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#aemond targaryen x reader
ruefortherealm · 2 days
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The Way I Loved You
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➸ synopsis: he is your best friend, and yet, everything hurts when a certain Baratheon girl comes to your lives and Aemond starts neglecting you.
➸ word count: 7.95k (she’s long but worth it)
➸ warnings: 18+ mdni! Smut, p in v, best friends to lovers, angst, love confession, inspired by Taylor Swift’s song, fingering, oral (F! Receiving), fluff, happy ending, Floris Baratheon, supportive Targtower family, mentions of Otto, Aemond is a bit of an ass at some point, creampie, nicknames (Sugar & Freckles). English isn’t my first language<3
➸ an: ohh so I don’t know if you remember or not, but this was one of the first posts on my blog! But anyway, I hope you enjoy it because I LOVE it especially when I turned the lyrics into my fave scene from this fic! Enjoy, reblog and tell me your opinion!
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“Aem, I can’t find you,”
You look around the airport, groaning when you can’t find him. The coffee in your hand is long forgotten as you search for him, sighing in defeat when you can’t spot his tall frame.
“I am outside, silly girl,” he says over the phone, chuckling when he hears your frustrated whine.
“Couldn’t you say it from the start? I have been looking for you forever!” You make your way to the exit, dropping your cold coffee in the trash on your way out.
“And miss on how you would curse me for wasting your coffee? Never, you know me better.” He replies, waiting for you to find him.
“I thought I was the teasing one, Mr. Targ, not the other way around.” 
“Call me Mr. Targ once more and I’ll leave you here,” he threatens playfully, “you know better than to mess with me, Sugar,”
“You won’t do such a thing,” 
You spot his significant white hair and his leather jacket instantly, smiling to yourself, heart hammering in your chest.
“How are you so sure?”
“Because you just love me too much, Aem,” 
He turns around at the sound of your voice, grinning when he sees you. He ends the call, opening his arms for you when you run towards him, picking you up and twirling you around as if you weigh nothing.
“Missed you, Aem, missed you so fucking much,” you say, hiding your face in the crook of his neck as he held you up by your thighs.
“Missed you too, sugar. Even Vhagar misses you,” 
“Targaryens and naming their vehicles,” you roll your eyes playfully when he puts you down, faking a pout, “be grateful that I only have a backpack with me and not a big ass luggage.”
“Oh, trust me, Vhagar can handle ten luggages.” He says, handing you a spare helmet, as he puts on his own, his gorgeous sapphire eye hidden behind his dark sunglasses.
“Have you taken any girls on motorbike rides while I was away?” You tease him, expecting him to laugh, but you can see the hesitation in his voice when he answers.
“You know me,” he clears his throat, helping you up on his motorcycle before he sits in front of you, “I can’t woo women, Sugar.”
“Oh, please, you have already wooed me! Don’t underestimate yourself!” 
He chuckles, putting his own helmet on before he starts the motor. You wrap your arms around his torso, resting your head on his back as he starts the ride to their house.
You truly have missed moments like this; so peaceful and comfortable. Aemond has that effect on his closest people, and you consider yourself lucky enough to be his best friend and experience that side of him that is always so open and kind.
It has only been two months since you left to spend time with your parents over the summer break, but even in those two months, you thought of him and updated him on your daily activities — even though Aemond hates using his phone, he always makes an exception for you.
The wind blows, and Aemond swishes between the cars, making you squeal and cling to him more. He laughs genuinely, slowing down a little when he goes up the hill that leads to the entrance of the Targaryen house — not a house, but a mansion that you have grown to love so much since your senior high school year.
The golden gates open, and Aemond rides towards the end of the path to his parking, not trusting anyone with his precious Vhagar.
“Home, sweet home,” he says, running his hand through his wild hair and helping you down from the bike.
“Sweet home indeed,” you say, “Gods, Aem, I don’t think I can move to my dorm after I stay here for a month,”
“Who says I’m letting you stay in those shitty uni rooms? I know King’s Landing’s dormitory is the best in Westeros but no way in hell I would let you go there,” he replies, leading you to the entrance of the house.
“Aem, I can’t stay here! I am a guest, sure, not complaining at all, but I will be studying for two years, and I can’t under any circumstances stay here with your family,” 
A girl opens the door, greeting you before she grabs your bag and tells the two of you that the rest of the family members are in the great hall.
“I will not argue with you to kill the mood, Sugar, but we will have this conversation later.” he looks at you taking off his sunglasses, “Come, they’re waiting for us,”
“I look like shit, Aem,” you groan, smoothing your t-shirt in hopes of looking presentable enough.
“Sugar, you look perfect,” he pats your head and chuckles when you slap his hand away.
“I know Alicent and Hel are wearing something too elegant for a simple lunch and I am here with a gray tee and baggy jeans.” 
“Stop worrying, they have seen you in a much worse situation,” he smirks, pushing the door to the hall open before you have the chance to say something back.
You stop dead in your tracks when you look inside the hall; Daeron is chasing Aegon around, Alicent is sitting behind a desk, concentrating on the task in hand, and Heleana is busy with her needlework in another world — typical Saturday in the Targaryen household.
“Give back my phone, you piece of shit—” “Uh huh, lil bro, not a chance until I see who you are texting—”
“I am so going to murder you—”
Aegon sees you and runs behind you and Aemond, sticking his tongue out for Daeron.
“My dear sister-in-law will save me from the beast,” Aegon says dramatically, waving with Daeron’s phone in his hand.
“Hello to you too, asshole,” you flick his forehead, “And I am not your–”
“Daeron, you little fucker, are you texting Joanna Lannister?” He barks out a laugh, catching Aemond’s attention if he hasn’t had it already with the whole sister-in-law thing, “She is a piece of art. Good job, bro!”
You and Aemond glance at each other before you look at the youngest Targaryen, grinning ear to ear while Aemond smirks.
“Fuck you–”
“Boys, stop,” Alicent says sternly, glaring at the Targaryen men before her expression softens when she sees you, “I wanted to say behave in front of our guest, but you are no longer just our guest, darling,”
“Oh, I missed you so much, Alicent,” 
She pulls you in for a hug, embracing you as if she hasn’t seen you for ages.
“Me too, sweetling,” she says, rubbing your back gently, “I have to call your parents and adopt you myself,”
“She’d already be our sister, Mother,” Aegon says, gesturing at Aemond, who raises a suggestive eyebrow at him, “If only this duty-always-comes-first son of yours hurries the fuck up.”
“Ok, that’s enough, give me back my phone, and let’s have lunch,” Daeron interrupts, snatching his phone from his brother before he drags him to the dining room.
“Good idea,” Aemond says, clearing his throat as he looks around to find Helaena, “Go, Mother, I’ll bring the girls,”
“Just be careful, it’s one of those days again,” Alicent says and leaves.
“We’ve got her,” He replies as he walks to where his sister is sitting, unbothered by her surroundings as she hums to herself.
“Sister,” Aemond calls her gently, standing a few feet away to not scare her.
“Yes?” She doesn’t look up, but you can see the tension fading away from her shoulders.
“Sugar is here,” 
With that, she looks up, smiling broadly when she spots you.
“Hi!” She says, waving at you without standing up from the floor.
“Hey beautiful,” you say, waving back, “wanna have lunch with us?”
“Yes, I would love to,”
“Do you want me to help you?” Aemond asks, stepping forward to help her up but she shakes her head, a little frown on her face as she stands up by herself, maintaining a distance so she wouldn’t touch any of you, her needlework forgotten on the floor.
“Can you go ahead of me?” she fidgets with her fingers, looking at you in anticipation.
“Of course, come on, Sugar,”
He extends his hand, and you take it before you walk out of the room. You wrap your arms around him, and he does the same, pressing a kiss on the crown of your head.
“It’s great to have you back,” he breaks the silence, glancing at Heleana who walks behind you slowly.
“I love you, Aemond,”
“I love you, too, Sugar,”
If only the two of you knew how things would change in a month.
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You fell into a busy routine around the Targaryen household in a few days. Every day was a challenge itself with the boys, but the fun was endless. Especially since Aemond had tried to steal you away from Aegon and Daeron after they had forced you to tell them more about uni girls — not Daeron though, he only asked about Joanna.
You would watch TV shows at 2 in the morning with Aemond in his room, read a book with him, and plan the rest of the summer together.
Everything is easy with him — from telling your opinions freely to giving him a show of your newest clothes which his mother has purchased. He is everything; a good listener, a great partner in crime, a wonderful person, and the most perfect best friend someone can ever ask for.
And that’s what makes it harder for you to keep your facade up around him. He knows when you lie when you feel uncomfortable, or overthink every single interaction you had throughout the day, and he does whatever he can to keep you calm and happy.
Aemond is always on your mind, whether you are on a date, comparing the person next to you to your best friend, or when you are in classes, even when you are next to him, your mind wanders around him.
And now that he is diving into the pool with his long hair in a low braid, you are losing it. 
You have always found him handsome, despite the scar on his cheek, you never felt anything but love and affection for him, even though he was a complete jerk to you at first, you never despised him for his eye.
You sit at the edge of the pool, applying sunscreen on yourself as you watch him swim in your direction. He stops in front of you, resting his chin on your thigh, looking up at you.
“Y’know, Sugar, why don’t you come with me to the party tonight?” He asks, his large palm caressing the softness of your hip.
“Because it’s a business party, and I am not so keen on meeting Jason Lannister again,” you roll your eyes at him when he chuckles.
“I won’t leave you alone,”
“You promise the same thing every year, and you still leave me alone with all the champagne in the bar.” 
You push a few wet strands of his white hair out of his face as he looks at you with that heart-melting gaze that has you wrapped around his fingers.
“No,”
“Please? Pinkie promise,” he holds his finger in front of you, “I will even take you to our spot after that,”
“Damn you and your charm, Freckles,”
“Call me that again, and I change my mind,” he smirks when you swat his arm.
“You won’t dare,”
“Try me, Sugar—“
“Will you two stop flirting, and fuck each other finally?” Aegon groans, putting his sunglasses on before he sits on one of the lounges with his cocktail, “or if you don’t perhaps I can shoot my shot with her, huh? What do you say, Sugar?”
“I say you should shut the fuck up,” you reply, caressing Aemond’s head gently while he rests his head on your lap, his arms wrapping around your torso.
“Why? At least I can show you a good time,” Aegon pushes his glasses to the bridge of his nose, winking at you. Luckily, you are used to his behavior.
“Hey, look at me, Aem,” you grab his face when you feel him tense under your touch, “He is Aegon, he literally tells every moving thing to get in bed with him. This is not my first time.”
“I know,” he drops his forehead on your thigh, “he does it to get under my skin,”
“And you let him,” you sigh, splashing some water on his face, “anyway, what should I wear tonight?”
He scrunches his nose, tickling you in revenge, “I’m sure Mother has something for you ready in your room by now,” 
“Alright, Aem, but I will not ride on Vhagar with a long dress,”  You squeal when he pulls you down into the water, keeping his fingers on your side as he tickles you.
“Don’t worry, Sug, Baratheons will send us a Limo,”
“A Limo?” You grab his hands to stop him.
“Holy fuck, I need to come with you two—“ Aegon says hurriedly, looking at his brother in disbelief.
“Your father owns the biggest company, you live in the most expensive mansion in Westeros, and you drive Sunfyre, but you still get excited over a Limo?” Aemond shakes his head, sighing in defeat.
“Aemond, I can drink and have sex while someone else is driving. That is all I ever want,”
“I won’t let you fuck up tonight,” Aemond warns him, pointing his finger at Aegon who whines like a child.
“I mean if he doesn’t fuck while we’re in Limo with him, I can tolerate his company,” you say, shrugging your shoulders when Aemond glares at you.
“And what am I doing there exactly?”
“Sealing the deal, like you always do,” Aegon leans back on the lounge, looking at you two from the rim of his glasses, “your girl should stay entertained while you go play the hard-to-get man.”
“That’s exactly why I loathe taking you to these events,”
“Aem, I keep an eye on him, besides, I won’t be left alone,” you try to reason with him, but you only get a disapproving sigh in return.
“You won’t be alone, I promised to keep you by my side,”
“And yet, you have to talk to those noblemen for the good of the company. I can keep him on a leash, trust me,” you turn around to look at Aegon, “ain’t the right, Egg?”
“Gods, you and your stupid nicknames,” He laughs, nodding in response, “but yeah, anything for you, my lady.”
What a night you have ahead of yourself…
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The dress you see when you walk into your room after lunch with the Targaryen family is nothing short but phenomenal — a sapphire blue satin dress that reaches the floor with a slit up the left leg. Not only the dress, but you find diamond earrings as well on your vanity.
Alicent always chooses your outfits for these events, not because she is the controlling type of woman, but because she genuinely enjoys fashion and you can never thank her enough for all the great and beautiful dresses she has bought you.
You look beautiful as you look at yourself in the height-length mirror; the fabric of the dress feels smooth on your skin, and it hugs your curves so beautifully. You put your hair up in a bun with two strands left framing your face, and you smile brightly when Heleana looks at you, beaming at how elegant you look.
“Do you think he’ll like it, Hel?”
“He’ll love it,” she replies softly, stroking your hand.
The door is pushed open by Aemond after two knocks, and lord does he take your breath away with his looks — his platinum hair is down, his tall frame is shaped by the black tuxedo he is wearing and his sapphire tie that matches your dress is resting around his neck.
Heleana can feel his brother’s heart beating faster when he looks at you, sizing you up with his violet eye, a small smile plastering on his thin lips.
He has to remind himself that he can not drag you to his room and kiss your breath away, because with the way you look at him — so in awe as if he is the most handsome man in all Westeros — he has to keep his thoughts pure, or he won’t survive the consequences of his actions.
“Phenomenal,” he whispers, nodding in gratitude when Heleana leaves the two of you alone.
“What is?” You ask, taking a step towards him.
“You are,” he caresses your neck with the back of his hand, turning you around as he stands behind you, “I brought you something, Sugar.”
He holds the velvet box in front of you, and you thank him before you open it, gasping at the sapphire necklace inside. It matches his eye, and you can’t form a word as you look at how it shines under the lights of your room.
“You shouldn’t have,”
“Yeah, because this is nothing compared to what you truly deserve,” he replies, catching the necklace from you while he rests it gently on your neck before he clasps it.
“You are the most perfect best friend I could have ever asked for,”
Your heart aches when you say it, but you can not risk to lose him — he is the source of your happiness, your one and only, your partner in crime, your best friend. So why does it hurt so much when you say it aloud? You love him, you truly do, but perhaps that’s the problem. 
“Ready to leave, love birds?” Aegon pokes his head out from the door, wiggling his eyebrows at the two of you.
“Yeah, lemme grab my purse and we’re good to go.” You say, ignoring Aegon’s suggestive remark.
Aemond offers you his arm, smiling at you as he leads you out of the room behind his brother. The limousine is waiting outside, and you and Aegon grin at each other when you see it.
“After you, my lady,”
Aegon bows, opening the door for you, smirking at you when you punch his arm playfully. Aemond follows you into the car, his lips twitching upward when he sees how you are looking around the car.
“Brother, I will come to every single event you attend just to see their cars,” Aegon says, hands already reaching for the bottle of bourbon.
“Don’t get too drunk and make a mockery out of us,” Aemond hisses at him, his hand resting on your thigh to calm himself.
Physical touch was something so out of the question back in the first few months of your friendship, but soon you realized all he needed was a solace, a hug, and a gentle hand running through his hair when he was nervous.
You were fortunate enough that he found that solace in you.
Throughout the ride towards the destination, the three of you had a shot to loosen up a bit, and you were glad that Aemond calmed down a little until you made it to the location of the party.
