#For all my aemond girlies | Explore Tumblr Posts and Blogs

fioiswriting · 5 months

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Muña | one shot

Summary : Marrying your bastard nephew to mend fences between your families wasn't exactly what you had planned. But when you realise that Jace has grown into a strong and handsome man, you might be ready to rethink your plans.

Rating : Explicit, 18+ MDNI

Pairing : Jacaerys Velaryon x Aunt!Reader (Reader is Alicent and Visery’s daughter. She’s one year younger than Aegon)

TW : p in v sex, mommy kink, sub!Jace (kinda), Dom!Reader (but they both switch tbh), inappropriate use of the word muña, oral (f receiving), afab reader, incest, unprotected sex, not proofread

Words count : 8064

AN : hi everyone!! I’ve been very busy lately so I haven't had time to update BUT I’ve been working a bit on various fics. Sorry to all my Aemond girlies but today it’s time for some Jace x reader. It’s a fic I’ve written for my gf who’s turning into a Jace girlie 🤭 It's full of indecency and inappropriate things.

Also English is not my first language, so sorry for the grammar mistakes !!

Enjoy 🖤

The gardens had become your refuge over the past few days. Under the shade of the trees, on the soft grass, you had found a peaceful haven away from the excitement caused by the arrival of your half-sister and her herd of bastards. The Red Keep made you feel suffocated. And seeing your mother pacing back and forth, running left and right, didn't help. You had to calm her down. You had to keep an eye on your older brother, making sure he didn't slip away into the maze of Flea Bottom for the umpteenth time. You had to hold your family together, and you were tired.

You almost envied Daeron, in Old Town, away from the hustle and bustle of the court.

At least no one would think of looking for you where you were now. And you could enjoy a moment's respite, poring over the thick book you had borrowed from Aemond's library. Had he known that you had entered his room without warning, had he known that you had dared to disturb the perfect tidiness of his precious bookshelves, he would probably have threatened to feed you to Vhagar. But what he didn't know couldn't hurt him. Besides, you could perhaps find a way to pay him back later.

For now, you just needed to be left alone.

You stretched out, arms reaching for the sky. The sun's rays crept through the leaves, their warmth leaving a pleasant sensation on your face. Summer was back and you were delighted. The gentle breeze that ruffled the corners of your book and occasionally lifted the silver curls around your face gave you a sense of freedom. You deftly kicked off your shoes and lay back for a moment, your eyes closed.

Footsteps echoed on the cobbled floor, and you sighed in annoyance. You didn't have to open your eyes to see who it was. You recognised his footsteps. So, you kept your eyes closed. With any luck, he would continue his way and leave you alone to find someone else to annoy.

"Hey, my favourite little sister," Aegon exclaimed as he landed heavily beside you, his body brushing against yours. You opened one eye to acknowledge him, then closed it again, your arms crossed behind your head. "Aren't you supposed to be keeping an eye on me?" he insisted when he saw you weren't answering him. "You know, make sure I don't run off or end up drunk somewhere…Stuff like that. Which our mother probably asked you to do."

A smile tugged at the corner of your lips. It was true that Aegon was terribly annoying. But of all your siblings, Aegon was still your favourite.

You resigned yourself to rolling onto your stomach, your chin resting on your hands and your head tilted sideways to face him. "My dear brother," you replied sarcastically. "Unable to occupy yourself, as usual." He rolled his eyes before reaching out to remove a leaf that had gotten caught in your hair. He subtly ran his fingers through one of your curls, his touch as light as a feather. "And why have you decided to come and disturb my moment of peace, tell me?"

He blew the leaf away and you watched as it flew away on the breeze. Your big brother's eyes shone with mischief. "Why would I need a specific reason to spend time with my favourite sister?" he added, and it was your turn to roll your eyes. He moved to lie next to you, his body practically pressed against yours.

If you moved a few centimetres, your elbows would touch his.

You'd always been inseparable, and the habit had stuck over time, even when the teenage years had driven you apart. But in those moments, you were like two children again, ready to run away from Septa lessons to get into mischief in the castle.

“Because you always have a reason for everything,” you replied, and he looked at you with a fake hurt look that was greatly exaggerated. With Aegon it was easy. It had always been easy. He wasn't as serious as Aemond, he wasn't as strange as Helena, and he wasn't as far away as Daeron.

"I just wanted to make sure my little sister was all ready to meet her betrothed tonight." He paused. "And also, that she hadn't suddenly decided to become a pious woman and follow the path of the Seven." His voice lowered. You poked him in the ribs. "See? I'm a caring big brother. I care about you."

"Shut up, Aegon," you replied. He laughed. Then he rolled onto his back, arms crossed behind his head, one leg bent, and he closed his eyes. The golden rays caught in his long lashes made him look like an angel.

Everything he wasn't.

'Well?' He added. “Excited to see Jacaerys Strong?”

You sat cross-legged. The bracelets on your wrists clinkled. Aegon knew how much the idea horrified you. You had no desire to marry Jace, to sacrifice your freedom for your half-sister's bastard eldest son. You had no desire to leave the Red Keep, to follow him to Dragonstone and spend your life bearing him children. It was your mother and Rhaenyra's idea, of course.

The union of the eldest daughter of one and the eldest son of the other, as a way of repairing the rift that has grown between your families over time.

As if you were destined to mend fences, to undo the mistakes of your own parents.

It wasn't that you hated Jace. But he was your older sister's son, a bastard who had pretensions he shouldn't have precisely because he was a bastard. He was the model son, the perfect son, the prodigy son, the one who always did everything right. It irritated you. He irritated you with his brown curls and his awkward posture.

It wasn't fair that your father showered him with praise when he could barely remember your own name.

You stood up, smoothing the folds of your red dress to make yourself more presentable, and you caught your brother's eyes on your body, his eyes riveted on the thin fabric that revealed your delicate shapes. God, you loved to play with that. You knew how to get men wrapped around your finger with your sweet, innocent air, and Aegon was the first victim. You approached him and held out your arm to help him up, which he accepted by pulling himself to his feet heavily. After putting your shoes back on, you bent down to pick up the thick book in your arms. If you lost it, you could be sure that Aemond would be angry with you. And that was a risk you didn't want to take.

"Perhaps you're right, lēkia. I'd better go and make myself more presentable for my betrothed. I wouldn't wish to disgrace our family." And with that you turned back, your hair swirling in the air behind you as Aegon watched you go with a small smile on his face.

You knew how much Aegon hated being ignored, and even more so when it came from his little sister. You knew that he would return with his tail between his legs and a pleading look on his face. Between his constant whining and his dirty jokes, he gave you little respite, but it was a game that had developed between you; a game that, deep down, you enjoyed.

He was so predictable.

“If I had known you liked strong men, I would have dyed my hair,” you heard him shout from behind you. Aegon wasn't the least bit shy. You shook your head, your silver locks bouncing.

"Get lost, you moron," you replied without even turning around.

The meal in honour of your betrothal promised to be exciting.

***

As soon as he saw you, your nephew rose to pull the chair beside him in a gallant gesture, and you found yourself watching him. Really watching him. His long, broad fingers on the back of the chair. His dark locks falling around his face. His precise features; his straight nose and deep eyes and square jaw. You hadn't realised how much your nephew had changed. He'd grown up too, and he was now a good head taller than you.

He had become a strong man, indeed.

But you refused to admit that Jacaerys Strong had become quite pleasant to look at.

"Princess," he said, pushing the chair back for you to sit down. Fingers brushed the skin of your partly bare shoulders. The touch had lasted a fraction of a second, enough to make you wonder if it had been a figment of your imagination.

"Lord Strong," you replied in greeting. If the words hurt him, Jace didn't show it. Always the perfect son. What would it take to push him over the edge? To crack the shell he'd built around himself? To shatter the image of the gentleman?

To your right, Aegon was already seated. He was holding a glass of wine between his fingers while Aemond seemed to be lecturing him about something you couldn't understand. The exchange between you and Jace had obviously not escaped his notice, and the corner of his mouth had already curled into a smirk. You knew what it meant.

His silence was full of implications, louder than any words.

Your mother had lectured him before dinner, warned him to behave because that was what was expected of him, and she was counting on you to make him obey.

But your older brother didn't say anything. He simply raised his glass in your direction, his lips forming a word that you couldn't read. You weren't sure if you were relieved or disappointed.

You looked at your nephew. He had donned a gambison in the colours of the Velaryons, and you couldn't help but smile at the irony of the situation.

After all, a bastard in blue was still a bastard.

"Enjoying King's Landing?" you asked your betrothed, in an attempt to start a conversation. His attention turned to you, his eyes widening slightly in surprise.

“It's quite different from what I remember,” he replied, his voice a little lower than usual, his warm eyes meeting yours. “But of course it all depends on the company you are with."

You hesitated, suddenly unsure.

You hated what the sound of his voice did to you. You hated the way his eyes suddenly made you feel vulnerable.

Fuck.

“It all depends on the company, indeed. And do you find yourself in good company tonight, nephew?" You gave him a defiant look, as if to judge his reaction.

As if to unveil what he held within himself.

“I'm not quite sure. Should I?” He paused, one eyebrow raised. He had taken the bait. “What would yousay?”

His eyes sparkled with something you couldn't quite put your finger on. It wasn't the malice you usually found in Aegon's eyes when he wanted to tease you. It wasn't the gleam that animated his mind when he came up with a new plan for you to cover.

"I would say I'm in pretty strong company," you replied as you took your cup, a satisfied smile tugging at the corner of your lips that you hid behind the glass.

You were cruel, giving him no respite, you knew. But you admired his composure. He hadn't cracked yet.

You knew men who were less patient.

Jace leaned towards you. A slight tilt of the head, just to make sure you were the only one to hear him. As if he wanted to share a secret with you. “Careful, Aunt,” he began, his voice suddenly quieter than before. It was almost a whisper. “I might begin to think you enjoy my company.”

You know I don't, you wanted to reply, but Jace had already straightened up as if nothing had happened, his head turned away from you. Out of the corner of your eye you saw Baela give him a questioning look, and an unfamiliar sensation stirred in the pit of your stomach.

An unpleasant heat.

A hint of irritation.

You were annoyed, and you didn't know why.

“Look how handsome your betrothed has made himself for you,” Aegon sneered as he reached for the decanter and leaned in close to your ear. “A true Velaryon, isn't he?” He huffed.

You wanted to slap him on the thigh, make him swallow his mockery.

“If you think he's so handsome, I can happily leave him to you,” you replied, and Aegon's eyes widened. You saw him take a sip of wine, and something deep inside you told you he probably wasn't opposed to the idea. His usual mischievous smile was hidden behind the wine glass, but there was no mistaking his eyes.

Aegon had that tendency to give himself away, and you could read him like an open book.

The meal proved to be as boring as you had imagined. Small talk exchanged over fake smiles. An illusory moment in which everything seemed to be going well for one evening.

You weren't fooled, and you knew it was all a facade. You knew your family well enough to understand that the slightest spark could set things alight. You knew your brothers well enough to realise that all it would take was a simple glance between them to liven up an evening they found dull.

You just hoped they wouldn't cause too much trouble tonight.

To your left, Jace was still deep in conversation with Baela. They had that kind of complicity that made your blood boil inside; a shared laugh that sounded in your ear like the squeaky music you hated. You frowned. It was you, his betrothed. It was you, not Baela, and you didn't understand why that statement was suddenly so important.

After all, you despised this union. You hated Jace. You had no desire to promise him the rest of your life.

Jace was a bastard, and you deserved better.

So why did the sight of him touching Baela's hand cause a twinge of jealousy in your body?

His fingers brushed over hers absently. A light touch on her knuckles.

And all you felt was fire.

And then. Then, your fingers slipped under the wooden table.

You knew you were playing with fire. And you knew that if anyone paid too much attention to what you were doing, they would see that you weren't exactly behaving like the perfect Princess Targaryen you were supposed to be.

But you didn't care.

You let your fingers wander, running along the outside of Jace's thigh before moving up to settle in the hollow that connected his thigh to his hip. With a faint touch, your fingertips brushed the inside of his thigh, and then lower, tracing small circles through the fabric that was already beginning to tighten.

Jace almost choked.

He spat out the contents of his glass, his dark gaze fixed on you. Everyone had fallen silent, their heads turned towards him. Rhaenyra's eyebrows were furrowed in concern.

And you hadn't removed your hand.

An innocent smile lit up your face, your eyes sparkling with mischief. You wondered if Aegon could read you. If he could see that look on your face, so similar to his own. That distinctive feature you shared.

Deciding to play with your prey a little longer, you put on your best fake concerned face, pretending to be worried about his health.

"Are you all right, Jacaerys?" you asked, your voice a little higher than usual as your nails dug into the fabric of his breeches. Not to hurt him, of course. Just enough to wake a certain part of him, just enough to remind him that you were his betrothed.

He cleared his throat and coughed again.

“I swallowed wrong,” he replied.

Your fingers crept a little higher, trying to explore his upper thigh, where you knew your nephew would be sensitive. You didn't want to be rational tonight, you wanted to let the fire take over and consume you.

You wanted to let the sleeping dragon within you awaken.

The taste of the forbidden was divine, and the heat spreading through your lower belly was too delicious to stop now.

"Be careful, mandianna. We're not married yet." you said. We're not married yet and look where I've got my fingers. You kept your thoughts to yourself. "I wouldn't want to find myself a widow already," you replied in High Valyrian, amused, and Jace looked at you with his big brown eyes, somewhere between anger and excitement, embarrassment and curiosity.

Under the table, out of sight, your hand brushed the stretched fabric where you could read the confirmation of what he was feeling, the manifestation of his desire.

He was hard.

Perfect.

It was you who provoked this.

He responded to your touch.

You felt a familiar breath on the back of your neck and realised Aegon was leaning against you again. He was pretending to serve you some of the vegetables that had just been brought in for the starter, taking the opportunity to whisper in your ear as he did so well. "Try to be more discreet, little sister," he chuckled softly, his voice nothing more than a whisper to make sure no one heard you. Discreetly, he nodded to where your hand still rested on your nephew's thigh. He tilted his head. "Rhaenyra is right in front of us. Do you think she can see what you're doing to her son under the table?"

He put on his best disinterested face. As if the words exchanged between you were nothing more than banalities.

As if he weren't commenting on the indecent deeds you were doing under the table, unworthy of a girl of your rank.

"Shut up, Aegon," you replied, trying to keep a straight face. You didn't want him drawing any more of your family's attention to you, especially when you hadn't finished playing.

Your big brother gave you a knowing wink, as if to promise you that your secret was safe with him.

And you decided to continue entertaining yourself with the new game you'd invented.

You were bold, and you decided that if Jace didn't already know it, he would find out soon enough.

***

It wasn't that Jace was disappointed with his betrothal. You were divine, and the dress you wore made you so regal that he couldn't keep his attention anywhere but on your body, on your cleavage so gracefully offered to his gaze.

It was precisely why he had turned to Baela, why he had tried to distract himself with their conversation, why he had desperately tried to find something else to hold on to.

Because you were making him lose his footing. And that was a feeling he hated.

No, Jace did not regret his betrothal. You were everything a man could want; you were beautiful, you were regal, you were clever, and above all, you were a Targaryen. A princess. The king's daughter.

The only problem was you were distant and elusive.

Jace remembered your pretensions and mockeries from his childhood. He remembered the little brat you were, following in your older brother's footsteps. He remembered a little girl with a strong temper, who knew what she wanted. He remembered the pranks, not just the ones he'd taken part in, like the Pink Dread, but the ones that had turned against him because of you and Aegon, too.

It was clear that the little girl you had once been, taller than him, with long silver curls and an air of self-assurance far too confident for her young age, had grown into a beautiful young woman.

And that was something Jace hadn't considered.

He couldn't concentrate on his conversation with Baela, not when your fingers were digging through the linen of his breeches into the flesh of his thigh, as if to remind him to whom he had been promised.

Your fingers, slender, light, burning against his inner thigh.

He clenched his jaw.

All around him, the words and faces of the guests mingled in a swirl of sound and colour. Fuck.

Fuck.

His breeches were really becoming too tight.

You'd dared to do that. You'd dared to slip your fingers under the table, in front of everyone, and Jace didn't know whether to admire your audacity or wrap his fingers around your wrist and force you to take them off.

Suddenly he felt hot, a familiar warmth spreading between his loins.

He wasn't sure he could get up, not with his member pulsing between his thighs.

Fuck. You weren't supposed to make him feel like this. He wasn't supposed to feel such a desire for you when you weren't officially married.

This dinner was about officially declaring your betrothal, not consummating a union not yet pronounced.

He was trying to calm down. He tried to ground himself back into reality. Perhaps by staring intently at the contents of his plate he could ignore the sensation of your fingers rising dangerously high; the desperate need to finally have your fingers wrapped around his manhood.

His knees slammed into the table in a sudden movement.

Your fingers had just brushed the bulge that had formed between his thighs.

And he needed more, infinitely more.

You couldn't have the cruelty to arouse such lust in him and then leave him like that. He would never forgive you.

"Stop that," he growled in your direction, low enough for no one else to hear.

But you still had that damn innocent smile, that damn audacity to act as if nothing had happened.

"I don't know what you're talking about, mandianna." Nephew. The sound of the High Valyrian rolling off your tongue sent a wave of heat between his legs. Seven hells, you were going to be the death of him.

He wanted more.

He needed more.

More of your fingers around him, more of your tongue against his length, more of that innocent look on your face as you knelt before him, more of your tight cunt.

Jace was on the verge of losing it. You'd made him a slave to his own desire. You had closed your claws around him and he knew there was no turning back now.

“If you play with fire too much, you might get burned, muña," Jace retorted, leaning towards you, and he felt the imperceptible movement of your hand twitching at the threat. Aunt.

Despite his dwindling strength, King Viserys tried to make a speech about family, betrothal, and a whole host of other undoubtedly honourable values, but neither you nor Jace paid any attention. You were caught up in your own game.

Then Jace stood up, forcing you to remove your hand.

You could see he was uncomfortable, for you knew where to look, for you knew what you had done.

You knew he had a painful erection between his thighs, and it was all because of you.

But you could only admire your nephew's composure.

