fortunate enough to be swept this far to shore after. 

Another crack of thunder pulled your gaze away, the storm rapidly approaching. If you lit the lamp now, you could race down to the shore to look out in the water for any sign of survivors, or what kind of ship it had been to report back to shore. So with determined hands, you lit the large oil lamp, ensuring that the flame was strong and the glass that surrounded it was clear and in position to amplify it out to sea.

Rain began to beat against the glass of the lighthouse, and with one last glance cast at the lit lantern, you raced down the steps, two by two, skirts pulled into your fists as you flew down them, all but throwing the heavy wooden door open to begin to race down to the small sandy cove.

Thick drops of rain began to pelt down from the sky, the rumbling of the storm growing closer and closer, clouds growing darker with lightning striking through them. You squinted at the shore, skirts in one hand as the other hand came to try and shield your eyes from the growing downpour, looking for anything that could identify the vessel.

Your leather boots sunk into the sand and you raced along the shore line, eyes looking down to the broken wooden planks, and a large hoisting rope tangled amongst half a mast. Further ahead, a tangle of what looked to be shrouds, sail and hull. 

The waves crashed against the sand as you moved towards the next clump of shipwreck, passing smaller pieces of debris as you went. The water that crashed against the shore was dark and unforgiving. Amongst the crashing waves, more planks of wood, net and barrels of something. 

Chill dripped down your spine as your coat, as waxed and as warm as it was, took in the blast of rain and wind that blew into you with every gust. 

The storm was coming, and it was coming with a vengeance. 

You needed to move, and fast.

There ahead of you, amongst the tangled shrouds, was a large chunk of hull, with what looked to be the remnants of gold paint.

A name. 

The name of the ship. 

You almost tripped into the sand as you ran towards the mass, shoes now filled with water, socks soaked against your skin, toes numb from the cold. You bent down, pulling at the shrouds, the wet rope heavy in your hands as you looked at the broken hull. 

'Vhag-'

You blinked.

Gods be damned. 

Your hands moved faster than you thought humanly possible as you ripped the rope away from the hull, revealing the glimmer of silver beneath that had caught your eye.

There, tangled amongst the shrouds, trapped atop the broken hull, was a man. 

Your knees hit the sand, wet soaking into your skirts immediately as you began to pull him from the wreckage, yanking at the ropes to untangle the body that was ensnared in them. 

He lay on his stomach, face obscured by a mess of wet, silver hair that draped across his cheek and forehead. His clothes were soaked, and his skin was as pale as moonlight, blue veins prominent under the surface. 

“Hello?” You called to him frantically, moving to turn him onto his back, his head lulling to the side. 

You brushed away the hair from his face with haste, and your breath stilled in your chest. 

His lips were blue, and across one cheek, cutting up through an eye, was a long and deep scar. The man’s nose was sharp, and his jaw even sharper, slender neck and shoulders peaking through the half ripped tunic that he wore, the white see-through as it clung to his body soaked. 

Another crack of thunder boomed above, your head momentarily darting upwards to look to the sky, the storm having begun to move closer, crawling above the small island you called home. 

You prayed in that moment to the Drowned God that he was alive. 

Please, spare this man. Bring him back to the living.

“Please.” You whispered, hand at his neck as you tried to feel for a pulse, tried to feel for any warmth of his body that may indicate life. That may lead you to believe you had a sole survivor that washed ashore your tiny island, surely blessed by the Gods.

His head lulled in your hand as you looked out at the shore for any more bodies, whispering to yourself as you thought of what to do; If you should take him back to the cottage and send word that a body had washed ashore, that a ship that began with ‘Vhag’ had met its untimely demise in the cruel sea. Or if you should leave him at shore and hope that the waves do not carry his body away by the storms pass.

Your teeth began to chatter in your skull as your hands slipped around him, checking over his body for any grievous wounds or indications that he had died from anything other than drowning. But his body was fine, all bar his cold and pale skin.

Shifting to a crouch, you made your decision, and it pulled at your heart.

He would be too heavy to carry up to your cottage, but you also didn’t want to risk his body being taken back out to sea with the storm, this man, whoever he was, deserved a burial of some sort. So your option was to carry him further up the beach, to where the grass meets the sand, and send word on the morrow once the storm had passed.

You felt a pang of guilt for the man, a man who looked to be a handsome and skilled sailor, young but not naive in age, taken too soon. Though no sailor was skilled enough to survive the rolling waves, or the wrecking of a ship. The sea was a cruel mistress, and she took when and if she pleased with no repentance, rhyme, or reason. Your hands curled beneath his arms and you pulled, his dead weight dragging you down almost to fall in the wet sand.

“Bless him with salt,” You began to endlessly pray, something your father had once taught you many years ago, “Bless him with stone, bless him-“

The man’s chest erupted with a cough, sending you falling into the sand in shock, dropping his body back onto the beach as water spluttered from his lips.

“Gods be good.” You scrambled to him in the sand, turning him on his side so that the rest of the sea water would come out easier. 

It seemed to go on forever, the jerking of his body as his lungs expelled spray after spray of water, until all too soon, he stopped again, a weaker cough or grunt falling from his lips as the last of the water was expelled. 

The crack of lightning above you made your heart race faster than it already was, and so reaching beneath his arms again, you began to drag him up the sandy shore and back to your cottage. 

He was alive.

A survivor.

It was no easy feat, taking him away from the furious waves, and by the time you had gotten to the cottage, your lungs and body ached from dragging him up to your home. 

The man had groaned once or twice as you made the journey, storm full above the both of you, and once you finally were inside your home, you collapsed on the stone floor beside him, lungs burning as you sucked in air. 

But now was not the time for you to rest, the man had grown paler since moved, and you watched as he shivered on the stone floor. Your teeth clicked in your mouth, from nerves and from the cold, your dress and coat soaked completely and shoes filled with water. 

Your clothes weighed you down, but you only moved to take your coat off, dropping it by the hearth with a wet thump before you laid an old blanket from the couch by the fire, dragging the silver haired man to lay atop it as you surveyed what you could do. 

First, you needed to get him warm, and the clothes that he had on were chilled from the sea and rain. You removed his torn tunic, his face creasing with pain as you ripped it off of him, pulling his leather boots and socks off after. His pants however, you faltered at, looking down at his dark breeches as a blush rose to your cheeks.

Not now, this man needs our help.

His privacy can come later. 

You threw the last thick woollen blanket that sat on the couch over the top of him for privacy before you pulled his breeches down without looking, throwing the soaked article of clothing in the far side of the room before you laid him on his side to face the fire. You tucked the thick blanket around his body, noticing the chill of his skin that seeped through immediately, before pulling his wet hair away from his face and neck. 

By then you were out of breath, muscles burning and joints aching, collapsing beside him again as you looked at the man, watching the way his chest rose and fell weakly with every rattling breath he took. You prayed he would survive, but you had your doubts. The amount of sea water he had swallowed, and the way he looked so pale that he was almost translucent, gave you little hope. 

But there was nothing else you could do. 

Nothing more that you were able to do but wait.

And all you had was time as the storm raged outside. 

Unlacing your boots you pulled the from your feet, toes beginning to prune and ache as they were soaked inside and cold, water dribbling out of each shoe as you tipped them upside-down in front of the fire, pulling away the soaked woollen socks with it. You shook as you began to peel layer after layer of drenched clothes away from your body until you were left in your shift, shivering by the fire as you desperately tried to warm yourself up.

Your hair lay wet against your back, drying as you slowly warmed, the light of the fire being the only light source in the cottage until you finally moved and began to light your various lamps and candles around the home.

It wasn't until you were back by the fire did you spare the man another anxious glance, eyes immediately watching his chest rise and fall weakly, much to your relief.

He wasn’t dead.

Yet.

But you hoped he would at least save the night and storm until you could send word for help, and perhaps even send for a doctor to come to you. You suspected he would be too fragile to move just yet. So now, all you had to do was wait.

Wait until the man either rose to consciousness, or perished from the sea’s assault. 

But the longer you looked at him, looking at his silver hair, to his sharp features and plump lips that were almost blue, to the golden ring that sat upon one of his fingers, you couldn’t help the thoughts that turned over your head about this man. But one question in particular seemed to rise above them all.

Who was he?

-

The storm raged on, day and night, wind howling outside your cottage causing the old home to shudder and groan. The windows rattled with the force of the gale, rain pelting against its surface loudly. All the while, the lamp in the lighthouse never went out, thanks to your constant checks, back and forth up the many stairs, bracing yourself agains the rain and winds.

The silver haired man had not moved, nor woke since you dragged him up from the beach. The only sign of life given being the rise and fall of his chest that occasionally jerked with a cough or wheeze. His long hair lay like a halo around his head, soft waves teased from the salted water and dried from the warmth of the fire. The mans skin stayed the same inhuman paleness as before, though some colour rose back to his cheeks and his plump lips.

You had been sitting at your small table writing notes on the weather in your log book, fearing that perhaps there was a larger storm that lingered out in the back of the sea, which caused the one on shore to rage for so long, when a soft groan caught your attention. Your eyes immediately flicked away from your notes and down to where the man was laying, the slightest shift of his head to be seen. 

Swiftly you made your way over to him, kneeling back down beside him, knees pressed into the hard stones as you looked him over. His brows were scrunched shut, and lips pulled slightly down. But that was not initially what caught your attention; It was the sheen of sweat that covered him head to toe. Lifting a gentle hand, you placed the back of it against his forehead. 

A fever. 

The man was burning up, and the sweat beneath your hand was proof of it.

This was not good. 

You stood and made your way to the kitchen, riffling through a draw to find one of the many warn, and scraggly cloths inside before you pulled it out. You grabbed an empty bowl and took it to the dry sink and began to use the cistern pump to fill it with rain water. When the bowl was half full, you threw the cloth inside and made your way back to the feverish man on the floor. 

You wrung out the cloth of its water and began to wipe at the sweat on his face and neck, hoping that the cool rag would help to fight the fever that was causing the man distress.

Fevers were dangerous things, and after what he had survived, you worried that the fever may be the final nail in his coffin, so to speak. 

The silver haired man shivered in the warm glow of the fire, though his body ran hot. Each swipe of the wet cloth caused a crackled breath to fall from his lips, the scar on his face crinkled with movement. With every moment or so, clearing the sweat from his face and neck, you would dip the cloth back into the bowl to then wring it and begin again, hoping its coolness would have some effect.

His chest rose and fell shallowly as you wiped away the sweat and salt from his collar bones, small pink scars littered amongst the flesh of his chest. As you worked, you could not help but admire the man. His sharp features and strange hair was unlike anything you had ever seen before, and had only heard once or twice in tales from town about people who lived in lands far from yours, with silver hair and violet eyes.

You had never believed those tales, for who could have such Godly hair, and even stranger eyes, and whilst the man had not opened his one seeing eye as of yet, you wondered if you would find it to be violet, or perhaps a more common shade of blue. The scared and clouded one was no indicator of what could be revealed on the other side.

A part of you hoped to see that the tales were true, that perhaps your world was much larger than you had thought, but for the most part, you just wished for him to stay alive. 

As you rinsed the cloth once more and brought it to the scarred cheek of his face, you took caution with the skin, looking at the way it deeply marred the flesh around it, and prevented the clouded eye from ever closing. You brushed the cloth gently by his temple when suddenly you were greeted with a vision of lilac.

The man gasped, hand shooting out to grab your wrist holding the cloth tightly, pupil of his eye widening and shrinking as his brain tried to focus on the person touching him. Your heart beat in your chest, your own gasp falling from your lips as you looked down at him, his eye on you. 

It was true then.

He was one of them.

The grip on your wrist tightened and you hissed, the wet cloth falling from your fingers onto the stone floor beside him as his brows furrowed, looking at you.

“Skoriot iksis… ñuha…” The man gasped, language foreign to your ears.

You shook your head down at him, his breathing becoming shallow, grip on your wrist faltering, “I don’t know what you’re saying.” You told him, voice slow and clear as his head rested back against the flagstones, lone eye blinking sluggishly up at you.

“You’re safe here. You need to rest.” Your hand hovered above his shoulder, unsure if touching him again would cause him more distress. Instead, the hand that held your wrist slumped back to the stones, and his lilac eye fluttered shut, mouth parted weakly.

You pressed your fingers underneath his jaw, and were relieved to find the slow, but steady, beat of his heart.