When you arrive, Aegon is the first to burst through the car door and stands aside for the flashing cameras to focus on you and Aemond.
Aemond steps outside, extending his hand for you to take as he helps you out of the car. You are flustered at how he keeps looking at you, as if his world orbits around you as if you are the air to his lungs, and it fills you with a new sense of giddiness when you are the center of his attention.
“Shall we?” He asks, offering his arm to you.
“Of course,” you link your arm with him, walking ahead of Aegon to the main entrance of the building while the cameras flash and take pictures for the press.
Everything looks so extraordinary, and that is what Baratheons are most famous for. Even though you are used to being on such occasions with Targaryens, you still feel a little out of place, but with Aemond by your side, nothing can cause you a sour feeling. 
Or at least you think.
As soon as you step into the hall, you are met by none other than Borros Baratheon himself. He greets the boys and nods your way, not paying you any attention as he is completely focused on Aemond, whisking him away from you at the first second he can.
Aemond glances at you, mouthing his apologies as he is carried away by Borros, leaving you and Aegon to help yourselves with champagne and the delicious snacks near the bar.
Soon, Aegon breaks apart from you and finds himself in the company of another woman, who will undoubtedly take him to her place tonight. 
You take another glass of champagne, looking about the room. Most people are engaged in talking business, some are trying to have a great time, and someone like Aemond is being introduced to one of the most beautiful girls you have laid your eyes on.
Aegon and his companion appear next to you, watching the scene as Aemond presses a kiss upon the girl’s knuckles, earning a bashful smile from her.
“Who’s that?”
“Jealous much?” Aegon teases you, but shuts up as soon as he sees your expression, “that is Borros Baratheon’s youngest daughter, Floris.”
“I haven’t seen any of his other daughters around,” Aegon murmurs quietly to the girl next to him.
“I haven’t either,” she replies, watching as Aemond shakes Borros’ hand and offers his arm to Floris, much like he did to you.
He takes her to the dance floor, putting his hand on her waist as they sway with each other, and you watch them, even though you know you should turn your back to them and enjoy your night, all you can focus on is how Aemond smiles at her, how she giggles when he says something — how he treats her like you.
“Sugar, don’t look at ‘em, alright? He is doing this for business—“
“Aegon, I don’t care. I am his best friend, not his girlfriend,” you whisper, exhaling as you watch them come in your direction.
“Sugar,” Aemond says, putting a hand on your shoulder, “this is Floris Baratheon, Floris, this is Y/N, my friend.”
“Oh, hi,” she looks you up and down, a smirk on her face when she shakes your hand.
“Hi, nice to meet you,” you rush the words out of your mouth, already uncomfortable by her judging stare. 
You are beyond thankful when Aegon jumps in and introduces himself, taking the edge off your shoulders for a few seconds.
“I was telling her about your major in university,” Aemond says, his hand still on Floris’ waist.
“Oh,” 
“Yes, he talks highly of you,” she says, looking up at Aemond who is only focused on you right now.
“He is a great friend,” you smile at the pair, fingers tightening around your glass as you take a sip from it.
“A great friend indeed—“
“Can I have a moment with Sugar, please?” 
You are beyond thankful when Aegon comes to your rescue, grabbing your hand and taking you away from them. You sigh in relief when the fresh air hits your heated body, dropping your head on Aegon’s shoulder as you stand outside.
“I wanna leave, Egg,”
“Why don’t you talk to him, Sugar? Stop denying—“
“I am not denying anything,” you raise your voice a little, straightening your back to look into his eyes, “he’s my friend and he seems happy! That is what’s important to me; his happiness. I will not act selfishly because of something that only I want.”
“He is happier with you—“
“I’m not having this conversation right now. I wanna leave, I’ll see you in the house,” you press a quick kiss to his cheek before you walk towards the exit.
You know he is not yours to feel jealous, he is just a friend as he told Floris, but the pain in your heart when he smiled at her — one of those smiles that he only showed you when he would talk about something he truly loved — you knew you had to go.
“Sugar, wait—“
You stop in your tracks when a rough hand grabs your wrist, pulling you back to him. 
“Are you alright? Why-why are you leaving?” Aemond asks, caressing your cheek as you brace your hands on his chest.
“I don’t feel well, Aem,” you pay his chest with one hand, smiling as best as you can, but it doesn’t reach your eyes, “I think I’m a bit dehydrated,”
“I can go and grab you—“
“No, no, no, Aem, listen, I have a terrible headache as well. All I need is sleep, OK? I’ll meet you in the house, go and have fun.”
“I promised not to leave you alone,”
“And we both knew you had to break it because this is business, not a frat party, Aem. Go, I’ll see you later. Love you,”
“Love you too, Sug,”
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From that night, everything has changed — Aemond was always in the company’s building, or out on business meetings, or he was too tired to spend time with you, not only that but he told you a few times that he was going out with Floris Baratheon.
You try to be happy for him, you truly do, but when he stands up mid-conversation to answer her phone call and leaves you without any more explanation than ‘I’m heading out for dinner, don’t wait for me’ without glancing at you, you can’t help but think how easily he is setting you aside.
The month you had planned the first day you arrived is passing and you only did manage to spend a few hours with him before he vanished from your sight.
It has been two days since he has answered your calls and texts, and you are going mad. You have no idea where he is, or who he is with, but more than being angry with him, you are worried about him.
It’s half past midnight and the movie you are watching with Daeron and his girlfriend can’t catch your attention enough to stay with them. So you leave the hall and go upstairs to find Aegon and Hel to spend some time with them while no one is on your mind except your best friend.
You are about to walk past Alicent’s office when you hear his voice from the speaker of her phone. Morally, you know it's wrong to eavesdrop but you have been concerned about him for so long that you need to know if he’s alright.
“Mother, I can’t go against grandsire’s words—“
“You can, and you will, Aemond,” you hear Alicent yell at him over the phone, “you have done enough for this company! I will not allow you to destroy the only thing that has kept you sane!”
“I can’t risk not having the deal—“
“So you are willing to risk your happiness? Is that what you are saying? Because Aemond, I swear to the Seven if you don’t make this right…”
“There is nothing to make right! I can’t ever make her happy, I can’t give her what she wants—“ 
Alicent cuts him off again, “Listen to me, you are making her happy, and she has been—“
“Mother, I love her,”
Your heart drops, eyes watering slightly as you listen to them. He is in love, and all you can imagine is him and Floris — every single moment you spend here in the mansion, thinking of him if he has eaten, if he is alright, he is spending time with Floris.
“That’s why I want you to make the right choice,” Alicent says softly.
You can no longer stand and listen to them, you walk past the room, wiping your tears as another sob rocks your body.
“Psst, Sugar,”
You turn around, eyes red and puffy when you see Heleana and Aegon sitting in the corner of the hallway.
“Why are you crying—“
“He loves you,” 
Heleana cuts Aegon off, her violet eyes shining under the moonlight. You always knew Heleana was different, she caught up on everything before others could even see the possibility, and she could read through people’s minds.
“I thought that much was obvious,” Aegon says, looking at you with confusion.
“What?” You ask, shaking your head at them.
“Fuck me,” he sighs, throwing his head back, “you two are idiots! Even dumber than me.”
“Aegon, what the fuck are you talking about?” You throw your hands up in defeat, sighing when he just shakes his head.
“Aemond loves you,” Heleana whispers, resting her head on Aegon’s shoulder.
“Yeah, as a friend who is neglecting her—“
“As his sun and moon,” she interrupts you, looking outside the window as the rain starts pouring down, “you are not his friend, you are the only person who has his heart in the palm of your hand.”
“I heard him say he loves Floris,”
“Did you hear her name?” Aegon asks, wiggling his eyebrows at you.
“No,”
“Then stop acting like brats! Have you seen how he looks at you, Sugar? He wants to breathe you because you are the only person who is keeping him sane. He wants nothing more than to let you tend to his eye because he is too proud to let anyone near him! He wants you! Fuck Floris, fuck Otto, fuck them all! Do you even know why he has been avoiding you? Because he is too much of a coward to look at you and go on a forced date with Floris. He is falling apart because his heart yearns for you, but Otto has put a leash on it.”
Your lips quiver, tears streaming down your face as you look at the Targaryen twins. Heleana is smiling, and Aegon is furious of you and his brother.
“He bought a house a few months ago,” Aegon searches the pocket of his sweatpants, grabbing his Lamborghini’s remote before he throws it at you.
“He didn’t tell me,” you catch the remote, fiddling with it, unsure of what to do with it.
“No one knows except me, Hel, & Daeron. He needed a place to clear his mind of you, because you’re the only thought that lingers in his head, he needs to find somewhere where he can be alone,” Aegon rests his head on Helaena’s before he continues, “Now, go get your man. I’ll send you the location.”
“Thank you, Egg,” you whisper, wiping your tears with the sleeves of your shirt.
“Go now, before he sleeps. And for my sake, please drive slowly with Sunfyre, my baby is delicate when she goes out in the rain.”
“You Targaryens and naming your vehicles,” you smile a little, waving goodbye to the pair as you rush down the stairs.
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Aemond’s house was located on the other side of the town, on top of the hills and near the woods. It took you an hour to drive there, but that gave you enough time to make up your mind.
You slow down your speed when you see the house, trying your hardest to keep yourself from sobbing as you look at your surroundings; everything screams Aemond, from the location to the look of the house — it looks like home.
You park the golden Lamborghini, turning off the engine before you step out. The lights are still on, and you know Aemond will not sleep until three in the morning when he is anxious — perhaps his call with Alicent has left him hesitant.
The rain pours on you, and you debate whether you should knock or just leave. For a second, you turn around to go back to the car, but Aegon’s words keep playing in your head; He wants you.
“Aemond!” 
You yell out his name, pushing your wet hair out of your face as you stand in the middle of the road.
“Aemond, please!”
You cry, sniffing as you wait for him to show you a sign that he is willing to listen, to hear you for once and the last time. 
You see his shadow reaching the window on the top floor, pushing the curtains away as he looks at you in shock and disbelief. You watch him shut the curtains and move away from the window.
The rain pours heavily on you, the sound of the water droplets falling on the car behind you and the wind blowing is the only thing that can cover your sobbing — a weather that resembles your feelings at the end of summer.
You are ready to turn around and drive back home when he doesn’t show up, but as you hear the sound of the door unlocking, you turn around to find Aemond in a black Tee and gray sweatpants with his hair in a bun.
If you weren’t already so in love with him, you would be by now.
“Sugar, what are you doing here?”
“Just-just listen, alright?” You start, holding your hand to stop him from reaching you when he walks towards you, “I always believed that the right person for me would come, that I would feel some type of magical attraction, that I would feel as though heart will give out and that-that I’d suffocate without him, but I had no idea that I have had him by my side all this time.”
You continued, “These past few days I have realized who that person is; Aem, I burn for you, my soul longs to be molded with yours, my heart breaks to pieces when you are not close to me, and the only thing I want is to be loved by you.”
You step closer to him, staring at him; a few strands of his hair have fallen out of the bun, his shirt is soaked and you can see his cheeks are covered in little droplets whether it’s from the rain or he has been crying as well.
The only thought that crosses your mind is how wholesome he looks.
“Until you tell me to leave, I will be here by your side, every single fucking second! I will love you forever and always, until I stop breathing for you, and even then, when I’m six feet under, I will still yearn for you, Freckles. ‘Till then, my heart beats for you, fast and raw, and I’ll let you steal it every goddamn time because I can’t imagine my life without you — without our messed up baking and you calling me Sugar, or how I pointed out your freckles on your neck, or-or how we would sneak out of your stupid family parties with Hel and Egg and go to karaoke even we didn’t like it but we did it for Hel.”
You grab his hand in yours, pressing little kisses all over the rough skin, loving how delicate your hand looks next to his larger one.
“I found my love in my best friend, and if I was given a choice, I would choose you without hesitation over and over, because that’s the way I loved you, Aem, and I still do,” you take a deep breath, staring into his eye, “I have nothing new to present to you, maybe Floris or any other girl can. This is what I can give you; my undying and unconditional love. Tell me you are happy with her, and I’ll leave, Aem. Whatever you want…”
He stays silent, and for the first time, you can’t read his emotions, and it wrecks your whole body as he keeps quiet. This is it then, you think as you let go of his hand, nodding before you turn around to go back to the car.
Suddenly, he wraps his fingers around your arm, yanking you back into his embrace, crashing his lips to yours, kissing you with a force you have never seen before.
He tastes like coffee and rain; it’s the most comforting flavor you want to taste for the rest of your life. He cups your cheek while his hand rests on your waist, keeping you flushed against him. His lips chase yours, and you whimper in his mouth as he sucks the breath out of you.
Finally, you think, he is right where he belongs.
He pulls away after a hot minute losing himself on your lips, looking down at your swollen lips, his sapphire glistening under the lights of the thunder and water drops.
“You are so beautiful,” he whispers, caressing your cheek lovingly.
“I said a whole fucking speech here, and you tell me I am beautiful?” You grin up at him, pecking his jaw as you wrap your arms around his neck.
“You are hauntingly beautiful. So breathtaking to the point that even the most talented artists wouldn’t do your beauty justice if they try to recreate it,” he ignores your teasing, his eye carving the image of your angelic face in his head, “Even the most beautiful flowers in Highgarden are not as mesmerizing as you are.”
“Is that so?”
“Mhm,” he hums, kissing your forehead.
“Perhaps you should start writing poems for me.”
“Would you like that?” He asks, lacing his fingers with yours, leading you towards the house.
“Yes, very much so. Maybe you could read them to me when we are sitting in front of the pond in your garden,”
“The only thing I want to do to you is kiss you, you shall read those poems all by yourself,” he replies, pushing the door further open before he hands you a towel he has brought down when he sees you standing outside.
You look down and see a puddle of water surrounding you as you both are soaking wet from the pouring rain outside.
“I’m sorry—“
“You have nothing to be sorry about, Sug. C’mon, let me give you some clothes,” he takes his shoes off, and you do the same. He grabs your hand, pulling you upstairs to his room.
You don’t have enough time to look around the house, but when you step inside his room, the first thing you see is a framed picture of the two of you on the desk in front of his window — you had gone to Winterfell that year for Christmas together, and you forced him to take that picture with you.
“Here,” he hands you a fresh pair of boxers and one of his t-shirts, “you can take a shower if you like.”
“No, I’m too tired for that. Thank you for the clothes,”
“Anything for you, Sugar.” He winks at you, turning his back to you so he can change. 
You open the bathroom door, grinning like an idiot as you look at your reflection in the mirror. You looked like a mess, but you never felt more beautiful than you do now. 
You are hauntingly beautiful, his words repeat in your head.
You walk out of the bathroom, your words stuck in your throat as you look at Aemond’s exposed back — he is lean and ripped with muscles, and you can see his muscles flex as he puts on his shirt.
“I can get used to this,” you mumble, arms wrapping around his torso from behind.
He chuckles, putting his palm on yours, smiling to himself as he feels you pressing gentle kisses all over his back.
“You will get used to this, Sugar.”
He turns around, holding you close as he gazes at you with pure adoration.
“You are tired,” he announces, pulling you with him on the mattress without any care that both of your hairs are drenched.
You lay your head on his forearm, pecking the side of his face as he looms over you halfway, his free hand playing with your fingers.
He dips down, brushing his lips over yours slowly, but you are far tempted to go at his pace. You kiss him back fiercely, earning a surprised groan from him as he reciprocates. He lets go of your hand, running the pads of his fingers over your exposed thighs while you fumble with the fabric of his shirt, trying to push it off him.