“To my uncles, Prince Aegon and Prince Aemond. I have fond memories of our shared childhood.” His glass between his fingers, he raised it in the direction of his uncles, then turned to you. "And to my sweet and beautiful bride-to-be, who I'm sure will never cease to surprise me with her daring and surprising side. May our marriage be filled with joy and satisfaction".

The toasts continued, as did the meal. The servants had brought the rest of the dishes consisting of steaming meat and tasty garnishes. It was almost too joyous, almost too happy to be real. As if there was a threat lurking somewhere in the corner.

But Jace still had to teach you a lesson.

The music started, the sound of instruments filling the room. Jace apologised to Baela and walked over to his aunt. His other aunt. Your sister.

And you felt the anger return; the same inner turmoil as before.

Jace had held out his hand to Helaena and led her to dance a little further away. You immediately exchanged a questioning look with your brother, who had also stared at Jace in disbelief as he had walked away on your little sister's arm.

"So?" Aegon began. "It seems your betrothed didn't appreciate your little game?" You glared at him, but he just scoffed. "If he changes his mind... You know I like it."

You wondered if you could do the same. You wondered if you could ask Aegon to dance and if Jace would feel the same bubbling inside him, the same jealousy coursing through his veins.

You hated that feeling.

You shouldn't feel that kind of emotion, especially not for him.

You obviously didn't see it, too focused on your own annoyance, but Jace kept glancing in your direction, as if to make sure you saw him.

He wanted to make you jealous. He wanted to fuel the feeling he'd identified in you. He wanted to catch you at your own game. And one thing was certain, Jace hadn't played all his cards yet.

Your cheeks flushed with embarrassment.

After a moment that seemed an eternity, your betrothed returned to sit beside you, Helena going back to her own seat. You were less and less able to hide your annoyance, and no doubt Jace noticed, for he leaned towards you, a satisfied look on his face. "Your sister is very sweet," he murmured. He knew very well that this simple phrase would be enough to send you over the edge.

You liked attention. You liked compliments. You liked to be praised.

You said nothing back. But Aegon had his trademark grin, the one that stretched his lips when he had a devious plan, and he was already getting up on the pretext of serving Baela some wine so he could whisper in his nephew's ear. "I know my little sister can be particularly demanding.” He paused. “And difficult to tame. So if you ever need any advice... Or demonstrations…"

Jace was fuming, but he knew he had to keep his cool. It was Aegon, typical Aegon, to push his buttons, to succeed in making him suddenly unsure of himself, to make his mind confused. His fingers closed around his cup, his jaw clenched, and it took all his self-control not to throw the contents in his uncle's face.

He didn't even look at Aegon, who had returned to his seat with a triumphant smile.

But you felt something under the table. Something slipped between the folds of your dress, along your skin, discreetly, lightly, a delicious touch against your skin that made you want more.

Your eyes widened.

Jace.

Jace the perfect son. Jace the model son.

Jace slipping his fingers under your dress, touching the skin of your thigh, rising dangerously high where you could already feel the wetness forming in the crease between your thighs.

This was the moment he snapped, you knew it. You hadn't heard your brother's words, you had only seen him lean towards your betrothed, but you knew he must have struck a chord with Jacaerys Velaryon. That he had probably touched his weak spot.

Or perhaps you were just getting your comeuppance. After teasing him, after making him hard and desperate.

Jace moved his hand, tracing the space where your skin was soft and tender, all the way up your thigh, with a slow, gentle touch. His hand moved further towards the centre of you, where you were sensitive, and he brushed against your crotch. He didn't even need to apply any pressure with his fingertips to tell that you were wet.

Your hips automatically moved towards his hand in search of more contact, causing you to wiggle in your chair. All you wanted to do was grab his wrist, force him to slide his fingers under the fabric separating you, force him to touch you right here. But you were still at dinner and the game was becoming far too dangerous.

"I told you to be careful," Jace whispered as he withdrew his fingers and resumed his serious gaze, his fingers fidgeting on the wood of the table. “Two can play at this game.”

And then perhaps the Seven heard you. Perhaps they were offering you a way out. To be honest, you weren't sure if it was a miracle or a curse. For Aemond had risen, and he had done what he did best; he had made a mocking and provocative speech to his nephews.

Everything happened quickly. Jace and Luke leapt to their feet to answer the provocation, Aemond and Aegon were ready to fight back, and even Baela and Rhaena were prepared to defend their family. You had no time to move, no time to react, for dinner was already over, and so was your little game of cat and mouse with Jace.

This was your way out, you knew it. You were tired of sitting around a table listening to boring speeches. And the entertainment that had consisted of sliding your fingers under the table to push Jacaerys Strong over the edge had now turned against you.

"I shall rest," you warned your mother, who was deep in conversation with Rhaenyra, her features wrinkled with worry. "Tonight's events have left me somewhat tired. And I think a night's rest would do me a world of good." She nodded, stroking your hair, and you knew instinctively what she was thinking. Always the perfect daughter.

And as you passed through the heavy door of the dining room, you hurried off in a direction that was not that of your room.

Oh, but if she knew.

***

Thankfully, the corridor was deserted. You didn't have the slightest desire to run into a guard who would ask you where you were going or escort you to your room for security reasons.

Your steps were as discreet as possible on the stone floor, like those of a small mouse. You moved quickly, stealthily, almost on tiptoe.

Only the crackle of the fire broke the heavy silence between the cold walls, where the dancing shadows of the flames distorted.

You slowed your pace. You had a doubt. You weren't sure which door was the one you were looking for.

And then suddenly, as you reached the end of the corridor, you felt a hand grab your wrist and pull you against the wall, away from prying eyes. A strong grip, as if it didn't want to let you vanish again.

Jace was holding you between the wall and his own body. Despite the darkness, you could see his eyes shining in the candlelight, fueled by a devouring hunger you didn't know he possessed. He stared at you for a moment. His eyes in yours. A tension hung between you, burning, ready to consume you both, and you were completely willing.

Gently yet firmly he turned your body. Your chest against the cold wall, your back against his warm chest, and you pulled your hips back to provoke him. You wouldn't succumb so easily, not to Jacaerys.

He pressed himself against you, moving his pelvis forward so you could feel his hard member against the top of your buttocks.

"Do you feel what you're doing to me?" Another thrust of his hips. "Can you feel the effect you're having on me?" He pressed harder against you. Through the layers of fabric between you, you could almost feel him throb. Gods, he seemed big. "Teasing me all evening... Such a tease, aren't you?"

If it wasn't the consequence of your own actions.

You stifled a moan with your arm so as not to attract any patrolling guards. What you were doing was dangerous. At any moment you could be caught. At any moment you could be in big trouble.

But you couldn't stop now. Not when the best was yet to come.

You moved again, seeking more contact, seeking to make Jace harder and more painful than he already was, and you turned your head to challenge him. "What if it's you who's just too weak?"

You felt his hoarse breath against the back of your neck, at the base of your hair. He seemed to be hesitating, thinking. About what he was going to do to you, about what he was going to do to make sure you were responsible for your actions. Again he turned you so that you had your back to the wall, facing him, and you recognised the gleam of desire in his eyes.

Towering over you, he lowered his gaze to you, your faces inches apart. For a moment he let his eyes devour you, wandering from your eyes to your lips, from your lips to your breasts, visible through the fabric of your dress. He wanted to keep this image printed behind his eyelids; your half-open lips, your pleading gaze, like that of a little girl caught with her hand in the cookie jar.

You looked ravishing.

"Tell me to stop," Jace murmured. And you knew it was the sensible thing to do, you knew it was better to stop everything now, while it was still possible to turn back. For you weren't married yet.

But you had no desire to be responsible.

His fingers curled around a lock of your hair and tucked it behind your ear, waiting for your answer before continuing.

"What if I don't want you to stop?" you replied, your eyes locked with his. He felt your hand against his cheek as you detailed his face, tracing his well-sculpted cheeks, and he longed for more contact, his face seeking the warmth of your palm.

You put your arms around his neck to draw him closer, to close the distance between your lips, to feel his warmth against your body.

To quench this desire, this need that was becoming uncontrollable.

And your lips met in a feverish, urgent kiss. He pressed you further against the wall, his fingers running down your sides, brushing against the breasts he so craved.

He found your hips and his fingers worked frantically up the bottom of your dress in a crumpled ball of fabric to reach your core. "Look at how wet you are." His fingers brushed your folds through your undergarments. "All of this just for teasing me." He pressed one hand against the wall, still leaning against you, but not giving you what you wanted: his hand had stopped, and you tried to wiggle your hips to force him to continue, to force him to give you what you wanted.

Deep down, you loved the way he was losing control.

You loved that side of Jace you didn't know.

So you grabbed his wrist, guiding his fingers under the last barrier that separated his skin from yours.

The sensation was delicious.

The touch of his warm fingers against your folds sent a wave of heat from your lower belly through your entire body. You didn't want him to stop. "Here." You breathed against his lips. "This is where muña needs you." Aunt. He tensed beneath you, and you wondered if it was the ambiguity of the family tie, uttered in High Valyrian, that had such an effect on him.

You let your lips brush against his.

He collected your wetness on his fingers, exploring the slit between your folds up to your little pearl. You were soaking wet. And you desperately needed him inside you.

His fingers slid down to your opening where he applied a little pressure with the tip of his index finger without ever penetrating you.

"I know," he murmured, drawing small circles before abandoning your opening to return to your bud. "But I can't give you what you want now."

You whimpered under his cruelty, against his lips.

You could see through his game.

He wanted to make you beg, but you weren't the kind to beg. You were the one with the power and you were going to show him.

"We shouldn't stay here," you muttered, rubbing yourself against your nephew's hand. "If someone catches us..."

Jace nodded his head in agreement, withdrawing his fingers glistening with your juice, which you guided to his own lips, spreading the stickiness against his lips.

"If you're a good boy, I'll let you taste me."

And with that, he pulled you into his room.

***

Lying on the bed where you'd pushed him, Jace watched as you removed your dress, his prominent erection stretching the fabric of his breeches. The dress fell to the floor, forming a red puddle that you stepped over, one foot after the other.

Your nephew couldn't look away from your hypnotic figure, but his eyes inevitably wandered back to your breasts. You'd seen him glancing at your cleavage all evening, you could tell he wanted to run his fingers over your soft flesh, his lips over your nipples, and now that you were completely naked in front of him, you could see the unmistakable desire in his eyes.

You walked up to him. He clenched his jaw when he saw you. You, and the perfection of your shape, your little pointed nipples, the tantalising path that led from your chest to the space between your thighs where he knew you were soaked for him.

The flat of your hand pressed against his chest, forcing him to lie down between the pillows. He complied, never breaking the eye contact between the two of you, and you took your place on top of him, your legs on either side of his body. His husky breath escaped through his parted lips, lightly caressing your face.

You were naked, he was still dressed, and you had infinite power over him.

You lowered your hips against his covered crotch, the essence of your desire staining the linen of his breeches as your hips began to move slowly.

You leaned down and traced his jaw with the tip of your lips, planting kisses along his throat. Underneath you, his member twitched. Mimicking what he'd done earlier, you let your fingers rest on the painful bulge between his legs and whispered, "I know." You applied a little more pressure, drawing a moan from between his lips. "I know it's painful. But I can't give you what you want right now."

Jace growled. He wanted to turn you over, slam you against the mattress, pound into you and make you swallow your insolence. But he wanted to see how far you were willing to go. He wanted to see you keep control for a while longer.

You deftly undid his breeches to make it easier for your hand to slip through. You found his hard member, warm and heavy between your fingers.

It was a new sensation. As a model princess, you'd never ventured into this territory, saving your maidenhood for your future husband.

But Jace was your future husband.

You closed your fingers around him, your thumb collecting the sticky beads that had already formed at the tip of his cock and spreading it along his length.

"First I want to come on your tongue," your lips articulated against the skin of his throat as the hand that was in his breeches moved up his torso to close around his jaw, your thumb caressing his lower lip to emphasise your words. "Will you let me?" you added. In response, he let the tip of his tongue slip between his lips, touching the pad of your finger. "Let me show you," he whispered.

And indeed, Jace worked devotedly between your thighs, his tongue tracing the length of your slit, drinking in your essence as it flowed from your entrance like a delicious nectar. His tongue tickled your little knob, his thumbs spreading your folds to gain access to the treasure he coveted.

One of his fingers found your hole clenching around nothing, tracing small circles against it to force you to voice what you wanted. "Do you need me here?" he whispered against your flesh, the vibration of his deep voice sending shivers through your core. Your hands buried themselves in the dark mass of his hair and you moved your hips against his face, urging him to maintain the contact of his mouth against you. "Use your words, muña," he added, despite his nose being buried between your folds.

When you gave him the answer he was waiting for, he let a finger enter you in a delicious stretch. You held back a moan, your fingers digging deeper into his hair, not caring if you were hurting him or not. He continued to explore your cunt with his tongue, like a thirsty man, like a devoted man.

You wouldn't last long, your release close.

Jace then added a second finger. The sensation of his fingers inside you, against that rough spot, combined with that of his tongue between your folds, against your pearl, was simply divine.

"Go on," Jace started, but you immediately cut him off. "Shut up." You didn't want him to speak. You wanted him to continue with his damn tongue, with his broad fingers inside you. You didn't want him to stop. "I am... I am close."

And your climax washed over your entire body like a wave of warmth. Your legs closed around your nephew's face.

It was probably one of the best sensations you'd ever experienced.

Still between your legs, his fingers gripping your thighs, Jace collected your arousal on his tongue, sending shivers of overstimulation down your spine, and your whole body shuddering in a brutal spasm. You straightened up, knees still bent, your hand returning to your nephew's hair to guide him over you, his face close to yours. You stroked his cheek gently, as if to let him know he was a good boy, and your thumb picked up the sticky fluid that was smeared all over the bottom of his face.

You were both out of breath. You from the intense release you'd felt, he from the dedication he'd shown.

A smirk formed at the corner of your lips, and you pressed your thumb between his lips to ensure he didn't waste anything. Jace tilted his face close to yours. "You taste divine," he breathed, turning your cheeks red. "But now I need to be inside you."

His fingers slipped between your thighs, where your centre was pulsing, still far too sensitive from the ministrations he had given you.

"You can give me another, can't you?" He asked, and you nodded, so sore.

After he undressed, Jace pushed on your shoulders to make you lie down, but you skilfully changed positions, taking him by surprise.

You were unwilling to give him the power he wanted, not yet.

Straddling him, you moved your hips to rub your crotch against his erect manhood, spreading your wetness along his length. Beneath you, his torso rose and fell rapidly, and the grunts he let out conveyed his need for more. So your hand sought his hard member, guiding it to your entrance without letting it penetrate you. "So?" you asked playfully. "Do you think you've been a good boy ? Do you think you deserve to be inside me?" You wanted to make him beg, and Jace could see right through you. "To be the first?" you added, lowering your voice slightly, as if you were telling him a secret.

But he wasn't sure he could hold out much longer.

So he capitulated, giving you the defeat you'd been waiting for.

"Yes." he breathed. "Please." Your victorious smile stretched your lips and you guided him further against you, pressing his erection against your opening. Fuck. He was massive.

He was about to breathe a sigh of relief, ready to feel your velvet walls tighten around him, but you blocked his hip movement.

It wasn't enough.

"Please who?" you asked, your fingers moving back and forth around his manhood. He glared at you. You were gloating. "Please, muña," he finally begged, and you gave him what he wanted.

You lowered your hips to let him slide into you in a long thrust that stretched you around him. He was indeedmassive, and the new sensation of having him inside you was a delicious mix of dull pain and burning pleasure. You stood still for a moment to adjust to his presence inside you, your core throbbing around him. The initial pinch gradually dissipated, replaced by a pleasant sensation that sent a wave of warmth through your body.

And then he began to thrust in and out, pushing up to sink into you. "Fuck...fuck, you're tight," Jace growled. Your loose hair cascaded down either side of your face, tickling his cheeks, and he caught it in a messy bun to hold it behind your head.

You could feel the same pleasure as before building up in your lower abdomen.

Gods, you could feel him so intensely. So deeply too. Bouncing rhythmically against that particular part of you.

You buried your head in his neck, his woody scent filling your nostrils.

It was primal. Animal, between the two of you. All that mattered was the here and now. Your body against his, the sweat beading between you, the moans filling the room.

Jace tugged at your hair, causing you to throw your head back, freeing access to your chest, and he straightened up into a sitting position, his member still deep inside you, to find your breast. He buried his face in it and your hand instinctively found the back of his head to stroke his hair. Jace's lips traced a trail of kisses down the valley between your breasts, following the curve of your flesh before closing around your nipple, which he sucked gently. One of his arms wrapped around you to hold you tight against him, his other hand resting on the breast he wasn't devouring.

You stayed like that for a while, your legs on either side of him, his mouth seeking solace in your breasts, the divine sensation of being full, with him inside you, in the softness of the night, the flames rocking your lovemaking.

One of Jace's arms finally found your back and in one swift movement he reversed position. He desperately needed more, sensing that he wouldn't last long.

He pinned you beneath him, against the mattress, your legs immediately closing around him and the pace quickened. His thrusts became more messy, more sloppy because of your two combined essences. "You're mine, now" he grunted, and you shivered. His index and middle fingers wandered between your folds, caressing the spot where you were joined before moving to the pearl hidden at the top of your slit. "Am I?" you replied teasingly. You could feel him throbbing inside you. "Then be a good boy now and give muña your seed."

That was the spark that ignited the fire. Jace quickened the rhythm of his hips, his fingers still buried between your folds, his movements erratic. With each of his thrusts, you felt his member hitting that sensitive spot against your spongy inner walls. You tensed and for the second time that evening, your release flooded your entire body. You were followed by your nephew as Jace spilled into you, his seed painting white ropes against your womb.

He lay still inside you for a moment, his cock softening as you both caught your breath, your hands in his dark curls, his head at the nape of your neck.

You winced as he withdrew from your still sensitive core, his now cold seed flowing between your thighs. Jace dropped down beside you, satisfied. Then you turned to him. You grabbed his wrist one last time and guided his fingers to your centre, where your folds were smeared with the remnants of your lovemaking.

"Look how much you've left inside me," you whispered into his ear, making Jace collect his own seed on his fingertips and push it back into you. "I'm going to keep it all inside me, would you like that, sweet boy?" you whispered again.