Your heart on the other hand was another story entirely. It raced rapidly within your chest, breath coming in short pants as your knees began to ache from how you were sitting over him. Gaze roaming over his soft skin and hair, you came to a mind spinning conclusion that the tales were true, and people who looked like him did exist, which only meant one thing. 

This man was a long way from home. 

Feeling as though you didn’t want to startle him from his rest again, you took the bowl and cloth to the table and placed it by the ledger. If you needed to ease his fever again, you could repeat the process later, just not now. 

Outside the storm raged on, rain flying sideways and the crash of thunder above. At one point you had brought your pigeon inside with you to place in a smaller cage out of the rain and wind. She was much happier now, and sleeping restfully upon her perch.

You had to stifle a yawn as you sat back on your chair by the table, noting that you had had scarcely more than five hours rest over the past two days. You were running on fumes, and if you needed to keep the lamp safely lit, and the man by the fire alive, you certainly needed your own rest.

By that time it was midday, and you could safely rest a few hours before you would need to check on the lamp once more. Your limbs felt as heavy as stones as you trudged to your bedroom, pulling your heavy dress from your body and shoes from your feet before you slid into the warmth of the covers in your slip.

-

When you woke, it was not to the sounds of the storm outside, but rather to the unfamiliar groans and grunts of a man. Ripping the covers away from your body, you wrapped a robe tightly around you, fastening it against your waist with its belt in a knot. It had been your fathers, and was entirely too large for your smaller frame.

He lay where he was, still on the hard stone floor, the fire having shrunk during your slumber, but still, his eye did not open again. So you piled more logs into the hearth, stirring the embers with a fire poker before moving to fill the kettle with the pump by the stove. 

When you looked out the window, the lamp was still lit, and the storm still raged on, rain and wind flying through the air, booms of thunder booming above you, and the constant shrill whistling of the wind through the cracks of the windows and doors. It was an eerie sound if you were not used to it, but after all those years in solitude already, it was as common as a birds cry, or a bugs chirp. You lit the coal stove and placed the kettle on top, casting your eyes back to see if he had stirred again.

There hadn’t been a minute that had gone by where you hadn’t wondered who this man was. What he did. If he had a family to go home to, a wife, children.

Were his parents still alive? Were they fretting for his arrival or communications? Wondering where their son had gone? Or did he have no-one? Were they too lost to the sea and not fortunate enough to have washed upon the shores of your small island?

By the time the kettle whistled loudly, you poured it into your tea pot, but behind you came a groan again, this time, much louder, and to your surprise, more conscious. Forgetting your tea, you raced to his side, the mans face screwed up in confusion and pain, eye blinking sluggishly up at you. You pulled your robe against you tighter as you knelt near him.

“Take it slow, you’re okay.” You reassured him, hands unsure of whether or not to touch him or stay limply by your side, “You’ve survived a wreck. The Gods saved you.”

The pink of his tongue darted out to wet his cracked lips, but his tongue was just as dry. His mouth parted, and a broken and confused echo came out, “Gods.”

You nodded, “Yes. The Gods surely showed you favour when they washed you on this island. We are the lighthouse just off the coast.”

It seemed to be a lot for the man to take in, his brows pulling downwards from either pain or confusion or a terrible mix of the two, but a more burning question came forth from your lips, “What is your name?”

The silver haired man, who’s cheeks had more colour than when you brought him inside days before, blinked at you sluggishly, mouth parting and then closing, before a rasping request came forth. 

“Water.”

You jumped up from your spot beside him and raced to the pump, filling a glass before coming back to his side. You knelt on the stones, helping him to lightly sit up with a hand at the back of his head, leaning the glass up to his lips. At first he spluttered the water back into the cup as he tried to drink, a lone dribble trailing down his strong chin and neck, but then after a moment, he drank greedily, hand coming to grasp yours to tilt it quicker down his throat.

“Slowly. You don’t want to drown again.” You tried to make some light, and the man seemed to enjoy it, as he coughed into the glass, or at least, you assumed he did, as one side of his lip pulled into a weak smirk.

He coughed again once finished, and you asked him if he wished for more, to which you got a weak shake of his head, ‘no’. You gently laid him back down as you looked at him, pressing your hand against his forehead. Although the fever had seemed to settle, he was still hot to the touch, yet despite this, he shivered. 

“...Cold.” His voice came out smoother this time, no longer dry and parched from dehydration, though it was still raw and ragged from the sea.

“You have a fever,” You explained, pulling the blanket only a little higher on his chest, not wanting to exacerbate it, “But it looks like it shall break soon.”

The man watched you with a half lidded gaze, lips mumbling in a foreign language once more, “...Issi… se… Riña…”

“I don’t know what you’re saying.” You frowned at him again, "Do you speak the common tongue?”

The man watched you with his half lidded gaze before he nodded. You couldn't help but look at his cloudy eye that didn't move. 

Now that he seemed more conscious, and had even asked for water, it seemed to you that perhaps this man would not die in your home after all.

“Are you hungry? Do you want food?”

A nod.

You went back to the kitchen, filling his glass with water again before grabbing one of your scones to bring back. You came to his side and began to break the scone in your hand into smaller pieces, lifting his head once more to feed it to him. He ate slowly, coughing occasionally to which you’d give him more water to help him wash it down, but you could tell that he was grateful.

“...Thank... you.” It came as barely a whisper, but it was there none the less. 

You still didn’t know his name, and it ate at you. 

“What is your name?” You asked again, hoping now that he had both food and water in him, that he would be able to answer you, but instead he just stared at you blankly.

Perhaps he had hit his head in the wreckage and forgotten?

And then another thought came.

Or perhaps, he was a pirate, and hiding his identity for fear of capture.

You stood and dusted the scone crumbs from your skirt, leaving the man beside the fire as you moved to the kitchen, pulling some carrots, potatoes and onions that you had grown in your garden out of your basket to rinse and begin to prepare.

“I’m going to cook a stew.” You cast your head to the side, voice calling out to the man, “I think it would warm you. I have some dried meat I can use in it too. I think it would-“ 

You turned around to find the man asleep again, “-Do you some good.” You finished quietly, moving back to the task at hand.

It didn’t help that a strum of disappointment raced through you at his unconsciousness, but it couldn’t be helped, after all the man was practically with the Stranger when he washed ashore.

-

Steam rose from the pot of vegetables and broth, the dried meat you had cut and put inside having absorbed the stew and become soft again as you stirred it. It smelt good, and as you had helped to bring it to boil, you had had enough time to check on the lamp in the lighthouse, ensuring that the oil and glass was all in order.

The storm seemed to have settled somewhat, but from your experience, it meant only that the eye had reached shore, and the worst of it was soon to come. 

Not once had the man moved as you cooked, nor when you walked past him to put back on your dress, coat ,and shoes. He looked better, and somewhat peaceful on your floor, but you knew the harsh stone would do naught for his rest, and so as you stirred the stew you thought of ways in which you could get him up and into your bed.

You blushed immediately at the thought of him spread out inside of it, silver hair around his face, soft lips parted as he breathed, the furrow of his brow having softened as he rested, properly rested. And although it seemed indecent to have a man inside of your bed, to have him inside your house and bare, you had to remind yourself that it wasn’t anything untoward, nor would you be touching him, and it was just until he was well enough to leave.

It didn’t help however, that he would be the first and only man to ever be in your bed. 

You stifled a laugh at the thought. 

The first one in your bed, bare and handsome, only because he was on the brink of death.

The laugh proved to not be as stifled as you had thought, as the voice of the man startled you from your slow stirring.

“...Who are you?”

You placed the spoon down by the stew, turning around to look at him from the coal stove, to tell him your name. As you spun however, your name came as a bare whisper, eyes finally landing on the man by your fire. 

Not only was the man conscious, he was sitting upright, leant heavily on one arm as he looked at you, legs stretched out in front of him. Your mouth went dry and you blinked, the blanket that you had carefully tucked around his body having fallen to his waist, bare chest on display.

You swallowed thickly, feeling heat in your cheeks as you tried to avert your eyes, but the image of his toned and lean chest blared in your minds view. 

“Do you often strip drowned sailors?” The man mused, clearly having noticed his undressed state. His voice still crackled, but underneath, it was as smooth as honey.

The heat in your cheeks increased tenfold, and your feet took you swiftly over to the table where his now dried tunic and breeches were neatly folded on top. A crack of thunder boomed over head as you looked towards the kitchen, holding his clothes out to him to the side, feeling the weight of them being taken out of your hands. 

“You were soaked and close to death," You explained, "I saw no other choice.” You cleared your throat awkwardly as you heard rustling beside you, moving yourself back to the kitchen as you kept your back to him to stir the stew in avoidance, “I kept your modesty with the blanket. My one priority being-“

“-A joke, Madam.”

“Miss.” You corrected him.

You were no married woman.

You didn’t dare turn back around, instead, beginning to pour stew into two seperate bowls using your ladle, ensure that his had an ample supply of meat and broth within to help give him his strength back.

As he dressed, you could hear him grunt and struggle, but offered him no help. A man of his breed would likely suspect you meant something untoward, and you had learnt from a young age that a mans strength and will should never be questioned, for their ego's, fragile as they are, shall bruise.

You could feel him watching you as you continued on, shaking the embers beneath the stove loose to put them out slowly, allowing for the stew to finish its simmering before putting the large lid on top.

“Who are you?”

You frowned.

Had he forgotten already?

You told him your name once again.

“No." He sighed from behind you, "Who do you serve here?”

Turning, you faced the man.

His tunic was thrown back on, but it gaped at his chest where it had been ripped, revealing the soft pale skin beneath that you could not help but admire. But despite his handsomeness, his question served to insult you.

“I serve no one.” You said stiffly, dusting your hands down on your apron, before grabbing two spoons to throw into the bowls.

This seemed to dissatisfied the man as he hummed, “And the man who tends to the lighthouse?”

The man?

Hands on your hips you glared at him, watching as his brows lifted slightly waiting for your response, “There is no man here. None but you.”

His brow furrowed, “Then who te-“

“-That would be I.” You snipped, turning back around to grab his bowl before handing it to him with his spoon, “I take you can feed yourself now?” All patience gone from your body.

And to think, you had brought this man back from the dead, and he still thinks that a man must tend to the island and not you.

Clearly the silver haired man was shocked by your station, and also your brazen way of response, “I meant no offence, Miss. I have only known men to tend to Lighthouses.”

You huffed through your nose, exhaustion from the almost week of storm, and nurturing the man on the floor back to health nipping at you cruely.

“And now you know a woman.” You moved back to the kitchen to grab your own bowl and plate of sliced bread, sitting at your table to eat your stew, all the while feeling his eye on the side of your face. You grabbed the plate of bread and offered him a slice, a small thank you coming from his lips as you ate in silence. 

There was minimal talking between the both of you as you ate, and the sound of the storm seemed to fill the space instead. By the time the both of you finished eating, you knew you had to brave it outside once again, and climb the never ending stairs to check the oil and wick of the lamp.

You took your bowl and his to the kitchen, before coming back, standing above him as you pulled on your coat. 

“I have to tend to the light.”

He nodded.

You shuffled on your feet as you looked at him, thinking of your earlier plan to move him into your bed so that the had a reprieve from the stone floor.

Now was the time if there ever was.

“Do you think you can stand?”

The man blinked at you.

“I won’t cast you out in this storm,” You reassured him, though his face didn’t change, “But you shouldn’t lay on the flagstones to recover. They’ll do more harm than good.”

A nod.

He shifted, pulling the blanket off of him to reveal his long, now clothed, legs, bare feet stretched out at the end. You came to his side, pulling an arm beneath his and offering your other hand as you slowly brought him to stand. The man swayed and groaned, and his face grew pale.

“The bedroom is not far.” You reassured him, steering him down the small hall, each slow step, moving slowly, and his breath coming out with a rough rasp. His weight was heavily leant around your shoulders, and you felt your muscles strain to hold him up. The man stood at least a foot and a half taller than yourself, and yet slumped over was still nowhere near your height.

He grunted as moved him to the side of the bed, sitting him down on the edge as gently as you could, pulling the sheets back before helping him to lay down. He coughed and wheezed and groaned as you moved him, eye scrunched tightly shut, as you lifted his legs up and onto the mattress. The man looked paler than before, and his seeing eye became half-lidded with fatigue. 

You pulled the sheets up to his shoulders, ensuring that he wouldn’t roll out of the bed on either side.

Then suddenly you were hoping that he didn’t mind the feel of your sheets, or the spring of the softness of the mattress, or the plump of the pillows.