He breaks the kiss to take his clothes off, and you do the same, lying naked beneath him. Your eyes travel over his tall figure, hands caressing the skin of his chest as he takes you in.
“Am I in heaven?” He asks breathlessly, his lips trailing kisses from your cheek down to your collarbone.
You giggle as he comes up again, pulling your lips back to his, leaving a kiss on them.
“No, you are with me,”
“That’s even better, Sugar,”
He beams at you, giving you another lingering kiss before he starts licking and sucking on your skin, relishing the little whines you let out.
His hands knead your breasts, his gaze solely on you as he goes lower and lower until he reaches where he needs the most — where you need him the most.
He covers the skin of your thighs with bites as he inches closer to your core, his fingers threaded with you and he finally gives your throbbing clit a kiss. 
“Mm, I’ll make it up to you,” he whispers, lips wrapping around the bundle of nerves as he dives inside your heat, groaning while he tastes you.
“Fuck, you better…” you manage to rush the words out of your mouth as he works wonders between your legs.
His pace is slow, but he knows what he’s doing, bringing you closer to the edge with every flicker of his tongue over your clit while one of his fingers circles your wet entrance. He hums as he pushes a finger inside you, almost going wild as he hears your encouraging moans. 
The lewd sound of him slurping and enjoying giving you pleasure is too much for you, and when he adds a second finger, you lose yourself in him, gasping and shaking as you squeeze his free hand, hips pushing against his face while he curves his fingers inside you.
“Give it to me, beautiful, let go f’me,” 
He knows what he is doing to you when he latches his lips to your clit, sucking and licking the nerves like a starved man while his fingers massage that sweet spot inside you. Your legs shake around his head as you come, eyes rolling to the back of your head. He drinks you up gladly, pressing his nose more into your cunt to give you his best.
“Aem, s-stop, it’s too much,” you pull him up by the wet messy bun he has, detaching him from you so you can have a rest.
“You taste fucking sweet,” he whispers against your lips, bending down to let you taste yourself on him. He holds himself up by his elbow, and the other one holds the fat of your hips in a tight grip, digging his nails into the flesh — you can see how his patience is running thin.
“Aem,” you pull back a bit, cupping his face into your trembling hands, “love me, please, make me forget that I almost lost you.”
“Anything that my girl wants, anything for you,” he murmurs, hissing out your name when you reach between your bodies to stroke his hard cock, “I’m going make you forget, Sugar, I will conquer the world and bend it to your will.”
“I don’t need the world when I already have everything I ever wanted with you,” you reply, lining him up with your entrance, both of you moaning in union when he slowly pushes himself in.
“Fuck, Sugar—“ he groans as he pulls his hips back a little, thrusting back into you. He allows you to get adjusted to his size, caging your body under him as he gazes down at you, taking in your blissed-out expression.
“Please, Aem, please move…” you moan out, arms wrapping around his broad shoulders as he starts to thrust himself in you lazily. But when you look so gorgeous with your lips parted and pupils dilated… how can he not fuck you right there?
He speeds up, his balls slapping against the fat of your ass as he hammers himself inside you at a fast pace, drawing moan after moan from your gorgeous mouth.
He curses at the wonderful feeling of being enveloped by you, almost growling when you scratch his back when he reaches deep inside you.
Aemond looks at you, memorizing the shade of your lips, the number of your eyelashes, the curve of your nose, even how your teeth sink into the pillowy flesh of your bottom lip — he doesn’t think he has ever felt this urge to protect and love someone more than he does now.
You tighten your legs around him, throwing your head back when his thumb reaches down to rub the hood of your clit, his cock throbbing inside of you with a deep desire to fill you.
“Sugar, if you don’t stop—“
“Please, come with me. Aem, need you so bad,” you cry out as the white-hot pleasure rushes through your body. Your walls clamp around his girth tightly, keeping him inside you snuggly as his thrusts become sloppier than before.
“Give it to me,” you whisper, nibbling on his jaw before he buries his face into your neck, pushing himself as deep as he can go in you.
“I’m gonna come in you, Sugar. ‘M gonna claim what has always been mine,” he says in your ear, groaning your name as he shoots his cum, coating your walls in his hot white release.
“Fuck, I love you, I love you, I fucking love you—“
You hold him close when he shudders, prepping his face with kisses and praising him for how good he is to you, and how handsome and lovely he is.
“Thank you,” he says, pulling you in for a deep kiss.
“For what, Aem?”
“For putting me out of my misery,”
 The sunlight is shining on your face through the curtains, waking you up slowly. You reach for him, trying to cuddle him back to sleep, but you are met with an empty bed. Dread fills your guts as you push the covers off of your naked body, reaching out to put on some clothes before you run down and search for him.
As soon as you walk down the stairs with the clothes he gave you last night, you see him hunching over the countertop, talking to his mother.
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He is wearing his riding clothes; a leather jacket and black jeans with his hair in a low ponytail. You spot the grocery bags next to the fridge, grinning to yourself when you realize he went shopping for you.
He turns around instantly when he hears your low padding approaching him, pulling you in his arms when you reach him.
“Good morning, love,”
You beam at him, hugging him back tightly, never wanting to let him go.
“Oh, is Sugar there?” Alicent asks over the phone, surprised and silently cheering with Aegon and Heleana as they all listen to the two of you talk.
“Yes, do you want to talk to her, Mother?”
“No, let the poor girl have some privacy. Have you talked to my father yet?”
“I do not want to talk about grandsire right now, Mother. All I need is a peaceful breakfast with my girlfriend. And tell Aegon thank you, Sunfyre is alive and breathing.” Aemond says, kissing the crown of your head as you look at him in shock.
Girlfriend, you thought, and at last, he is mine.
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Text
Take Me Down To The River, And Bathe Me Clean [One Shot]
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Text Divider by @saradika-graphics
SUMMARY | The Gods have sent her for him, and he'll have her if it's the last thing he does.
WARNINGS | 18+; Canon AU; Smut; Heavy Religious Themes; Obsession.
WORD COUNT | 10.1k
A/N | Another one of my older stories, because @toms-cherry-trees reminded me of this one! This was originally beta-read by the lovely @ewanmitchellcrumbs.
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She walked in sin, and had him in a trance.
A lowly servant girl, that was all she was. If he had been in his right mind, he would have never noticed her; never given her the time of day. Dragons did not spend their time entertaining sheep - especially in a time of war, when there were many and more important things to attend to.
The blood of the dragon ran hot, and his had boiled when he saw her for the first time. They said murder and bloodshed turned men into insatiable monsters and opened the doors to affluence for whores - of course, somebody had to draw benefit from the lust that came from making it out alive from battle. The men thought the cunts they got to sink their cocks into were their reward for victory; in truth, they had lost to women who made good use of war-tainted fools’ hot-headedness and filled their pockets with gold.
Aemond was different, however. While men spent their nights with women who screamed loud enough to keep every surrounding soul awake, he had taken to keeping away from sins of the flesh to keep himself in the light of the Gods. In the faint whispers of firelight, Aemond Targaryen would pore over war strategy and books of politicking, history, philosophy and diplomacy - that was when he was not reading passages of the Seven-Pointed Star, to give himself some sort of comfort during uncertain times of war.
He was a kinslayer already. He had to work doubly hard to appease the Gods now. He was a warrior and a Prince through and through, and he knew better than to give in to carnal desires that would mean next to nothing to him in the face of the lessons of the Gods that he had been taught. 
And then, she happened. She had walked in moonlight, and she had been sin incarnate.
On his first night as Prince Regent, he informed the maidservants to keep the candles burning in his study at the library, so he could continue to ponder over strategies to proceed in the fight for the throne. He had walked in while struggling to keep up with the pace of his thoughts, his calculated decisions seeming wrong at every turn and terribly in need of further thought. With his hands held behind his back so tightly that they would have gone red, Aemond walked to the private library where his study was set up - and she had been there.
He did not know if he had seen her before. He did not know if she had attended to him earlier, or if she was new to the Keep. All he knew was that she had been bent over a candle, the low light of which had given him a warm view of her soft face and the breasts that threatened to spill out of her tight servant maid’s dress. Her loose braid had fallen over her shoulder as she shielded the fire with her hand from the night air, and he watched her as she had looked at the flame intently, hoping it would keep.
With her shy little eyes and sharp nose, pouty lips, and nimble hands, she had Aemond’s attention completely, his mind already swirling with thoughts of her, of who she was, of what he could do to her.
Aemond’s very heart felt like it had been knocked down to his gut, with how heavy it was at the sight of her. There was a sense of unease about the slow loss of bearings in him, a feeling that he did not know what to make of. Illuminated by candlelight, she was the loveliest sight he’d ever known - almost divine, like a gift from the Gods themselves.
He could have her if he wanted to; burn her if he wished. He was a Targaryen Prince, now the solemn ruler of the realm - what was he, if not the living personification of fire itself? His peculiar thoughts threatened to give way to those of a sinful nature, and Aemond was painfully aware of it both in the chaos of his mind and the tightening of his trousers.
Through his hazy one-eyed gaze, worsened by the dim darkening of the night, he watched as she tilted her head ever so slightly. It took him by complete surprise how her neck called for him, for his touch. All he wanted was to run his fingers over the newly exposed skin from jaw to collarbone and squeeze her neck in his firm hold; just enough for her to feel his strength and burgeoning desire, but not so much that she’d beg to be let go of.
In the Hour of the Wolf, illuminated by the bright candlelight, Aemond Targaryen had seen the lowly servant girl for the very first time. And the moment her eyes had met his one violet orb, he knew he would never be able to let her go.
“Your Grace,” she murmured; whether it was in reverence or fear, he did not know. What he did know was that he enjoyed the respect from her, just as much as he did watching her bow down to greet him, giving him an ample view of her chest once more. Her voice was an almost quiet, tired one - one that might have belonged to a woman who would choose to stay quiet and unseen if she could manage it.
It was the nature of servants to put the wishes of the royal family above their own - so, of course, even if she wished for quiet, she would have to open her mouth and greet him with the respect that was his due. 
So far, she hadn’t disappointed him. She gripped the sides of her skirts while she waited for him to give her leave, and he wondered how far he could take this little game that he had begun to play. Would she be a willing participant in this dance of theirs that he had wanted to partake in with her? Would she put his needs above her own? Or would he have to bend and break her to have her?
“Continue,” he said, in a harsh tone that masked the growing curiosity in him. Who was this girl that had managed to capture his attention so effortlessly? Would she be warm to the touch like fire that she covered with her hands, or cold like the ice in his wine? Who was she? What was she?
He was a devout follower of the Faith, and was very well apprised of the punishments for indulging in sins of the flesh. He also knew that it would take an otherworldly grip to pull and lead him astray, and to his disappointing yet exciting realisation, he was sure that she had gained that power over him in a matter of moments - like nobody else ever had before.
If he had felt unease at how easily he had found himself willing to give in, he hadn’t bothered with it right then. Somehow, he had known that she had been worth it.
He took his seat at his chair by the desk - his scrolls, parchments, correspondence, and books already laid out for him. She had quietly walked over to the shelves with a dusting cloth in hand and had begun cleaning the older books on the shelves within his line of sight.
He watched from the corner of his eye, all the while trying his best to read from the book in hand. But his efforts had been in vain, of course. How could he have won, when sin herself was tempting him from across the chamber? How could he, when she was right there, mesmerizing him with every movement of hers?
If he hadn’t been so caught up with the voices in his mind, he would have seen her watching him from the corner of her eye and smiling, ever so slightly. Only a moment, and she had disarmed him. Sin was dangerous - and he now knew how.
Her mere existence had left him defenceless against her effortless pull toward him, and the notion that she had not even intended to hold his eye like this and yet still had - she so very much had - only worsened the weakness creeping up on him. 
He was not Aegon. He was not the rake who dishonoured powerless women over a moment’s weakness. He was not the man who seeded women who were not worthy of his blood. He was not the man who indulged in sin. And yet, as he had watched her curious eyes trying to make out the titles of the books she wiped, the fear of becoming that man grabbed him by the throat.
Those who indulged in sins of the flesh were cursed to spend all of eternity trudging through the Seven Hells - and no pretty face was worth that fate, no matter how ethereal she seemed to him. No Targaryen would suffer that fate - he was the blood of the Conqueror; he would not be anything less than ideal. He would not be the first to slip and sin.
So why did he find himself rising from his seat and walking towards her? Hands held back and his breathing even and steady, Aemond watched as she stilled, cognizant of his presence as his dark shadow fell over the shelves in front of her. She did not turn to see him or try to run.
She froze with her eyes fixed on his unsteady, dark shadow, and he enjoyed the nervous beads of sweat that began to form on the nape of her neck, right below where the stray hairs of her braid fell haphazardly. She swallowed, and Aemond's eye followed the slow bobbing of her throat with great intent. 
Was she fearful? If yes, she would have had every right to be. He certainly was afraid - of being carried away by sin.
That was all she was. Dirt and sin, both of which he should stay cleansed of. And yet, his hands moved of their own accord - the tip of his thumb wiped away the beads of sweat forming on her skin, drop after drop. Her breath hitched in her throat in surprise as gooseflesh arose in the wake of his touch and the warmth of his breath, and Aemond could not help the cutting smile that graced his lips then.
Could he conquer sin? He did not know. But he wanted - oh, he so wanted - to learn. And if there was one thing he truly enjoyed, it was learning. With that singular thought in mind, he moved her face by the chin to the side - giving her a view of his unmarred side if she wished for it.
She looked straight ahead, making no attempt to look at him. His hand was yet to leave her chin; if anything, his grip had only gotten tighter. In close proximity, he saw the way her hair curled on her sweat-dampened skin; the way her breasts heaved as she took in laboured breaths to calm herself down as a Prince of the realm touched and held her in his tight grasp.
Aemond’s thumb lazily caressed her jaw and lower lip, fingers holding onto her like she was a startled little fawn who would run if he let her. In close proximity, the swell of her backside grazed his clothed bulge for just a moment - enough to drive him mad with want and take a step back. But even then, he did not let go.
How could sin manage to look so innocent? How could she remain so ignorant of what she was doing to him?
Those who committed sins of the flesh would spend the entirety of the afterlife making their way through the dark expanses of the Seven Hells, and she… she was a test of will. The Gods had clearly sent her to test him, for why else would he have been so easily swayed by a pretty face?
“What do they call you?” He rasped into her ear, while she, to his utter shock, lifted her lips up slightly - enough to send his senses into action. She smiled like she knew the realm's biggest secret, and wouldn't tell anyone until she'd let it unfold a bit for her own amusement.
All of a sudden, there was no chasm, no oceans to separate them - all that they had between them was a slight fraction of space, just enough to breathe. His nose brushed her earlobe and she hissed - if he had not been close to her, he would have missed it.
Her name tumbled out of her lips in faint song-like whisper - a voice made to seduce - and Aemond was convinced that she was some sort of otherworldly creature - a siren, or a fey. Her voice went straight to his cock, and his eagerness was evident as it hardened. She was yet to make even a slight movement - every part of her remained still, and if she were not breathing, he would be convinced that he had killed her with the forwardness of his actions.
His hands reached down to her neck, and he continued down as he traced a path down the soft skin of her arms with the tips of his fingers. His hands reached hers, and he pried her fingers apart, allowing him to intertwine his with hers. He guided their joined left hands to wrap around her waist, and her eyes followed his movements as her head hung low.
The laces of her worn-out brown dress called for his fingers to run through them. The sight was the most inviting one he ever knew, and he let go of her other hand to let his finger work through the first loop. He gulped at getting to see a new plane of her body - it was a very small patch of newly won skin, but it had made his mouth water and mind race nonetheless.