And Jace pulled you against him to kiss you, his member stirring between his thighs, against you. It was true that he'd given you the upper hand this time. But he was ready to show you what he could do. You snuggled up against his chest, tucking your head under his chin.

"Perhaps…We should bring the wedding date forward."

And he smiled.

#jacaerys x reader #jacaerys velaryon #jacaerys x you #jacaerys velaryon x reader #jace x reader #jace velaryon #hotd x reader #jacaerys smut #jacaerys x y/n #jacaerys x fem!reader #jacaerys velaryon fanfic

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desireangel · 1 month

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Dark Cherry | Aemond Targaryen

Part One (potentially ??? xoxo - indecision)

Summary: after months of a marriage that hardly harbours the passion that you'd dreamed about, you stumble across the reason for your husband's indifference and decide enough is enough. Aemond will learn just exactly what he's been missing out on.

Pairing: Aemond Targaryen x fem!reader and also some Aemond x some random girly pop who could be impliedly understood as ms Alys ;o

Word Count: 3.3k

Warnings: smut - mdni 18+!!! infidelity, kinda angsty? second-hand smut? reader is a cheeky voyeur, oral (m receiving), talk of sex, masturbation, bad words, very little dialogue, I wrote this in 2 hours and it is barely edited so it may be shite. guys. please tell me if I've missed a warning, luv u xoxo

Author's note: here's a wee smth while I get my head around part 2 of Infernal Desires! the idea I had for this fic was for a multi-part but idk depends on how we're feeling so there will potentially be a part 2 ;D. kisses!!!! <3

Masterlist!

Whatever pretence was in play, you would be the first to admit that you were tired of it. A loveless marriage was nothing less than what you had expected–a union that was entirely for show and born from the political motives of your families. It was only expected.

You tried to convince yourself that you were content with such an arrangement. It suited your ambitions, meant that you could be left alone to do as you please while quenching the thirst to make your family proud.

Somehow, despite your hesitance and despite your husband’s ignorance toward you, the one thing that you knew you would never truly hold had become your greatest wish.

The reality was such that you found yourself longing for affection.

Preferably-of course-your husband’s affection.

Between the forced smiles put on for expectant eyes, the brush of your shoulders whenever you sat next to each other at the dining hall and the gentle caresses at the small of your back until his touch was hurriedly removed once you were again behind closed doors, you had grown an incessant, consuming desire for the prince you were married to.

Aemond was a man of great beauty and strength. While many had chastised his singular eye and told tales of his ruthless temper, Aemond had grown to be well respected and the object of many lustful gazes.

Eight months had passed since Aemond became your husband and you, his wife. Eight months of tense silences, lonely nights in a bed you had expected to share and eight months of nothing but false affections that were nothing but a performance.

You had considered yourself a romantic right until you felt the loneliness and realities of this marriage. Your naive desires to feel the throes and excitement of love that you read about were subject to a rude awakening the moment you became disgustingly aware of your husbands lack of it.

Aside from the night of your wedding, Aemond seemed to avoid your bed as if it would burn his skin. Until two months ago, when you had pushed aside the sting on your pride and all but demanded he spare some time for you.

Friends had warned you that it was hardly special. But if he was kind enough, as few of their husbands were from time to time, he would give you a chance to experience some of the pleasures of your body.

Aemond was hardly a passionate lover, it had seemed. With instruction to simply lift your skirt, he had you laying with your hips at the foot of the bed where he silently and effortlessly fucked his seed into your womb. It had not yet borne fruit despite his fortnightly visits.

It was never enough. Your body had eventually begun to crave more. In a very raw and unmistakably physical need to find the release it had been denied for so long. Despite Aemond’s assurance on the first nights of your marriage that neither of you were to have any interest in whores or paramours, words and whispers of the prince’s capabilities had picked up over recent weeks and you came to understand that if only Aemond had wanted to, he could give you exactly what your body desired.

Even if you had the same freedoms as men when it came to taking on lovers outside of your marriage, you couldn’t. Admittedly, you’d developed a taste for luxury - a taste only for your husband. Or at least, the fantasy version of Aemond that you had concocted within your head.

And when your hand made its way between your thighs in the small hours that followed restless nights, the only thoughts that existed in your mind were those of him. Of all the things you had hoped Aemond would guide you to discover about your bodies. Of all the things that you had read about in the books you’d sneak out to find.

Sometimes, you wondered if Aemond thought of you while he touched himself. The idea of it often crossed your mind and you had since convinced yourself that you had been driven insane.

Realistically, you knew that the arrangement you had with Aemond was out of necessity. Nothing more. But you were much like him in certain ways - hungry for what you know you deserve, relentless and cunning. But you had little patience left.

The moment you had decided to make your worth known to your husband wasn’t one you could place a finger on. It was a gradual thing - as you had gently started shifting your attention past the lovers in your books who no longer calmed your lustful needs.

You wanted him more fiercely than you had wanted for anything in your lifetime.

So you gently lowered the neckline of your dresses to highlighted the bump of your collarbone, had your maids do your hair so that it framed your face perfectly while accentuating the shape of your neck. You had soon foregone the paler tones your mother had you wear, colours that announced your purity and innocence. The colours that you wore were deeper, richer and more sultry against the tone of your skin.

With difficult ignorance of the nervous, shy and pious girl your parents had raised for such a match, you forced yourself to seek out Aemond’s gaze with an extra glint in your eyes. You let your once hesitant touches linger with a newfound confidence that stole your breath away whenever Aemond would escort you to and from the dining hall. On the days Aemond would spare time to walk you through the gardens, you made an effort to speak of more than just the weather.

At times, you felt uneasy about the act you were putting on. Were the prospect of his affections so important to you that you forced yourself to act so differently? In your mind, being a seductress was never so dishonourable as many made it seem but you had hoped this act would pay off in a matter of a few weeks.

Your impatience becomes painful when you have every other desire at your beck and call.

But you were mistaken. If anything, Aemond’s indifference had only grown. And at each hardened glance from your head to toe, at each moment in which he continued to ignore you or look past you, your resolve weakened.

Aemond could not have found you unattractive - this much you knew as a fact. You knew from the way he used to look at you with a gentle fire in his eye and made sure that your every other need had been taken care of. From the way he clenched his jaw in restraint when you would lay back for him, how his grip on your hips and your thighs left marks on your skin as he fucked into you - even if there was little more than a duty being performed. After all, he was still just a man.

So despite the fact that your efforts were shaping up to be of no use, you didn’t give up. You started taking breakfast in your chambers, requesting Aemond to join you when he was available, dressed in your softest, prettiest nightgowns instead of having dressed up already.

You made a show of it, unashamed and brazen. Almost surprisingly, Aemond enjoyed the dark cherry more than you could have hoped. There were subtle changes in the way his eye would linger over the dip of your neck, the way his wordless gaze would follow the deep red that would stain and spill from your lips as you bit into a cherry from the bowl of fruit that you shared.

Your conversations have always been comfortable. Aemond may be a brooding, arrogant hardass sometimes but he was always respectful and kind to his you in the time you shared together as husband and wife. But now he would falter, his words getting caught as he watched you gently sucking off the juice of a cherry from your fingers, humming gently as you glance at him with false nonchalance mixed with your best bedroom eyes.

And it did drive him insane. Aemond had never seen this side of you, much unlike the quiet, prudish woman he had married. But then again, had he ever truly known you? Either way, you had caught the amusement in his gaze and the way he challenged you wordlessly with a shift of his hips and gentle smirk.

Much to your disappointment, little else changed. Nearly three weeks had passed and Aemond had given you little more than those lingering looks and a few stolen breaths. He had at once withdrawn and become increasingly lacklustre, and when you had even tried asking him about his training with Ser Cole, you received no more than curt, blunt answers at each try.

It had become too much by the time you had retired to your chambers alone once again. The day had been long and uneventful, Helaena had been by your side for most of it which had been nice but you were in no mood to fake an interest in sifting through the performative duties of a princess.

In all honesty, it was frustrating. You were starting to wear thin on the constant nagging of absolutely everyone about your lack of a child. It has been almost a year and you have failed to perform your duty as a wife, almost a year and you have not missed a single cycle, almost a year and you haven’t blessed the prince with an heir.

Because, as a lady whose name you hadn’t cared enough to remember had not-so-gently uttered to you over her dreadful playing of a stringed instrument; what was the point of being his wife if you didn’t bed him well enough to carry his child?

You had, in truth, been distracted. And the idea of carrying the child of a man who only paid you the necessary courtesies out of politeness and good manners made you feel ill.

Queen Alicent, although you could tell she was inclined to agree with the lady, had placed a gentle yet firm hand on your bicep to calm the anger that had clearly taken you over. With a glare at the loose-lipped woman, you quickly picked up the handkerchief you’d been attempting to embroider and excused yourself.

If anyone had noticed your absence from the evening meal, which the Queen had always insisted upon eating together, nobody bothered to say anything.

Over an hour had passed, tossing around in your bed and your eyes stinging from embarrassment. Why was Aemond so averse to you? Why would he stare at you as if you set his blood on fire in one moment and then glance straight past you in the next? What had you done that convinced him so strongly that you were not even worth trying to be familiar with?

The gods had surely intended to punish you for something in a past life if they were so adamant to trap you in a marriage with a man who would much rather be anywhere other than with you.

You may as well be strangers to each other.

The ache of your anger led you straight out of your own chambers and towards his. You spared Ser Tunsley, the knight standing at your door, a harsh glare and snapped at him to give you your privacy otherwise you’d have him stripped of his cloak. He was a timid one, you noticed, and with a nod he stood back, his eyes staring straight past your shoulder in an attempt not to stare at the thin nightgown that clung to your skin.

It was an outrageous hour and you were of half a mind in your frustration to thank the gods for the empty hallways. In fact, you noticed the lack of an armoured man at the door to Aemond’s chambers and wondered if maybe the prince was elsewhere.

You stepped towards the door, curiosity peaked at the sound of shifting, followed by some voices and you hesitated. Frowning, you ran through what you would say if Aemond opened the door - there was nothing that would make sense.

As you stepped closer to the door, a soft light spilled out and you noticed that it was, in fact, just barely ajar.

It was unlike Aemond to leave his door open and you were certain he would question you sneaking around the hallways in the small hours, dressed only in underclothes. But you ignored the rational voice at the back of your mind and took silent steps so close to the door that it would be cowardly to back out now.

You couldn’t hear the voices anymore, ears ringing as you held your breath and gently nudged the door while muttering a silent prayer that it wouldn’t make a sound.

Shock first. Then fear, anger, desire and an all consuming jealousy as you took a moment to understand what you were seeing.

Aemond was resting at the end of his bed, naked and resting his weight lazily on one arm, his free hand tangled in the dark hair of a slender woman, just as bare as him, kneeling at his feet and moving her head in an up and down motion. Aemond guided her movements with a firm hand, his head tipped back gently.

He wasn’t wearing his eyepatch. You’d never seen him without it–he never let you. His eye was firmly shut and you caught the glint of the sapphire in place of the other that was stolen from him. The movements of his chest were heavy and you could hear him panting gently, lips gently parted.

You were unable to tear your eyes off of Aemond. He looked more beautiful than you had ever seen him, under the golden hue of the lamps, his body lean and chiselled–each curve and muscle glowing under the lights. You could see his pleasure, in his expression, the tinting of his skin and the way he roughly tugged at the mystery woman’s hair. A couple strands of his own hair, usually pulled away from his face, fell forward and the flush of his cheeks were starkly pink against the silver of his hair. He let out a breathy groan, murmuring something you couldn’t quite hear as he opened his eye, dark with lust, and gazed down at the woman that was hunched over his lap. The lewd sounds of her mouth on him almost made you gasp and you thanked the gods that Aemond could not see you. Because you could not move if you tried.

You couldn’t see anything other than the back of her head, and you were glad of it. Because you knew that seeing her face would have been too much and staying hidden and quiet would have been ten times more difficult. Despite the pressure between your thighs, the uncomfortable slick that you felt against your small clothes and the heat that rushed through you from head to toe, you glared viciously at the back of her head.

Aemond’s breathing stuttered, a string of curses falling carelessly from his lips while he watched the woman as if he were entirely enchanted by her. Despite the fact that you couldn’t really see what she was doing, so expertly that had him in such a state, the entire thing felt obscene. And you could hear her muffled moans, the wetness and her light gagging when Aemond tightened his hold on her hair and thrusted upwards.

Your cheeks burned and your blood felt like lava coursing through your veins. The intensity of your want for him–as he was right now–made you dizzy and you drew in sharp breaths, careful not to make a sound. Because if he turned his head slightly to the left, just for a second, he would see you. You didn’t want to know the consequences. But nothing that existed among all of the realm could force you to turn around and leave.

Aemond’s groans were quiet and deep but they grew slightly louder than before, his breath catching as you could see him grow closer to his peak. Your thighs trembled as you pressed them together, barely thinking about how you would be able to escape after he was done–when he would surely see you watching unashamedly.

The sounds that Aemond was making sent shockwaves straight to your wetness and as you could see his entire body grow visibly tense, hips jerking as his groans turned strained amongst grunts and whispers of just like that and fuck and—a name.

It was your name.

You couldn’t help but gasp, clenching around nothing, squeezing and rubbing your thighs together to try and relieve the throbbing of your clit. The woman faltered, much to your satisfaction, and she pulled her head back from him. You couldn’t see past her but her hands remained as they were, biceps moving gently as she continued to touch him.

“Aemond-” you winced as she said his name, no bother for formality. Her voice was slightly husky and it remained sultry and smooth. “I’m not-”

Your husband’s jaw ticked, squeezing his eye shut and pushing her head down towards his hips again. “I know. Fuck–” he grunted, roughly pushing her further down, cursing as she gagged. She hummed around him.

Suddenly, the desire in your veins became secondary to the jealousy that burned your lungs and the betrayal that caught in your throat. You knew men were not faithful creatures, and even though part of you had known Aemond had been no different–not with how you have heard the servants speak on a couple occasions–but foolishly, you had hoped that he had been a man of his word. Another naive part of you truly did believe him when he said he would have no other woman.

Whatever she was doing, however she was doing it and no matter that it was your name that fell from his lips, Aemond was enjoying it. He was praising her–telling her she was his, telling her she was doing so well and letting himself get lost in the pleasure she was giving him.

It was painful to watch and you cursed your body for yearning so badly for reprieve. You’d become soaked, thighs slick from where you’d dripped down. But you would be damned if you gave in and as Aemond’s hips started jerking, his strained grunts becoming desperate as he chased the peak he was nearing, you pushed yourself away from the door and ran back towards your own chambers.

The entire scene had seared itself into your brain and you trembled as you shut yourself away in your bedchambers, ignoring whatever questions Ser Tunsley had been asking you.

Who was that woman? You couldn’t make sense of all the questions that flooded your brain. The emotions that fought for dominance. How had they met? Was she a whore?

Did they see you?

Your mind replayed the way he’d groaned your name, unable to help yourself from whimpering at the memory. It didn’t make any sense. Aemond was clearly thinking about you yet he had never so much as spared you more than a heated look - he had never even given you a kiss.

Aemond had never been so comfortable with you. Not the way he was with her. The way he let her say his name–free of his title, like she was his equal. You had only addressed him without title once, on the night of your wedding.

You laughed. How silly this all was.

Despite your arousal, and regardless of your hurt, you were angry.

How dare he? Did he think so little of you?

Did he love her? Is that why he never tried for you?

It was infuriating. And there was little you could do about it. But nonetheless, you saw an opportunity through the tears you scolded yourself for shedding over a man who never gave you what you deserved.

Aemond would regret it. And he’d learn that his wife was the only woman who could give him what he needs. But for now, you let yourself grieve the Aemond you had led yourself to believe was real. The man who held your hand in his and told you that while he couldn’t be the husband you wanted, he would never disrespect you so much as to let another woman into his bed.

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stilesmieczyslaw · 3 months

Text

Stubborn Longing

*****Minors DNI!! 18+ Only content. ***** Words: 8.5K Pairing: Aemond Targaryen x Female Velaryon/Strong reader Summary: Aemond swore that one day you would be wed. When the time actually came you wanted nothing to do with him and his prejudices. Slowly you remember how close you used to be. Warnings: Targcest, Sex (P in v), masturbation, grinding, enemies to lovers? Friends to enemies to lovers? Slightly OOC Aemond. Lots of background filler and time jumps before the smut, smut. Loss of Virginity. Slight mention of blood. Fingering One swear word. No use of Y/N (If I miss anything let me know) The author is dyslexic and apologises in advance. AN: I'm a Daemon girlie. But somehow I've been sucked into Aemond girlie territory. I can't get enough of your beautiful writing and fics... And edits. You're all fantastic and I hope you enjoy. Read my other unrelated fics here

You were the eldest daughter of Rhaenyra Targaryen. Your hair was brown and curly. Your complexion looked nothing like your father's. Yet still you thought nothing of it. You had fond memories of laughing in the gardens with your father. Chasing him around trees and getting dirty, sneaking extra pieces of cake from the dessert table. Your mother would sometimes scold you both but she also encouraged it. If the people at court saw you playing with Ser Laenor then maybe they wouldn't question it.

You also had fond memories of your mother. You didn't understand what was wrong but there were some days, when she thought she was alone where she anxiously played with her fingers, absentmindedly staring into the fire. Tears at her water line but never shed. You silently wandered over to her and put your head on her knee. The first few times shocked her but now she grew accustomed to it. She stroked your hair and you drifted off. You woke again in your room unknowing how you got there.

You don't remember your younger brother Jace being born. He was just always there. But some days he was boring. He just lay there in his bed - which was unfair. Why was he allowed to sleep in mother and father's room while you slept in the next one?

The only other children to play with were your Uncles and Aunt. They had white hair just like your mother, father and grandsire. Your eldest Uncle, Aegon, sometimes would play but sometimes would be dragged away for lessons as he was older than the rest of you. Helaena your Aunt always seemed to prefer the company of bugs. Always finding somehow the biggest. Although custom would say you would spend your time with her. You were of similar ages.