You shook your head.

Why were you worried about that?

“Rest.” You told him, but his eye had already slid shut, and so away you went.

Thanks so much for reading along with me, if you wish to be added to the general tag list please let me know :) Likes and reblogs are greatly appreciated ! Enjoy <3

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[notnormalthings-blog]

Y'all ever think about how girls are shamed for going through puberty? We grow hair and it's disgusting and we have to shave it. We get our periods and nobody can ever know when we're on it. We start getting sexual desire and have to be chaste lest we be called unpleasant names, and we're also taught our first times are going to hurt and this is "normal". Even breasts are shamed. Don't wear that. Cover up. Why are men old enough to be your father staring at you? Why are your boy classmates pinching you and making gross comments? Why are you suddenly being harassed? Why aren't you as free anymore? It's such agony. Growing up is something you have to be ashamed of. Something to be dreaded because of all the things thrust at you and expected of you.

Boys are taught to love their growing bodies. They're not taught shame. They draw dicks everywhere. Boners are funny. They're proud of their body hair because they're taught it makes them a man. Their sexual desires are encouraged. In fact, they're told it makes them less than a man if they never "get pussy". A boy I knew in high school told me he was worried about going to college as a virgin because that "was bad". Boys are never expected to endure painful sex.

Boys and men have so much freedom and their bodies are a source of empowerment for them. Girls and women have the exact opposite experience. When girls start getting their new bodies and new feelings, it's a source of shame and a whole new set of restrictions. No wonder so many women are unhappy with womanhood and their lives. We are never taught to prioritize our own pleasure. We are never taught that our bodies are okay.

[notnormalthings-blog]

MY NEIGHBOURS CAN HEAR ME SCREAMING

Glass Cuts Deepest (12)

[ professor! • Aemond x student! • fem!reader]

[ warnings: oral sex, fingering, smut, kissing, fluff, angst, trauma, mention of rape, indecent student-teacher relationship ]

[ description: A female painting student is finally able to choose the specialisation she has dreamt of - stained glass. She wants to become a student of the best specialist in this field, but he, for some reason, refuses to accept female students into his workshop. She finds out that he once slapped a female student of one of the other professors. Nevertheless, she makes an attempt to find out what happened then and to convince him to teach her. Slow burn, sexual tension, dark, agressive Aemond, great childhood traumas. ]

* English is not my first language. Please, do not repost. Enjoy! *

Previous and next chapters: Masterlist

_____

He fully realised how involved he already was in this relationship when he had to fall asleep alone in his bedroom after he returned home. His flat had never seemed so empty, so cold, so alien to him before. He realised that it didn't even have anyone's photos in it, no memorabilia, it was a place where he existed between work and nothing else.

He tried to do what he always did, made himself a cup of tea and turned on the TV to watch the news, read a book on catacomb painting he'd borrowed from Cregan, but still all he did, all he focused on, was glancing at his phone screen.

She hadn't texted him, nor had he texted her even though they had each other's phone numbers.

He himself didn't know how he felt about it, at the same time raging with desperation, opening the new message window several times to write her anything, to apologise for the scene he had done to her the day before or to wish her a good night, but each time he deleted everything, throwing the phone somewhere in a corner, heartbroken.

Perhaps she needed time to herself to think things through.

He had cornered her and not given her time to think, and she might not have really wanted that.

She might not have wanted to take on the kind of baggage he was carrying.

He went to bed with this thought and turned off the lamp, but he felt restless and uncomfortable. He got up twice and checked that the front door was locked, just in case, then went back and laid under his duvet, but the feeling remained in him.

The feeling that something was going to happen, that he would hear the sound of the door opening, as it did then, and see her on the doorstep.

He shuddered at the thought, clenching his eyes shut, dreaming only of Wright calling him, of telling him she missed him and wanted to see him, of coming to him and falling asleep beside him, making him feel safe.

She didn't call and he wriggled through the night, panicked, sad and tired. He gave up at four in the morning and took a shower, made himself a quick coffee in a thermos and drove to the university, deciding that he would rather use this time in some meaningful way.

He turned on all the lights and took a sheet of clear glass from his compartment, intending to cut it for his personal project, wanting to create a stained glass window for himself with Adam and Eve motif.

He wished to model himself on Dürer's copperplate, but changing it a little, softening the proportions of the figures, painting them in a slightly more mannerist form. He had no intention of giving the figures their faces, of course, however he found the work itself meaningful.

He shuddered when he heard someone come inside, despite the fact that there was still an hour left before classes started, and froze completely when he saw her standing in the aisle.

"Good morning." She said softly, warmth and happiness in her eyes at the sight of him from which he felt heat in his chest, he couldn't stop the shy smile that forced itself onto his lips.

He couldn't stop himself from kissing her as soon as she let him get close.

He found, despairingly, that her scent was enough to make him completely hard and he suffered through the day, watching her from the sidelines, witnessing the way she talked to her year mates, being able to get close to anyone but him.

As he spoke and noticed her gaze, he would lose the thread and have to quickly return his thoughts to what he had just talked about, embarrassed and ashamed that he had acted like a child.

The only thing that kept him sane was that she had agreed to come to him in the evening.

Despite the fact that he usually worked after hours, that afternoon he returned to his flat immediately after class, doing his shopping beforehand, recognising that he had to host her somehow and prepare something to eat.

He was also embarrassed to find that he should change the bedding for a clean one.

While doing this, all he could think about was what they were going to do on his bed when she came to him and he had a feeling his cock would just explode with arousal.

He didn't want to touch himself before she came though, he wanted to be desperate and on the edge of his endurance, he hoped that this would make him finally get over himself, that the lust would completely stupefy him and make him think of nothing else but fulfilment.

When at last she knocked on his door, when at last she stood on his threshold he felt apprehensive, realising that he had never invited anyone there before.

He let her in without a word, feeling his throat tighten. She was wearing a dress and nice long, white socks that he couldn't stop looking at, thinking only of the fact that he wanted to press her against the wall and slip his hand under her underwear, wondering if she was in the same state as him.

"If there's something wrong, I'll change, I took my things." Her worried voice snapped him out of his reverie and he looked at her surprised, not understanding what she was talking about, only realising after a moment that she thought he was looking at her like this because he found her outfit inappropriate.

"What? No, no. Come in. Are you hungry? I'm just heating up dinner." He said embarrassed at the direction his thoughts were running off in, deciding that she should at least eat something before he touched her, heading towards the kitchenette.

"Yeah, I'd love to." She said softly as she followed him, sitting down on the other side of the kitchen counter, looking intently at what he was doing.

He felt strangely tense, he'd never seen another human being in this space, much less a woman, he recognised that he hadn't spoken to one in so many years that he wasn't even sure how he should refer to her, not wanting to come across as a buffoon or a simpleton.

He knew he hadn't shown his best side to her before and he wanted to change that, but it only made him stress even more and say very little.

He almost choked, pulled out of his reverie when he heard her question while they ate.

"Where am I going to sleep?"

He looked at her in shock, thinking quickly about what he should answer, recognising that if he told her he wanted her to sleep in his bed it would immediately give away what he desired, perhaps putting her in an awkward position. He decided to get out of it somehow.

"…it's up to you. I can sleep on the couch." He said cautiously, watching her reaction, wanting to make sure she didn't think he was just a pervert who was only hoping for his student's young body to make his night more pleasant.

She meant so much more to him.

"What if I don't want you to sleep on the couch?" She asked quietly, looking up at him with her big, warm eyes.

God.

He reached quickly for his wine glass, taking a sip from it, feeling her question in his trousers. He set it down, looking at her intensely, wondering if she really wanted an answer to that question or was just teasing him.

Then we'll fuck, he thought.

"Will you show me your bedroom?" She asked softly, lightly, non-committally, and he swallowed loudly, wondering if she was doing it on purpose or if in her mind it was really just an innocent question that wasn't going to lead to anything more.

"Are you sure you want this?" He asked carefully, looking at her face, and she nodded. He pressed his lips together, gazing at her bare shoulders, the shape of her breasts outlining under her dress, and thought he couldn't take it anymore.

He stood up and glanced at her, waiting for her to move behind him.

He led her to one of the rooms to which the door was on the corridor and stepped inside, lighting the lamp standing by his bedside table, glancing at her out of the corner of his eye, feeling his heart pounding hard, his hands clenched into fists.

He felt his manhood pulsate painfully hard in his trousers as she unhurriedly laid on his bed with her stomach down, placing her cheek on his pillow, playing with the fabric of his sheets, not even looking at him. He looked down at her long legs and swallowed loudly, thinking that if he didn't touch her soon he would probably die.

He circled his bed, climbing onto it and kneeling behind her, having her legs between his thighs. He lifted the material of her dress up and exposed to him the bare, glistening skin of her buttocks, which were framed by pretty white lace panties. He placed his large hand on one of them and stroked it, feeling how soft and firm her skin was, her whole body tensing under his touch.

There was no turning back now, he thought.

He'd been thinking about it all night.

About how he wanted to do this.

He placed one hand next to her head while sliding the other across her stomach and squeezed her with his body, sighing along with her as he pressed his length hidden under the material of his trousers between her buttocks, rubbing against her, feeling a wonderful pulsing, his free hand brushing away her hair, kissing her neck with his warm lips.

They both drew in a loud breath as his hand under her belly slid lower, pulling up her dress, picking at the material of her panties, slipping his fingers underneath. He heard her moan helplessly, writhing beneath him as he touched her moisture, he involuntarily licked his lower lip, feeling how hard he was.

"− have you been this wet since you came in here? − or maybe since this morning? −" He gasped delightedly, trailing his lips along her soft skin, listening to her accelerated, erratic breathing, rubbing with the movements of his hips against her buttocks, making shivers come over him, her wonderful scent filling his nostrils.

"− it's your fault, professor −" She mumbled regretfully, and he felt her words between his thighs, his cock pulsed hard when she called him that, shamelessly using his academic title in such a situation, his fingers began to massage her in circular, sure motions around her clit, making her moans of pleasure grow louder and louder.

"− mine? − because I take care of my student's needs like any good professor in my position? −" He breathed out in her ear and smirked mischievously feeling how his movements were accompanied by a sticky click of her juices, both of them panting and moaning, her thighs involuntarily parting beneath him, allowing him better access.

"− I need this − please −" She mumbled with difficulty, clenching her hands on the fabric of his pillow. He groaned low, rubbing himself against her, feeling the heat in his lower abdomen at the thought of what he wanted to do.

"− I know −" He hummed, then slid the tip of his middle finger gently inside her, her walls hot, fleshy and sticky, tight, resisting him with his every gentle movement. He felt a powerful shudder pass through her, she cried out beneath him in pleasure, parting her lips, her body trembling under him.

"− shhh −" He hushed her, not letting her move, delighted that she was at his mercy, that he was touching her in such a way and it felt wonderful, not a trace of discomfort or bad memories in his mind.

"− please − ah − please − please −" She mewled pleadingly, he thought with tenderness that she was on the verge of orgasm, unable to get anything more out of herself, and he merely teased her, sliding his finger in and out of her, returning to her clit again after a while, not giving her what she needed.

"− please, what? − don't be disrespectful, title me properly −" He growled warningly, recognising that she had wanted this herself, she had wanted to play like this and now she had to suffer the consequences.

He heard her moan loudly at his words, her thighs trembling under his hand, his fingers all sticky from her moisture massaging her with a loud, lewd click.

"− please, professor − please, I've been waiting for this all day −" She mumbled, and he chuckled low, taking pity on her at last, seeing the state she was in, and slid his whole finger inside her, feeling how wonderfully hot and rough she was inside, her muscles clenched against him greedily.

He heard her gasp loudly, pressing her face against his pillow, her hips struggling to move in rhythm with his movements as he kissed her neck, her jaw, her cheek, her temple.

"− soaking wet for her professor − fuck − you're a very dedicated student, aren't you? −" He gasped in delight, literally fucking her with his finger, searching for the point inside her that he had read so much about on the internet, knowing that it should be somewhere above her entrance and realised that he had found it between her muscles when he heard her loud, surprised moan of pleasure, her lips parted wide, her eyes clenched as if in surprise and disbelief.

"− yes − God − yes, yes, please! −" She cried out pathetically, and a few of his movements were enough for her to cum on his fingers, her moisture spilling over his hand.

"− fuck − what a little mess you are −" He muttered with delight at her state, feeling how hard she came, fascinated with what he could do with her.