He wondered what it would be like if he simply swooped in, pushed her braid aside, and planted his lips right there, but Aemond managed to hold himself. Would she push him away, or would she welcome him and encourage him to work his way through the second loop? Would she let him go further down her back until his mouth reached the swell of her backside?
His calloused fingertip tapped the skin under the newly removed loop on her back once, twice, thrice. The gooseflesh that arose and the audible gasp she let out felt like the biggest victory Aemond had ever known.
He decided then that if he were going to conquer sin, he would do it looking her in the eye. After all, Princes had to be honourable - and it was not honourable to approach prey from behind.
He turned her around, and she was quick to take a step back - her back hit the old wooden shelf behind her, and he towered over her, his presence a looming threat to her virtue as one of his hands rested on the side of her head, while the fingertips of the other grazed her neck. He drew his face closer to her, and her breath hitched, and he was infinitely amused by what her thoughts right now could be.
He pulled her face up by the jaw, and now she was forced to look at him - he expected to see fear for her modesty, nervousness for her virtue, and shame for her birth and station, which took away her agency when being held so close by a Prince.
He had not expected to see eyes that matched his own fire. Was he hallucinating, or was she truly holding her own against him in silence? He did not know. But what he did know was that meeting her vision from up close had stunned him. From where he was, he would have been able to count the number of lashes on each eyelid if he so wished - and it was that realisation that broke his reverie and made him draw back.
Sin and shame. He had to be far removed from both, and yet, he had almost allowed himself to be drowned in them. Near where she had stood, he had seen the bound books on the shelves. With his one eye, he had made out the title of The Seven Pointed Star, and he awakened - as though he had been doused with ice-cold water.
How quickly had he been drawn toward her? How easily had he almost given in to temptation? His first night as Prince Regent, and he had already teetered close to sin, dancing at the edges of Seven Hells as the Gods’ most tempting offering had lured him in.
“Leave.” His voice, hoarse from being in close proximity to her, had carried through the air but seemed to have failed to reach her. It seemed as though she had been looking through him, past him, and his words had fallen on deaf ears. She had seemed to be in thought as she ignored his grunt, as though she was waiting for him to take his words back and ravish her right then.
He expected to loom over her, to engulf her - he had not considered that she might perhaps seek to do the same thing to him. The thought of being controlled or met by an equal unnerved him like nothing else ever had.
So he repeated himself and held his hands behind his back, waiting for her to follow his command and swallowing the spit that had collected in his mouth. She quickly picked up her rag from the shelf and had gathered her skirts, eyes downcast and flitting about in confusion and shock.
If he looked closely, he might have noticed a slight knowing smile - one that indicated that this was far from over.
She bowed to him, eyes confident - she said much and more with her eyes, he found - as though his hands had not touched her only a few fleeting moments prior. She made away into the corridors - out of sight, but certainly not out of mind.
He let go of breath that he didn’t know he had been holding only when he had heard the definitive slam of the doors following her exit.
He who holds his own against temptations of the flesh would hold infinite power and control over his senses, the Holy Book had said.
His one eye trained over the spine of the Seven Pointed Star, and he sighed. He had looked sin in the eye and won tonight, resisting his urges. But given how she had plagued his thoughts so strongly even after running away, how long would it be before he gave in?
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Aemond Targaryen was not a man of depravity.
He was not a man of sin. And yet, it was terrifying to him how he very easily could be whenever he was even remotely in her presence.
It was maddening how gooseflesh arose on his skin even when she was farthest away from his vision, blocked by many others who were positioned closer to him. His palms would become drenched just at the sight of her skirts billowing as she took a turn, without even having seen her face or body. Just the mere sight of the edge of her skirts was enough to drive him mad with want; and want her, he did.
On some days, he would have to sit with his hands held together tightly at the supper table while she served the food, if only to prevent himself from reaching out and grabbing her hand. His heart beat loudly and heavily in a steady thump, thump, thump - so definitive, he wondered if his family could hear it at the table.
What was worse was that she knew. She knew the maddening effect she had on him. Her lips curled up just slightly at how his eye would flit to her chest while she bent down to pick up his plate from the table. After dinner, before he could catch her and keep her in his hold, she would be gone. Regardless of the time of day, he sought her out like a moth to a flame. It did not matter where he was; it was always her that he wanted.
The shame of being driven with want for her touch - a mere servant girl’s touch - had taken over him, consumed him entirely. It spread through him faster than wildfire ever could, and hit him like a well-aimed arrow through to his heart. Only a week ago, he had been swirling with thoughts of battle and regency.
On one particular day, he had caught her tending to the gardens while walking in the corridors of the Red Keep. It was instantaneous how he immediately managed to make out her form even from far away. He stepped closer to the railing and watched with a stoic expression on his face and yearning in his mind, still completely befuddled as to what this servant girl had that had pulled her to him in an instant.
Soon enough, the girls who were with her had dispersed, and she’d waved them goodbye before going back to kneeling down next to the bushes, taking good care to not damage the roses as she dug out the mud.
Hands caked with dirt, possibly. The idea should have repulsed him, but the thought of her placing those very hands on him and tracing a muddy path down his chest knocked the very breath out of him in an instant.
Each day in the following week was torture for him - catching glimpses of her in pieces, in fragments, but never entirely and never enough to properly see her. Each sighting of her skirts, her hair, or her back was a moment on its own, frozen in time. She’d taken good care to make herself scarce, so much so that he worried.
Had he frightened her with his forwardness? Did she fear him? Wanting her was supposed to bring her closer to him, but it seemed to him that all it had done was push her away, oceans apart.
It killed him - how his mind, heart, and soul sang for her, a siren song so rich in wanting that it would leave nothing but destruction in its wake as he sought her out - and yet, she hadn't met his eye after that night when she’d run away from him, but she smiled.
He remembered clearly the way his fingertip had grazed the slightly exposed skin of her back; the way her breath had hitched when his fingers ran over her neck, and how she’d frozen for a moment when she felt his warm breath on her. And her voice - gods, her voice - he kept her name and her voice running through his mind like a desperate prayer, as though it was the only word that would bring him salvation from all the sins that he’d committed.
He remembered the slight upward curve of her lips, almost as though she was challenging him to go further. He thought about her all day, every day - and yet, it seemed as though it was never enough.
When this game of hide and seek had become too much for him, he’d take to the comfort of the night to relieve himself in the privacy of his bedchambers. He knew it was a sin to touch himself and spill into his own hand - but if he had to commit a negligible error to keep himself from committing a grave sin, like taking her no matter how much he wanted it, he would have to.
Aemond spent his days thinking her name, and his nights voicing it out in moans, grunts, and gasps as he let his hand work his painfully hard cock. Each time he pleasured himself, he remembered how her hands felt against his own - he imagined those hands on his cock, stroking each vein of his back and forth until he had himself drowning in pleasure, with white-hot spend spurting all over his hands and stomach. He imagined her hands coated with his seed.
She was an enthralling beauty. Calm, but with tempestuous eyes. Quiet, but with a flame to match his own. He'd hold a torch for her forever if that's what it took. He wanted her like he’d wanted nothing else.
His eye would remain closed throughout - the irony of his eye having to be closed for him to properly see her now did not escape him. It was a need, to be able to have her in some shape or form - almost as though he was at the edge of his body, and she was the only one who could save him from losing himself.
He imagined her face resting on his chest, her breasts pressed onto him. Her hands on his cock, his down her skirts. He’d let his mind take him all the way, and each time he spilled onto himself, he drove himself mad with more want - it was a vicious, endless cycle. He continued until he tired himself out and went to sleep, his last word of the night always being a faint and needy whisper of her name as he wondered what it would be like if she was sharing his bed, his heart, his life.
The shame would engulf him soon after he woke, and he’d grit his teeth at how the gods had chosen to play him. If they wanted him to be righteous and good, why put her in his path? If he was meant to resist her, why make her irresistible? Why play him for a fool? The unanswered questions, those that sound like he had been screaming into a well, gave way to a gigantic lump in his throat.
What she’d made of him - this pathetic, needy, pining mess of a man - could not stand for much longer. If he had to throw himself at the feet of the Seven and beg for penance, for absolution, for peace and quiet - he would. He would do it a thousand times over. He hated that he loved the feeling of wanting her. He was lost on what he could possibly do with the emotions creeping onto him through his blood as he pondered over the contrast.
With his intent and goal clear in mind, Aemond walked to the Royal Sept. He decided that he would fall at the Father’s feet, beg for mercy in his judgement, and pray to be forgiven. He would apologise to the Mother for playing host to foul and sinful thoughts that should have had no place in the mind of a Prince. He would leave himself at the mercy of the Maiden and make his shame known for wanting to defile a woman who’d done nothing but go about her duty. 
She was there, bent down on her knees at the foot of the statue of the Maiden, praying. She was right in front of him.
The Sept was empty, save for him and her. Aemond’s hands went to his back quickly, and he managed to stop moving his feet to silence the clicking of his boots. He watched her intently, fiercely, unnervingly.
He may have come to the Sept as a pathetic man wanting to give the Gods their due for his sinful indiscretions, but her presence had immediately taken him to who he was a week ago on the fateful night when he met her - a starved man who was mad with desire for her.
There was something to be said about how he’d come to the Sept ready to beg for forgiveness - only for the pathetic thoughts to become a distant memory as she invaded his mind once more. He was a hunter with a primal urge again.
Hot, ready, and absolutely ravenous, ready to stake out his prey - with her knees bent and her face unassuming as she let the comforting and safe feeling of the Sept take over her, she had no idea what dangers to her virtue the man stealthily standing behind her posed.
But Aemond did. He mapped out every inch of the skin that he could and could not see from where he stood, and he knew exactly how he wanted to touch, enjoy, and worship every inch of her. From where he stood, the entirety of her looked so small that she could have fit into his one hand. He closed his fist at the thought of holding her tight and watched.
The light from the stained glass windows reflected and fell around her in a bright ring of fiery orange and light rose, and she looked lit from within as the light illuminated and surrounded her. She may be wearing an old, worn-out servant maid's dress - but in the divine light of the Sept, surrounded by all things holy, she was nothing less than a goddess to Aemond.
Standing at the foot of the statue of the Maiden, she was a Goddess he wanted to claim; in mind, heart, and soul. The Maiden had fallen from the skies and had taken to taunting him with her beauty.
In the light, all he saw was her. Everything around her had vanished, and she was all his vision could register. It was almost as though the Maiden was offering her to him, asking him to indulge, rewarding him for all his years of obedience.
Everything fell into place, and all his thoughts made sense. She was sin, but she was the reward too - perhaps knowing that already was the reason why she had smiled. Only she was visible to him in a grand Sept adorned with many religious relics - a clear sign that she was all he was meant to see.
How could he not have her? He’d spent years being the obedient son, the good son. He’d spent years studying the blade, learning the histories of his realm and the philosophies. He made sure to be the ideal son his mother wanted, and now he was a Prince Regent of Westeros. A powerful man within his own right.
And all his time being good had finally led him to her - a sinful indulgence. And if he had earned the power he had, he had earned her too. She was his, and soon he would make it known - to her and to the damned Gods. He would make them all watch from above - all the Gods, the Old, the New, the foreign ones and his Valyrian ones - as he worshipped her in their place, as she usurped them in his world. She would be a goddess, and he, a devoted, starving, and humble man - on his knees for her.
He glanced over at her and then at the Seven statues one last time before walking away, his coat flying sleekly behind him as she finally finished her prayers and turned around. He forgave her for consuming him, his thoughts, and invading his very being. His hand stretched out and laid floating mid-air, reaching out for a girl who had not yet sensed his presence.
In the distance, as a second son walked away with his mind made, the young servant maid’s ears picked up the hauntingly familiar, fading sounds of his boot-clad purposeful gait. The candle she lit at the Maiden’s feet melted away, the sight making for something ethereally beautiful in the bright light.
She walked away soon after, and did not notice as the flame sputtered, faded, and went out.
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Aemond Targaryen was a man starved.
This game they played, this push and pull, was enough to drive a disciplined and restrained man like Aemond to his wit’s end. His nights became longer as he stayed up to pleasure himself and moan out her name until the entire corridor heard it; his days became longer in her absence too, as he stayed alert, trying to find her in some corner or another. This dance that they paired up for was an absolute tease - he always found himself reaching out for a hand that did not fall into his grasp, one that he missed by a fraction of space each time.
She would walk into a corner and be gone before he could catch sight of her; he spotted her braided hair in a sea of heads from the dias once, but he could not keep up as the servants moved to work. In the library, in the corridors, in the gardens, in the common rooms - he’d missed her narrowly everywhere.
He had always been a man who worked for what he had. His dragon, his sword skill, his intelligence, his fearsome reputation - Aemond worked hard to earn every single one of his known traits, and as was the natural order of things, he was made to earn her too. It made his patience run out slowly and swiftly - but he did not give up. He would not.
An offering from the Gods was never simply handed over - there are many trials and tribulations to be faced first. And in his case, it would mean finding her first.
One fine day, he did.
He had seen her enjoying herself. She held a basket of dirty clothes to be taken to wash, and her companion was hidden by a wall. Aemond knew that pursuing her right here, despite every bone in his body wanting to, would not be a good idea - he could not afford to be found lusting after a serving girl with such intensity.
But he could stay around for a while and hear her speak. He did love her voice - the hold her siren song had on him in each waking moment was absolutely crushing, and he’d let it take him.
He stood out of sight and heard her talking about the Holy Day festivities out in the city, and when he heard the voice of her companion, his blood ran cold. A man - she had been speaking to and entertaining the company of a man. She was giving him her laughs freely and her company with nothing in return - laughs and time that should have been his.
Her lips curled up in the most captivating way, and it hurt and angered Aemond to think that it was not meant for him. He once again heard the man speak about taverns and dances happening all night on the day of, and Aemond’s hand clutched the hilt of his dagger. 
"Vaogenka Andali," he seethed. [Andal scum]
It would be so easy, so simple to rip his throat out right now. He could easily kill him and take her, claim her right there as the man watched Aemond take her in every possible way with his dying breath. He would do that to every man who dared to meet her eyes and put himself in her path, for he was the only one with the right to behold the sight of her.
Sin of course, was a common temptation. No wonder everybody wanted to partake. No matter. She was his. And judging by her next words, it seemed that she knew it too.
“Apologies, I’m already spoken for.”
His hold on his dagger loosened as his mind and heart caught up with her words.
He loved the push and pull of this sinful game they played, and it seemed that she did too. His smile was harsh and cutting, dripping with victory and pride at knowing that his want for her affections was uncontested. He slowly slinked away, and completely missed how she leaned her head back at the sound of his boots, only to spot his silver hair in the distance.
He missed her sly smile once more.
That night, her words ran through his mind over and over as he imagined her whispering sweet nothings in his ear while letting him slip his cock into her cunt, The mental image of her wanting, moaning and at his mercy while he fucked into her mercilessly had sent a shivering bolt of pleasure to his spine. It was the sight of her looking up at him and batting her lashes innocently that did it for him, and sent him careening to his peak.
On the seventh day of the seventh moon, a day considered holy for the New Gods, the prayers at the Royal Sept were to happen late in the morning in the presence of the royal family and the courtiers. Aemond had to make an appearance in the beginning as his mother welcomed those of the court and noble houses, and so he stood, with his hands held behind his back, trying to spot a familiar face amidst the throngs of people who had gathered.
There are very few serving girls around, she was not there. Where would she be?
Aemond took his leave, and he watched as the High Septon took his place at the front and led the proceedings. He walked out of the Sept through the backdoor, with the faint and dull sounds of prayer running through his ears as he remained within earshot.