But secretly you'd always spend time with your uncle Aemond. It started off as games you'd play together. Although his mother disapproved of these games. Or more so you. She was worried her son would get too attached to the bastard children. She could not let this happen. But what she didn't know wouldn't hurt her. As you got older you'd find yourself alone with Aemond reading books. Both of you wanted to learn. More than what was expected of you. You'd teach each other High Valyrian.

Aemond was your best friend. You'd spend all day with him if you could but he had to learn to fight while you had to learn to be a wife.

"You should be my wife," Aemond said out loud after you had returned from one of your lessons. "Us?" You scoffed. He looked at you offended. "I did not mean it like that." You waved him off. "Your mother hates us being friends. Never mind us being wed." "Well, I was taught a good wife should know her husband. Who knows me better than you." "That is a good point and I wouldn't have to leave Kings Landing." You nodded. "But I'm sure your mother would try to find you someone else anyway." "What if I could convince her?" "You won't." You almost sang looking down at your book.

After the birth of your third brother Joffrey, your mother announced you would not live in Kings Landing anymore. A third child who did not look like her husband. What did it matter? Their father was their father and they all looked like each other. Did white hair matter when inheriting the throne? Apparently, it did. Your mother gathered all of your belongings while you begged her to stay.

You were to live on Dragonstone. To which you were the heir. You might as well get used to it now. When your mother becomes Queen it will be your home and when your brother becomes king it will remain your home. You went to find Aemond for one final goodbye. You sat in the woods with him, underneath your shared tree. "You'll be back." He said rather confidently. "Will I?" You looked up at the castle. "When we wed." "You are a fool Aemond. But I admire you for it."

With your absence, his mother spoke more freely about your heritage. You were not your father's daughter. Aegon heard the rumours of Ser Harwin Strong. Aegon passed this knowledge to his brother. Aemond wondered how you could be the product of something so wrong. The more he heard it the more he hated it. How dare a bastard be his friend? Poison words enter the heart of a child so easily.

Your father's sister died and the whole family were called to Driftmark for her final send-off. While you were sad for your father you tried to contain your excitement to see Aemond again. He had stopped replying to your letters. Maybe he was deep into his studies. When you finally saw him after months of missing him you couldn't help but run to him and hug him. His hug was stiff but you ignored that.

"How is your plan going Aemond? Our marriage." You asked. "I miss Kings Landing." Part of you was joking, the other secretly hoped. You had missed him terribly. "If that's all you miss then maybe we should not get wed." The words were filled with hate. "Oh." You frowned. "It was a childish dream. I see now it does not matter. When I marry it must be for duty." "For what end would our marriage be then?" "It does not matter." He turned away from you.

For the rest of the night, you tried to talk to him again but he avoided you. You searched the castle on Driftmark for him and you found him at the wrong moment. You could hear the shuffling of a fight. You saw your brothers, cousins and Aemond fighting. "You will die screaming in flames just as your father did...Bastards!" "Aemond." You gasped. He turned to look at you. Horror in his eyes. He didn't mean for you to hear that.

Your younger brother Luke took Aemond's moment of distraction to swipe at Aemond with a knife, taking his eye. He did not mean for the injury to be that bad but the past could not be rewritten. You shouted for help while Aemond lay on the floor bleeding. You were pushed away by The King's guard. Aemond's eye was lost and with it your friendship.

The Queen wanted your brother's eye in return but your mother would never let that happen. But the Queen was determined. Her son lost something, so something must be taken in return. The King had a brilliant idea - Only in his mind. He proclaimed once you came of age. You and Aemond were to be wed. Something which this morning you would have taken with glee. But now you looked at the boy and glared. You hated him and by the look in his remaining eye. He felt the same.

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"Mother." You tried to get her attention. She was rushing around in a panic. "Mother please." "We must prepare for the journey. You are to be wed tomorrow and nothing is ready." "If we do not go then we do not need to be ready." You tried. "Your King demands it, my love." She sighed. "The King... Does not know me. Not anymore." You held your tongue. You had more choice words that you would not utter in front of your mother.

"Your Grandsire was there the moment you were born. The look of happiness in his eyes as he held you for the first time." "And yet he strives to take my happiness." "You and Aemond used to be so close. Maybe you can be again." She tried to remain positive. You shook your head. "No. Not after what he called me. The disrespect to my father. Who won't even be here to see his daughter sold like a..." You bit your tongue again.

"Sweet girl." Your mother played with your hair. She was nervous. Something was eating at her mind. "You may be husband and wife to the outside walls but you can control what happens behind closed doors. If you do not wish to be with Aemond in private you do not have to be." She didn't say it but you knew what she was saying. You nodded in understanding.

The flight to Kings Landing wasn't a long one. You were on your dragon silently crying. This would be the last flight you would take with your family for a very long time. Your brothers flew in circles trying to make you laugh. You closed your eyes and listened to their laughter trying to keep it in your memory forever.

Once landed and your dragon seen to, you looked up at the Castle. It did not look how you remembered. Nor did the people inside. Your Grandsire looked more tired and old than you last saw him. Helaena was the mother of two small children. Aegon looked like he was fighting back a smirk and Aemond... Aemond had grown so tall. His eye patch suited him and he looked at you with distaste. You tried to meet his gaze of fire with your own but you couldn't hold it. You hated it. You hated him.

The day came and your Mother and Step Father officially gave you to Aemond. Your hands were tied and you uttered words that had no meaning to you. You sealed your marriage with a kiss. You kept your face neutral no matter how much you wanted to scream. The crowd cheered as you walked through them with your husband.

There was a giant feast in your name. Food from all corners of the seven kingdoms was presented and music played. You found yourself dancing with your brothers. Your new sister Helaena. Even your Stepfather danced with you. Your mother stayed to the side. Her pregnant belly was only a reminder of the life you were going to leave behind. Were you to have a new brother? A sister? Would you know their laughter? Would they know your face?

The music slowed and the King announced that it was time for you and Aemond to dance before retiring to your marital bed. Aegon laughed loudly. You danced the dance your mother taught you. Move after move. You felt numb. This was the worst night of your life. Whispers filled the room. You ignored them. You knew now why your mother sat and looked into the fire looking sad. But unlike your mother, you would not receive comfort. Not here.

When you reached Aemond's, no, your chambers... Your blood which was supposed to be made of fire, turned to ice. You did not wish to lay with your now husband. It might have been your duty but you did not wish it. The torment he brought you and your brothers. Calling you Bastards. Your mother said you did not have to, but what if Aemond expected it of you?

Aemond stood behind you. His beautiful wife. He had wanted this for so long. He knew he had wanted you as his Lady Wife since he was a child. He let his mother's hatred into his head and he had regretted it every day. Not just because he had lost his eye over it but he lost you too. He would never forget the look on your face when he called you a Bastard. The last thing he saw with both eyes. He lost you.

When he saw you arrive on Dragon back his breath was taken away. You had become a beautiful woman in the years you had spent apart. How he longed to write to you but he knew his letters would go unanswered, just as yours had done those years ago. When he saw you again it only reaffirmed his want of you. But he could tell by the tears running down your face this is not what you wanted. So he hid behind his cold demeanour. One that he was used to, one that people expected of him.

As much as he desired you, he knew you did not feel the same. His own family did not want him so why would his now wife be any different? He could not remember the last time someone touched him with kindness. Not even a hug. His mind flashed back to when his brother forced a whore onto him and he vowed to never do the same.

He spoke finally, knowing you wouldn't. "I won't touch you. Not unless you ask." "I will not ask. Ever." You replied coldly. You walked off behind the divider to put on your night clothes which had been brought over by the handmaidens. It was difficult to get out of your marital gown but you refused to ask for help. Not from a man who would call you a bastard. Not from a man who claimed you like property.

Once in your night clothes, you walked straight to the bed. It was freshly made but you could tell by the items surrounding the bed which side Aemond would sleep on and you chose to climb into the opposite side. Not long after Aemond joined you.

It was strange seeing a woman in his bed. He didn't hate you. He remembers only fond memories of your childhood. Times he was bullied by his own brother and yours. You would be there to console him. Make him laugh again. It was foolish to think after all these years you could pick up where you left off. As friends.

He climbed into his side. The both of you almost hung onto the side to ensure neither of you touched the other. You both did not sleep out of fear of doing such. You both were angry and you both were saddened. The following morning continued in silence. Your handmaidens helped you dress. They ignored the lack of maiden's blood on the bedsheets. You trusted them not to gossip but you couldn't be certain of that.

You made your way to break your fast with your family. It was almost like a mini feast again. How any of you still had room after last night you would never know. But you filled your plate with grapes, strawberries and other sweet fruits. Your mother greeted you with a smile and tucked a strand of hair behind your ear. Aemond watched with jealousy. His mother would never treat any of her children like that. Not even when he lost his eye did she offer comfort. She only wanted revenge. He sat down and loaded his plate with whatever.

"I see the tiredness in your eyes brother. Did you remember where to put it? It has been a long time since you last used it. Surprised it hasn't fallen off with neglect." Aegon very loudly teased. "Aegon!" His mother scolded, looking around with embarrassment. You scooted your chair closer to your mother.

Soon midday came and it was time for your family to leave. Their dragons were saddled and their things packed. Your own dragon looked at them with confusion. Why was she being left behind? It did not help that she could also feel your own emotions of abandonment.

"Mother please." You tried one last time. Tears filling your eyes. Kings Landing had not been your home in years. The last time you lived here your father was still alive. How could you walk the gardens knowing he wasn't here, waiting for you to find him? "I'm sorry my dear." She shook her head. "It is too late. Your vows were before Gods and King. I can not part you as much as I wish to. Your souls are bound." She gave you one last hug before tending to your brothers making sure they were ready.

Your Stepfather watched with a frown. Knowing what it was like to be in a forced and unloved marriage. He took your hand. A very rare form of affection from him. "Say the word and I shall end this marriage for you." He looked into your eyes looking for understanding. You had heard rumours of his first marriage. It was said among court he had killed her. "Thank you, Uncle." You gave a concerned smile. "I'll keep that in mind."

You watched with tears in your eyes as your family flew away on their dragons. Your dragon roared after them. You patted her neck and hugged her. She is what was left. You did not go to your lord husband for comfort. You did not go to anyone for comfort. You stayed alone.

Your handmaidens would fetch you food. You didn't want to leave your chambers. Were you acting like a child? Maybe but it felt like your only option. Rumours spread amongst the small folk that the high towers had imprisoned you with shackles.

The King, your Grandsire, would call you to his chambers. You sat in silence. You no longer knew the man in front of you. "I remember." He said very laboured. "You'd sit on my lap and help me build my masterpiece." He gestured to his miniature stone version of Old Valyria. A place neither of you had been. "You'd laugh at my jokes. Tell me Princess, what happened to your smile?"

"I have no reason to smile My King. I miss my family." "Am I not family?" The way he looked at you. An old man trying his hardest to keep his family together. He, just like you missed his family. His daughter, his brother and his grandchildren. He was bound to this place just as much as you were.

"Of course you are... Grandsire." You gave him an honest as possible smile. Far from the sparkle of happiness, he was used to. But better than nothing. "This was once your home, we, your closest friends, allies, confidants. We can be again if you leave your chambers. Walk the castle. Eat with us. Read with the maesters." "Yes, My King." You bowed.

You started off small. You would venture to Helaena's chambers. Eat with her and her children. You played with them and told them stories. They didn't understand your words. But they brought you much comfort in this time. Helaena also seemed to enjoy your company. Or more so did not despise it. Sometimes she would listen to your stories too. You loved the three of them. "Third draw. Left dresser." Helaena would mumble. The first time she said it you thought she was asking for something. But when you showed her everything in the drawer she would shake her head.

Then you would venture to the books and scrolls. Another place of your childhood. Piece by piece you were learning to smile again. At least in public. You still hung onto the edge of your marital bed. Trying to escape without falling.

One particular hot day you realised you could not stay inside. It was time to venture outside. Feel the wind blowing on your face. Picking up your book you followed your feet to your favourite tree. How you would spend hours reading underneath it. How your feet remembered the way while your mind did not, you did not know.

You followed them and gasped when you saw him. Of course. It was his favourite place to read too. While you had left this place he had not. He rolled his eye when he heard someone coming towards him. Normally it was some handmaiden telling him his mother required his attention. He just wished to read in peace.

He looked up and saw you. Book nestled on your hip like it was a babe. His mouth went dry. You remembered the tree? "I'm sorry my Lord." You gave him a practised bow. "I did not realise someone else would be here. I did not intend to disturb you. I shall take my leave." "Wait." He called to your quickly retreating back. "You need not leave." You turned to look at him. "The tree is big enough for us both to sit." He gestured to the floor.

You hesitated. You really did love that tree. The tree never hurt you. In the wind, you could hear Aemond's laughter. His face was void of emotion but you could hear his childhood laughter. "Yes, My Lord." You finally agreed sitting down. The tree separating you. Neither of you reading but thinking of the other person sitting on the other side.

You both continued this new tradition for days. Maybe after the second week silence was broken. A squirrel ran past you. You gasped with delight at the tiny creature. You stayed as still as possible to not startle it. "Aemond." You couldn't help but whisper. It was so quiet he almost didn't hear you. He turned to see what you needed. It must have been dire for you to talk to him after two weeks. He followed your gaze and saw the creature that brought so much light to your eyes.

He remembered how much you loved the squirrels of the gardens. For one of your name days, he vowed to catch you one but failed to do so. But he enjoyed the laughter he got out of you in the process. "Shall I catch it for you Princess?" He offered. "No. I think he shall miss his family if you do. Leave him be." He didn't fail to catch the double meaning of your words. How was he living his dream when you hated him so?

As more time passed you both found yourselves not sitting on opposite sides of the tree but closer to each other. Even in your bed, you felt more relaxed. You were starting to get used to life again but you still missed your family.

A raven came telling you the news of your new baby brother. Your heart almost burst with happiness and sadness in equal measure. You wished to go to Dragonstone to meet him but you couldn't. You must remain here with your Lord Husband... who must have a quill somewhere in these chambers!

You scrambled around looking for anything to write back to your mother with. Words of congratulations and excitement. But, you could not find anything. You went to his personal bedside dressers. It felt wrong to go in them. These were his personal effects. You would go mad with rage if he looked at your things. But you really needed to write to your mother.

You looked at the two dressers. Left dresser, the third drawer down. You opened the drawer and there was writing equipment but also old pieces of parchment. Curiosity got the better of you. They were your old letters. From when you first moved to Dragonstone. Letters you never got replies to. You laughed at things you once thought so important you needed to tell Aemond.

Beneath your letters, there was one you didn't recognise. You knew the writing, it was Aemonds. The letter was addressed to you but you never got it. He speaks of regret of his words to you on Driftmark. How he wishes to become friends again before you are wed. So many words are scribbled out. If he felt this way why not send it? Maybe you could have worked on something rather than marry in hate. Who knows where your relationship could have been if he had sent this? You borrowed an empty piece of parchment and wrote your letter to your mother.

"Hello, Aemond." You greeted sitting down beneath the tree. He looked at you puzzled. You never greeted him. "Princess." He gave a nod of acknowledgement. You almost felt giddy. Even if Aemond wrote that apology letter years ago part of you hoped he still meant it now. You sat in your usual silence but you could not wipe the smile from your face. Aemond opened his mouth a few times, unsure of what to say. "What has gotten your spirits up?" You looked at him with a smile. You meant this one. He could see it in your eyes.

"Mother has given birth to a son. I have another brother. I feel much happiness for her." That and his unsent letter but to tell him that would be admitting you went through his belongings. "Oh yes. I heard." He nodded. At least this one wasn't likely to be a... He stopped his own thoughts. No. You were his wife. Your parentage did not matter. You had gone back to your reading but he could not get back to his. He couldn't take his eye off your smile. He hoped he could make you smile like that again.

Another week had passed and you felt yourself become restless again. You had now been in Kings Landing for a handful of months. The Queen still did not speak to you unless she absolutely had to. The King was growing ever weaker. Aegon was a drunken fool. Helaena was sweet but you wanted to do something else. Not sit inside. Not sit and read a book. You thought of your poor dragon. It had been too long since you had seen her. Your one memory of your home on Dragonstone and you had been neglecting her out of selfishness. Today you would take her out.

But you could not leave the keep without permission. They say it is for your safety but you knew it was to stop you from running away. With a deep breath, you went to find your husband. This time every day he would be training in the courtyard with the knights. You walked to the courtyard where he had amassed a group of people. People always wanted to watch him but you never understood. What was the point in watching the same people fake fight every day at the same time?

You watched him fight off the knights with ease. Despite only having one eye it did not stop him from having reflexes that could rival 20 knights. His fighting was almost like a dance. Every step calculated. His footwork working side by side with his arms. Sword going exactly where it needed to go. He was sweating and you could see his muscles working. Maybe you could see the point in people watching him fight.

The fight ended and Aemond fought to catch his breath. In the crowd of people, he saw you. You would only be here if you needed something. He sheathed his sword and made his way over to you. There was something about him breathless and sweaty with his gaze focused on you. It made you feel some strange way. Nothing you had felt before.

"Aemond." You were almost breathless yourself when he was finally in front of you. "I would like to go for a ride." He pulled almost an amused face which was lost on you. "The Dragon keepers say my dragon has grown restless. I need to go for a ride." "She grows restless. Or yourself?" He mused. "Both. So may I?" "As you wish Princess. But allow me to accompany you." "Oh no. I wouldn't want to take you from your schedule." You tried to wave him off.

"A good husband always makes time for his wife. Especially if that request is a ride." He almost smirked again. "What is so funny?" "Nothing." "It's something. I'll get it out of you Aemond Targaryen." You pointed a finger at him like old times. "I'm sure you will." He let out a small chuckle. He went to link his arm with yours to walk you to the Dragon Pit, but remembered his vow. Do not touch. One playful conversation in weeks does not mean that changed.

You got yourself ready for your ride. Making sure that everything was fastened tightly. You hugged your dragon apologising it had been so long. When she put her head on top of yours you couldn't help but think of your mother. She would always be with you.

"Are you ready Princess?" Aemond's voice called out. You looked over and saw him ready to climb onto Vaghar. How he managed to claim her as a boy you would never know. You nodded. You got on your own dragon and urged her forward. She almost ran for the door. Once in the air, you felt free. Freer than you had in a long time. There was nothing but you, your dragon and the air.