He groaned lowly feeling that he couldn't take it any more, that after what he had seen and felt he needed to finally relieve himself with his hand.

"− don't move − okay? −" He asked quickly, panting loudly along with her, lifting himself up and resting his body weight on his knees, unbuttoning his trousers and putting his hand under his boxers, with quick sure movements starting to jerk himself off, looking at her bare buttocks, at her wet underwear, at her face, at her trembling body.

Fuck, she was so pretty.

He knew he was going to cum soon, he could feel it.

"Can I kiss you there?" She asked softly, and he froze in mid-motion, panting heavily, thinking he'd overheard himself.

"What?"

He saw her open her eyes and press her lips together, playing with the fabric of his pillow, breathing unevenly.

"You could lie on your back and massage yourself, and I would kiss you there. I wouldn't touch you with my hands, just my lips and tongue. I've never done that before, so it would be our first time."

He stared at her in disbelief, breathing loudly, feeling his manhood pulsate hard in his hand at her words, at the thought that her sweet lips could touch him there, give him pleasure in such an intimate place. He thought, however, that he might inadvertently hurt her, and he would not forgive himself for that.

"− I − God - I don't know − I wouldn't want to hurt you − force you to do things like that, humiliate you −" He mumbled out struggling to put into words what he was feeling, he heard her move, shaking her head quickly, still not looking at him.

"− I want to try it − I'll tell you if it feels uncomfortable and you can do exactly the same − you don't feel bad when I kiss you, just when I touch you with my hands − I thought maybe this is our way to your fulfilment together −" She said softly, tenderly, and he felt he could come from just those words, from just imagining what she was talking about.

He felt horror and hope at the same time, he wanted her to do it, he wanted it to work, but he was afraid it would end up like the last time.

If she couldn't even touch his cheek, how could she touch him down there?

On the other hand, he realised that she was right, that they had kissed many times, but it was the touch of her hand that scared him.

Alys had never kissed him.

He swallowed loudly, looking at her uncertainly.

"−… will you tell me if there is something wrong? −" He asked in a voice trembling with emotion, and she nodded quickly.

Fuck.

Fuck.

Fuck.

He let out a loud breath, burying his manhood in his boxers, laying down next to her on his back, leaning partially against the backrest, breathing loudly.

He swallowed hard, horrified when he saw her rise and move towards him, laying between his thighs, she didn't touch him, just looked at him expectantly.

"So?" She asked softly and he felt his cock pulsate impatiently, demanding at last the relief he craved, he was terrified and aroused, curious and uncertain, he felt his lips dry from exertion and licked them involuntarily with his tongue.

"If it goes wrong - what do I say?" He asked uncertainly, wanting to know how he was supposed to act if it was unpleasant after all, not wanting to hurt her with his sudden, aggressive response. She considered his words for a moment, lowering her gaze.

"− say 'slower' if you feel it's right but things are happening too fast, or 'faster' if it's too slow. If you feel bad say 'stop' and I'll pull away immediately −" She said calmly, and he felt relieved, sticking to these rules as something that could actually work, giving him a sense of security.

He thought that it might have gone too well for them.

"− and if I − you know −" He mumbled, and she smiled slightly, warmly, embarrassing him completely.

"− well − Eve was the first to taste the forbidden fruit, wasn't she? −" She asked softly, and he thought it was over, that with or without her mouth he had to come right now, because his cock would just explode in his boxers.

"− touch yourself as you always do and just say if what I'm going to do makes you uncomfortable − remember this is time for you and your pleasure −" She said calmly and he needed no more encouragement, on the verge of despair, slipping his hand back under the material of his boxers, tightening his fingers on his hard manhood, clenching his eyes in pleasure, jerking himself with sure up and down movements.

When he felt her lips on his sensitive skin he gasped and moaned, but thought with surprise that it was not unpleasant, more like a gentle tickle.

However, when after a moment he felt her lips and her tongue licking upwards to his tip he groaned louder, feeling a shiver of pleasure, her tongue was moist and rough, teasing him in a way that the touch of his own hand had never given him.

"− fuck −" He muttered, tilting his head back, panting heavily, massaging himself with increasing speed.

He stared at her in disbelief, seeing her leaning towards him with her eyes closed, mussing him with her lips, licking him with her tongue faster and more intensely, making him feel like he was just about to come on her face, his cock pulsing greedily in his hand.

He wasn't sure he'd ever seen a more perverted sight than her lips pressed to his swollen cock, dripping with his precum.

He parted his lips wider and gasped, surprised when she suddenly lifted higher and slid his tip between her lips, teasing and licking him with her tongue. He clenched his eyes shut, tilting his head back, feeling this incredibly gentle yet intense sensation, with an involuntary movement of his hips he pushed his length deeper into her throat, shuddering with arousal.

"− oh, God − please −" He mumbled out, horrified at how pleasurable this was and clenched his free hand in her hair, moving deep inside her mouth, feeling his whole body quiver in pleasure, just thinking about how warm and wet her throat was, how soft her lips were sucking him so intensely.

He thought that deep inside her he felt safe, he felt good, so wonderfully good.

"− faster − ah, fuck, squeeze me here −" He exhaled, grabbing her wrist quickly, tightening his hand with her fingers on his hard cock, showing her how she was supposed to squeeze him, her hand wonderfully soft and warm, giving him a much more pleasurable sensation than his own, jerking him with a sure, intense motion harmonising with the smooth movements of her lips, loud from the click of her saliva.

"− forgive me − fuck, 'm gonna cum −" He mumbled out surprised that his fulfilment was approaching so quickly, he felt it in his lower abdomen, and then he just cum in her mouth, panting heavily with pleasure, leaning forward, surprised at how hard he throbbed inside her, how his orgasm shook his body. He had never experienced anything like it before, and he felt completely stupefied by this wonderful, hot pleasure.

"− fuck − fuck, baby − oh my God −" He babbled with difficulty, clenching his eyes shut, breathing loudly, unable to stop himself from throbbing, listening as she bravely swallowed everything that came out of him.

He let go of her hand and hair, looking at her, and she immediately pulled away from him, sliding him out of her mouth with loud plop, breathing hard as he did, looking at him in disbelief.

He didn't know how any girl could look so innocent after sucking someone's cock.

He thought perhaps she was just a saint.

"− you are indeed my revelation −" He whispered embarrassedly, smiling involuntarily, feeling relieved, feeling free, because they had done it, succeeded, found a way for him to experience fulfilment with her, some point from which they could start.

He pulled her to him by the material of her dress, wanting to feel her close, now, immediately, and embraced her tightly, kissing the top of her head, feeling boundless gratitude for her sacrifice, that for her, too, this was the first time, and she was so brave, so good.

"Are you okay?" He whispered, and she nodded quickly, snuggling into him tighter.

They talked for a while longer, considering what to do next, whether she should move in with him. He respected her wishes and the fact that she preferred to keep her dorm room for now. He felt joy and peace when she said that she would be coming to stay with him overnight, that she would leave some of her belongings at his place.

That she would be there for him.

Just as he had promised, he let her study. After they both dressed in their pyjamas and lay down on his bed he snuggled into her, nuzzling his cheek against her soft breast hidden under the material of her t-shirt, her free hand combing through his hair as the other held the book she had just read, resting it on her raised thighs.

He muttered under his breath seeing what she was reading about, that she was preparing for an exam on the history of Renaissance art.

"Dürer?" He asked, running his pointing finger over her bare arm, and she nodded, turning the page, then went back to stroking his head.

"I'm working on a stained glass window right now, the design of which is based on his copperplate." He said softly, concentrating on how soft her skin felt under his fingers. He heard her move in curiosity, glancing up at him.

"What theme are you based on?" She asked excitedly, and he swallowed loudly, feeling embarrassed at how obvious his choice was.

"Adam and Eve." He whispered, pressing his lips together, waiting with a pounding heart for her reaction, wondering if she would see him as a desperate idiot.

He felt her hand freeze in the air only to surprise him as she hugged him tighter to her chest, placing her book on her stomach, embracing him with her other arm as well, leaning over him and kissing his hair. He murmured low, feeling hot in his heart at her reaction, her acceptance of how involved he was.

"They won't have our faces." He added lowly, and she giggled slightly, heartily, he felt butterflies in his stomach at that wonderful sound, at the thought that she was laughing because of him.

"Thank God my professor is so smart." She said with amusement, both mocking and praising him at the same time, and he snorted at her words, cuddling his face into her firm, soft breast, wonderfully warm, adjusting to the shape of his cheek.

He murmured quietly, turning his face and grasped her nipple hidden under the material of her shirt with his lips, sucking on it in a light, unhurried rhythm.

He heard her moan quietly, surprised, involuntarily pressing his head closer to her chest, clenching her thighs in a sudden surge of pleasure, stroking his hair.

"You promised." She muttered regretfully, alluding to the fact that he was going to let her study for her exam which was to take place in a few days. He hummed under his breath, rubbing her nipple with the tip of his nose.

"I promised I'd let you study when we were done."

_____

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Equation without solution (Oneshot)

[ Michael • Gavey x painter student! • fem!reader]

[ warnings: sex content, angst, smut, trauma, mention of bullying, mention of physical and mental violence ]

[ description: Michael sees no point in worrying about anything, especially relationships, when all he needs is math. His calm, logical world falls apart when a female painting student asks him for help in calculating the best possible composition to create a portrait. Sexual tension, angst, a litte brat taming and domination kink, great childhood traumas. ]

The fragment with Michael in the trailer inspired me to write this. The whole discussion around this oneshot, whether it should be made at all, made me very tired. I don't think we'll get his backstory in the movie, but even if we did, I just felt like writing it - so here it is. Have fun reading.

* English is not my first language. Please, do not repost. Enjoy! *

My other works: Masterlist

_____

Ever since he could remember, his father had explained to him that an intelligent man is not guided by emotions, but by logic. That's why he married his mother, that's why he went into the army. A long belt hung in plain sight in one of the cupboards of their house, so that he could use it to remind him this when necessary.

His father never hit him with his hand. He did not slap him, considering it humiliating for a man to do this to another man. Punishments were in the nature of a ritual, which he said he did not find pleasant either. He reiterated that only strong people survive in this world, that if a classmate beat him up at school he should not cry, but punch him back even harder.

He was afraid to tell his father when, once again after being hit by Creg, one of the school donkeys, his glasses broke in half again. In panic situations he would run to his mother, who would look at him with terrified eyes and only repeat "quickly, your father must not find out".

He and his mother shared secrets, which she told him they could not tell his father so as not to upset him. Such things were the sweets she had hidden in one of the containers that pretended to be flour, or the savings she meticulously counted when he was away.

She would say that one should always be prepared, but he didn't understand for what.

One day he found a container of sweets standing by his bedside table and his mother had disappeared, leaving him and his father with only a short note, which his father tore up and said they would never mention her again.

He threw away pictures of her, all her clothes, everything, even his toys or his books, which she was the one who bought and read to him. He only managed to hide one, which was a maths exercise book that had slippery, oiled pages from which he could erase the results of equations at will and fill them in again with a dry erase marker.

This book became his favourite; he would only take it out at night when he was sure his father was already asleep and fill in all the blanks one by one, knowing them by heart.

He created his own ritual.

This calmed him down.

Later, however, these tasks proved too simple and tedious, he needed a challenge and asked his teacher, Mrs Rosaline, to recommend something to learn. She did so willingly, surprised by his diligence, and when he came in the next day saying he had solved all the tasks, she started sending him to maths competitions.

Maths was wonderfully logical and cool, you couldn't interpret it in different ways like poetry, you didn't have to get into the mind of the author of an equation to understand the result. Everything was preconceived and safe, a wrong result could always be explained, you could get to the root of it.

There was no reason to be sad, nervous or happy.

When, in high school, his tutor announced to his father that he was a genius and that he should start a career in science his father was furious. He said that mathematician was not a profession, that all his life he would remain the victim of fate that he had apparently always been destined to be.

He wasn't happy when he got into the best university in the country without any exams, he wasn't happy that he was one of the few to get his own dorm room and a big scholarship.

His father told him that he was already a man and not a boy, that he would not beat him with a belt to explain to him that he was not a genius but an idiot.

What he had learnt from his father was not to worry about such words. He would grin at him when he tried to explain to him what a mistake he was making with amusement and satisfaction as he watched the man who told him that emotions were a sign of weakness become enraged.

His father was weak.

He was emotional.