“The Seven themselves walked among the Andals in the hills of Andalos, and it was they who crowned Hugor of the Hill and promised him and his descendants great kingdoms in a foreign land…” 
The Septon’s voice reverberated through Aemond’s mind, and given all the shame he had felt and the conflicted nature of his thoughts ever since he met her, he felt the need to listen to the Word of the Gods. And so he froze in the darkened, empty corridor, with his back leaned onto the wall and his hands held together on his front, finger tapping incessantly into his thigh as he listened.
“The Seven had promised King Hugor a golden land amidst towering mountains…”
Promises. What had the Gods promised him?
Almost as though they had heard his prayers, she had walked in. 
She was what the Gods had promised him.
She looked no different from the first time he’d seen her, and his mind was racing. His throat had suddenly gone dry, and his voice was seemingly stripped away from him as he finally faced her.
He’d wanted her for too long, and now she was right in front of him; his for the taking. He would not let her go this time.
The basket that she held in her hands had a variety of fruits that he presumed were for the lords and ladies to eat once they’d finished with their prayers. If his assumptions were right, she was on her way to join those at the Sept to pray. 
The Maiden as he saw her, was on her way to the Sept to bless them with her presence. And Aemond was about to show her that he was the most devout man in the Kingdoms. It did not matter how loud the echoing sounds of their prayers were - he’d worship her like none of them could.
He stalked toward her with the cadence of a starved man, one that had been kept away from his prey for too long. And what was he, if not that? The High Septon’s voice was faintly audible to him, but nowhere close to impactful enough to sway him towards any other course. 
“Spirits, wights, and revenants cannot harm a pious man, so long as he is armoured in his faith,” Aemond heard him say. No, none of them managed to penetrate his thoughts - but this woman, this Goddess amongst men… She owned him. She had his heart, his soul, and everything that he was.
She quickly dropped the basket and her eyes followed the one stray apple that rolled away from them both. She couldn’t for long however, not when he’d pushed her to the wall and held her by the soft skin of her cheek.
Her eyes, meeting his own. His legs lodged on either side of hers. His hand, digging into her waist like he wanted to bruise her, brand her, mark her as his.
She turned to look sideways, and seemed as though she was worried about people walking in on them in the dark, isolated corridor. He pulled her face harshly to meet his eye once more - Aemond knew that they’d all take the front entrance and not the back - they’d be left alone, if only for a little time.
He will have her today. He will have her if it’s the last thing he does.
He ran his fingers over her forehead, slowly bringing them down to trace her eye. Her eyelids shut immediately, and her breath hitched as he travelled further down and met her nose. He cannot stop now  - he will not stop - and he got to her lips, fingers hovering over the outline. He felt the faint dampness from when she’d probably licked her lips not too long ago, and gasped.
It was all he could do to not slip those fingers inside.
Her eyes are locked with his one violet orb, and he looks into her as his fingers map out every little plane of her face. He felt his knees going weak as she held her own against his intense gaze, fire matching his as she refused to break contact with his eye. His voice was hoarse and it was almost painful to let the words out, but he knew that he’d explode if he did not. 
“Do you… have any idea what you do to me?”
“Perhaps I will be better served if you tell me,” she whispered. There was no fear in her, he noticed. He may have seen her as his prey to claim, but it seemed that she was determined about keeping them both on equal footing. It only drives him toward her a lot more. His fingers travelled down to her chin, and made their featherlight way down her neck, moving as her throat bobbed while she gulped. When they reached her bosom, he watched as she audibly gasped, and wondered what other noises he could elicit from that pretty mouth.
“I have been driven mad with want. Sinful, uncouth thoughts that befit a lowly barbarian, rather than a prince. All because….” He gulped and her eyes still did not move away from his. He holds her chin to raise her face, while letting the other wander over her gown and fall on her clothed breast.
“Pride goes before a fall.” the High Septon’s faint voice reverberated through the dark corridor. Aemond is the blood of Valyria; closer to the Gods than men. With his unquestionable blood and status came a sense of pride that ensured that he’d never be looked down upon, pride that he’d never let go of. But tonight, he will. For her, he will. For he does not want to fall - he wants to fly high, higher and higher still with her.  When he faced her, he realised that he would go on his knees in reverence if she asked. 
“I’ve thought about you ever since I first saw you,” he said. His hands squeezed her breast as though he was testing out the action, and he saw how the back of her palm hit the wall and the other gripped his doublet, trying to find purchase as the faint pleasure shot through her.
“You… you are special. You are the Gods’ answer to all my prayers… You….” he took a long breath as he studied her face, looking for any signs of discomfort. “You…”
She raised her eyebrow as though she challenged him to continue, and he wondered if he should. He heard what he’d said, and it sounded no less than delusional - but how could it be wrong, if it felt so right?
“The Gods… they sent you to me.” My Goddess, he thought. “What do they want? What do you want?” 
The hand on her breast continued to knead at her soft flesh through her clothes, and his other hand descended too as soon as he watched her lips part - but that wasn’t enough. He needed an answer. So he stopped his ministrations and asked again, stern voice giving way for nothing apart from what he wished to hear. 
“What do you want from me?”
“I only want you,” she breathed out, her hands covering his as she caged them over her chest.
The Maiden had come to bless the earthly beings with her presence, with her love, and she wanted him. Wanting to wait no longer, his lips found hers.
The air crackled with an electric intensity as their lips met, desire and longing fueling the moment. His hands trembled slightly as they traced the curves of her face, fingers brushing against her soft skin with a reverence that bordered on worship.
Their kiss deepened, and he pulled her closer, his body pressed against hers, feeling the rapid rhythm of her heartbeat matching his own. She arched into him, a soft moan escaping her as their tongues intertwined. The taste of her was intoxicating to Aemond - a heady blend of sweetness and fire that seared itself into his memory, branding him with a hunger he never knew existed.
Time seemed to slow, the world around them fading into obscurity as they lost themselves in the intensity of their union. Her fingers tangled in his hair, pulling him impossibly closer and he reciprocated, as if afraid that she might slip away if he didn't hold on tight enough. Every fibre of his being was consumed by her, by the intoxicating sensation of her lips on his, the soft sighs that escaped her, and the way her body moulded seamlessly against his. 
He pushed them both towards the wall and let his hands rest on the stony surface, caging her. She leaned forward and caught his lips this time, letting her hands wander over the planes of his shoulders, his arms, his clothed chest. Aemond’s hand grasped at her neck and squeezed - enough to elicit a gasp from her, but not so much that she’d beg to not be choked to death. 
Her hands snuck in through the hem of his doublet, fingertips grazing over the bare skin of his abdomen. If Aemond dropped dead right then, he would die a happy, blessed man. Blessed by a Goddess herself.
“Spirits, wights, and revenants cannot harm a pious man, so long as he is armoured in his faith,” the High Septon recited. He recognized the words from the Holy Book, and could not help but agree. As the taste of her lips consumed him and her touch left him in a mindless frenzy, he knew.
Her touch on his bare skin ignited a fire in him that already burned bright, and as he readied himself for more, the High Septon’s distant words echoed through the darkened corridors once more.
“Men bow to their lords, and lords to their kings, so kings and queens must bow before the Seven Who Are One.”
And right then, a Prince of Valyrian blood, a man closer to the Gods than to men, kneeled. Just as the Seven preached kneeling down to the divine deities, he listened. Aemond was quick to hold her ankles and swiftly pull his hands up her legs, hiking her skirts up with each passing moment. The chill of the air around them hit her newly exposed skin instantly, as he made note of the gooseflesh that arose on her calves. He pushed his face forward to kiss her knees as his hands continued their way up, pulling her skirts all the way up to her hips and exposing her already drenched clothed cunt to him.
When his lips met the apex of her thighs, she let out a loud moan. Aemond was convinced right then, that pleasuring her was what he was put on the earth for. What better purpose can a man have, than to satisfy a Goddess amongst men?
As though they could not survive without each other’s touch any longer, her hands pulled at his hair - she wanted more, and he was all but a devoted soldier at her feet, giving her all that she wished for. He pulled her smallclothes down to her ankles, and parted her folds to bring her wet and wanting cunny to his line of sight. 
He looked up to face her, and her heavy breathing and heaving chest filled him with energy beyond that which he was humanely capable of handling. His Goddess had perhaps blessed him already, but he would be amiss if he did not properly pay her his obeisance. She’d sensed what he intended to do almost immediately, and through her barely hidden lust and half lidded eyes, she murmured.
“Anyone could come. Anyone could see.”
“Let them.” 
He pushed his head between her thighs and licked from her opening to her pearl, already drunk on the taste of her. She arched into him, and he took good care to tightly grip onto her thighs, keeping her and her skirts in place so they'd not disturb him. It would seem that his hot breath on her and his nose nudging her bud was enough to have her lose all sense of control and moan, and he relished in watching her let the pleasure take over her with each movement. He then sucked at her pearl diligently before fucking into her with his tongue once more and she pushed herself at him like she couldn't have enough.
“Those who indulge in sins of the flesh would be cursed to spend all of eternity trudging through the Seven Hells.” The High Septon’s voice echoed through, but Aemond was far too gone, far too cuntstruck as he became addicted to the feeling of her pearl between his lips. Why would he be bothered about trudging through the Seven Hells, when the Seven Heavens were right here, between his beloved’s thighs?
He was sure he heard someone, but he was too in deep to care. He’s drowning in her; the feel of her, the taste of her, the scent of her and everything that makes her the Goddess that she is to him. 
After all, how can he not? The Seven themselves had shined their light on her and sent her for him, had they not? The deeper he buried his tongue in her weeping cunny, the more the intoxicating smell of her engulfed him. And he let it. He’d let her take over him a hundred times over, for every lifetime that the Gods see fit to bless him with. 
A thin streak of light escaped in and illuminated her thigh, and he heard her moan wantonly as his tongue continued its unrelenting assault. Her pretty sounds only served to drive him mad with want, and he pressed his nose into her bud as he continued to feast on her and pushed her against the wall with a hand splayed across her stomach, pressing into her as she grinded against him.
Her hands tightened around his head and pulled at his spun-silver hair. Her cries of pleasure were the only sounds he heard as she toppled over the edge, her mind a haze as white hot pleasure coursed through her. Seven save him, Aemond was not a greedy man - but it was with greed that he did not let a single drop of her go to waste and continued to pleasure her through her peak as he lapped it all up. When he stood back up, he did so with a glistening chin, painted with her slick. 
He knew very well from the moment he saw her, that if he touched her once, he’d never let go. What he had not anticipated was how little patience he’d have - for as soon as she recovered from her peak, he quickly freed his cock and sheathed himself in her in one swift thrust. Her thighs quivered in his hold and her hands flew to his shoulders, looking for purchase as she struggled to stand on her own - her knees seemed to have melted under his touch.
He lowered his head onto her shoulder, letting the feeling of her tight heat warm his length for a moment as he stilled. She clenched around him immediately and he mouthed a path of feather light kisses down her neck. Every bead of sweat was visible to him and he breathed it all in, following it with a firm lick up the skin that left her shivering under him. He let his hand rest and pull at the hair on the nape of her neck, cold from being dampened by sweat.
It would seem that his Goddess was as impatient for him as he was for her, and couldn’t wait for him to lay his claim on her. While he was content to stay buried to the hilt in her wet cunt for a while, he knew that they were risking it all - anyone could walk in at any moment, and they had to make it quick. 
The thought of being caught out like this, buried inside of her, would usually shame him. But right now, he couldn’t bring himself to be ashamed - how could he? He’d let them all watch as he took her in all the ways a man could a woman before he let her go for fear of strangers. After all, dragons did not concern themselves with the opinions of sheep. Especially not when it is a Goddess’ satisfaction that is at stake. 
“Lives are like candle flames that can be snuffed out by an errant puff of wind,” the High Septon said, and he agreed instantly. If life was finite, if he could die today, wouldn’t it be prudent to take pleasure from a divine deity that presented herself to him, wet and wanting?
Her hand moved to the back of his neck and she breathed into him, her warm breath hitting his lip as he kissed her once more. She was as desperate as he was, pushing against him in search of pleasure - pleasure that only he could give her - was all the indication he needed as he began thrusting into her, hard and fast.
She let out a choked moan as he smiled against her lips, his own a sharp line that looked more arrogant than happy - as befitting a Targaryen Prince. She lowered her hands and let it slip under his doublet once more, letting her hands roam free over his back and planting her nails into the skin. Aemond was sure that red blood had bloomed where she’d dug into him, but the heat of her, her walls clenching around him were all that mattered.
He locked her in his tight hold - one hand pulling at her hair so she’d look at him while he fucked into her mercilessly, and another on the small of her back, fingers ghosting over the top of her backside - and she was caged in by him. He held her so tight, like he worried that she’d disappear if he loosened his hold even just a little. Their kisses were all tongue and teeth as he rutted into her, hitting her rough spot with each thrust. He groaned as her lips parted, a thin line of spittle between them as he lost himself in the feeling of her.
Her back hit the wall repeatedly and the heavy thuds were in tandem with the wet sounds of his cock in her cunt. Her heavy breaths, the tightening of her stomach, the touch that she sought out and all the sounds that she made, the ones that he'd never tire of hearing, were enough to drive him to madness.
Her hands roamed over all the bare skin she could find, and when he thrusted too harshly she would reward him with blood red crescent-moon cuts with the tips of her nails. “I have… waited… for so long…” Aemond panted, his words punctuating each push into her. “Imagined having you like this, tight and warm around me,” he grunted.
She let out a choked moan, followed by her fastening her legs around him as he lifted her up and continued to let her know how much he desired her. 
“Fucked into my fist each night to the thought of you… Wrong, so wrong…” he growled, and his hands quickly went up to her chest and pulled her neckline down, freeing her breasts. He kneaded at the flesh and marvelled in how perfectly they fit in his palms, almost as though they were made for him to have and hold. With each touch, he felt the heel of her feet press into the small of his back through his clothes. Nudging him, taunting him, driving him mad.
“Want you so much, you’re mine…Issa jaesa.” [My Goddess] 
Every declaration was accompanied by a rough thrust and he felt hot pleasure blooming in his lower abdomen. But he wasn’t ready, not quite yet. Not if she wasn’t. He needed her to peak with him and truly join him as one. He needed there to be indisputable proof that she was his. The thought of her spending the day with his white hot spend running and drying down her thighs was what pushed him to circle her nub with his long finger and thrust animalistically into her, coaxing moans and a blooming warmth in her belly.
“Yours, my prince. Only yours…” she murmured in between gasps, and she peaked immediately after. He was powerless as she clenched tightly around him, and in a few slow yet definitive thrusts, his release came soon after. 
Looking in between their joined bodies, he ran his hand up her stomach and held onto her sweat-coated breast. No sight in the world had ever been so divine.
“Death is never far in this world, and seven hells await sinners…” the High Septon’s voice said as he finished his sermon. Having just found his life’s greatest pleasure in her, he found that he did not mind the Holy man’s words. 
He may be a Valyrian prince closer to God to others, but in front of her, he was only a man. And what power does a man have against a sinful temptress like her? How was he to possibly stay away? If this is how good sin felt, then Aemond realised that he would not mind being left to rot in the Seven Hells if he would be allowed the memory of her in his mind, heart and soul for eternity. It would be enough to keep him alive in the land of the undead.
He stayed buried in her until he softened once more, his hand twirling a dampened stray curl on her neck as he continued to knead at her breast and roll the soft nipple with the other. His soft kisses on her neck were only made better by her tired breaths, and he bit into her neck quickly before he let go.
He missed the warmth of her touch immediately as he pushed his cock back into his trousers, and corrected himself to make himself presentable once more. When he caught a glimpse of the stray hair on his shoulders, he looked around to find his leather hair tie - only for her closed fist to reach out to him. He opened his palm and she let the hairtie fall onto his hand, and he smirked at the normalcy of the action.