Well... and your husband but he was flying lower. You could see for miles. You turned your head in the direction you knew to be Dragonstone. What were they doing? How were Joffrey's lessons going? How faired your mother and the babe? How easy it would be to fly back to them. But you could not. You would bring shame to yourself and your family.

Aemond watched you. He always found himself thinking back to his childhood with you. How you had a dragon and he did not. How you'd promise him that you could fly together one day. And here you were flying together now. But again it was not how he imagined.

You looked down and almost laughed at how small Aemond looked compared to his dragon. His legs straddling the saddle. The way he used his legs to steer the direction he wanted to go. An image flashed in your mind of him straddling you. You shook your head. Where did that come from? The same feeling from the courtyard entered your mind. That strange feeling. You felt yourself move uncomfortably.

"Are you alright Princess?" Aemond called out to you. "Yes quite well. I must have not ridden in so long my legs grow tired." "Shall we retire?" He suggested. "Yes, I think so." You agreed before returning to the Dragon pit.

"Thank you for today Aemond. I appreciated it. If I ever require your services and a ride." You paused waiting for his reaction. "I'll let you know." You don't know why you did it, but it felt so right. Walking away you made sure to sway your hips more than you usually would.

More days passed and you found yourself watching your husband train from a balcony. Always that feeling came to you. What was it? You changed your posture, your thighs rubbing together and something felt good. You did it again and you had to bite your lip. You excused yourself to your chambers. You lay on your bed rubbing your thighs together and it felt amazing. A knock on the door pulled you from your playing and you felt embarrassed. Whatever that was, it was not fit of a lady.

But still, you could not help yourself. From those days on you would excuse yourself while Aemond trained. He would be gone for a few hours every day and in those hours you explored your body. You found all sorts of spots that made you feel good. One day while touching yourself an image of Aemond popped into your head. You imagined your hands were his and your pleasure doubled. You looked at the door longingly hoping he would come in and find you like this but he never did.

After that, everything he did drove you crazy. Even he slouched on a chair drinking from a goblet you wanted to climb onto his lap. You wanted a ride. You wanted one so badly.

☆☆☆☆☆☆☆

You woke first. All night you had dreams of Aemond touching you. There was an ache between your legs that wouldn't go away. You tried pressing your legs together in hopes of something eliminating the feeling but you couldn't. You couldn't touch yourself with him just there. You wanted him to touch you. All you had to do was ask. But what if he didn't want to anymore? What if he had grown accustomed to your mental absence that he did not wish to be with you? You wouldn't blame him.

Images of him fighting in the courtyard filled your mind. His skill and passion. How sweaty he sometimes got. The way his hair would stick to his forehead. This wasn't helping you. It was making it worse. He was still sleeping soundly next to you. Maybe if you got a bit closer.

You remained on your side facing away from him. For if he woke up you could claim you moved in your sleep. You backed up slowly. You could still hear his deep breathing meaning he was still asleep. You backed up until you could feel his breath on your neck. It sent shivers down your spine. You still did not touch him, however. Now you waited.

It felt like an eternity but eventually, his deep breaths stopped. You obviously had no idea when he opened his eyes as you were facing away from him and also pretending to sleep. But you did hear his involuntary gasp when he noticed how close you were. He did not make a move to touch you but he also did not shy away.

He looked at your sleeping form. You were so close to him. He looked down and saw each of your curves beneath the sheets. He wanted so badly to run his hand down you. Starting from your shoulders, past your stomach, around your hips and your legs. That is when he noticed. It wasn't even his first thought when he saw you this close but now it was his only thought.

How close your ass was to his crotch. His trousers were already tight with it being morning but even more so now. If only you were a small bit closer then he could feel you pressed against him. He could rub himself on you. Your night shift let his imagination run wild. He clenched his fists to his sides. He promised he wouldn't touch you. Maybe he could sneak away. Deal with himself before you wake up. If you noticed and questioned his absence then maybe he could claim early morning training.

Before he could move you grew bored of this position. He had been awake for several minutes and had not made a move. You commended him for keeping his word but his word was not what you wanted right now. You wanted anything but his word. Keeping up the pretence of sleep you turned so now you were facing him. You wished you could have seen the look of shock on his face. If the view from your behind was anything the front was better.

Your hair was a mess. Soft brown curls were on your pillow and over your face. He remembered others calling you names because of your hair but he now knows it is perfect. It is a part of you. His eye travelled further south and landed on your breasts. The position you were in was pressing them together. His fists were almost shaking with how tightly he kept them to his sides.

He closed his eye and began to talk to himself in his own mind. 'She does not want you. She made that clear. She does not want to be touched by you. She wanted a different husband. A different husband who she would have let touch her. A husband who wasn't you. A husband who would know what she felt like... what she tasted like. Does she know? Does she touch herself when I'm not around? Who does she think of? Some lord? Some stable boy who smiles at her every day?' He grew jealous of his own thoughts and opened his eye to be free of them.

When he did he saw your eyes were open. You were looking at him. You had spotted how close you were and you did not recoil. He could see a hint of anger in your eyes. He should have moved away the moment he got the chance but he couldn't. He was so transfixed on looking at you and now you were angry.

He went to back up from you and you moved closer. This puzzled him. "Aemond." Your voice called to him. Far too awake for someone who woke up less than a minute ago. Unless you weren't asleep. "Yes." He answered like a million thoughts were not running around his head. "Touch me. Please Aemond." You almost begged. He was in shock for a moment. Maybe he was still dreaming. The look in your eyes, wasn't anger, not anymore. Your pupils were dilated. He noticed you rubbing your legs together. This was happening.

"What?" He knew exactly what you had said but he wanted to hear you say it again. "Aemond I would like you to touch me. Please. Touch me." You lifted your hand and ran it down his face. He slowly lifted his own hand and placed it on your waist. His eye closed. He had waited so long for this moment.

You sat up from laying down. His hand fell from your waist. His eye shot open. Surely that couldn't have been what you wanted? For him to touch your waist once and be done. He hadn't upset you, had he? His worrying thoughts were gone the moment you swung your leg around him so now you were straddling him. Your bed shift scrupled around your hips. Your legs bare to the side of you. He was reminded that there was nothing under your shift. The only thing separating the two of you were his own clothes.

You both looked at each other frozen in that moment. You had no experience in this field but something drew you to sit in his lap like this and you were glad you did. You could feel every inch of his outline against you and it felt good. But what now? Aemond saw the look of innocence on your face and almost came right there. With both hands, he held onto your hips and dragged you forward. The noise you made would stick with him forever.

It was a mixture of shock and pleasure. You felt a little embarrassed at it. A lady should not make that noise. Before you could say anything Aemond did it again earning the same noise. It felt so good. Maybe if you just... you dragged your own hips forward without his direction and it felt just as good. "Aemond." You said suddenly not knowing any other words. Any you did know were gone.

He sat up changing the position you were in. His chest was pressed against yours. You looked at him under partially closed eyes. You rocked your hips again and your eyes closed fully at the new sensation. Who knew him just sitting up would feel so different to him lying down?

He called out your name and you looked at him. He pressed his forehead against yours. "Do you want this?" He tried to confirm. "Truly." You nodded. He let out a laugh. "I want to hear you say it." "I want you. I want you so bad Aemond." You almost sounded like you were whining. "I have for a while now. I need you." He smiled at you wickedly before his grip on your waist became like iron before it travelled to cup your ass. From this new position, he ground you against him faster and more forcefully. Your eyes rolled backwards as your jaw dropped open.

He placed kisses on your neck enjoying the sounds you were making. He had dreamt of these sounds but they sounded so much better in real life. He nipped and pulled at your flesh with his teeth. His lips went lower but to his dismay, you were still wearing clothes. While your shift had fallen slightly to reveal your shoulders he wanted more than that.

He lifted his hands from your behind and held the edges of your clothes. He looked at you almost asking for permission. You nodded and he pulled it over your head. Now you were in front of him completely exposed. Your nipples hard and the mess you made on his trousers. Wet from where you had been grinding against him. He was in awe of your beauty. You almost hid yourself away from him but before you could he latched his mouth onto one of your nipples which earned him a brand new sound.

He placed one of his hands back into position getting you to grind on him again while the other played with your other breast. You were his. His wife. And the sounds you were making were his too. "Aemond." You called out to get his attention. He looked at you. His own spit coated his lips. He looked so good right now. Although his hair wasn't stuck to his forehead yet. That is what you wanted.

You took his hand from your breast and guided it between your legs. He had seen women at the brothel do this but he didn't know why. You lead his fingers to a sensitive spot and with your guide, he began to rub that spot. "Fuck." You moaned out arching your back. He watched your face crumple up. "How did you know to do that?" He teased going faster. "Have you been touching yourself? Not very ladylike." You nodded. "Tell me. What were you thinking of?"

Your cheeks immediately flooded red. Him. Always him. "Hmmm." He probed for an answer getting faster and faster. "You." You couldn't catch your breath. "You Aemond." You practically shouted. You could feel the familiar feeling in your lower stomach. But there was also something different about it.

"You should have told me. I could have helped you out." He teased more. How long had you been thinking about him? Was it as long as he had thought of you? "I did say all you had to do was ask." You nodded. "Yes, I should have." You agreed. Almost there. "I wanted you so badly. I... I..." your words got caught in your throat. "You what?" "I" was all you managed to get out before your climax washed over you. It was different from usual. Normally your hand would be caught up in your orgasm that you would stop rubbing your clit meaning you would only feel it for a few fleeting moments. But Aemond did not stop. He kept going watching you come undone on top of him. Your whole body shook.

You looked so beautiful in that moment for him. He needed to do this again to you. Now he knew what it was, he needed it again. Once your body stopped shaking and your eyes closed with tiredness he removed his hand. You felt like you might wobble off the top of him. "Ready for my turn Princess?" Whether or not he meant that as a pet name or your official title, you would never figure it out. You gave a nod.

He flipped you over so now you were on the bottom. You were still in a daze. "Look at what you've done to my trousers." He scolded. You looked down and tried to ignore the bulge and only focus on the giant wet patch. Maybe you might have felt embarrassed but you didn't care. "You felt so good." You sounded like you were drunk. Aemond looked down at his wife, delirious and wanting more and he was more than happy to oblige.

He undid the strings that were trying their best to hold his waistband together. His dick sprung free causing him to wince at the sensitivity. He kicked his trousers away and you shot a sneaky look. Obviously, you had already felt it but you didn't imagine it would look like that. All stiff and leaking slightly. "Enjoying the view?" You were caught. Clearly not as sneaky as you thought you were. You nodded and licked your lips.

"I'll go as slow as I can." His voice suddenly went soft. "It might hurt." You nodded at him. He ran his dick up and down your folds a few times to gather your wetness. It sent small shocks down your spine. Was he teasing you? "Aemond?" You questioned. "Just enjoying my wife. The one who said she'd never ask." You bucked your hips up trying to meet him but he held you down easily. You began to squirm underneath him. You felt so empty. You needed him inside you.

"Don't make me beg again. I was wrong. I do want you to touch me. I do." He didn't move. "Aemond." You tried to sound annoyed but you couldn't. He leant his face forward and kissed your lips. It was then you realised that in all of this, you hadn't kissed him yet. This was your first kiss since the wedding and it made you want more. Why had you been missing out on all of this again? His tongue glided against your lips and you knew immediately what he wanted. You opened your mouth and let him in. For a moment you wondered what his tongue would feel like elsewhere. Maybe another time.

You wrapped your arms around his neck and pulled him closer. You didn't miss the smile he had as he slipped himself inside you. You gasped into his mouth and pulled your face away. "I've got you." He reassured. "You're okay." You nodded speechless. He slowly moved while kissing you again. Your sounds of discomfort slowly turned back into moans. It was a strange feeling. He was reaching places your fingers could never could. "Faster." You breathed into his ear. He did as asked.

Your extra sensitivity meant you couldn't last much longer. The sensation in your stomach coming back. When Aemond started making noises you knew he wouldn't last much longer either. "Aemond." You couldn't help but shout. He began to nod. "I know. I know." He began to repeat over and over. He kept one hand by your head while his hand went back to the spot you had shown him earlier. The shock of pleasure had your body jolt forward clamping your muscles. Aemond let out his own moan which sent you over the edge for the second time. Your muscles pulsated around him and he finished inside of you.

He stayed inside of you for a few moments catching his breath before rolling over beside you. You shuffled over to him and put your head on his shoulder. You looked up at him and saw what you wanted. His hair was a mess. You raised your hand and brushed it out of his face. He looked down at you puzzled. You moved your hand. "What?" You asked suddenly worried that you had done something wrong. He took your hand and held it against his face. He leant into your touch. "What is it Aemond?" You were suddenly concerned.

He took a deep breath in. "Nothing." He brushed it off. Letting go of your hand. "Don't do this Aemond. I'm your wife, as much as I have not acted like it. Please share your thoughts with me." "I just fear now that you have gotten what you wanted from me, you will leave me." "Aemond." You sat up brushing your own hair out of your face. You gathered the sheets to cover yourself. "I know what you think of yourself. I see it. You might think you hide it but I've known you my entire life." You turned back around to look at him. "I won't leave you." He didn't look at you, not believing you.

You leant down to kiss him. You tried to put all of your feelings into the kiss. At first, he did not kiss you back but he got caught up in it. "You don't need to believe me, at least not at first." You said pulling away. "But I will make sure you know. I will make it up to you. I shouldn't have taken my anger out on you." You curled back up into his side. He moved slightly but only to hold you closer. You were in his arms as much as he was in yours. You both drifted off to sleep again.

You both were woken by knocks at your doors. "Prince? Princess?" It was your handmaidens. "Go away," Aemond shouted at them. You giggled at his childishness. You heard the shuffling of feet. "We should get up." You sighed. "Although I do not wish to." Closing your eyes again. "We are needed for royal duties." Aemond agreed. "Do any of your duties include training? I like it when you train." Aemond chuckled. "Is that so?" You nodded at his question. "Watching you made me realise how badly I wanted you. Watching you sweat and be out of breath. I wanted to do that to you." "I can make it part of my duties. I do need to be ready to always protect the realm. And once I'm done I can find my Lady Wife."

You pulled away from his arms and tried to get out of bed only to find yourself collapsing under your own weight and back onto the bed. "It's like I'm on one of grandsire's ships." You giggled. "I might have to stay here all day." You beamed. "Then how will you watch me train?" Aemond pointed out. You pouted. He kissed you. As he pulled away you pulled him back in for a second one. "I fear I have created a monster."

"I'd like to say. In the future please feel free to touch me whenever you like. Well... Not whenever. We might cause quite a stir if we do that in court." "Hmmmm." He traced circles on your side. "I like the idea of us sitting at the presiding table with my hand up your skirt." You shivered. "Sounds like you've already thought about it." It was your turn to tease. He sat forward, his lips pressing against the shell of your ear. "Oh, I have Princess. I've thought about many things." "You should have let me know. I would have helped you." You mirrored his words from earlier.

The both of you got dressed and Aemond led you by arm to see his sister Helaena and her children. You sat down and smiled at the children. Helaena looked at you once you were alone. "Hot baths." She said. "Hot baths help with the pain." She went back to sowing while you felt yourself blushing. How she knew, you didn't want to know but you hoped nobody else did.

You and she walked around the red keep taking the children for a walk. You heard grunting. You looked down into the courtyard and saw your husband and Ser Cole practising with swords. His grunts and breathlessness taking you back to this morning. Almost like he could feel your presence he looked up. He grinned knowing your thoughts.

He told you, you'd end up married.

#aemond fanfiction #aemond targaryen #aemond x reader #hotd aemond #aemond x niece!reader #prince aemond x reader #prince aemond targaryen #aemond smut #targcest #aemond targaryen x female reader #smut #aemond targaryen smut #Targaryen princess #hotd smut #House of the dragon #House of the dragon fic #house of the dragon imagine #house of the dragon reader #hotd

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spacerockfloater · 3 months

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You know what, the Driftmark girlies have been slightly redeemed in my eyes after the second and third episode.

Baela admitting she hates her father? Preach actually. I did not see that coming at all. And don’t get me started on how Rhaenyra thinks her stepdaughter is disposable enough to take on the dangerous task of keeping watch, but prevents her darling boy from risking his life. Sickening!

Rhaena talking back to Rhaenyra and being upset that she’s sending her away from her family to be a substitute mother to her children as if she’s some kind of wet nurse? Refreshing as a cucumber.

Rhaenys knocking Rhaenyra down a peg, telling her that she’s not as innocent as she thinks she is and reminding her that Luc taking Aemond’s eye is what started this mess? Gasped. Never expected miss Bump-It to be so real.

Props to them for finally growing a spine and criticising Daemyra for their shit. They’ve finally made them more nuanced and I’m so happy because I could not stand the ass licking that was going on.

#house of the dragon #hotd #pro team green #anti rhaenyra targaryen #team green #anti team black #pro alicent hightower #alicent hightower #pro alicent stans #rhaenys targaryen #baela and rhaena #dragon twins #baela targaryen #rhaena targaryen #anti daemyra #anti daemon targaryen

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peachysunrize · 4 months

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MAMMAMIA ⥃ modern!Aemond + Aegon Targaryen

Summary: Baela finds out about your crush on her cousins, who just happen to be the new rising stars in the music industry. And with the promise of meeting them, she forces you to go with her to one of their concerts. (Listen to MAMMAMIA by Maneskin)

Warnings: 18+ mdni! Smut, p in v, threesome, creampie, oral (F & M receiving), fingering, degradation, Band au, alcohol consume, Aegon gets high, cocaine use, unprotected sex. Basically porn no plot! English isn’t my first language <3 divider by @/cafekitsune

Word count: 3.08k

A/n: do I even need to say anything or you know how unhinged this new photoshoot has made me?? LETS GET FUCKED— sorry if it's bad. I'm sick and it's 2am...

“You can’t be serious!” Baela gasps, chuckling in disbelief, “you can’t be fucking serious, girl!”

“Don’t act as if I’m the crazy one! You-you are the one snooping around my phone!” Screaming, you chase Baela to give your phone back while she goes through all of the posts you have made on Tumblr, all those unhinged comments you made earlier under the posts of the new photoshoot of your favorite band.

“What the fuck— you have a crush on my cousins! You sneaky slut, eww, you want them to do what—?” She gasps, looking from your phone to your face before laughing, flustering you even more.