Even the army and the fact that he beat him didn't change that.

He thought that this was probably what his father, that is his grandfather, had tried to instil in him, but he had failed miserably.

He truly believed, however, that his father was right.

He didn't need emotions.

Numbers were enough for him.

He could calculate the probability of whether or not he would be able to communicate with someone by analysing quickly in his head with what frequency that person spoke about things that did not interest him.

He didn't consider whether he liked them and didn't even have any idea how he would have known that. He recognised that deciding on the basis of chemical reactions in his brain about his acquaintances was absurd.

Just because he didn't feel anything didn't mean he wasn't laughing or enjoying himself. On the contrary, he smirked a lot, usually while listening to other people's discussions or when he managed to get someone off balance.

Wealthy alpha males who owed the place he had earned only to their rich parents reigned around the university like kings, pretending to be intelligent, studying law, medicine or banking without having a clue what they were doing were his most common victims.

"I could never defend a rapist or a murderer. I don't know, it makes me flinch at the mere idea." Said Kyle once when they were sitting in the library, them pretending to study, actually sitting over open books they weren't concentrating on and talking, distracting him.

When he needed real focus he would study in his room, but when he felt like a bit of entertainment he would go out to listen to them.

It was better than a comedy in TV.

"After all, every man deserves a defence lawyer, he's innocent until the court hands down a final verdict." Matt, a boy who read a lot and could memorise things, replied, throwing quotes from his sleeve without much understanding of them. Kyle snorted, shrugging his shoulders.

"So what? Sometimes you subconsciously know this person did it by looking at them or the evidence is incriminating enough." He replied with a certainty that surprised him.

He corrected his glasses on his nose with his pointing finger, wondering how this moron was going to defend anyone in court if he himself was constantly undermining his client's innocence in his head while he himself wanted to be the judge against him.

"If it was as you say, there wouldn't be so many innocently convicted people in prison. Evidence seems incriminating until one new clue, piece of evidence or witness comes along that changes everything. It is the duty of the defence counsel to look for such details to the best of his ability, and not to judge his client unless he himself wants to plead guilty." He heard a second, frustrated voice and lifted his gaze, noticing a girl standing by the bookcase who had heard their conversation while looking for some book.

He recognised her only by sight, and knew that she had studied painting, so her person did not interest him at all. However, what she said frustrated Kyle and disturbed his nepotistic sense of superiority, so he gave this scene his full attention.

"I didn't know kids drawing with crayons knew anything about such serious matters as criminal law." He said piteously, a mocking sweetness in his voice, his gaze feigning warmth, meant to bring her out of her funk.

He glanced at her out of the corner of his eye and saw that she was looking at him like he was an idiot.

"I don't need to know this to realise that no amount of money will make you a good lawyer. I feel sorry for your future clients, because you will destroy them yourself." She replied, raising her eyebrows in amusement, completely unfazed by his insult.

It surprised him that she looked happy and pleased to see his angry face, not letting him get a word in edgewise, grabbing the book she was looking for and walking off towards her friends sitting at a table in the distance.

On his way out of the library he heard her voice, heard her laugh, light and unforced, glanced at her and their gazes met for a moment before he walked out into the corridor.

He had forgotten about her until an incident when, sitting in the university restaurant, he noticed Kyle walking past her and pretending to stumble, the entire contents of his cranberry juice spilled on her dress, leaving big pink stains.

"Sorry, are you okay?" He asked, feigning seriousness and concern, and she stood up, furious without even speaking to him, walking away.

He watched curiously as Kyle sat down with his friends and high-fived Matt, clearly pleased with himself, putting his arm around some silly giggling girl.

After a while, however, that girl came back, dressed up, wearing only a man's long-sleeved shirt all soiled with paint, covering the small part of her thighs that she apparently used as an apron while painting, socks and trainers on her legs.

He felt something strange seeing her soft thighs, thinking of the fact that he himself wore similar shirts, and took a sip of coffee from his cup, watching as she sat back next to her friends, saying something quickly, going back to eating her lunch, unconcerned.

She laughed.

He shuddered when their eyes met and quickly glanced at Kyle, who was watching her from afar, licking his lips, his leg moving in impatience, the girl he was embracing whispering something in his ear, but he wasn't listening to her.

He was thinking.

Usually when he had to move from one building to another he went through a side exit, so as to have a bit of peace and quiet, but on this day he decided to walk through the main square, walking on its right side, looking through the windows.

He was not at all searching for her with his eyes when he saw the rows of easels and people around the model, dressed in historic Renaissance costume.

He didn't feel the heat stroke at all and stopped involuntarily when he saw her sitting with her back to him, her canvas smaller than the others, she sat closer, focused only on the portrait.

He could see her underpainting, just an outline and a sketch, and the lines she had drawn to help herself.

The golden ratio.

He shuddered at the thought that she was deliberately using mathematical proportional division to achieve a subconscious effect of harmony in the whole composition, which was, after all, just a base for the actual layer with chiaroscuro and colours.

He gasped when one of his year mates slapped him on the back, asking what he was looking at, and when he saw what he was observing behind the window, he laughed.

"These artists. They will die poor, but at least in their mind they will have created something outstanding. Until a critic comes along who says what they've painted is ugly." He muttered with amusement, putting his arm around him as if they were good mates, although they were not.

He looked back and noticed with pounding heart that this girl was turning over her shoulder, looking in his direction.

His friend had said something about the Mona Lisa, about how ugly she was and that he didn't understand how that portrait could be considered the most beautiful in the world, but he was unable to focus on it.

The golden ratio.

The balance of the composition.

Her painting was thoughtful.

He was convinced that painters only recognised their own artistic intuition and thus created ugly paintings, which they then called contemporary art.

He didn't think about her, or at least tried to until his mates told him that Kyle was throwing a party, to which he was obviously not invited.

"Apparently he even invited the girl he doused with juice at the time as an apology. Bruce says he recently brought her flowers during her classes and that he seems to have a crush on her."

"Sometimes it's one step from hate to love."

He didn't like the uncomfortable feeling he experienced in his chest, a sort of sting and tightness in his throat. He went back to the equation he had just solved without listening to them further.

Even if someone didn't know there was supposed to be any kind of party going on, they had certainly heard it that Friday night, the music, laughter and screams from Kyle's room echoing loudly through the dorm.

Even though women weren't allowed in there there were plenty of them, he could hear them running to the toilet, squealing and giggling, driving him furious as he couldn't concentrate on what he was reading. He pulled down his glasses, massaging the space between his eyes with his fingers, closing his eyelids, trying to calm himself.

His emotions wouldn't change anything.

He shuddered when he heard a knock on his room and looked uncertainly towards his door. He feared it was Kyle and his pack who had drunkenly decided they would have fun at his expense.

He swallowed loudly when he heard her voice.

"Can I come in?"

He felt his heart start pounding hard, a multitude of thoughts running through his head. He tried to analyse whether he should do it or not, what she might have wanted from him, but nothing came to mind, there was a complete void in his brain.

God.

"Come in." He heard his own uncertain voice, and after a moment the door opened and there she stood.

She came in smiling and cheerful, happy for some reason, closing the door behind her, looking around his room as if she had come at his invitation, wearing a large long-sleeved sweatshirt with the university logo reaching halfway down her thighs, long light wool socks and trainers on her legs.

He wanted to say something, to ask why he owed this visit and what she wanted from him, but all he did was stare at her legs, at the small patch of her exposed naked body between her sweatshirt and the material of her socks. He felt a strong pulsing in his black sweatpants and swallowed loudly knowing what it meant.

Fuck.

He'd only fucked twice in his life, and they'd been fairly inept acts of physical intimacy between a man and a woman, where they'd pursued their fulfilment on him, not caring much about him, maybe even imagining he was someone else, some more handsome boy who just happened not to want to look at them.

It didn't bother him, because he didn't feel anything for them himself, they didn't even arouse his desire, but they were just very horny, and he decided that he didn't want to remain a virgin for the rest of his life.

It had been more of a relaxing than a pleasurable experience and he didn't understand why men were so overpowered by it, but now, looking at her, he felt his brain and his logic start to give up in favour of what was going on in his trousers.

"You didn't go to the party?" Her light, gentle voice snapped him out of his reverie, causing him to lift his eyes to her face, which, to his surprise, seemed very pretty up close, her eyes large and bright, framed by long lashes, her pink lips curved in a smile.

What made her so happy?

Why did she come to his room and ask such things?

"No. NFI." He replied dispassionately, lowering his gaze to her legs again, unable to contain himself, covering what was happening to him with a book. She blinked, furrowing her brow.

"What?" She asked with amusement and curiosity.

"Not Fucking Invited." He explained and she burst into soft laughter, he wasn't sure he'd ever heard anyone react like that to anything he'd said.

"Maybe it's better for you too. I went there for a while, but they act like pigs in a shed. A friend told me I could find you here so I thought I'd take the opportunity." She said calmly, walking over to his desk, leaning over his books. He wondered with a pounding heart how she had the confidence to just walk into a stranger's room and talk to him as if she had known him for years.

He chuckled and shook his head, running his hand over his face in an attempt to hide his nervousness and what his imagination was suggesting.

"Are you going to tell me why you came here, or are you going to continue wasting my time?" He muttered ironically, figuring that by doing so he would somehow discourage her or force her to stop pestering him.

He blinked and lifted his knees higher when she suddenly sat down next to him, as if just waiting for that question, excitement in her eyes.

"I've heard you're a mathematical genius and that's a very good thing, because I need someone to help me determine the right proportions for my painting."

She said quickly and he felt his heart beat harder, he got warm in his lower abdomen and all he could think about was wanting to back off and run away.

"Isn't the golden ratio and Fibonacci spiral enough for you?" He muttered, knowing that it was these two proportions that were usually enough for artists to create their compositions. She hit her knees with her palms as if he had said exactly what she assumed.

"No! I want to analyse it more, but I don't have the tools to do it. Nor an exact mind. I want you to help me, take a look at my sketch and tell me what you think could be improved. From a mathematical, compositional point of view." She said with an excitement that frightened him in a way, a gush of enthusiasm that he didn't know what to do, how to discourage her with.

"What's in it for me?" He asked, recognising that perhaps a materialistic approach would discourage her, yet she merely twisted in her seat, completely unmoved, apparently recognising that he was entitled to demand payment for his contribution to her work.

"And what would you like?" She asked lightly, and he swallowed loudly, his gaze involuntarily escaping to her thighs, to where he could see her bare skin.

He looked at her face again, hoping she hadn't seen it, but something in her gaze told him she had noticed it, her lips tightened. He felt his heart pounding like crazy, he felt like he was just going through some kind of heart attack.

"Do you want this?" She asked softly, warmly, and he threw her a shocked look, wondering if she was implying what he was thinking, his gaze escaping to her thighs again.

Fuck.

Did he want this?

"What do you mean?" He asked coolly, trying to pretend he didn't know what she was talking about. He felt his pupils dilate as she corrected herself in her seat so that her sweatshirt lifted up slightly, he had a feeling that a millimetre would have been enough for him to see her underwear.

"You can touch me if you want. Just gently. Don't throw yourself at me." She said softly, a blush on her cheeks, her eyes warm and understanding, he even thought she seemed slightly embarrassed, her words sounding innocent despite the obvious subtext.

He wanted to tell her that she thought too highly of herself if she thought he was so desperate, but instead he just looked at her with his lips slightly parted, fighting with himself.

He wasn't sure if his mind controlled the movement of his hand, the way it involuntarily rose and gently touched her thigh, stroking it in a slow, steady up and down motion. He heard her sigh softly and a shudder went through her, saw her lean back and close her eyes.

He couldn't focus on anything other than the thought of how soft and firm her skin was, he wasn't sure he had ever touched anything more pleasurable. He felt both shame and thrill at the thought of how painfully hard he was, tightening his lips and swallowing with difficulty.

He glanced at her face again when, after a moment, she opened her eyes and looked at him with a warm, misty gaze, as if she had drifted away with her thoughts somewhere for a moment. She smiled, but there was no mockery in it, her expression had something of girlish innocence.

He didn't quite understand what was just happening between them. His mind wanted to classify this as a prelude to physical intimacy, but he wasn't sure he was right. He felt immense tension and lust, but also a sort of tightening in his pit, intrigue and anxious anticipation.

"If you want, we can kiss. You have such full lips." She said softly with some kind of admiration and sincere desire, from which he felt a tightening in his throat.