After he set his hair in place, he clutched his hands behind his back as he watched her correct her sleeves and smooth down the skirts of her worn-out dress. She smiled at him when she was done with her clothes and put a hand in her hair to tame it, and with her mischievous yet charming grin, she healed all the scars in him that she had not caused.
When she was done, he found the stray apple that had rolled away from her basket and put it in with the rest. He handed it to her and could not resist letting his hand push away the fine hairs that stuck to her forehead. When he finished, he kissed her well, and he kissed her true - no trace of the roughness with which he’d taken her only moments ago, a soft reminder of his claim to her that he'd just staked. 
Their foreheads met and he held her by the back of her head, and he smirked as he heard his Goddess speak once more.
“Will you come to me again?”
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li0nn3stuff · 2 days
Text
You see Aemond's eye
English is not my first language, be kind.
Modern!Aemond x fem!Reader 
Warnings: pure smut with a bit of fluff in the end
Aemond groans, as he squeezes her hips with his hands, as she keeps on jumping up and down his cock. He clenches his jaw, throwing back his head at the beautiful feeling of being inside of her once again. Her breasts were jumping up and down in front of his face, still covered by her bra, her hands beside his head, her head thrown back. He looks at her face, contorted in pleasure and a bit of tiredness as she keeps riding him, moaning every time his cock slips back in, rubbing just the right spot inside her.
He moves one of his hands to tug down harshly the cup of her bra, letting one of her breasts out, so he could lean towards it to suck her nipple in his mouth. She moans even loudly and she sits on his cock, swaying her hips back and forth, as she puts one of her hands behind his head, keeping him close to her breast. He grunts and grabs her ass tightly enough to be leaving bruises later, and he starts moving her so she resumes her previous movements, forcing her to take his cock in and out, as he watches how she wonderfully does so, with his mouth half open.
“Yes… Fuck- That’is, baby- Just like that.” He moans as she nods and follows his pace. He let one of his hands away from her ass to bring it to her exposed breast, squeezing it, then twirling her nipple between his fingers.
“Oh- Fuck, A-Aem-Aemond!” She moans loudly and he smirks. He squeezes the skin of her ass even tighter as he stops her movements, fixing the cup of her bra as he puts his hands back on her hips, keeping her still. He plants his feet on the bed and start thrusting his hips up, fucking her from below, his eye glued to where their bodies combined so wonderfully. She moves her hands on his chest to keep her balance and she looks down at him.
“A-Aemond- S-so good..:” she mumbles as he just keeps speeding up, going inhumanly faster. The room was filled with dirty sounds, the sicky sounds of her juices that wetted his crotch, her moans, sobs and whimpers, and his grunts or heavy breathing.
She kept looking at his face, she loved to drink up every expression of his, all the time, in bed, out of bed. She couldn’t stop looking at him, finding every single detail of his face incredibly beautiful. Except for one thing. They’ve talked before, and almost every time, it ended up disappointing for her. His eyepatch. She had asked him on many occasions why he never took it off with her, why she couldn’t see how he was underneath it, and he simply answered that she wasn’t ready, that she would have been disgusted by what she would have seen. Hearing him saying such things about himself always broke her heart, so she would just drop the conversation with a sadden smile.
“I’ll fuck you untill morning, baby- Fuck, if it feels this good it’ll be worth feeling my cock fall off-” He grunts as he grabs the back of her neck and pulls her down on his chest. She hides her face in his neck, trying to cover her moans on his skin, but he slapped her ass, leaving a red print of his hand on it.
“Don’t. Let me hear you. Let everyone hear how good I make you feel.” he growls, as she presses her forehead on his neck as she tries to get a glimpse of the sight of his cock entering her repeatedly, but due to this position she couldn’t, so she just closes her eyes and moans again, clenching her hands on the duvets under them, squeezing them in her hands as she just kept taking whatever he gave her. He takes off his hand from the back of her neck and he slips it between them, searching for her breasts again, so she takes the occasion to sit back up as he keeps pistoning his hips up.
The stamina of this guy was something she just would never understand.
She puts her hands back on his chest, passing her fingers over his nipples, and she looks back at his face. His lips parted, his rapid breathing and his expression of struggle, pleasure and determination. He grunts and throws his head back as he closes his eye, the scar wrinkling the skin around it, the eyepatch moving slightly. He probably didn’t even notice, but she did. She puts her hand on his scarred cheek, caressing it, as he immediately opened his eye to watch her attently. Giving her a few harder thrusts to warn her, that made her sob harder, almost taking her breath away. She fixes his eyepatch over his eye and she leans down to kiss his chest, keeping her hand on his cheek, sitting back up after.
Aemond’s thrusts were getting harder and quicker, a sign that he was about to cum. She looks back at his face and he sees his pained expression as he tried to hold back, feeling her walls starting to squeeze him, knowing that he was just building her orgasm up. She bites her lip as he keeps looking at his face, and even if she knew that what she was about to do was really wrong, she couldn’t refrain herself, so she moved her hand and slipped his eyepatch off. She met blue.
He was… beautiful.
His lost eye has been replaced with a blue sapphire gem, his eyelid a bit wrinkly and red at the edges. But that eye, that gem… Aemond widened his eye, shocked by her action. How could he be insecure of such a sight? God, she was so lucky, she was in heaven, she felt the highest, knowing that she get to be fucked by him, touched, kissed, by him. She was flattered to even be close to him. She kept staring at him, and after finally having revealed to herself what he looked like, all she could do was just cum. She collapsed on top of him as her walls spasmed violently, never having cum this hard in her life, she just felt wonderfully, hugging his neck close to her as she let out the loudest moan.
Aemond clenches his eye close as he moans back just as loud, her walls sucking him so wonderfully that his legs just fail him when he finally lets himself cum. She puts her hands on the sides of his face as she presses her lips on his. He sighs and kisses her back, pushing her away almost immediately. She pulls away and looks at him with her lips pressed together.
“I-I’m so sorry…” She was panting, her whole body was shaking.
“Why did you even do it?” He growls as he puts his eyepatch back on, but she grabs his wrist to stop him.
“No! Please, I’m really sorry I did it like this, but please, Aemond, don’t wear the eyepatch again.” She begs him. He growls and he pulls his wrist away from her. “What makes you think you have the right to ask this, uh?!” He was angry, he felt betrayed, and he had all the right to be, she knew it.
“Aemond… I know I-I shouldn’t have, but… You’re beautiful.” She ends up whispering her last two words. He looks at her as if she was a madwoman.
“You should be disgusted.” He hisses at her and she furrows her brows.
“Disgusted? Aemond… who told you that? Your eye is nothing to be disgusted by.” She felt her heart break into pieces at his words. He just fixes his eyepatch on his eyes and looks away from her.
“No one.” He answers coldly. She presses her lips together, feeling her eyes filling with tears. She moves off of him and lays beside him. Aemond was stubborn, what he said, he had to do. She felt it was worth it to try again. 
“Aemond…” She puts her hand on his cheek, turning his face towards her. She met his glacial gaze, the one he usually reserved for strangers. It sent shivers down her spine, mixed with pure fear. Did she just ruin everything? Only the idea of losing him made her want to cry and beg him on her knees. She takes a deep breath to not burst into tears.”P-Please… You’re perfect… you’re the most beautiful person I’ve ever seen…” 
His expression softens as he sees her tears, and he sighs in frustration, pulling her close, making her lean on his chest as he wraps his arm around her.
“Did you cum for my eye?” He asks so shamelessly that she blushed violently, even though it was nothing she could deny. She slowly nodded her head, looking down at her hand resting on his chest. He heard Aemond moving, then his hand came in her view field, holding his eyepatch. He was giving her his eyepatch. Her head snaps up, looking up at him. His cheeks red in embarrassment, as he was looking away from her. His eye uncovered. She smiles softly, wiping away her tears, as she leans on her elbow to look better at him she puts her hand on his cheek again, turning his head to her. He was so pretty, his cheeks flushed, his gaze drifted to the side, as he refused to meet your eyes.
“You’re beautiful.” She repeated, smiling at him. His cheeks only reddened more as he clenched his jaw.
“I don’t get you. How can you enjoy the sight of any of this?” He answers and I rest my chin on top of your chest, admiring your face.
“I just do. Simple as that.” 
He finally looks down at her and he caresses her cheek with her thumb.
“I don’t think I would have ever been able to take the eyepatch off in front of you. I guess it was a good thing that you did it for me.” He says as he looks at her, his mind strangely calm. She leans towards his hand as she closes her eyes, enjoying the feeling of his soft touches.
He grabs her by the back of her neck and she brings her up to his face so he can kiss her. She immediately wraps her arms around his neck, pulling him closer as he rolls to get on top of her. He looked at her, smirking. Her reaction to his eye gave him a huge boost of confidence.
“I won't cover my eye again when we are alone, I promise.”  She smiles back at him at his words. He smiles devilishly then he adds: 
“Especially if it makes you cum that hard.” 
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buckybarnesb-tch · 2 days
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Aemond T. Yandere A-Z
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(For the multiple people who asked for a Yandere Alphabet for our favorite little War Criminal)
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A stands for AFFECTION: how would they show affection?
•Aemond is a gift giver to the extreme
•From the moment you found out about your betrothal to your Uncle, you had been receiving gorgeous dresses, fantastic shoes and jewelry you could never have imagined wearing. All of the jewelry you were gifted containing large sapphires in the necklaces or earrings, staking the One Eyed Princes claim on you
B stands for BLOODY: how bloody are they willing to get for their object of obsession?
•He loves getting bloody on a normal occasion so getting bloody for you would be a joy for Aemond
•He would slaughter any and all men who dared even think they had a chance with his girl and he even killed a few women who thought it their place to ‘warn you’ about what he’s like and insist you needed to get out of the marriage proposal, even though you all knew that was impossible
C stands for CRUELTY: would they ever hurt their object of obsession?
•Aemond would avoid harming you as much as possible, he never liked to see pain on your face or bruises on your perfect porcelain skin but if you thought you were going to defy him then he needed to teach you a lesson
•Normally locking you in your rooms was enough after two days of isolation and eating all of your meals alone
•Only once did Aemond ever really hurt you and it was only after you had pushed him too far, something even you admitted he couldn’t ignore in public
D stands for DARLING: would they cross their object of obsession’s limits?
•Aemond is as patient as he can be with you but if you give him no other choice, then yes, he absolutely will
E stands for EXPOSED: how much do they expose their own feelings to their object of obsession?
•Aemond talks to you about almost everything
•One of your jobs as his wife is to listen to him and you quickly find out you’re the only person that he really tells about how he feels about everything from his mother to his brother to even his father
•He is also very open in how he feels about you, making it clear from the moment you are betrothed that you are his and he is completely obsessed with you loves you dearly
F stands for FIGHT: how would they react to their object of obsession fighting back?
•Aemond absolutely thinks it’s funny…for about 5 minutes
•You are his wife and him your husband, you will behave as a lady is expected to behave within the confines of her marriage so ‘fighting back’ isn’t really much of an option
G stands for GAME: do they think this is just a game?
•You are Aemond’s everything, this is no game
•Anyone who thinks it is will get a painful wake up call sooner than they think
H stands for HELL: what would be their object of obsession’s worst experience with them?
•Your worst experience would be the one time you made the mistake of refusing his demands in front of the small council
•Aemond didn’t want to harm you, he was trying quite hard to get you used to being his wife and doing your duties/behaving how he expected you to but you didn’t give him much of an option before you felt his hand strike your face so painfully you briefly thought he had broken your jaw
•He apologized for hitting you so hard later in the privacy of your rooms but informed you that you shouldn’t have said anything against him in front of anyone especially the small council and even you knew how badly you had messed up as soon as the words left your mouth
I stands for IDEAL: what are their plans for their object of obsession?
•Aemond’s plan is impregnating you
•That has been his plan since the moment he insisted his mother ensure you were going to be his wife
J stands for JEALOUSY: how they react when jealous? Do they get jealous?
•When Aemond is jealous someone is going to die, he is a violent man when he thinks another man is getting close to his wife and he will often publicly punish any man who he thinks is looking at his Princess wrong
•You learned very quickly to talk to other men as little as possible
•However you also learned that if you wanted a man dead you had a sure fire way to make it happen
K stands for KINDNESS: how they act around their object of obsession?
•When you and Aemond are alone he is much different than he is in public
•Aemond is usually a sweet, gentle person with you when he isn’t in a bad mood or you’re not being difficult
•Even when in public he is gentler with you than most men are with their wives, he’s just far more quiet and somber
L stands for LOVE LETTER: how would they approach their object of obsession?
•He made sure his mother knew he would only accept you as his wife, and that if Rhaenyra made the mistake of trying to marry you to anyone else he would steal you away before any wedding could take place and burn the Lords house to the ground, ally of the Hightowers or not
•Aemond was quite sweet to you, he always had been when you were children however he was a proper gentleman now and he ensured you were as happy as you could be…obsessively so
M stands for MASK: how different are their public persona from their true selves?
•He is quiet for the most part in public, and if he must say something it is usually a snarky comment or a backhanded insult
•With you he is very attentive and often needy for your attention which is actually what makes you fall for him in the end, loving his desperation for you
N stands for NAUGHTY: how would they punish their object of obsession?
•Aemond locks you in your chambers until you can’t stand being alone anymore and admit you were wrong for whatever, you never really need anything more than that
O stands for OPPRESSION: how many rights would they take from their object of obsession?
•Rights?
•What are rights?
•You are Aemond’s wife. You will do what is expected of a highborn lady wife or be punished. Even so, Aemond tries to make you as happy as he can and doesn’t order you about as much as he could
P stands for PATIENCE: how patient are they with their object of obsession?
•Aemond tries his best to be very patient and to his credit he does very well until you push too hard
•Compared to other men and even other Targaryen men, he is quite patient with you, wanting you to actually learn lessons and want to be a good wife for him in the end
Q stands for QUIT: if their object of obsession died or escaped, would they ever be able to move on?
Died: He would be a complete basket case without you and he would refuse to remarry for any reason what so ever
Escaped: He would go on a rampage until he got you back. No one would be safe until he found you and had you back in his arms
R stands for REGRET: would they ever regret harming their object of obsession? Would they ever let them go?
•Aemond will Never let you go
•He would only ever regret how hard he slapped you once in a small council meeting, he hated how afraid of him you were in that moment
S stands for STIGMA: what made their yandere tendencies bloom?
•You had always been the only one in the family who was kind to Aemond, being his best friend as kids
•He knew you would be his wife from the moment you first stuck up for him during the pig prank to your brothers and uncle, that was the day he fell completely in love with you
•He decided that night that he would do whatever he needed to do in order to make you his wife, even though he knew his mother would want to marry him to another house and that Rhaenyra would never want you to be with him
T stands for TEARS: how would they react to their object of obsession crying/breaking?
•Anger
•Your tears brings out a rage in Aemond that is not often seen and he will slaughter whoever has made you so upset
•If he were the one to upset you however, he wouldn’t really know how to fix that. He would typically hold you until you either calmed down or cried yourself out and then get you a gift as an apology since “apologizing” isn’t really something he knows how to do very well
U stands for UNIQUE: something different they would do compared to others yanderes.