You have no idea which post she is exactly looking at, but you know she’d not back down from teasing you until she has you begging with tears for her to stop.

“Give my phone back, bitch—”

“Nu-uh! You want my cousins to dick you down, girlie, you are one sick crazy woman!” She keeps laughing at you, stepping back when you leap for your phone.

“Stop scrolling! Haven’t your parents taught you about personal space— give it back!” You screech at her, trying to loop your arm around her to snatch your phone, but all your efforts are in vain when she dodges you and steps behind you.

“Those are the worst fuckboys I have ever met! And you want to meet them? Are you fucking with me?” She is finding too much enjoyment in tormenting you, chuckling and laughing when she sees how crazy you have gone over the new pictures of her cousins.

“Baela, you are not supposed to see those! If I wanted to tell you, I would! Now, be a decent fucking human and give my.phone.back!”

“Want me to tell you a lil secret, babe?” She leans towards you, wrapping her arm around your shoulder when she hands you back your phone, “They have a concert here, in the town tonight.”

“What?!” You ask, eyes wide and nervous as you look at how she wiggles her eyebrows at you.

“Lucky you! I have one more VIP ticket, guess you’ll be coming with me,” she explains so casually that for a second you’re left gaping at her, jaw on the floor with surprise.

“You can’t be serious, Bae. This is absurd—”

“Girlie, I’m literally telling you that I have a spare VIP ticket and I want you to come with me and meet them! And you call this absurd? You’re one lucky bitch for having me in your life! Now get upstairs we need to choose your outfit!”

“Bae, I can’t accept this! It must have cost a fortune!” You gasp when she pulls on your hand, not letting you recover from the shock she just gave you.

“Lucky and dumb. I talked to Jace, asked him to get me three tickets so me and Rhaena could go and if she wanted she could bring someone! But she didn’t, and now, that ticket is yours! You’re seriously so fucking dumb if you think I paid for anything.”

You open your mouth to say something, but close it abruptly when she looks back and glares at you as she pulls you behind her to your room.

“Alright, alright! Are you sure you want me—”

“Shut the fuck up and pull out every sexy outfit you have! The more cleavage, the better. Aegon would lose his fucking mind if he gets a peek of your boobs.”

You giggle and listen to her, giddy and excited about tonight.

———

You tangle your fingers with Baela, confidence oozing from your every step, and you can already feel so many sets of eyes on your trio as you walk toward the VIP section. Baela forced you to wear a very tight and short leather skirt — she said Aemond loved latex or leather skirts when it came to women — and you obliged, pairing it with a tight crop top that shaped your breasts just perfectly, and for the last touch, she suggested a fishnet that covered your thighs just perfectly.

You are indeed one lucky bitch to have Baela in your life, trying to make you look like a candy in her cousins’ eyes so that you could get your dream come true.

The twins lead you towards the front of the stage, grabbing the beers that are being served among the crowd while you wait for the band to come on stage.

You rock on your high heel boots, biting your crimson-colored lips as you wait for them to come. Anticipation eating you alive while the time ticks away and you sip on your beverage.

Finally, the lights go down and you see Jace and Daeron going towards their instruments. The crowd goes wild as they shout and scream their names, followed for cheers for Luke who joins them and waves at the audience. The two people who you’ve been waiting for the most are only missing from the stage.

As soon as Daeron starts playing his drums, everyone starts screaming and cheering when they see Aegon and Aemond joining the band on the stage, Aegon already making his way towards the center of it as he starts singing, Aemond close behind him with his fingers already doing his magic on his electric guitar.

[ Oh, oh, oh, oh

Oh, mamma mia-ma, ma-mamma mia-ah

I feel the heat up, uh, I feel the beat of drums

Call the police, I'll do it, they've stolen all my fun

I'm breaking free, but I'm stuck in a police car ]

From the second you spot them, your eyes are glued to them as you dance with Baela and Rhaena, screaming and having the time of your life. You can’t believe how lucky you are to be standing a few meters away from the men you fantasize about for hours per day.

You and Baela finish your drinks, shouting the lyrics with every breath that you have left in your lungs while dancing and keeping your eyes on the stage.

You catch Aemond’s eye, feeling your blood pumping faster as he winks at you, moving from chord to chord so effortlessly, his long fingers pressing into the strings with ease and you find yourself wanting nothing more than to feel them on your body, exploring each up and down.

[ Oh, mamma mia-ma, ma-mamma mia-ah

They treat me like if I did something criminal

All eyes on me, I feel like I'm a superstar

I'm not a freak, I just thought it was carniva ]

Aegon keeps singing, his chest in full view as he unbuttons his shirt, moving around the stage gracefully while he sings each note correctly. You look away from Aemond’s fingers only to catch Aegon walking towards where you are standing, a lazy smirk on his face as he keeps singing and kneeling in front of you.

[ Oh, ma-mamma mia, spit your love on me

I'm on my knees, and I can't wait to drink your rain

I'll keep it secret if you let me get a taste

Tell me your limit, and we'll cross the line again

Oh, mamma-mamma mia, ahahah! ]

He reaches forward, cupping your cheek with his free hand while he stares into your eyes as he sings:

[ Oh, ma-mamma mia, spit your love on me

I'm on my knees, and I can't wait to drink your rain

I'll keep it secret if you let me get a taste

Tell me your limit, and we'll cross the line again

Oh, mamma-mamma mia, ahahah! ]

His thumb brushes over your bottom lip, staring into your eyes with a newfound feeling. Your lips part in surprise, ears ringing as you try to realize what the fuck is happening now, and you can feel how he resists the urge to push his thumb into your eager mouth.

Like his younger brother, he shoots you a wink, leaving you breathless and needy as he stands up and moves toward the other side of the stage.

You can already feel yourself soaking through your panties, following them both as they start singing the chorus together, but you can’t seem to be paying attention to what words they’re saying. All you can do is look at them; Aemond is in a sheer shirt with a long coat and latex pants while Aegon is bare-chested with long white pants.

They look too good to be real.

After a few seconds, Baela nudges you and brings you out of your thoughts, and you join them again, dancing and singing with the band through the night.

The concert ends sooner than you would’ve liked, but Baela and Rhaena grab your hands to pull you out of the crowd toward the backstage, giggling all the way to the door. The bodyguard does an identity check before letting you three join the band in their rooms.

“Hey, girls!” Jace announces, pulling Baela into a hug before grinning at you, extending his hand to introduce himself.

“It’s a pleasure—“

“Oh, for fuck sake, save your gratitude for the people who matter. This guy doesn’t care,” Baela says, pulling you behind her towards the room with Rhaena and Jace following closely.

As soon as you step inside, your eyes find the men you wanted to see; Aemond and Aegon are sitting on the couch, each of them having their drinks of choice in hand while a few girls flock around them, rubbing their hands all over them.

“Boys, I brought a fan!”

“Hey!” You pinch her Baela’s waist.

“Oh, look who’s here!” Aegon says, standing up from the couch without glancing at the pouting women who were all over him, instead his eyes drink your sight up, “saw you out there, doll. You were quite enjoying yourself.”

“Oh, I was! I loved it!” You exclaim excitedly, realizing how desperate you might have sounded, you try to apologize but Aegon’s laugh stops you as he reaches to cup your cheek, another lazy smirk on his pink lips.

“We’re so happy you enjoyed yourself and the show, right, Aemond?”

The younger one turns his head, a sinister smile on his mouth already when he seizes your outfit, licking his thin lips.

“Of course, when Baela told us she’d bring a friend we didn’t expect her to bring such beauty.” He says, standing up as well before making his way towards his older brother.

You nearly melt under their honey-coated words, a large yet shy smile breaking on your face as you gaze up at them through your lashes, wanting nothing more than to do hear more, but with everyone around it isn’t possible.

“Come! Let us have a drink!” Daeron claps, jumping to give everyone a glass of the whiskey Aemond is having while Aegon leads you and Aemond towards the couch they were already sitting on after he shooed out the other girls.

They make sure you are sitting between them, keeping you closer than before with Aemond’s finger caressing your bare shoulders while Aegon grips your thigh gently.

If anyone notices anything, they don’t say it, letting the three of you have your moment before they decide to change the topic.

“What if we go to the nearest club? I’m sure we can have fun there!” Luke suggests, looking hopefully.

“I rather go to the tour bus and have fun there, you should go though,” Aemond shrugs, already planning his next move on you, knowing how Aegon would catch up on his hints immediately.

Baela and Rhaena agree to go with Luke, taking Jace and Daeron with them before Baela smirks at you and gives you a cheeky wink, leaving you and your favorite boys alone.

“So, doll, do you want to have a photograph? We keep some in the bus,” Aegon tells you, rubbing circles with his thumb on your inner thigh, chuckling when you look up at him with blown pupils.

“I would love to,” you reply, trying to keep your voice down, not really wanting to sound desperate.

But when they take you to the bus, everything takes a turn and you find your lips locked in a passionate kiss with Aemond, his tongue moving along your bottom lip as he invades your mouth.

Aegon’s hands roam the length of your body while he sucks marks on your neck and shoulders, marking you as his and brother’s while they make you ready for whatever is about to come.

Aegon sits on the couch, fumbling with his belt as he watches you and his brother sucking the air out of each other’s mouths. He sighs with relief when his hard cock is freed from the confines of his pants, stroking himself into full hardness before pushing the fabric down to his ankles.

Aemond lets go of your lips, smirking when he finds you wide-eyed with pretty bruised lips. He turns you around before pulling down the zipper of your pretty leather skirt, pushing you on your knees in front of Aegon before he kneels behind you and pulls down your skirt, exposing your lace panties to his hungry gaze.

Aegon keeps stroking his thick cock with one hand, the other one caressing your face while he fists a bit of your hair, pulling you closer until your face is near his throbbing member.

Aemond, behind you, grabs the side of your fishnets, ripping them apart just so he can push your panties aside, groaning at the sight of your sweet and soaked pussy just for them. He has to keep himself away from diving in and feasting on your nectar like a starved dog ready to please his master.

You reach forward and grab a hold of Aegon’s dick, slapping it on your tongue a few times before taking the head in your mouth, tasting the salty flavor of his pre-cum. You kitten lick the angry tip, giggling when he curses and throws his head back.

Moaning around Aegon’s cock, you push your hips back as soon as Aemond licks a stripe from your center up to your clit, taking the bundle of nerves in his mouth. Aegon takes his chance and shoves your face down, forcing you to take more of him.

The brothers take what they want from you; one bobbing your head with his fingers in your hair, the other one buries his face between your thighs and shakes his head side to side, rubbing his curved nose in the right places that has you seeing stars.

Aemond’s fingers join his mouth soon, two digits at once that have you choking around Aegon’s thick cock in your mouth, fucking you at a fast pace.

Unfortunately or fortunately, you can’t form a coherent thought. You just lay there when Aemond pulls his fingers out of you to brush his coat off, pushing his pants down enough to grab a hold of his cock and bring it out of his boxers.

Your eyes water as Aegon keeps his assault on your mouth, the head of his dick hitting the back of your throat as his groans and moans fill the bus, and you can honestly feel him getting closer and closer, but he stops and pulls out of your mouth quickly.

“Turn around, doll, let Aemy see your pretty face as he fucks you stupid,” Aegon says as he stands up and walks to the desk in the corner before Aemond manhandles you on your back, most of your body supported by his strong arms keeping your hips aligned with his weeping cock.

You bite your lips, hands reaching to hold on to Aemond’s forearms as he pushes his fat cock inside you slowly, groaning at the resistance he faces but not pulling out either. With one swift thrust, he sheathes himself inside you completely, groaning at how warm and wet you are for him.

Aegon comes back with a pack of Snow, grinning at the sight of you getting fucked by his younger brother while his cock is still hard and twitchy against his stomach. He crouches down next to you, opening the pack before he lines up two rows of the powder on your breasts, deeping his head down to sniff one, groaning in delight as he licks at your breast after that.

“Keep going, lil bro. We shouldn’t disappoint our biggest fan,” Aegon chuckles, leaning down to sniff the second line as well before he tips his head back, relishing in the moans and yelps of pleasure you let out as Aemond keeps fucking you in a fast pace that has you seeing stars.

“Are you going to join or not?” Aemond asks his older brother breathlessly, his good eye glued to where your bodies are joined.

“Oh, yes, I’m gonna fill her pretty mouth with my cum now,” you moan at the thought of him fucking his load down your throat, “yeah, what a slut we have here, eager to take more than one cock inside her. Pretty doll, ready to serve your favorite celebrities?” Aegon hovers above your chest and you open your lips for him, hands coming for support to his thick thighs before he pushes himself in as well.

Aemond fucks you harder, his thumb going down to rub on your pearl in a fast pace, bringing you closer to your peak.

Aegon tries to match his brother’s rhythm, thrusting his dick into your mouth intensely, groaning and shaking on top of you as he fucks your throat.

The brothers moan and have their way with you in sync, and with one final moan and a deep rough thrust from Aemond, you come undone, clenching so hard around Aemond that he comes with you as well, emptying his thick load inside your cunt.

Aegon takes a bit longer, so you reach and fumble with his balls, squeezing them in your hands while you give him the best puppy look you can muster, begging him to give you whatever he has.

And he does, coming inside you as he shudders, pressing his hips to your nose until there is no room left for you to breathe, so you lay there and take it, spurting some of his salty cum out of your mouth.

They both pull away from you, Aegon lies down on the floor while Aemond sits back on his heels, smiling at your filled pussy, watching his cum dribbling out of you slowly, leaking on the floor.

“You’re not going anywhere, doll,” Aegon says, “you’re ours from now. Not a chance we’d let a pretty thing like you flee away from us.”

#rue:smut #aemond targaryen #aegon ii targaryen #aemond targaryen smut #aegon ii targaryen x reader #aemond targaryen x reader #aegon ii targaryen smut #aemond x reader x aegon #house of the dragon

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ivypos-writes · 4 months

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with my touch (i have cursed you)

— aemond targaryen

summary: His first touch plants a seed of desire, and it is only a matter of time before it blooms.

Or, all the times Aemond touches her, and the one when he lets himself be touched.

warnings: 18+, au—no dance of dragons, targcest, aemond being a tease and a little shit, mutual pining, unhealthy amounts of tension, first times, oral (f receiving), fingering, piv, multiple orgasms, aemond being pathetic (he whimpers), smut with plot (and the plot is just prolonged foreplay)

word count: 8.7k

notes: so. i wrote this thing. english is not my first language. all reblogs and comments are very appreciated! aemond girlies, we are so back.

(also available on ao3.)

The street is bustling with life.

She is little more than a dull spot against a variety of colours, and something about the thought of blending with the surroundings is more comforting than anything she has ever known. She tightens her hold on the large hood of the cloak and pushes past a gathering of haggling customers, giggling as they shout in indignation.

It is still early, though the skies above head are spotted with warm oranges and pinks. The air is different here. Sultry. She traverses the cobblestone paths and passes through alleys filled with shops and boisterous merchants, and her eyes grow brighter with each step.

She has known life in its subdued form—in gold and jewels, and soft-spoken words, and lullabies sung at nighttime. She has been sheltered, and dressed in gowns, and taught to wield practiced smiles and pretty countenance. It is the first time that she experiences havoc. There is dirt and dust, and curses falling left and right, and women dressed scarcely in anything, scraps of fabric falling down their shoulders without care for decency.

In these streets, life is fervent. Chaotic, unashamedly passionate, and lewd in ways that render her breathing shallow.

At once, she is filled with greed.

Led by impulse alone, she blurs into the masses of depravity. She forgets about her name and titles. Here, she is just a woman—not a silver-haired maiden, or a dragonrider, or her mother’s daughter. It is easy to forget duty when it is nowhere to be seen; when it is replaced with pure, unadulterated perversity.

Something flutters in her heart, and it must be freedom.

She passes by multiple stands, and because here she is not a princess, she catches the string of a flower pendant and snitches it from its spot. The trader doesn’t notice, too engrossed in his attempts to sell his goods for a too-high price. She is quick to hide it deep inside her pocket, and the smile that lightens her face is radiant.

Her feet ache, but she stubbornly speeds towards the nearest corner. It is right there, and she almost reaches its edge—

“Are you up to no good, niece?”

A gasp tears out of her mouth. She turns, wide-eyed and flushed, and finds a splash of silver-white strands shining against worn-out fabric. She scans the porcelain skin and the puckered scar that paints it in pinks; traces the leather of the eyepatch. He looks different in this particular light. Warm hues of the sky bathe him in a gleam that softens the curves of his features; there is an odd gentleness in him that she doesn’t recognise.

“Aemond,” she murmurs.

He seems pleased with himself. She catches a glint in his eye that whispers of carefully restrained mischief; his lips are curved into the beginning of a smile. She’s seen this particular expression only a handful of times, and always in the face of chaos.

It suits him. More often than not, and only ever quietly, she thinks he was carved for it.

“I didn’t take you for a little thief.”

Her cheeks burn. They must be scarlet red, and she inwardly curses both the humidity and the weight of his gaze that only fuels the onslaught of the tint. Aemond’s smirk grows. The blatant exhibition of her shame appears to have entertained him.

“A thief?” she repeats, eyes rounded with what she hopes is a convincing display of innocence. “Have you any proof?”

He breathes out a little laugh. It’s sharp and fleeting, and she drinks up the sound of it, oddly enthralled. She is not familiar with his laughter. Her skin prickles as its remnants linger between them.

Aemond moves closer, and soon the distance between them is so small that their cloaks brush against one another.

She is so caught off-guard that she barely notices the pendant dangling from his finger. Aemond swings it in front of her face, and when she reaches for it with a surprised gasp, he moves his hand away in the blink of an eye.

Her mouth twists in displeasure. His grin grows.

“Give it back,” she demands.

“It wasn’t yours in the first place.”

“I claimed it as mine.”

“Did you?” Aemond’s eye lights up in flames. From this close, she can almost sense the heat. “Is it as simple as that?”

“It is.”

She doesn’t expect him to truly return the pendant into her waiting hand, and her eyebrows furrow in surprise when he does. Aemond says nothing more. His expression is meticulously crafted—it is layers upon layers of riddles that she does not know how to solve. She imagines peeling them off one by one and finding him as he is—bare before her eyes. She wonders what she’d find written over his face when it is unspoiled by composure.