He wasn't good at choosing his words when it came to this kind of discussion, and he didn't know completely how to act, so he just stared at her, her thigh under his hand seeming to almost burn him.

Seeing the lack of any reaction from him and the clear shock painted on his face she moved a little closer to him, there was something encouraging in her movement and gaze, some kind of comfort and concern.

She was close, but far enough away to still not invade his space, giving him the sense that she was waiting for his decision.

He stared at her, feeling that his cock hidden in his trousers was about to explode, all swollen and throbbing and after a moment their lips pressed against each other in a sudden, wet dance of tongues and teeth, their hands clenched in each other's hair, the loud, lewd click of their saliva echoing in his ears louder than the muffled music coming from several rooms away.

"Be gentle." She just whispered into his mouth between their drawn-out, sticky kisses, and he hummed at her words, smelling the pleasant scent of her shampoo in his nose.

He grabbed her softly around her waist and seated her on his thighs with his arm around her, throwing his book to the side, rubbing against her from underneath, letting her feel what she had done to him.

He heard her sigh in contentment at feeling how hard he was, both of them beginning to pant loudly as she began to massage him with the motions of her hips, herself clearly taking pleasure from it.

He clamped his hands on her buttocks and drew in the air loudly feeling that she had no shorts on underneath, just her underwear alone, and for some reason it turned him on even more.

Had she planned this all along?

She moaned feeling his hands slip under the material of her panties and squeeze her bare skin with confidence, she ran her fingers through his hair as the tip of her pink, wet tongue ran over his upper lip. He felt a strong shiver run through his entire body and involuntarily began to pant along with her, having never experienced anything like this before.

Her touch, though filled with desire, was not cold and crude, focused only on her pleasure, her hands stroking his hair, his cheeks, his neck with tender, caring movements, her firm, full lips merely teasing him, not wanting to give him any more full kisses, so he only growled, frustrated, pulling her forcibly tighter, sliding his tongue deep into her throat.

He didn't even feel the need to undress her, the very thing they were doing now, the senselessness and yet purposefulness of it made him shiver, her certainty of what she wanted.

Was she really going to do this?

Sleep with a total stranger?

What was the logic in this?

He shuddered at the thought that maybe there was none.

None.

She wouldn't let him think about it, he drew in the air loudly as he felt her nimble fingers untie his sweatpants, slipping them down slightly, exposing what was underneath them, he felt his hard, throbbing manhood being enveloped by the cool air.

He saw her rise slightly, with a movement of her hand apparently pushing the material of her underwear aside, positioning herself above him as he grasped his length in his hand, automatically directing it between her thighs.

"− I'm taking pills − I'm clean −" She whispered softly and he just nodded, not knowing what more he could answer, looking at her with his lips slightly parted, feeling like his heart was about to jump out of his chest.

They both moaned embarrassingly loudly and squeezed their eyelids shut as she lowered herself onto him, slowly pushing him deep into her body. He could feel how wet she was, how her fleshy muscles pulsed hungrily against him, how tightly they wrapped around him on all sides miraculously enhancing his sensation.

She lifted herself up with a loud click of her moisture only to fall back down, riding him in a slow unhurried rhythm, and he just leaned down and sank his face into the hollow of her neck, taking in her scent, pleasantly sweet and fresh, panting loudly.

She embraced him, stroking his hair, clearly sensing his uncertainty, terror and desire mixed together. Unwittingly, his hips began to respond to her movements with sure, deep thrusts, to which she moaned loudly, something of helplessness and delight in her sounds.

"− do you want to stop? −" She mumbled softly, kissing his hair with gentle, warm click. He lifted his face finding her lips in a greedy kiss before turning her onto her back, recognising that he couldn't take it any longer, that his cock was about to explode.

"− yeah − I want to stop very, very much −" He growled frustrated at the way she was teasing him, resting one hand on the backrest of the bed in front of him, the other holding her hip tightly, sliding into her with rapid, quick thrusts from which she began to moan and pant loudly, startled, looking up at him with her lips slightly parted.

"− don't you feel it? −" He asked ironically, thrusting his cock so deep into her that he felt like he would pierce her stomach, her body arched backwards as if trying to escape from him, he felt his thighs all sticky from her juices, their bodies smacked against each other quickly with a loud, wet slap.

"− please −" She mewled and he felt a shudder as well as heat in his lower abdomen, something in the way she said it, in the tone of her voice, in her gaze made him lick his lips feeling that just a moment more, a few more thrusts and he was about to come.

"− please, what? − can't you put a fucking sentence together anymore? − you like it when someone fucks you so rough that you don't have words, huh? −" He hissed and groaned low as he felt her walls clench tightly around him at his words, her thighs spread wide in front of him, allowing him to slide into her as deeply as he wanted in a gesture of total submission.

"− I'm sorry −" She mumbled, looking at him helplessly like a rebuked child looking at a parent, and he thought he could devour her whole right now, fuck her all night if she wanted to, if she would react the way she did now.

"− good you're sorry − fucking brat −" He growled, panting loudly along with her and suddenly, without even knowing why, he kissed her greedily, impaling his cock into her with quick, brutal thrusts.

He felt her come, her walls began to clench on him greedily, not wanting to let him go, her whole body was trembling, she tried to push him away, sobbing and moaning with pleasure into his mouth.

He fucked her through her orgasm until he finally gave in and cum inside her, panting loudly, not recognising himself, his sounds or his reactions.

"− oh God − fuck − fuck − fuck −" He mumbled clenching his eyes, coming down from his peak, still moving inside her, hearing her loud breathing underneath him.

What exactly was that?

He collapsed on top of her, completely powerless, smelling the scent of her hair, her hands embracing his waist. They laid like that in the light of his bedside lamp, breathing heavily, listening to the muffled music, the screams and laughter from the party taking place a few rooms away.

He swallowed loudly feeling that he wasn't sure where his body ended and hers began, they were both all sticky from her moisture, her insides hot, pleasantly enveloping him on all sides, giving him some strange sense of security.

He thought it was for some of the hormones that are released after orgasm designed to bring partners closer together and bond.

He shuddered when he suddenly heard her soft, quiet voice.

"So what do you say? Will you help me?" She asked shyly, quietly, and he sighed heavily, silent for a long moment.

No.

"Yes."

_____

@at-a-rax-ia @daemonskelitsos @alphard-hydraes-blog @travelingmypassion

[notnormalthings-blog]

I am losing my sanity and my place in heaven but it is what it is

The Cry of the Sea

Halloween Request Oneshots Series

[ pirate! • Aemond x mermaid! • fem!reader* ]

[ warnings: sex content, virginity loss, fingering, smut, angst, abduction, violence, threats, obsession ]

[ description: A mermaid who rarely surfaces of the water decides to save a drowning boy. While she tries to keep him safe, she is kidnapped by strange, terrifying people, taken away from her mother and her home. On her way, she meets a captain with one eye who will decide her future fate. Obsessive, possessive, dark!Aemond.]

*Warning! Note from the author: The heroine has a name because of the plot, but apart from that there are no detailed descriptions of her appearance. Oneshot is written from a third-person perspective.

*English is not my first language. Please, do not repost. Enjoy!*

My others works: Masterlist

____

She had only heard about who people were from stories and what she learned made her rarely floated to the surface of the water. Her mother said they were cruel, that they killed through need, waged wars and destroyed each other, cold and ruthless.

She also said that in order to walk on the ground they needed two limbs, as they had two arms, so in place of their fins were to be so-called legs.

She never dared to ask her mother how she knew such things. She spoke of something like a sound, like music, that it reverberated through the air and was pleasant to the ears, that it had a rhythm, that people danced and jumped to it. She couldn't imagine it; she, her mother and the other inhabitants of the underwater city communicated with finger gestures.

One day she was awakened by a muffled bang, something she had never heard before, and she swam out into the night depths, seeing little. She widened her eyes in surprise to see not the night sky but an orange glow above the surface of the water. She looked back, thinking in horror that she should return to her shelter, but decided that she would just look out to see what was happening, to see if they were in danger.

So she surfaced, feeling the air in her nostrils which caused her pain, she used them so rarely that her lungs were not properly developed, she felt like she was suffocating.

She plugged her ears, terrified, hearing loud shot after shot, the great mountain with sails that her mother called a ship was hitting another masthead with fire, and she was between them, not understanding what was happening, panicking, hiding under the water again.

The sound was instantly muffled as she plunged into the depths, but she suddenly heard a loud splash beside her and saw the body of a white-haired boy struggling to lift himself up, unsuccessfully. She could see his hind limbs, his legs unable to lift him higher like her fin, merely waving fruitlessly in the watery depths, his body sinking lower and lower to the bottom.

She remembered her mother's words about how people couldn't breathe underwater and once they fell into it, they died.

So she swam after him, terrified, grasping him in her hands; he was struggling, terrified, but she managed to hold him and they emerged from the water together, panting loudly and coughing.

"Daeron!" She heard a loud, low, desperate cry, which frightened her, for the first time hearing the words, human speech, sounded strange, not like the noise of the water.

"Here!" She heard the childish, squeaky cry of the boy she was holding and plugged her ear with one hand, feeling a terrible pain. She heard the splash of water beside them and saw that a much smaller boat had fallen into the water.

There were people in it, big, pale, dirty, frightening.

She wanted to run away, but she was afraid that if she let go the boy would start sinking again, so she held him until they came closer and she helped him into the boat, panting hard, shivering all over. The men who sat inside looked at her in disbelief.

"Holy Seven. I think it's a mermaid!"

"Kill her, she can deceive with her singing!"

"Are you mad?! We'll get a fortune for her! We take her, let the captain decide."

She heard loud sounds spoken quickly, she felt like her head was going to explode, she wanted to turn around and submerge herself back, but she felt a large hand grab her by her hair.

Something strange came out of her throat, a sort of high pitched squealing sound that frightened her alone, and then she felt wetness in her eyes, even though she was fighting her way out she didn't make it, another man grabbed her by her shoulders and forcibly threw her into the lifeboat.

She was feeling that she was cold and wrapped her arms around herself, shivering all over, her half-naked body now surrounded by the cool night wind, one of the men shouted that they were swimming away and back up.

"Drop the net!"

"Don't hurt her! She saved me!" Squealed the boy she had rescued from death, pushing away the men who wanted to touch her, laughing loudly, amused, looking at her body. She was terrified and trembling all over, a white-haired child came up to her and embraced her, shivering along with her.

"It's going to be okay. I won't let you get hurt." He whispered softly, something in the sound he made of himself reassuring her.

She squeezed her eyes shut, feeling the moisture running down her cheeks, thinking only of the fact that she should have listened to her mother, and now she had to pay for her curiosity.

They threw her into a net like an animal, then lifted her up with a hand crane and her body suddenly fell to the wooden floor, lots of legs around her, lots of men talking loudly to each other. She covered her ears and cried, feeling only pain, terrified and frozen, and suddenly she felt that something was wrong.

The voices around her fell silent as she lifted her gaze and glanced over her shoulder.

In place of her shiny fin, covered in beautiful scales, were two long limbs, the same as theirs.

Legs.

She covered her mouth with her hand and turned away, another terrifying high-pitched sound came from her throat that felt like it tore her skin and she cried out loudly, terrified.

What had happened?

Where was her tail?

Her mother never spoke of her father.

She said he was not worth mentioning.

"He chose the sea, but not me." She had told her once, but it was only now that it was beginning to occur to her what she might have meant.

"What is the meaning of this?" She heard a low, cold voice and saw above her a man with a large scar on his left cheek and a black eye patch, he had the same white hair as the child she had saved, except that his was longer, tied with a black ribbon. He looked at her in disbelief, as if she were some strange, frightening creature.

"It's a mermaid, Captain! I saw for myself, as long as she was in the water she had a long tail!"

"That's right, sir, if we sell her we'll get crores!"

"Don't sell her, brother! She saved me!" She heard the voice of the same little boy holding him by the sleeve of his black leather jacket, his gaze directed at her again, this time focused and excited.

"We're turning back to the harbour. Find her some clothes, nobody can touch her." He said, and after a moment the men lifted her up, although she tried to pull away, it was to no avail.

They forced her to put on a long, smelly cloth and gave her some scratchy material, although when she covered herself with it made her feel warmer.

They locked her in a room from which she could only see the sea through a small hole and she watched in despair as she moved away from her home, from her mother. She pressed her forehead against the wooden wall and cried quietly.