•In the beginning of your relationship, before the wedding was set and you were staying as far from him as you could, Aemond came up with a plan to make you dependent on him and feel safe with him to ensure you wouldn’t try and run back home to Rhaenyra and Daemon (who was the only man you seemed to trust which enraged him to no end)
•Aemond had Criston Cole hire a man to sneak into the castle with the intent to kill you. He planed it out meticulously to ensure you were never in any real danger though you wouldn’t know that
•The man entered your chambers as you were getting ready to sleep and you shrieked, backing towards the window, pleading with him not to harm you and telling him that he could leave and you would forget he was ever there. Suddenly your door flew open and Aemond ran in, he was on the man before you could blink, beating his head in as he shouted about how he would never let anyone harm his wife
•It was that night that you really began giving Aemond the chance to win your love, realizing that you were truly safe with him. The entire plot was a secret that Aemond would take to his grave
V stands for VICE: what weakness their object of obsession could use against them?
•His jealousy, 100%
•If you want someone, anyone dead, all you need to do is make it seem like they’ve been looking at you for more than a second too long, it gives you a feeling of absolute power and you love it
W stands for WIT’S END: would they hurt their object of obsession?
•Aemond would never hurt you in any kind of serious way
•If he has to he will lock you in your chambers for the rest of your life, but he won’t do you serious harm
X stands for XOANON: would they worship their object of obsession?
•He definitely has a way of making you feel like a Goddess
•Especially when you’re pregnant as he worships the ground you walk on. He is constantly getting you whatever food you’re craving, fluffing your pillows, rubbing your sore feet, anything to make his precious Princess feel better while she is carrying his baby inside of her
•You are the most precious thing in the whole world to him and even when he is upset with you Aemond never lets you forget it
Y stands for YEARN: how long would they pine after their object of obsession before they snap?
•Aemond has always loved you, and always had a bit of a crush on you however he has been head over heels since he was 10
•He keeps it together and hidden until he is 16 and he demands you as his bride upon hearing that Rhaenyra was considering marriage proposals for you, the idea of you being married off to someone else sending him over the edge
Z stands for ZENITH: would they ever break their object of obsession?
•Aemond doesn’t want you broken, he wants you to be his compliant little Princess and that’s exactly what you are
•You had always known what was expected of you as a women and a wife in a marriage from the time that you were a little girl (though you never expected to be married to your Uncle) but Aemond ensured that you would be exactly what he always wanted in a wife and you are absolutely Perfect to him
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Aemond Targaryen Masterlist
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myocsfanfictions · 2 days
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THE WRATH OF FIRE
House of the Dragon Fanfiction
MASTERLIST
Princess Ysilla Targaryen is the only daughter of Prince Daemon Targaryen and Lady Rhea Royce. The affection that she felt for her mother was strong, while her father had never been there, acting as if Ysilla was not even his. But she was. The dragon egg that had been put in her cradle hatched. An outcast of a dragon was born. A dragon with no legs. An outcast of a dragon for and an outcast of a dragon rider. Ysilla’s hair was dark but streaked with white. She was a Targaryen, and her wrath was not different from the one that burned inside the members of the House of the Dragon.
《 Previous - Next 》
CHAPTER 4
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“Dracarys.” When Ysilla said those words, her dragon breathed fire. She had the serving girl bring her a piece of raw meat.
Dragons didn't eat raw meat.
"Sƴz, riña," the Maester told her. He had been with her for six months now. A gift from her uncle after she visited King's Landing. (Good, child)
"Kirimvose," she answered. Her eyes fixed on her dragon. (Thank you)
Ysilla had been studying High Valyrian as soon as the Maester started to serve her, but her mother did not appreciate the King's gift. She said that there was no reason for him to be in Runestone.
"Mother, please!" she complained one night when her mother expressed the wish for the man to return to King's Landing.
"We don't need him here." She had answered.
"You may don't, but I do," Ysilla said. The shock on her mother's face was visible. Ysilla usually listened to whatever her mother said. It had been a strange feeling to be stubborn with her. But Ysilla could not let her lady mother send her teacher back to the Capital.
"I'm the only Targaryen who does not know High Valyrian," Ysilla explained. Her small hands clenched in fists. She wanted to be strong in front of her mother. She had to be.
"I've always told you to be proud of your blood. First Men's blood," her mother's words made Ysilla's eyes stung with tears.
"I remember," she said. But she wouldn't have backed down. "But I need to learn High Valyrian."
"You need to learn how to hawk," her mother answered firmly.
Ysilla felt so much rage in her.
"I'm not a goat; I'm a dragon!" Her mother's dark eyes widened. Shocked, she shared a look with her cousin, Ser Gerold Royce. At that moment, Ysilla understood that the words she had heard from Otto Hightower were true. It had been painful. But she knew what she had to do.
If Father sees I'm a good Targaryen, he will love me. Ysilla was sure of that. She did not act as a Targaryen at all. Her mother wanted her to be more similar to a Royce. But Ysilla was much more of that. She was a Targaryen princess. In a few years, he would have been a dragon rider. And when she would have grown up, she would have been like Visenya. She was more than a noble lady from the Vale. She was a Targaryen.
Father would be proud of me, she swore.
Ysilla would study all day. History, philosophy, calculus, politics, and High Valyrian. With the Master of the Dragonpit, she would speak only High Valyrian. She wanted to learn fast, especially when she found out that the war on the Stepstones was over.
"Father won!" Ysilla said happily to her uncle Gerold one day in the Godswood of Runestone. "He must have flown with Caraxes and burned them all."
Her uncle observed her in silence. His beard may have hidden half of his face. But she could see his lips tight in a thin line.
"You've changed, Ysilla, since you visited King's Landing," he said, making her smile.
"The Maester says that dragons feel other dragons," she answered, looking at the red leaves of the Heart Tree, "Maybe it had been the same with humans as well."
Her uncle took a deep breath. "Why are you so obsessed with these matters? You hardly speak of other topics, if not dragons."
Ysilla lowered her eyes. No one wanted to talk about those matters with her, as no one liked her dragon, her only friend.
"I'm a Targaryen," she said, "My father is Prince Daemon Targaryen."
"And your mother is Rhea Royce," he reproved her. Does she not share equal importance?"
"Of course she does," Ysilla muttered with a flush of shame. Since her dragon had been born, Ysilla and her mother had started to argue frequently. Her mother did not like Ysill's interests.
Ysilla wished not to argue with her mother. She had been very important to the little princess. She had been a role model, and Ysilla had so much respect for her. And she had raised Ysilla as a Royce. Proud as a Royce. But she wanted for Ysilla to forget that she was a Targaryen. And she could not. Ysilla had to show her father and everyone else that her mother was no goat. And that she was a dragon.
"You know I love you?" One evening, Ysilla asked her mother about it as they were dining.
"So sudden?" Her mother answered with raised eyebrows. Rhea Royce was not an openly loving woman, but Ysilla knew her mother cared for her.
"Do you?" Ysilla insisted stubbornly.
Her mother took a breath, "I do."
Ysilla seemed happy by her words, "And I'm sorry if in the last months I've been wilful."
"I'm glad you've realized it," her mother said, but Ysilla kept talking. " Why do you don't like that I'm a Targaryen?" Her mother took a breath. She put the knife in her hand and put it back on the table, but she did not answer. "Everyone in the realm wishes to say that their children have the blood of old Valyria."
Her mother observed her in silence for a moment, "The marriage between me and your father is a rich arrangement for the realm," Ysilla's eyes grew larger, leaning forward on the table. Her mother had never spoken of those matters with her. "But your father grew insufferable here. Insufferable of me," Ysilla listened quietly, "When I gave birth to you, your hair was as dark as your eyes. And he was there. He suggested that you were a bastard."
Ysilla lowered her eyes. It could not be possible. But why would her mother lie to her? There was no reason. So it must be true. But it could not be.
"He never wanted to see you," her mother said.
"I'm not a bastard," Ysilla whispered.
"No, you're not," her mother answered. Growing up, your hair and eyes proved it to everyone. But your father never accepted that."
"Why?" Ysilla asked, confused.
"He loathes me as I do him," she answered. And he would have broken the marriage off if he could make people think you were a bastard. That's why he never wants to see us." Ysilla lowered her gaze. "He loves his ambition, Ysilla. And you are more than him."
Ysilla felt confused. It all seemed absurd to her. Why would her father hate her mother? And why did he hate his daughter because of that? He had never talked to her. One could not just decide to hate someone, could they?
"All the Kings of the Seven Kingdoms, Ysilla," asked the Septa one morning.
Ysilla took a breath. "Aegon I the Conquerer. After him, there was his son, Aenys I. His mother was Queen Rhaenys. Then Maegor the Cruel. Then Jeaherys I. He was called The Old King, or the Wise, or the Conciliator. He ruled peacefully for half a century. But he had no heir."
"So what happened?" The Septa asked.
"He had to choose between his two nephews," Ysilla remembered, "Princess Rhaenys or Prince Viserys. And he chose Prince Viserys. Now King Viserys I."
"And who is to follow?"
"The King chose Princess Rhaenyra," Ysilla said. Then she frowned. No woman had been queen of the Seven Kingdoms. And when her Uncle chose Rhaenyra, Aegon was not yet born. So, the rightful heir should have been her father, Daemon Targaryen.
He loves his ambition. Ysilla remembered her mother's words. How did her father react to the King's decision?
And the Dragonstone folly. She remembered.
"What is it with Father and Dragonstone?" Ysilla asked before she could stop herself.
The Septa's eyes widened, "That is off-topic, princess."
"But I want to know," Ysilla said stubbornly. "Why was Father in Dragonstone? Rhaenyra is the Princess of Dragonstone, not Father."
"Ysilla," her mother's voice came from behind her, making her turn. The Septa was quick to stand up and bow to the Lady of Runestone. "Stop with those questions," Ysilla observed her mother; she was wearing her riding attire. She was surely going out to hawk. Then she came next to her daughter, caressing her hair, "I'm riding out," she said, "Do you remember your duties for today?"
Ysilla nodded, "History, then sawing lesson."
The High Valyrian, she thought.
"I'll be back to dine together," her mother said, putting on her glove, "Behave."
"And be proud," Ysilla muttered. That made her mother chuckle.
"I don't need to remind you that," she said, "You never fail to be proud." Ysilla smiled, observing her mother walking toward the door.
"Be careful," Ysilla said to her mother like she always did. The little princess didn't go out to hawk that much—her pony was too little. But her mother had told her that in six months, they would have gone hawking together. Her mother loved to hunt, but Ysilla could not wait to be on the dragon's back more.
"Skori jāhor nyke sagon naejot sōvegon issa zaldrīzes?" Asked Ysilla, stammering some of the words. Not sure she remembered them correctly. (When will I be able to fly my dragon?)
"Hāre jēdri, riña," the Maester answered, observing how Ysilla's dragon liked to be next to his rider. (Three years, girl)
Three years, and she would have been able to fly. Her dragon was growing every day more, surprising everyone. But the Maester told her that he was growing fast for his conditions.
"I really need to find a name soon," she said, observing the violet eyes of her dragon. "A fighter name." Then he looked at the sky, making a little sound. Then he looked back at Ysilla, making the same sound. He seemed a little agitated, but he calmed down when the girl touched his head.
The Maester had told her that she and the creature had a strong connection. "Hae dārilaros Daemon se Caraxes." (Like Prince Daemon and Caraxes)
Ysilla looked up at the man. He had been in King's Landing all his life, tending the Targaryens' Dragons. He had seen all of them: King Viserys and Balerion, The Black Dread, Princess Rhaenys and Meleys, Rhaenyra, and Syrax, and, of course, Ysilla's father and Caraxes.
"Gōntan kepa gūrotan Caraxes lēda zirȳla, skori istas naejot Zaldrīzesdōron?" Ysilla spoke slowly, thinking about every word. (Did Father take Caraxes with him when he went to Dragonstone?)
"Hen rhinka, riña." the man answered. His tone was strange. Trying to hide anger. But it was there. Why anger? She wanted to know. (Of course, child)
He would have never answered if she had asked inquisitively, she knew. But maybe that anger could be used in some way.
"Such a vile act," Ysilla said, using the same tone Otto Hightower had used. "Dragonstone belongs to Princess Rhaenyra."
"The stolen egg was much more vile," when she turned to the man, his eyes were wide. Regretting those words. "Forgive me, princess," he was quick to add, bowing his head.
Her father had stolen a dragon egg. Why would he do such a thing?
Her dragon looked at the sky again, flipping his small black wings.
"There's no need," she answered, trying to do her best to hide the shock in her tone, "I already knew," she lied, "My mother always tells me about my father's deeds. And they are not always positive words." She thought fast. Her egg had been chosen for her as soon as she was born; that was the Targaryen's tradition. If her father had taken an egg, there was only a reason. She felt rage thinking about that possibility.
"A dragon to a bastard," she said, noticing how the stolen egg was a sensitive topic for the man. "That's an insult."
Would he really steal an egg to give it to a bastard when he had insulted his mother by saying that Ysilla was one?
"Fortunately, no bastard was born, as far as it's known," he answered, "It was just an act to challenge the King's authority."
He loves his ambition, Ysilla.
Didn't he support his brother as King? Or he didn't support Rhaenyra as the future Queen? Why did he take that egg?
"Skoros drōmon iksin bona?" Ysilla asked not turning to the man. (What egg was that?)
"Se drōmon hen Dreamfyre. Dārilaros Rhaenyra ēdas chosen ziry syt zirȳla morghe lēkia, Baelon," Ysilla felt the blood in her veins run cold. (The egg of Dreamfyre. Princess Rhaenyra had chosen it for her dead brother, Baelon)
It was such a vile act to steal his dead nephew's egg. To give it to who? If he hated his wife, who was he planning to give it to? She would have liked to ask more, but her dragon started to growl, agitated. He flapped his wings again and kept looking at the sky.
That was strange. He had never done that. He was a calm dragon, never making many sounds, but he was upset and not able to stay still.
"Skoros iksis jāre va?" Ysilla asked, glancing at the man before walking to her dragon, kneeling at his side, "Lykiri," she said, trying to gain her dragon's attention, but he wasn't listening. (What is going on?) (Calm down)
"Maester?" She asked, seeing the man looking at the sky as well. His face was dark with worry.
"Dohaeris," she said, focusing back on her dragon. He seemed somewhat drawn to those words and glanced at her with his purple eyes.
A strange feeling went down through Ysilla's back. A shiver full of dread.
I want Mother, she thought instinctively. Feeling her eyes stung with tears.
"Ysilla," The voice of her uncle Gerold made her turn with a gasp. The man was behind her. His face was pale, his hands were trembling, and on his clothes, there was blood.
She stood up, trembling. Her eyes never lived the red of the blood.
"The Lady Rhea…"
Ysilla felt cold as her dragon roared with wrath.
_________________________________________
Tag list: @watercolorskyy @darylandbethfanforever9 @roxannequeen @shadowzena43
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targaryen-dynasty · 11 hours
Text
OBJECT OF DESIRE (4/?)
Aemond Targaryen x female!Reader
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Are you just a political ploy to Aemond? Or is there more to him rushing your wedding?
WARNINGS: SEXUAL CONTENT—MINORS DNI; canon typical incest/targcest, p in v, table sex, handjob, fingering, slight humiliation, praise kink, breeding kink, somewhat darkish and possessive Aemond (?), he might be an asshole and the king of gaslighting in this, Valyrian wedding, mentions of blood
WORDS: 5.5 K
NOTES: part 4 is finally here! Ty @zaldritzosrose 🤍
❗️𝐚𝐝𝐝 𝐲𝐨𝐮𝐫𝐬𝐞𝐥𝐟 𝐭𝐨 𝐦𝐲 𝐭𝐚𝐠𝐥𝐢𝐬𝐭! ✨ 𝐬𝐞𝐫𝐢𝐞𝐬 𝐦𝐚𝐬𝐭𝐞𝐫𝐥𝐢𝐬𝐭
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The way from the outer yard into the castle passes in a blurr with your heart thrumming in your chest, drowning out the sounds of your footsteps. It’s so deep in the night that the castle is mostly deserted, but a few guards and servants cross your path from time to time, some giving you a curious glance, others not bothering much. 