His fingers briefly tickle the skin of her palm before they’re gone. They leave a searing trail in their wake.

“It’s a poor disguise.” Aemond eyes the hood that falls onto her forehead, and the few curls that cascade down her face in silver streaks. “If you want to sneak out into the city, you ought to be more clever.”

She scowls. “And you, of course, know everything about it.”

There is contemplation in his eye. He rids himself of the smiles that she doesn’t recognise, and puts on a calculating face that she’s seen many times before. It makes him look more familiar. Most of the times that their paths cross, she finds him lost deep in thought.

“Come.”

She eyes his outstretched hand with scepticism.

He will likely drag her back to the Red Keep—to the judging stares and stinging reprimands and her mother’s burning disappointment. There is nothing she loathes more than being forced to endure interrogations regarding her behaviour. She will be scolded, as if it is a crime that she, a girl, has decided to experience something more than feigned propriety.

She thinks she would rather stay within the dirt and stench of the city.

Aemond hums in response to her silence, and the sound is so low that she needs to chase it through the clamour of the street. There is something akin to understanding that appears on his face.

His hand remains still.

“Do you wish to see the city or not?”

She blinks, perplexed, and it takes a mere moment for her fingers to lace with his. His are warmer than hers; heat engulfs her, and she unconsciously presses against him with doubled force.

When her eyes return to his face, Aemond is already watching her. He leans towards her. His breath tickles her cheek.

“Stay close,” Aemond orders. He stands in such proximity that they breathe the same air. “And don’t be a brat.”

She lets him tighten his hold on her hand, and soon they are walking the path side by side.

Aemond shows her the city in all its glory, and not once does his grip waver.

She spends the night tracing the remnants of his fingertips on her skin.

He smells of smoke.

It is a cloudless day, and she has decided to forsake the red walls of the castle in favour of the sun-soaked yard. There is only the scent of grass and parchment. It is why she senses him before he speaks. He permeates the air like he owns it.

“Shouldn’t you be with your septa?”

The skin of her palm tingles with the memory of his touch; she clutches at the silken fabric of her dress, if only to smother the sudden urge to hold something between her fingers. There is a large tome in her lap, and she flicks the pages absentmindedly, determined not to look at him.

She hasn’t seen him since their escapade through the streets of King’s Landing. It is not that she avoids him—only she does, because it feels as if the line between them that she’s known all her life became blurred. She searches for its remains and finds them long shattered. There is void space in its stead that she knows not what to make of

“Shouldn’t you mind your own business, uncle?”

She hears him snort quietly. There is a rustling sound that follows, and soon Aemond’s arm is brushing against hers. It is a feather-like touch, but she freezes all the same.

He smells of smoke. Fire. Scorching flames. Her skin burns beneath the sleeve of her dress in all places he has touched.

“The Seven-Pointed Star,” Aemond reads, blissfully unaware of her turmoil. “I didn’t take you for a woman of faith.”

Slowly, a little hesitantly, she turns her face towards him. His own is perfectly neutral, but she finds a glimpse of amusement playing at the corners of his mouth. She squints at him, feigning offence.

“Did you take me for a woman of sin, then?”

He doesn’t answer. She supposes it is an answer in its own right. Before she can think it through, her arm shoots forward; she elbows him in the side and smiles at the startled gasp that leaves his mouth.

It is a nice sound. Her cheeks warm.

When her eyes return to the book, she finds herself eager to continue the conversation, though whatever it is that urges her to do so remains unclear.

“Septa Marlow is under the impression that I lack virtue,” she says, voice dripping with venom. She glances at him, suddenly needing to add a rushed, “It’s a vile accusation.”

Septa Marlow is a cunt. Her mother will not say it aloud, but she knows that they both hate the woman with equal passion. The septa is stuck in her old ways, and no longer remembers youth well enough to comprehend it. Her teachings persist only for the sake of upholding etiquette, and only for as long as it’s necessary.

Not much longer. She is almost a woman grown.

Aemond chuckles. “Certainly.”

She shoots him a withering look. The corners of his lips tremble; he seems to be holding back another fit of laughter, and she narrows her eyes at the sight.

“Do you disagree?”

He faces her fully, and she can now see the scar marring his skin. It looks softer in sunlight; its edges blend with his flesh. She traces its shape and length; wanders through every inch. If she tried to touch it—to caress it with gentle fingers—would he move away? Would he give her his scorn, and his anger, and would the fire that they share turn deadly? Aemond keeps the scar out of sight for a reason. He must hate her for looking at it.

But Aemond doesn’t shy away from her gaze. He doesn’t seem to mind the way she is watching him; his body tilts towards hers, and now both their elbows and their knees touch.

He’s beautiful. It is a thought that never once crossed her mind, and yet it’s true. Sunny spells hit his face in all the right places, and the purples of his eye glow, and the sight of him steals her breath away.

When he speaks, it is closer to a whisper, as though meant for her ears alone.

“I wouldn’t dare question your virtue, sweet niece.”

Fire returns, stronger than she remembered it to be. It’s all she knows.

“Good.”

Silence befalls them again, and her eyes revert back to the tome in her hands.

They widen when nimble fingers grab the book. It is gone from her grasp before she can blink. She opens her mouth to scold him; to demand that he give it back, even though she doesn’t truly want it.

Words die on her tongue when the heavy weight of the old tome is replaced by softness in the hues of silver-whites.

Aemond’s head is in her lap.

Her heartbeat jumps.

She stares at him, and then around the yard, and then once again at him. They are sitting in a fairly private area of the yard, but she knows that they’re never truly spared from eyes that are hungry for controversy. Someone will see. Someone will see, and then talk, and soon they will become yet another spectacle for vicious tongues. Protests rise to her lips—numerous, and each of them quite rational. Surely, he will see reason.

But then he turns, and his eye reflects the sun, and she forgets what she wanted to say, or why she wanted to say it, or why it matters if they were discovered at all.

He looks so peaceful. She’s never seen an expression quite this soft on his face. There is a trace of pink on his cheek, and his lips are curved, and he eyes her with emotion she cannot fathom.

She couldn’t possibly disturb him when his face is smoothed with serenity. Just a little longer, she thinks. She wants to see him like this for a few more stolen moments.

“Go on, then,” Aemond says without a care. “Read to me.”

Her mouth is dry. She clears her throat and hopes that her face doesn’t betray her.

“My lap isn’t your spot to rest on.”

Except it is. She will not say it—she’ll never say it—but having him this close feels right. Like this, his softness is for her eyes only.

“I have just claimed it as mine.” His eye speaks in a language of pure intensity, and in response she burns. “Is it not as simple as that?”

She bites her tongue and says nothing else, and the stray strands of his hair tickle her arms. Her skin is on fire. She’s sure that her cheeks are, too.

When she reads to him, she prays that her voice does not waver.

The feast thrown on her name day is a boastful one. She weaves her way through crowds of faces she doesn’t recognise, and pleasantries fall from her lips as befitting the daughter of a royal household.

A woman grown. It seems half the realm had been eagerly waiting for her to come of age. She is mostly surrounded by men, and they all appear to be looking for excuses to touch her.

She is in search for any of her brothers, hoping for a moment of respite from the dancing. It isn’t that she dislikes it, but she has long since grown tired of foreign hands palming her body as though they owned it. She would rather dance with Jace, or even Luke whose clumsiness precedes him—or all by herself, uncaring for the crowds that wish to sink their claws into her.

Respite evades her. Just when she spots familiar heads made of brown curls, another stranger forces his way into her personal space. The man is twice her age, and she immediately finds herself repulsed by the leering expression that he cares not to veil for something more respectful.

His palms are clammy. They will surely leave stains on her skin.

The man leads her towards the centre of the hall, and his spine is straightened in a pathetic display of pride. His hands find her hips before she can protest; his grip is harsh, verging on bruising.

The dance couldn’t last longer. Her head spins from the force with which the man whirls her around, and she must steady herself by gripping his shoulders, even if the prospect disgusts her. She prays that Daemon sees them; that he comes with his sword in hand, ready to spill blood.

But it isn’t Daemon that grabs the man by the arm and sends him backwards. It isn’t Daemon that takes her hand into his own, shielding her from the eyes of the stranger.

She is at peace. Safe. Fire licks at her skin and sinks deep into her bones.

Aemond remains silent. He leads her away from the man, not sparing him a glance. As always, his hand is warm.

“Uncle.” She cannot help but grin. “It would have been more polite to wait your turn.”

He hums, quick to find the right steps. He is a good dancer. His body was made for it.

“Would you rather have him paw at you like an animal?”

She twirls, and the colours of her dress blur into a rainbow.

Aemond is a pitch-black spot against the canvas of vibrant hues. She is drawn to him; drawn to his darkness, and the violet of his eye that disrupts it. Her palm finds his, and she bites back a smile when he boldly presses his skin to hers.

It is not a dance meant for touching.

“What if I liked it?”

Once more, she spins.

They stand back to back, and her spine tingles from the proximity. He is close; too close. His scent is all she can feel.

He has corrupted her with his disregard for propriety. She knows it, because not once does she consider what their family would say if they saw them.

“Did you like it?”

Heat spreads from her back towards her chest. There are many things she has come to like, and none of them are quite related to some unnamed lords.

She could say it. Whisper every perversity her mind has conjured.

But more often than not, their short exchanges seem to be a game that none of them truly understands. She must keep playing. It is what keeps him returning for more.

She turns around to face him and shrugs. “I’m not made of glass. There is no need to handle me gently.”

There is a beat, and silence, and hands itching to touch. Suddenly, without any warning, she is pulled into Aemond’s embrace; a gasp escapes her throat when she feels his hand tighten around her waist.

His fingers dig into the flesh of her hip. He holds her firmly against his chest, and she imagines their bodies blending together into one.

There is nothing appropriate about this kind of proximity. She stands before him as a woman, and he holds her like a man would, and surely no one sees through the flames that have flared around them. This—whatever it is—belongs to them alone.

But her skin tingles.

“Uncle,” she pants, face scarlet red with something unspoken. It is not shame, but something of a darker nature. She is not yet ready to name it. “People are looking at us.”

“Let them look,” he says, and each word has his lips brushing against her ear.

They are so close that she feels his heartbeat. It is as quick as hers.

Not alone. They’re not alone.

“Aemond.”

“Do you want me to let go?”

She doesn’t. He must know that she doesn’t. There is something perverse about his hands on her body—right there, in a hall full of strangers and curious gazes. In the centre of everything. She would gladly let him hold her like this forever—until everyone in the hall understands that she is his, and it is his arms that she belongs in.

“I do,” she says instead.

In a rush of boldness, with utter disregard for her own words, she presses her chest closer to his.

She hardly knows where her body ends and his begins, and if she wanted to—oh, how she wants to—she could step onto her toes and reach towards his lips—

“You're not very convincing,” Aemond whispers into her hair, and then his hands are gone.

He leaves her amidst crowds, surrounded by dozens of onlookers, and yet she sees nothing but the lines of his shrinking silhouette.

It is hours later that she lays amidst silken bedcovers, a sheen of sweat clinging to her bared body, and furiously rubs the spot right between her legs. Her teeth are clenched, and her eyes are burning with vexation, and her hand is not enough. It’s not enough.

She is half-sprawled atop the wooden table.

Her braids have long since come undone, and her hair now cascades down her back like a shield. She plays with one of the strands, curling it around her finger. Her other hand flips the pages of whatever book she is pretending to read.

The library is quiet. It is located deep enough into Maegor’s Holdfast that she knows none of her siblings will find her. It offers the kind of solitude no other place in the Red Keep ensures. Dozens of shelves thrice her height have been installed within the walls, all filled with the oldest and rarest of volumes in the realm.

She cares not for the scent of parchment. It is not books that she came for.

“You shouldn’t be here.”

A small smile creeps onto her lips.

She knew he would come. His presence no longer takes her by surprise. Everywhere she goes, Aemond dutifully follows; no longer does she need to search for him in dark corners.

He is her shadow.

Every day, she breathlessly waits for night to come.

“Aemond.”

“Niece.” His footsteps echo through the walls. “It nears the hour of the owl.”

She rubs the tiredness from her eyes and swallows the yawn that has crawled up her throat. The book is now forgotten; she pushes it away, no longer interested in keeping up the pretence of studying its contents. When she turns, she does it slowly, if only to conceal her traitorous eagerness.

It is too dark. All she sees is a mark of silver painted on pitch-black canvas. His face is shielded from her view, and she bites back the bitter disappointment. She has gone the entire day without a single glimpse of him.

“Why do you care?”

Her eyes trace the outline of his silhouette. He strides towards the chair in front of her, and though she wishes he would sit beside her instead, she appreciates the closeness all the same.

The table is too large. She should have chosen a different one.

The air grows heavier, like it always does when she is with him.

“A princess shouldn’t be spending her time alone in the darkness.”

She wishes he could see her coy smile; wonders if he would offer her one of the private smirks she now knows by heart, or if he’d playfully scold her, or throw a comment that would induce a blush in response.

“It is a good thing, then, that you’ve found me.”

“Yes,” Aemond murmurs, and his voice is so guttural that she nearly melts at the sound. “It is.”

Then it is them, and silence, and darkness. It seems to have become a usual setting for their meetings, as though they required the shroud of night’s secrecy to conceal something illicit.

It isn’t wrong. Whatever it is—whatever looms above their heads—it is not wrong.

Absentmindedly, she reaches for the book; as always, he is quicker.

Their hands meet. There is nothing innocent about the touch, and she no longer desires to pretend that she is not burning. Aemond’s fingers trace the skin of her palm; tickle it, and she bites her lip at the sensation. It lasts only for a short moment—too short, never enough—and then his touch is gone, and so is the book.

She wishes he would forgo this restraint. She has long since grown tired of it.

“I was reading this,” she lies.

“Were you?”

She wants to tear the tome away from his grasp, if only for their hands to touch once more.

“No.”

“No,” Aemond repeats lowly.

If there was any light, she imagines that she’d find his eye intense and hungry; or maybe playful, betraying his endless desire to leave her breathless. He would look at her without a trace of shame, just like he always does. He would set her alight with one glance alone.

There is a thudding sound that cuts through silence. It breaks her out of reverie, and she flinches, squinting into the darkness.

Silver wisps cut through the air. Then they’re gone.

She straightens her spine, brows furrowed in confusion. It looks like he dropped the book and bent to pick it up, only she cannot see his hair. She opens her mouth, not quite understanding this particular game of his, until she feels it.

Something slithers up the skirts of her dress. Fingers wrap around her ankle, and then the other one, and suddenly her legs are forcefully parted. She gasps, and the sound echoes against the empty walls.

“Be quiet, niece,” comes Aemond’s muffled voice. “You’re in a library.”

This is madness. She cannot let it happen—cannot let him touch her like this, right there—

Aemond’s hands slide higher up her legs.

Her muscles tremble. He holds her with enough strength that she cannot escape his grip, forced to yield. Her vision swims, and there are only his hands—his hands—

He uses them skilfully. She has seen him hold a sword, and he now holds her skin with equal passion. His fingertips draw patterns down the length of her shins, and if she could—if she wasn’t possessed by a blinding desire—she would try to discern their meaning.

She feels his breath on her knee.

A small moan falls from her lips, and she clasps her hand over her mouth to cover it. It’s too late. He’s heard it.

Aemond’s grip turns vice-like.

He sears circles into her thigh. One of his hands is replaced by something softer, plushier, and she knows that it must be his lips atop her skin. He leaves fiery kisses on both her knees, and her heart gets stuck in her throat, threatening to jump out.

Higher, she thinks, and immediately bites her lip to prevent herself from begging aloud. If he moved his mouth higher—just a bit, only a bit—he would find out how much she needs him. Her desire has long since become choking. It takes a single brush of his skin against hers to get her slick and wet and ready.

Her skin is engulfed by flames. She must be touched, she must be touched—

Aemond’s lips are gone. She holds back a whimper when she feels fingertips brushing against her thigh in a parting gesture—little more than a caress, gone sooner than it came.

She closes her legs when Aemond’s head resurfaces from underneath the table.

Empty. She remains painfully empty.

“You should return to your chambers.” Aemond stands from the ground. He sounds cocky. “Who knows what lurks in the darkness.”

In the privacy of her bedchamber, she finds the mark that he left on her thigh. It is there for her eyes only. The mark haunts her, and she finds no sleep.

“I know you’re there.”

It seems that they only ever exchange words in darkness. Just today, she was seated opposite him during dinner, and he didn’t look at her once. She wonders if it is fear that holds him back in daylight. Her own fingers forever burn with the desire to hold him, and more often than not, she forgets about the reality of their relationship. Perhaps avoiding each other in the presence of others is safer. They were never meant to burn together.

Her steps halt.

“I’m beginning to think you’re looking for trouble.”

She bites back a grin. “What if I am?”

Finally, he emerges from the shadows. She looks at him without a hint of shame; traces the line of his jaw, and his nose, and the purples of his eye. His hair looks soft. She finds herself overtaken by the desire to grasp it with her fingers and tug.

“You’ve found it.”

“Have I?” she says, and her throat is oddly dry. She watches him, and he watches her, and flames arise. “You don’t look much like trouble to me.”

Aemond’s steps are slow. She has learned their pattern by heart. He has a habit of moving at a leisurely pace, and more often than not, she imagines that it’s yet another way of tormenting her. He knows of her impatience and aims to use it to his advantage.

When he stops, he is still outside of her reach. He raises an eyebrow challengingly.

“What about now?”

It is another game, and she shakes her head because she must.

Aemond hums. His eye wanders down her neck, and her skin prickles underneath his gaze. She holds her breath when he takes another step forward.

Still, he is not close enough.

“And now, niece?” Aemond asks. “Do I look like trouble?”

“No,” she breathes.

His scent wafts through the air, and she ravenously inhales it. Aemond’s eye darkens. He moves closer, and she laces her fingers together in order not to reach out for him.

Maybe she should stifle the last of self-control. Maybe she should grab him by the collar of his riding leathers; pull him as close as she needs him to be. Sometimes, it feels as though he is waiting for her to do it. To make the first move.

Before her contemplation turns into action, his fingers catch the skirts of her gown. She takes a gulp of air when he easily tugs her closer.