She heard footsteps, quiet at first, then louder and louder, the door to her cabin opened and there the same terrifying man with a black eye patch stood over her, closing the door behind him.

"Who are you?" He asked, and she looked at him with big eyes, not understanding what she was supposed to do, what they wanted from her. She only swallowed loudly, not taking her eyes off him.

He came closer to her, and she stepped back quickly, pressing her back against the wall, breathing loudly, terrified.

"Don't be afraid." He said a little more calmly, kneeling in front of her, something unsettling in his eye, some kind of unhealthy fascination. She saw the gesture of his tongue running swiftly over his lower lip, as if he was just preparing to eat something tasty.

"Who. Are. You." He repeated word after word and tapped his finger against her chest hidden under her blanket, she flinched at the gesture, curling into herself, moving as far away from him as possible.

He lifted his hand and pressed it to his chest, wearing only a white chemise tucked into black leather trousers.

"Aemond." He said calmly. After a moment, he placed his hand on her chest, looking at her expectantly.

"You?"

She wondered if he wanted to know who she was, if he had just confessed his name to her.

She saw his eye widen as she lifted her hand, touched her thumb with her pointing finger, signifying the syllable 'Le', and then lifted her pointing finger up, signifying the lone vowel 'a'.

Lea.

He looked at her, shaking his head, sitting down in front of her.

"What does that mean?" She heard him say the words quickly, but completely misunderstood what it was supposed to mean, so she showed him the same gesture signifying her name once more.

He ran his thumb over his lip, looking at her intensely, tapping his fingers on his knee, then rose suddenly, startling her with it, opening some cupboard with a loud clatter, taking out some large object.

She saw that what he was holding in his hands had cards and patterns, he turned it towards her, moving closer to her and it was only then that she noticed it was letters.

Her mother had told her about them and had even drawn them for her explaining that people used them to write down words and their sounds.

She had written what her name and a few other sentences would sound like in their language, wanting to give her a comparison of how their gestures translated into their syllables.

She touched her finger quickly to a letter she recognised as 'L'. He looked at it curiously and read it out loud.

"L" He said and she nodded, pointing then to the "E" and "A".

He looked at her in disbelief, the corner of his mouth twitching in what she might have called a smile if not for the glint in his eye.

"Lea." He whispered, and she blinked, understanding that he had said her name as a whole, that that was what it sounded like. She nodded and he licked his lips excitedly, moving far too close to her, placing the book in her lap.

He began to point his fingers at more letters, and she followed the movement of his hand, trying to decipher what he was trying to convey to her.

Y O U S A V E D M Y B R O T H E R

You

sa

ved

my

bro

ther

You saved my brother.

The fair-haired boy.

She looked at him puzzled, swallowing loudly and nodded. She heard him sigh with some kind of relief and joy, happy to be able to communicate with her, pressing his lips together, leaning over the book again.

DAERON

"Daeron." She choked out the word she had heard when she had held his brother in her arms, which apparently was what he had shouted then, terrified.

She heard their captain snort a laugh under his breath, running a hand over his face, looking at her in disbelief.

"Yes." He hummed softly, his voice seeming calmer and gentler to her. She leaned over the book, this time she wanted to tell him something, and he immediately squatted down, looking at the letters she was pointing at.

WHY

She glanced at him with her lips tightened and he looked at her, swallowing loudly, his gaze cooled. He stood up abruptly and she was unable to make a sound, not knowing how to stop him, he walked out and left her alone, locking the door.

She tried to lift herself up on those two strange limbs, but she was falling, they seemed limp and weak to her.

She preferred to crawl, wrapped herself in her blanket and fell asleep lying against the wall, crying silently, praying to the Drowned God to take her back to the sea.

The next day, the little boy she had saved brought her food and placed it in front of her, stroking her head, saying something quietly. He then ran away as if he should not come to her and closed the door behind him.

She spotted the fish and bread on her plate and began to eat quickly, hungry and thirsty, she was given some disgusting liquid in a metal jug, but she drank it, not having much choice.

She spent the whole day lying in one place and it was only at night that she heard the sound of the lock being opened, the same man standing over her again.

He approached her slowly, crouching on the floor in front of her, massaging his chin. She held his book pressed against her chest, tried to look through it earlier, but understood nothing of it.

He gently took it from her hand.

She shuddered as he laid down on the floor just behind her, resting his cheek against her shoulder, placing the open book in front of them, pointing one by one with his finger at the letters and syllables he had spoken so that she could see them, illuminated by the moonlight.

"We - are - sai - ling - to - King's - Lan - ding." He whispered softly, and she blinked, her lips tightening, understanding enough that they were sailing somewhere far away, that she would never see home again.

She closed her eyes and wept quietly, feeling her body begin to tremble, a shudder went through her as she felt his lips on her neck.

"Don't cry." He whispered in her ear softly, warmly, tenderly, and though she didn't know what it meant, she thought he sympathised with her.

"I have no choice. If I let you go now, my grandfather would kill me. You are a chance for us." He hummed the words into her ear, his wet, warm lips trailing higher and higher, she wondered what he was actually doing, why she was getting hot from this kind of touch, why she felt a pleasant pulsing and tension between her limbs.

They both started panting as his hand slipped between her legs and began to touch her, she felt that this was a very private and intimate place, her thighs clenched involuntarily but his fingers slipped inside anyway.

She heard his every move accompanied by a loud click of her juices, with every stroke he made a pleasant warmth and tickle went through her, she felt something hard on her buttocks and moaned softly.

"− fuck −" She heard him mutter behind her, from which a shudder went through her. She sobbed in surprise when she felt his finger suddenly inside her, clasping her hand on his wrist, terrified.

He only shushed her while moving him deep inside her, rubbing him against the place from which waves of pleasure passed through her, from which she lost the remnants of her strong will.

She didn't put herself against him when she felt him lift her thigh, as something hot, big and hard pushed against her entrance from below and began to slide into her flesh, pushing her core apart with her loud cry.

His free hand held her tightly, she clenched her fingers against his skin, panting along with him as he began to move suddenly, pressing his lips to her neck, to her cheek, whispering and groaning low some words whose meaning she didn't understand, his thrusts pushing her hot, throbbing muscles to the limit.

She had no idea what was actually happening, what they were doing, but it felt good, she felt pleasure, she needed it after so many hours of terror, so she let him do what he wanted, easing down completely, moaning loudly as he turned her onto her stomach and lifted her buttocks, sliding into her with loud, wet slaps, his breathing erratic, loud and aroused, his fingers tightened on her skin.

"− I'm going to keep you for myself − you'll swell from my seed and give me offspring born from the sea − my inheritance − oh, fuck −" He mumbled out, feeling her walls begin to clench against him hungrily, a wave of pleasure shook her entire body, stupefying her and making nothing reach her, she felt something hot spill inside her, and then there were only their loud, accelerated breaths.

"− mine −"

_____

Aemond Taglist:

(bold means I couldn't tag you)

@its-actually-minicika @notnormalthings-blog @nikstrange @zenka69 @bellaisasleep @k-y-r-a-1 @g-cf2020 @melsunshine @opheliaas-stuff @chainsawsangel @iiamthehybrid @tinykryptonitewerewolf @namoreno @malfoytargaryen @qyburnsghost @aemondsdelight @persephonerinyes @fan-goddess

[notnormalthings-blog]

"Late Night Visitor" - Modern!Aemond Targaryen x Aegon's Girlfriend!Reader

a/n: request from my beloved @ophelialaufey - hope this measures up to what you had in mind bb heheheheh

Summary: Aemond has always wanted you, his big brother's girlfriend, and when he sees a chance to have you, he takes it.

TW: profanity, innuendo, she/her pronouns, afab reader, slight dubcon but not really, mask kink, knife kink, glove kink, brat taming, spanking, daddy kink, finger sucking, fingering, oral f receiving, ass eating, p in v sex, unprotected sex

Word Count: 3,500 words

Rating: 18+, MDNI

Disclaimer: I do not own any of the House of The Dragon/Fire & Blood characters nor do I claim to own them. I do not own any of the images used nor do I claim to own them.

Comments, likes, and reblogs are never required but are immensely appreciated ❤️

For the last three years, there’s been one thought echoing in Aemond Targaryen’s mind over and over.

Aegon doesn’t deserve you.

You’re the most gorgeous, sweet, funny, and witty girl he knows. He doesn’t understand how Aegon sunk his claws into you so quickly, but he hates it. Aemond liked you first. It’s fucking bullshit. He knows he could treat you better than his asshole brother does. You’re the perfect girlfriend, always so fucking supportive of Aegon, always there with open arms and a kind word. And Aegon just doesn’t appreciate it. It makes Aemond angry beyond belief. 

He hates sharing a flat with Aegon because it means you’re always there. That he doesn’t even get a chance to try to get over you. He just has to watch you being all sweet to his ingrate elder brother, hear the two of you fucking at all odd hours, that sexy voice of yours moaning Aegon’s name. He doesn’t think Aegon’s ever actually made you come. Maybe that’s just wishful thinking on his part, but he digresses.

You use your spare key and come bounding into their flat that morning, all smiles as you greet him, “Hey, Aemy!”

Gods, he loves how you call him Aemy. Aegon makes fun of him for it and he pretends that he hates it, but he loves that it’s something special between the two of you. A name only you call him. It’s almost as if you’re his girlfriend instead of Aegon’s, something he fantasizes about all too often. You greet him with a quick peck on the cheek, your soft lips grazing against his skin in a way that has his pants growing uncomfortably tight. How pathetic is he that something as simple as a kiss on the cheek gets him hard as a rock for you?

“Hi,” he says stiffly, his eye moving along your body, admiring how good you look in the blue dress you’re wearing, one that is more similar to his own eye color than Aegon’s, “You look nice. Big plans with my brother?”

“It’s the end of my midterms,” you tell him, grabbing a glass and pouring yourself some water, Aemond never once looking away from you, “Egg said we’re gonna go out to dinner. How’ve you been? I feel like I haven’t seen you in a while.”

He clears his throat, his gaze lingering at the hint of cleavage that shows through your dress before he replies, “Just been busy. No time to mess around like the two of you.”

Aemond feels guilty for a fleeting moment at the slightly wounded look on your face, wondering if he pressed his lips to yours if he could kiss his way to forgiveness, if he could just grab you and bend you over the kitchen counter and-

“Anyway,” you say, smiling once again, “Is Egg here? Our reservations are in half an hour.”

“He left,” Aemond says dryly, looking you in the eye, “Party at Sigma Tau. Guess he forgot about your little dinner.”

“Oh,” you mumble, “Okay, well I’m sure he didn’t mean to. He’s just forgetful sometimes.”

“Very forgetful,” Aemond supplies before speaking again, his voice a bit more gentle, “You don’t deserve to be treated like this, you know. Like you’re second best.”

“Egg doesn’t do that,” you protest weakly, though there’s no real conviction behind your words.

Aemond knows he’s struck a chord with you and decides to drive his point home, “Remember when he forgot your anniversary last year? Your birthday?”

“Stop,” you mumble quietly, “Aemy, don’t be mean.”

“I’m not being mean, I’m being honest,” he retorts sharply, “Maybe you should think about what I’m saying and reevaluate your relationship.” Aemond pauses before resting a hand on your shoulder, noticing how the way your lower lip trembles - fuck, you’re so pretty when you cry, “Look, I’m saying this as someone who cares about you, yeah? Just… Just think about it.”

You nod, “I know. I know you’re right. I’m gonna head home. Could you just tell Egg I stopped by?”

Aemond nods, pulling you into a tight hug, burying his face in the crook of your neck, thinking to himself how perfect you feel pressed up against him like this, his arms wrapped around your waist and yours wrapped around his neck. This is how it was meant to be. He watches you walk down the hall to your own flat a few doors down, waving as you lock your door for the night.

When Aegon comes back, completely inebriated, barely able to stand on his feet, Aemond is tasked with helping his older brother to his bed. He lets out a huff of annoyance, his face set in a grim line as Aegon starts talking about you. He could just about strangle his brother. He wants nothing more than to punch him in the face.

“She’s so good to me,” Aegon rambles, “Always there for me.”

Then why aren’t you there for her? Aemond wants to ask. Aegon’s words do nothing to help the crush that Aemond has been harboring for years now, even before you started dating his brother. Jealousy consumes the younger Targaryen and he grits his teeth, his mind filled with thoughts of how it should be him holding you, him kissing you and making you feel good. He knows he could make you feel better than Aegon ever could, the drunken piece of shit.