“No?” Aemond mutters.

He studies her mouth in silent deliberation, and it prompts her to take her bottom lip between teeth. His nostrils flare.

“No,” she repeats firmly.

His smile is pure sin.

“Good.”

Aemond’s lips claim hers before she can say anything else. Words die on her tongue, and she scarcely remembers what it was that she wanted to say at all. His skin is scorching hot, and his mouth is demanding, and when she gasps into his mouth, he swallows the sound like a man starved.

She throws her hands around his neck before he disappears; before once more he flees from her touch. He is both soft and solid, and her fingertips go alight from the fire flowing through his veins. Aemond pushes into her, and soon her spine connects with the stone wall. His hands wander over her body, tugging impatiently at the endless pieces of material that separate them.

His kisses are flames. None of her dreams have done them justice. Her tongue dances as led by his own, and her teeth graze his bottom lip, and she can no longer think straight when he whimpers into her mouth.

“Sweet girl,” he breathes, and she drinks up the words straight from his tongue.

She pulls him closer, closer, and he hitches her leg over his hip, and she thinks that there is no going back from it. She will forever be cursed with the memory of his taste.

Her lips are full of him even when he’s gone.

She is a woman possessed by madness.

An entire moon has passed, and he hasn’t touched her once. It is as though he forgot that she exists; as though her existence meant nothing at all. Distance stretches between them, sharp and thorned, and it cuts through her skin with vicious force. She burns with want. She burns until there is nothing left but ashes.

When she dreams, it is of his lips. Their taste has long faded, and though she chases the memory every night, she is left with emptiness. Sometimes, it feels as though she’s dying of hunger. She must taste him again. If she won’t, she thinks she’ll wither away.

She once thought that his teasing touch was torture. It’s only now—only when it’s gone—that knows it is the lack of it that elicits true torment.

It’s been three days since she saw him last. Even their last meeting was only in brief; he was gone as soon as her eyes found him amidst crowds of the Red Keep, his steps too quick for her to catch up with.

He has left her to burn alone. Now the flames have grown wild and lethal, and she succumbs to this insanity because she must.

She stays close to the stone wall.

It is nighttime, and most of the residents have retired to their bedchambers. The corridors are empty, guarded only in a few spots; her footsteps echo through the walls, accompanied by complete silence. She appreciates the semblance of privacy that has come with sunset. It is easier to slip by unnoticed when the lights are subdued.

Less than an hour ago, she caught a glimpse of Aemond in the courtyard, sword in his hand. He looked composed as ever, and by the end of the training session his forehead was sheen with sweat. It is what brought about this madness—the sight of him panting for breath.

It’s why she follows him now. He is quick on his feet, and so quiet that she cannot even hear him. All she sees is the broadness of his shoulders and silver-white wisps resting on his back.

She moves faster, determined not to lose him. Her pace turns unrelenting; she watches Aemond reach for the gilded knob. Just before the doors close behind him, she slips inside.

His bedchamber is swallowed by darkness. It is the first thing she sees; her eyes strain, eager to scan the entirety of the room. It looks pristine. His inclination for tidiness doesn’t astound her. She now knows that he keeps all his chaos leashed, preferring to build walls of purity around himself.

She sees through it all. Knows his vices by heart.

Aemond watches her without a trace of surprise. He must have known, then, that she was hunting him down.

It is different this time. The air is thicker. They are alone, and no one can enter his bedchamber without explicit permission. He must realise it. The purple of his eye is darker, and all she finds in it is desire.

Because it is him who has this time become prey, she is the first to make a move.

“I’m here, uncle. I came to you.”

It takes only one step for their chests to come closer, now on the verge of pressing together. Aemond’s face is a perfect image of indifference, but she knows better. There is something dangerous in his eye. She must push further than this to draw it out.

Her eyes go round with feigned innocence, and his own become hooded.

She wonders if his lips still taste the same.

“Won’t you touch me?” she whispers, never letting her gaze falter.

Aemond’s face remains carved in stone. “Perhaps you should ask nicely.”

It is as though he had struck her.

A beat passes, and she knows not what to say. Her mouth is dry. Her hands itch from the constant urge to sink into his flesh.

“Ask?”

He repeats without hesitation, “Ask.”

She bites her tongue hard enough to wince.

It was foolish of her to come. He must think her desperate; corrupt, with her displayed flesh pulsating from the desire to be touched. She is wanton and wicked, and shame burns her cheeks upon the realisation.

A woman of sin.

If he wanted to, he would have touched her already. He would take her into his arms, and breathe in her scent, and bury his fingers deep in her soul. If he wanted to, all hesitation would shatter into pieces, and there would be no need to collect them anymore.

And yet his hands remain still.

She must have been wrong. So, so wrong.

With her eyes stinging, stubbornly downcast, she moves towards the door. If she leaves quickly enough, perhaps he’ll forget she was there at all. Perhaps she’ll awaken the next day and it will all turn out to have been a nightmare. Perhaps she—

Aemond’s hand clutches her forearm. His touch is gentle but firm; she can feel his fingers slither around her skin, closing his grip to prevent her from moving.

She holds her breath. All air is gone.

“Ask,” he says again, “and you shall have it.”

He pushes into her from behind, and his heat engulfs her in wild flames. Aemond’s chest presses against the length of her spine; his hair tickles her skin. She bites her lip when his nose brushes her cheek.

Her heart beats in a wild tune. Does his own match it?

It must. Surely, it must.

“Ask.”

There is something desperate about him; something in his tone that whispers in a language she knows by heart. He is half-begging. She recognises it, because he has done the same in her dreams.

She yields. Utterly. Completely.

“Touch me,” she whispers.

He does.

Aemond grabs her hips and turns her around, and all softness she has come to know him for is gone. His eye is blown wide; it burns, it burns, it burns.

The kiss is bruising. His tongue enters her mouth before she can reciprocate; her spine connects with the surface of the door, and she welcomes the chill it provides with relief. Aemond’s lips are demanding and forceful, and he gasps into her mouth when her hands finally touch his bare skin. She digs her fingers into his neck, and tugs at his hair, and pulls him closer. It is not enough. She needs their mouths to mould into one—to never separate again.

He kisses her without his past control. She gasps for air, and Aemond breathes out into her skin, refusing to let go. His teeth nibble at her bottom lip, and she swallows down a whimper.

His fingers find her neck. The rings that adorn them are cold.

“Here?” he pants, breathless. “Do you want me to touch you here?”

She wraps his hair around her fingers, searching for an anchor. Her head swims, and all air is gone, and if it weren’t for his grip on her hip, she would crumble to the floor. Aemond groans when she pulls at the strands in her hand; she wants to bottle the sound and keep it as hers forever.

“Yes,” she whispers into his lips.

Aemond’s hand wraps around her throat; she sees stars.

Their tongues are at war, and she matches his tempo with determination. He tastes like smoke. Like the sun. Like oxygen. His thumb comes up to stroke her cheek, and the gentleness of this touch is a stark contrast to the way he devours her. She throbs with want. Now that she has touched him, she doesn’t think she could ever stop.

She didn’t know it could feel like this.

Because she’s possessed by greed, she breathes out a quiet, needy, “More.”

Aemond’s lips part with hers, and she immediately wishes to cry out in protest.

She burns under the weight of his gaze. Without once taking his eye off hers, Aemond’s hand leaves her throat, trailing down to her collarbone. His touch is feather-like; fingers tickle her skin. She sucks in air when his hand moves lower, playing with the lace neckline. One of his fingertips sneaks beneath the fabric.

“Should I touch you here?”

His hand boldly grabs her breast. She has never been touched like this. Her mouth dries, and she pushes her chest into Aemond’s grasp, flushing at the low hum he lets out in response. His lips find a spot on her neck that has her panting, and he sucks at the sensitive skin with such ardour that she’s certain he’ll leave a mark.

She moans when his fingers find her pebbled nipple and flick against it, and the wanton sound induces hot shame. He touches her through the fabric of her dress, and it is not enough. She needs more. She needs everything.

Embarrassed, she covers her mouth with her hand.

Aemond’s eye flashes with a wicked glint.

“Here?” he asks, pinching the nipple.

The sound that escapes her throat is smothered by her palm. Desperate, suspended on the verge of madness, she nods. Aemond’s lips curve into a smile, but his fingers refuse to give in.

Their lips touch when he whispers, “Say it.”

And because she’d do anything, anything, her hand obediently falls down.

“Please.”

“How prettily you beg.”

There is a tearing sound; she watches Aemond rip the corset of her dress apart, tugging it down so that her chest is exposed. She has no time to cover herself in scarlet shame, nor to complain about him ruining her favourite gown. His mouth finds her nipple, and she cries out when he sucks at it.

She knows nothing but his tongue that swirls around the nipple in torturous circles; nothing but his teeth when he bites down. Aemond presses her body further into the door, and there is not an inch left that separates them. They are one. Her arms hold him tightly. If she lets go, she will collapse.

His lips are gone. Before she can object, Aemond slides his palms lower—between her breasts, down her waist, over the curve of her hip bone. He sinks to his knees before her, and she watches, wide-eyed and unable to move. Aemond’s hand catches the skirt of her dress and hitches it upwards, bunching the fabric so that her skin is on display. His fingers find her bare thigh, and they are quick to wrap around its width. She whimpers when he pushes her legs apart, forcing himself in between. When he puts her knee over his shoulder, holding her upright with the sheer strength of his arms, she is gone.

“You have cursed me,” he murmurs into her skin, lips nibbling at her inner thigh. “I spend my days thinking of you.”

Her mouth parts; she gasps for air, chest rising and falling with increasing speed. Aemond��s hold on her thigh tightens when she squirms in his arms.

“I spend my nights dreaming of you.”

His sinful lips traverse the expanse of her exposed skin. They move higher, higher, and her muscles twitch with anticipation. He’s too slow, and her hips involuntarily push forward, seeking his touch. Aemond cruelly holds her still. She’s convinced that he’ll leave her skin bruised; convinced that before he reaches the spot where she aches most, she will have died from this torture.

When his tongue first touches her cunt, her vision blurs.

It feels nothing like her fingers. He is skilful and hungry, and the wet muscle laps at her clit in furious motions. Moans spill from her lips, and she has long since forgotten all about propriety. It means little when Aemond’s head is buried between her thighs; when the sinful act feels this holy. All thoughts dissolve into nothing, wiped away with his expert tongue. Aemond’s grip turns vice-like. There is nothing she can do but take whatever he wants to give.

Her clit pulsates from the onslaught. He spits, and then licks up the saliva, rubbing it in between her folds, and she nearly squeals at the sensation. It’s wet and filthy, and when he moans into her cunt, sending chills down her spine, she knows she won’t last much longer.

“Aemond,” she gasps, because his name is the only thing she knows anymore. “Aemond.”

Whines fall from her lips, and she no longer cares to smother them. Her hips rock, and his mouth keeps moving against her cunt, and she can’t, she can’t—

Right there, with his wicked tongue inside her, she erupts.

It’s like a storm. A wildfire. She shatters into thousands of pieces, and Aemond dutifully collects them all, drinking up everything that she offers. Her body rocks, and he soothes her with his touch and keeps her still. Their hands are joined, though she doesn’t recall the moment when they first touched. Aemond doesn’t stop until her gasps turn into cries. Before he moves away, his lips plant one more kiss right on her oversensitive clit.

Her body trembles. Aemond pulls her down, and she allows herself to be led by his hands. His touch is strong and gentle, and she cannot quite believe that he’s real. He puts her thighs around his waist; right there, on the cold ground, she straddles his lap. Aemond’s fingers weave through her hair, and he brushes them away from her face with such gentleness that she thinks she might weep.

“Pretty girl,” he murmurs, thumbs stroking her wet cheeks. “Such a pretty girl.”

For a moment, they just breathe. Their chests heave with equal fervour, and there is only silence and tender caresses. Her fingers trace the curve of his cheek; she follows its shape, searing it deep into her memory. She wants to remember this. Every detail.

Aemond’s mouth glistens in the spells of moonlight. He is wet with her. Her trembling fingers collect the moisture, and when she brings them to her lips and wraps her tongue around them, he groans.

Involuntarily, her hips rock. She sees him swallow down another sound.

Not once did he demand that she touch him. Aemond is hard beneath her, and yet he stubbornly clings to the restraint she thought to be long erased.

As though he didn’t think himself deserving of her touch.

“Take it off.” Her fingers reach for the eyepatch that separates them, tugging lightly. “I will see all of you.”

He eyes her with emotion she cannot name.

There is something achingly vulnerable about him. She watches as Aemond’s trembling hand reaches for the leather strap, brushing against hers in a feather-like manner. His good eye drops to the ground beside them, and she is quick to put her palms on his face.

She wants him to see himself as she sees him. To rid himself of whatever shame clings to his soul. She wants him to know that all she finds in him is heart-wrenching beauty.

“Aemond,” she whispers. Her fingers find the clasp, and she awaits his permission.

He hesitates. His gaze is dark. She counts the seconds, prepared to let go, but his voice stops her.

“Whatever you want,” he says at last. “It is yours. It is yours.”

Just like that, the eyepatch is gone. The scar stretches from above his eyebrow to the middle of his cheek, and although her hands are shaking, she reaches to stroke the mangled flesh.

Aemond wheezes. She catches the slightest trembling of his lips. His head drops, and for a moment she fears that he’ll move away from her, but he doesn’t. He pushes closer, as though seeking warmth. She will give it to him. She’ll give him whatever he wants.

He seems at war with himself, both touch-starved and unable to give in. But then he faces her once more. Her eyes trace the scar, and she bites back a gasp when she sees the sapphire in the place of his eye.

“You’re beautiful,” she tells him, because he is.

When he says nothing, she replaces her fingers with lips. She kisses every inch of the slash, and his sharp inhale is the only answer she receives. It is enough. She just needs him to know that she wants him as he is.

Aemond’s arms wrap around her waist, and it is enough. It’s everything she wants.

“I dream of you,” he tells her. “Of this.”

She opens her mouth, prepared to pour her heart out—to confess the lengths of her own desire, and the way it has rendered her mad. But Aemond grabs her hips, breaking them out of tranquility, and pulls the dress up so that it no longer sets them apart. She sees questions in his eye, though she doesn’t understand why he feels the need to ask them. Surely, he knows how deep the roots of her want go.

Wordlessly, she reaches for the laces of his leathers. It is enough of an answer; Aemond’s face softens, and then their lips collide again.

There are so many layers between them. Too many. She claws at his shirt, and he tears the last shreds of her bodice, and then they are skin to skin. She touches every single part of him, learning his shapes and curves. His body is toned, and his skin bears multiple small scars that must have come from a sword, and he is soft. Warm. Hers.

Aemond’s fingers find her entrance. She is slick for him—aching, pulsating, dripping. He circles her clit and swallows her moan, and then he is knuckle-deep inside her.

“Please,” she whines, though she knows not what she’s begging for.

His finger thrusts, and then it curls, touching a spot she never knew existed. She throws her head back, mouth open in a silent gasp. Aemond attaches his lips to her throat.

Release comes in waves, quicker than the previous one. It crashes into her body with full force, and she is helpless against the currents. Before she comes down, Aemond lifts her up and buries his cock in her cunt.

It hurts. It hurts, and he holds her close, and she whimpers into his mouth. Aemond is patient with her. He peppers her face with kisses, sighing into her skin, and stills his movements. The stretch burns, and she cannot help but clench around him. Her hips move on their own accord; her body chases what it inherently wants.

There is tenderness in his eye. It’s enough for her body to melt.

Aemond grunts and pushes deeper into her. The pace is slow, agonising, and she cannot take it. Her muscles spasm beneath his hands; she is completely at his mercy, waiting for each thrust. She tugs at his hair and whispers into his ear, demanding that he fuck her properly.

Time stills. Her clit throbs, and she aims to seek relief with her own fingers, but then Aemond pulls her hand away. The hunger in his eye has turned dangerous. It’s more black than purple.

“As you wish.”

She whimpers when he grabs her by the thighs and moves her body away from the door. He pushes her into the ground, spreading her dress beneath her back to soften the surface, and climbs atop her. His moves are frantic, and there is a glow on his features that must reflect her own. His hair tickles her face. She gives him a beaming smile, and his breath hitches.

His cock drives into her, and at the same moment his sinful fingers find her clit. She cries out. Her eyes roll back, and she tries to close her legs, trembling from the onslaught of pleasure. Aemond grabs her knees and holds them apart. Her dripping cunt is on full display; she sees him watch the place where they’re connected, his lips swollen and eyes glazed over. Aemond rubs her clit and thrust into her like a madman, and the bedchamber is bathed in sounds of clapping skin and wanton moans.

She makes no sound when she peaks. Her mouth falls open as she convulses beneath him, and Aemond pushes his fingers down her throat.

“One more,” he grunts. “Give me one more.”

Her body trembles. She can’t. No more, no more—

But Aemond’s torturous fingers keep flicking against her nub, and his rock-hard length twitches deep inside her, and she can’t stop. She can’t stop.

She is boneless. Her spine arches, and Aemond topples over her chest, and their orgasms come at once. They’re amidst clouds, suspended in the air; above turbulent waters; high enough to be scorched by the sun.

They burn. Together, they burn.

Their hearts beat in the same tune. Aemond puts his hand on her chest, in the hollow between her breasts, and she weaves her fingers into his hair. When he looks at her, all she sees is scorching affection.

He stays buried inside her, as though equally reluctant to let their bodies part. Purple and sapphire glow in the dark, and she watches him, breathless and enthralled, unable to look away.

“I have claimed you,” he whispers into the night.

Her eyes are soft. With her fingertips, she writes letters down the length of his spine. She knows the words, though for now they remain invisible to the eye. Aemond looks at her with awe, hands still warm against her cheeks as he holds her. She wishes she could hear his thoughts. Wonders if she’d find remorse and guilt, and the desire to turn back time.

There is no regret in her heart. This—their bodies woven into one—was fated. His first touch planted a seed inside her, and its destiny was to bloom.

“Then I’m yours.”

His hands find hers, and there is only fire.

#aemond targaryen #aemond one eye #aemond smut #hotd #aemond x reader #asoiaf #aemond fanfiction #a song of ice and fire #house of the dragon

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