“Such a good fucking kisser,” he says, falling into his bed, “Lips are so soft, so sweet, gods, I could just kiss her forever, you know? And don’t even ask about how it feels when she’s sucking my-”

“Can you shut the fuck up?” Aemond snarls, “I don’t want to hear about your girlfriend sucking your dick, okay? I don’t care! I don’t give a fuck, Aegon!”

Aegon ignores his younger brother’s outburst and continues, “She looks so sweet and innocent but she’s just so fuckin’ kinky, you know what I mean? She’s secretly such a little freak and I love it.”

Now that… That captures Aemond’s attention. Aemond’s lips part in surprise and he listens silently as Aegon continues his rant.

“Get this, little bro, she even has a fucking mask kink. Such a freak. She asked if I’d get a Ghostface mask and gloves and a fuckin’ prop knife and sneak into her apartment. Isn’t that wild? She’s nuts.”

“W-What did you say?” Aemond asks, his mind filling with fantasies of donning that mask and having his way with you, “Say that again.”

Aegon repeats himself, already falling asleep, face buried in his pillow. And Aemond just stands there, frozen in place. You are literally the woman of his dreams. This little fantasy you expressed to Aegon is something he’s always wanted to do, something he himself has always fantasized about. A wicked idea takes root in his mind.

What if he stole Aegon’s Ghostface mask and made your fantasy a reality himself? He knows he’d do a better job at it than his oafish brother. Aegon doesn’t have a creative bone in his body. He wouldn’t be able to satisfy you the way Aemond would, bring your fantasy to life the way Aemond would.

He watches his brother lay there, snoring like a bear, and sees the Ghostface mask, gloves, and prop knife on his nightstand. A little smirk flashes across Aemond’s lips and he follows his instincts, grabbing them and resolving to claim you in the way you need and deserve.

Aemond stands outside your apartment, donning the Ghostface mask, the leather gloves, holding the knife in his hand. He takes a breath before grabbing the spare key to your flat out of his jean pocket, unlocking it quietly. He steps inside, completely silent as he starts walking through the apartment. He hears the shower running, and smirks to himself under the mask as he thinks about how vulnerable you are, naked in your shower and not suspecting a thing. He’s spent so long wishing he was Aegon, imagining it was him fucking you, that this is almost too much for him to bear. Aemond’s adrenaline is pumping the closer he gets to you, hearing you singing along to your shower playlist.

He gets closer and closer to your bathroom, opening the door, his hand trembling in anticipation. It’s steamy and fogged up to the point he can hardly see six inches in front of him. You must really enjoy hot showers, he muses. His heart beats out of his chest as he sees your silhouette behind the glass door of the shower. He watches as you rinse out your hair, your curves on full display for him, his pants growing uncomfortably tight as he weighs his options. He could just burst in there and surprise you, but he wants this to be perfect. So he steps back outside, watching as you grab a towel and wrap it around yourself before exiting the shower. He hides behind the door, waiting for you to enter your bedroom before following after you.

His breath catches in his throat as he watches you drop the towel and change into a pair of pink cotton panties with a little bow on the front and a matching tank top, no doubt ready to go to sleep for the night. For a moment, he just stares at you, frozen. You look so fucking perfect. Everything in him is dying to reach out and touch you. He watches as you get into your bed, laying back and grabbing your phone and scrolling through it. Aemond walks slowly to the side of your bed, admiring the strip of skin that’s visible between where your tank top ends and your panties start. He swallows thickly, just standing there and staring for a moment.

Then, a loose floorboard creaks, breaking the silence. Your head whips up and you see him, yelping slightly.

“Seven hells, Egg,” you say, clutching your chest, “You scared the shit out of me!” Aemond stares at you, watching the little smile that plays on your lips as you admire him, “I can’t believe you actually did it, you look so good…”

Aemond feels his face flush beneath the mask as he takes another step closer to you, standing over the side of your bed, tilting his head to the side as he stares at you. You move to sit on your knees, grinning up at him.

“Oh, no, Ghostface, what’re you doing?” you ask, feigning panic, “You’re not gonna hurt me, are you?” You give him the cutest little pout, one that has him struggling to stop himself from palming at his hard-on over his jeans, “I wanna be in the sequel.”

He moves the knife to brush some of your hair off of your face, tracing the blade across your cheekbone, watching in admiration as you shiver ever so slightly, “No, baby, I’m not going to hurt you. I came for something else.”

His voice is lower than usual as he tries to disguise it, not wanting you to recognize him quite yet. You sigh dramatically, shaking your head as you continue playing along with the ruse, looking as if you’re really enjoying it.

“Oh, Ghostface, I can’t, I have a boyfriend…”

“He’s not here right now,” Aemond hums, dragging the knife down to your cleavage, then tracing it over one of your breasts, smirking to himself as your nipples begin to pebble as he moves the knife along them, “Now be quiet, baby, I’m in charge here.”

You bite your lip as he moves to tilt your chin up, his gloved hands caressing your cheek. You lean into his touch and Aemond smirks to himself. You’re so fucking responsive, he loves it.

“Open your mouth,” he demands, tracing your lower lip with a gloved finger.

You part your lips, closing them around his fingers when he pushes them into your mouth, gazing up at him through your lashes. Aemond lets out a low groan, barely able to hold himself together as you suck on his fingers. He nearly lets out a whine of protest as you move your mouth off of him and giggle to yourself. You move your hands to push up the fabric of his tee shirt, letting out a quiet gasp.

“Damn, babe, Have you been hitting the gym? You look amazing…” Aemond can barely move as he feels your soft hands tracing his abs, “I love it, you look so good.”

You let out a squeal of surprise as Aemond manhandles you, flipping you onto your stomach.

“Babe, I wanna see you…”

“No. I’m in charge here, remember?”

You nod, letting out a soft moan as he caresses the flesh of your thigh, fingers moving to the waistband of your panties, “Yes, Daddy…”

Aemond’s heart stops for a moment, his eye going wide. Never, in all the times he’s overheard you and Aegon, have you ever called him “Daddy”. And it sends a thrill through him. He removes your panties, admiring the exposed skin of your ass. His hands moved to squeeze at your plump flesh, a low groan escaping his lips. He lets his hand fly, spanking you hard on your ass, grinning at the way your flesh jiggles against the impact and the little whine you let out.

“Daddy… Stop teasing,” you whimper as he smacks you again, this time on the other cheek, running a hand over the abused flesh to soothe it.

“Don’t rush me, baby,” he murmurs, “Wanna make it good for you.”

“You’re so mean,” you grumble under your breath, feeling his gloved fingers tease your pussy, bucking your hips against him, chasing the feeling, but he just pulls them away.

Then, when you don’t expect it, he pushes two fingers inside of you. You let out a surprised little mewl as he moves his fingers in and out of you at a breakneck pace, the feeling of his gloves running against your sweet spot being almost too much to handle. It’s like you’re an addict and he’s the only way you can get your fix. He brings you closer and closer to the edge, your pussy squeezing his fingers so tight, but just as you’re about to reach your peak, he pulls away with a dark little chuckle.

You let out a pathetic little whine, glancing back at him over your shoulder, wiggling your ass ever so slightly as if to tempt him with a cheeky grin, “Please be nice to your baby girl, Daddy…”

Aemond is almost delirious with lust as he demands, “On your stomach, baby.”

You sigh and listen, grabbing your pillow, hearing the bed creak slightly as he climbs on it, pulling you up so that you’re balanced on all fours. Aemond tosses the gloves aside, his bare hands feeling your soft, smooth skin.

“Babe, your hands have gotten so rough,” you comment, shivering slightly, “It’s so sexy…”

He lets out a quiet laugh, removing the mask and placing it to the side with care, moving to press a kiss to your soft flesh, “You like it rough, baby? I’ll give you rough.”

You gasp as he grabs you and buries his tongue inside your cunt, a loud moan ripping from your lips as he laps at your folds eagerly, holding your thighs apart. You grab your pillow, desperate for some form of purchase as he fucks you with his tongue, dragging it along your folds, one of his hands moving up to tease your clit, rubbing at it agonizingly slow. Your cries of “Daddy, please” spur him on as he continues devouring you. Your entire body trembles in his grip, your sweet moans and mewls driving him to move even faster, circling your sensitive nub, his tongue dragging against your walls as you finally spill yourself on his tongue with a near scream.

Aemond doesn’t even give you a moment’s respite before burying his tongue in your ass, making you bury your face in your pillow as he moves his tongue along your puckered hole, pushing it inside, the sensation being altogether new and thrilling. He fucks you with his fingers as he continues to taste you in this exciting new way, your last orgasm leaving you sensitive to his touch, your second climax hitting you faster and harder than the first. You’ve never experienced this before, and gods, you want it again. It feels so wrong and yet so write at the same time as his tongue moves in and out of you, his fingers filling you up so perfectly as you spill yourself on them.

As you start to turn over, Aemond quickly grabs his mask, putting it back on just as you face him. He immediately makes quick work of your skimpy little tank top, lifting it up over your head and tossing it aside. Aemond undoes his jeans, just enough to free his cock, already achingly hard for you, leaking precum from the tip. He gives it a few quick tugs before smacking his cockhead against your clit, loving the way you squirm away from him, only to go completely pliant in his grasp as he sheathes himself inside you.

“Daddy,” you whine, “You’re so big, oh my gods… Never felt like this before.”

Aemond knows he’s more well-endowed than Aegon, but hearing you whining his name, squeezing around his cock like this as you tell him how big he is? That’s something else entirely. He grabs the knife, holding it to your neck as he begins snapping his hips against yours, loving the sweet little noises of pleasure you make, the way your legs wrap around him.

“Daddy, feels so good…”

“Fuck, baby,” he moans, squeezing one of your tits, the knife still held to your neck, staring down at you through the mask, watching as your face twists in please, “You look so fucking pretty, all fucked out like this.”

You gaze up at him, dazed, lips parted as he continues slamming into you, over and over, the tip of his cock brushing against your sweet spot just barely, making you cry out, “Fuck, Daddy, please, right there!”

He renews his ministrations, his thrusts growing faster, sloppier, deeper the closer he gets to his own end. He feels like everything in his life has been leading to this one moment, you laying beneath him, crying out for him, begging for him, your tits bouncing in time with your hips as he fucks you, leaving you a nearly incoherent mess.

“Gonna come for me, pretty girl?” he murmurs, moving his hand away from your breast to circle your clit once more, “Gonna soak my cock like a good little girl?”

“Yes, Daddy…” you nearly sob, tears pricking at your eyes, one escaping and trailing down your cheek.

Aemond wishes he wasn’t wearing this fucking mask so he could’ve licked it off of you.

His hips stutter slightly as you reach your peak, squeezing him impossibly tight as you reach your end with a cry of, “Yes, Daddy, fuck!”

Aemond reaches his own end, cumming deep inside of you with a low groan of your name, collapsing against you, his body weight feeling almost like a warm blanket as it envelops you. He gathers you into his arms, holding you tight, like he’s afraid all of this will end if he lets you go. You’re shivering, overstimulated, and so he quickly gets up, grabbing you a glass of water and a towel, wiping you off with care.

That’s when you say it, “I know it was you, Aemy.”

His eye goes wide as you grab the mask off his face, “I… I’m so sorry…”

“Don’t be,” you say simply, “I knew all along. I… I wanted it.”

Aemond stares at you, pleasantly surprised, a smile spreading across his face as he leans in, brushing his nose against yours, “Yeah? You wanted me too, pretty girl?”

“Always did… I just said yes to Aegon because I figured you didn’t want me, Aemy,” you murmur, pressing your lips to his.

Aemond holds you close, pressing himself against you, “Fuck, sweet girl, you make it impossible for a man not to want you. Wanted you since the day I saw you.”

You giggle, feeling him mouth at your neck, biting down and leaving his marks against your skin, “You know, Egg doesn’t even have a daddy kink. That’s how I knew it was you. Also your,” you glance downward meaningfully before biting your lip, “Abs, you know.”

“Cheeky little minx,” Aemond growls, pushing you back down onto the mattress, “First thing we’re going to do after you break up with my brother is I’m going to teach you some fucking manners, baby girl.”

“You promise?” you smirk, pulling him in close, kissing his jaw, “I can live with that, Daddy.”

“Yeah, I know you can, little one,” Aemond chuckles, feeling himself growing hard against your thigh, already planning on claiming you again, “Don’t think we’re anywhere near done.”