Aemond’s movements are swift and quick as he guides you through the eerily silence of the castle of Dragonstone, leading you through a labyrinth of passageways that comes close to the one you’ve conquered not many hours before. 
You try to marvel at the architecture of the ancient seat, but the dim light of sparsely placed torches and candles doesn’t allow you to indulge in it too much. 
The man in front of you is determined, and your presence seems to be not more than an accessory to him with his attention fixed on something entirely different. 
“Where do you take me?” your voice is low as you speak, the hesitance palpable.
Aemond chuckles. “Patience.” His voice is soft, but not low enough to whisper, and still manages to make you aware of how eager you probably have to sound. “We are nearly there.” 
From what you gather, the chambers he brings you to are located deep within the bowels of the castle, requiring some time and knowledge of the place to reach it. You tackle another set of corridors and narrow staircases until you eventually arrive and stand in front of a thick, wooden door. 
Knocking raptly at the door, it takes a few seconds for an older man to open it, woken from his slumber. When your eyes dart to the collar he wears, you grow aware that he led you to the maester’s study. 
The man squints his eyes in the dim light, assessing who disturbs him at this hour. “Prince Aemond,” he eventually says, more surprised than matter-of-factly, and opens his door a little further. “How may I help you?”
“Maester Gerardys,” Aemond says, a firm tone underlying his words, despite keeping his voice at a low volume. “I require your assistance in officiating a marriage ceremony.” 
Gerardys now gazes at the two of you for a moment, his eyes narrowing slightly and his brow furrowing as he realizes the unusual nature of the request. “You intend to wed?” he questions. 
Nervousness flutters in your belly, more so as you process the skeptical tone laced within his voice, and you expect it all to fail miserably. But you didn’t count on Aemond’s stubbornness. 
“Yes, I do,” he affirms, his determination not faltering at the maester’s tone and gaze. “My wife-to-be and I ask you to officiate a ceremony that should take place immediately… in the traditions of our House.”
“You mean to marry at this hour, my prince?” Gerardys questions. “Well, I am no septon, and a marriage ceremony is not something that you do just on a whim. There are certain rituals involved that have to be observed. I am afraid that I cannot simply officiate a wedding on demand just because the prince asks me to…”
You tug at Aemond’s hand, mumbling a ‘perhaps ‘tis not meant to be’ but he doesn’t even turn to look at you. 
“I understand that, Maester Gerardys, I do. However, this matter is of utmost urgency. It has to be fulfilled tonight, as it can’t wait until daylight.” Aemond explains it calmly but assertively, his patience clearly running thin. There is a lilt of desperation in his voice, as if something bad will happen if the marriage ceremony is not performed at once. “We both wish for this to be done tonight. I am well-aware of the rituals involved in the tradition, and we are ready to complete them.”
It should concern you just how pressed he is on the matter, but all you can focus on is the fact that you will be a married woman in no less than two hours at last. 
Gerardys seems to be torn by the prince’s request, his brow furrowing again as he thinks over the situation. This clearly is no usual business for him, yet he does not feel as though he can refuse Aemond who insists on seeing the ceremony performed immediately. “Very well, Prince Aemond,” the old man sighs, “I will see to the arrangements.”
Despite the maester’s agreement, Aemond doesn‘t release a sigh of relief. He stands as still and composed as before, although you can spot his shoulders drop slightly. “We shall meet in the Chamber of the Painted Table,” his voice remains firm and serious. “Do not let us wait for too long.”
You briefly hear Gerardys starting to scramble to gather the items necessary for the ceremony before you’re led back the same path you’ve come. Suddenly, it feels all too serious, and your belly starts to flutter, more so as Aemond squeezes your hand. 
“I-I am not aware of the rituals involved?” you question, looking at the ground to watch your steps. 
As he notices the nervousness in your voice, Aemond turns around and smiles in a reassuring manner, his eye twinkling. “There is nothing to be concerned about,” he says. “I assume you are confident in the tongue of our ancestors?” 
You almost bump into him as he stops so abruptly, craning your neck to meet his eye. “I-yes, probably not as confident as you are, but my scholar has taught me everything within his capabilities.” 
“Very well. I shall tell you what to do, but you must trust me, my lady.” 
“Very well,” you echo his words, accompanied by a gulp. As you set up towards the spacious and opulent Chamber of the Painted Table, the room is dimly lit by several torches and candles. Servants scurry around the place, more than you’ve seen on your whole way through the dark pathways, and seem to take care of everything around you. 
Aemond’s steps bounce off the wall as he approaches a servant, and the ‘see to the table’ he commands is hardly audible to you. 
You walk around the chamber, taking in the decor, and drag your fingers over the large table standing in the center of it, following its carvings. The shadows of carved mountains and rivers dance in the dim light of the few candles standing on it, capturing all your attention. You marvel at the intricate design, but are quick to pull your fingers away when it suddenly lits up, the carvings glowing like lava running through molten rock. 
With wide eyes, you look towards the head of the table, and spot Aemond standing there with a smirk on his lips as servants emerge from under it. He leans against it with one hand splayed out on its surface, indicating that there’s no threatening heat radiating off of it. And indeed, when your fingers trail over the Vale of Arryn, you don’t burn them. 
“Are you sure this all is not going a little too fast? That we should not wait just a few more days?” you eventually ask, your doubts knocking the smirk right off of his face. 
Aemond walks around the table, coming closer to you, but keeps a fair distance. “There is no need to wait,” he retorts. “I see no reason to drag this out, unless you want to wed one of the men ordered by your father?” 
You flinch at his words, remembering the queue of men presented to you by your father. A few moments pass as you hesitantly raise your head, locking your eyes with Aemond’s good one. “Do you wish that I did?”
“No,” he replies, sternness lingering in his voice. “I do not wish that at all. I wish for the privilege of having you all to myself.”
While his words cause the hairs on the back of your neck to stand, a shiver following in their wake, you can’t suppress the doubts. ”Then why hurry?”
“Why wait?” Aemond retorts. "I have helped you obtain your dragon, your bloodright, and now it is your turn to see through on the promise made." 
"Am I a political ploy and nothing else?"
His expression darkens with your words. For the first time, the veneer of his composure and politeness towards you begins to slip slightly, his patience running thin. “I did not say that.”
Not giving him a reply, your eyes dart down to the table. You know you’re getting too bold, that you should not have said it, but you can’t help but feel as though the marriage being rushed is simply another political gambit. As your eyes flicker back up to meet his, a faint twinkle of anger and fire can be seen within them. “Do not pretend as though you are not getting anything out of this.”
“Now why are you so concerned with what I am getting out of this?” Aemond asks bluntly, voice as sharp as the edge of a knife. “Do you not trust my intentions? Or is it that you are not happy with the arrangements seeing that you’ve finally got your dragon?”
The change of tone prompts you to take a step back from him, a faint pout appearing on your lips as you feel your anger and defiance slipping away, replaced by a certain amount of apprehension. 
“Please, do not misunderstand me,” you say swiftly, softening your tone and lowering your voice to calm the situation. “I simply… I feel a little unsure of rushing into this. It is only… I have heard many tales, both from court and from my own father. Men are not known to be the most trustworthy, and I have no idea what to make out of someone so eager to wed me when I do not know his thoughts behind it.”
"You silly girl, do you not yet understand your role goes beyond the political agenda of the seven realms?" He reaches to grab you, holding your attention. "It goes beyond what your father or my father says. The gods made you for me, you have always been fated for me and me alone."
Your heart feels as though it might leap from your chest at his words. You’ve never been looked at the way he does now, never been treated that way. Your nerves and anxiety don’t vanish completely, but a part of you starts to calm down; he easily manages to put you at ease with just a few words. 
You lower your head, melting under his touch and words. “I–That is…” you trail off. 
The footsteps of Maester Gerardys approaching fill the large chamber, catching you off guard and causing you to pull away from Aemond. He’s unfazed, despite Gerardys staring at you and taking in the scene. 
Clearing his throat, he steps further into the chamber, carrying a great deal of utensils with him. “We shall commence, then?”
Aemond’s shoulders drop slightly with relief as the maester finally joins you. “By the blessings of the Gods, we shall indeed,” he says, walking around the table to the end that faces the hearth. You follow silently, and watch the older man prepare everything. 
“You stay here,” Aemond barks at two servants just shy of your age as they make their way towards the door. “We shall need every witness to our union we can get.” Both women nod their heads once, and stand rooted to the spot. 
Turning around, Aemond faces you now with Gerardys standing in front of the pair of you. The maester smiles warmly, albeit it also seems a bit forced, and glances at you as he begins with the most important question of it all. “Do you two come to this union free and willing, without prior coercion or undue influence?”
While Aemond’s answer comes quick and determined, a brief moment of silence passes as you process the question. “Yes, I do,” you speak softly yet hesitant. 
Maester Gerardys nods silently at both your confirmations, and hands Aemond what appears to be a shard of dragonglass. Your eyes widen when he brings it up to your lips, and the ‘let me just…’ he mumbles is little comfort as the sharp knife pierces your lip. You wince at the stinging pain and taste of copper that soon fills your mouth, clearly coming with the cut, but a part of you is grateful he’s done it without so much preparation. 
“Now ‘tis your turn,” he says, handing you the shard. You briefly glance down to where your hands meet, before your gaze is fixed with his again. 
The shard is lighter than anticipated, which makes the trembling of your hands more apparent. You’re skilled with a bow and arrow, but have yet to hurt anyone seriously. Bringing the shard up to Aemond’s mouth, the tremors don’t ease with you dragging it over his bottom lip. 
Blood amasses at the cut, and you mirror his gesture as he gathers yours with the pad of his thumb. The touch is so intimate, heat crawls up your spine, making you almost miss out on his next instructions. “I shall draw the glyph for blood over your forehead, and you do the same with the one for fire. Are you familiar with how to draw it?”
You nod. It’s one of the few glyphs you’re more than familiar with as Maester Lomys has always insisted for you to learn how to spell your House’s words; even though you’re only half Targaryen. 
Aemond uses your blood to draw said glyph on your forehead, and you’re quick to follow his instructions with the supplementary glyph. 
But that moment of peace doesn’t last long, not when Aemond takes the shard from your hand to cut the palm of his own without any sign of pain or discomfort to cross his features. 
You have hurt yourself plenty of times before, merely counting how often you fell off your horses as you learnt how to ride, but it has rarely happened on purpose and most definitely not with something as sharp as the dragonglass. And that is the moment you find yourself unable to move, unable to take it from his hand. 
“The pain disappears quickly,” Aemond tries to reassure you, sensing your hesitation; a stark contrast to how stern and annoyed he was mere moments ago. 
The coldness of the fragment nestles into your open palm as he places it into it, and Aemond bows his head once in a way to encourage you. 
His words bring you not much comfort, but the prospect of your future does. You have claimed a dragon, you’re meant to be the future Lady of Runestone and close to be married to the man that’s riding the largest dragon alive; there’s no place for you to think of the things that could possibly cause your downfall. 
A deep breath is exhaled the moment the dragonglass pierces the palm of your hand, opening your skin with a clean cut. The pain is delayed, and for a brief moment all that clouds your mind is the rush of your warm blood, and the sight of it so quickly filling the hollow of your palm. 
“Hen lantoti… ānogar,” Maester Gerardys cites, a thick accent and hesitance weaving itself through the otherwise smooth tongue. It makes it difficult for you to fully understand what’s being said. “Va s ȳndroti v āedroma.” Blood of two, joined as one. 
As Aemond unites your hands in a firm grip, you tilt your head up to look at him, taking him in wholly as the worst part has passed. You don’t dare to break the intense eye contact to look at where your hands meet.
The sensation of your blood trickling out of the cut has already been very adamant, but with Aemond’s blood combined, several droplets all but seep out from your joined hands, gathered in a goblet he holds underneath. 
Aemond squeezes your hand gently as the maester ties a red ribbon around them, binding you to one another and sealing the pact. 
“Mēro perzot g īhoti, el ēdroma iārza s īr. Izulī amp ā perzī, pr ūm ī lanti s ēteksi,” Gerardys mumbles in the background, but your attention is captured by Aemond bringing the goblet full of your blood up to his lips. Ghostly flame, and song of shadows. Two hearts as embers, forged in fourteen fires. 
He does not hesitate one moment and takes a generous sip of the goblet, crimson tinting his chiseled lips as he lowers it again and hands it to you. You capture it between your fingers, raising it to your lips and following suit. The very adamant taste of copper lingers on your tongue, and it’s hard to swallow without grimacing. A smirk tugs on the corners of Aemond’s lips at that, making you blush and mouthing ‘my apologies’ at him. 
Although the goblet is lowered by you, you two do not move otherwise. There’s a thick tension between you, fueled by you gazing longingly into each other's eyes. Neither of you smiles or grins, just taking in the moment and its significance. 
“Hen jenȳ māz īlarion, q ēlossa oz ūndesi.” A future promised in glass, the stars stand witness. 
Both of Aemond’s hands come up to cup your face, the pad of his thumb dragging gently over your nicked bottom lip. You stare at him with wide eyes and heavy breaths falling past your parted lips, every fiber of your body filled with heat that makes the waiting unbearable. And with his hands holding you, you can’t even bring your face even closer to his. 
“S ȳndroro ōñō jēdo, rȳk k īvia mazvestraksi.” The vow spoken through time, of darkness and light.
Time stretches on as Aemond slowly dips his head toward yours, finally, holding it firmly in place as his lips collide with yours. The taste of blood on your tongues and lips doesn’t seem to subside at all, very much prominent and bringing a certain tint to it all. There is no gentleness in this kiss, the passion underlined by hunger and longing for more. 
Maester Gerardys clears his throat and inevitably catches your attention again, causing you to pull back from each other. “The marriage is now complete,” he states matter-of-factly. “If you’ll excuse me now, Prince Aemond,” he bows his head once before turning to you. “Princess. I shall retire to my chambers once more.”
“You may leave, too,” Aemond commands the servants, who quickly make a beeline for the doors. Watching the master depart after that, a faint sense of relief washes over the both of you. 
As soon as the doors shut behind him, Aemond’s eye flickers back to yours. He steps toward you, closing the distance between you until you can feel the warmth of his breath fan over your skin. “Well now, little princess,” he teases. “Are you familiar with the privileges a husband expects from his wife?” 
The blood rushes to your face as you realize what he implies, your heart starting to beat faster, though you cannot deny that it has piqued your interest. Your face remains neutral, however. “Oh, what are they?” you ask, deciding upon acting more innocent than you truly are just to mess with him. 
Aemond’s lips quirk up into a slight smirk as he notices your feigned innocence. It’s obvious that you’re aware of the true nature of a marriage, but he decides upon playing this game, at least for just a bit longer. “There are many,” he says teasingly, bringing his hand to the small of your back to draw your body closer to his. “And I am certain that you’re well aware of what some of those expectations might be.”
“Hm… some,” you whisper in reply, your tone getting flustered. A smile tugs at your lips as you try to hide the growing excitement his proximity is causing inside of you. 
He’s amused by you trying to act as though you’re not tempted, as though you both don‘t desire the same thing. “Shall I tell you or show you?”
You try to keep your composure at his words, but it’s obvious they are starting to have an effect on you. “Show me,” you whisper, the words slipping out between your trembling lips. 
While one of his hands comes up to rest at the back of your neck, the other grazes over your side down to grasp at your hip, and your body melts into his touch as his lips find yours once again. The tip of his nose presses against your cheek as you tilt your head in response to his tongue dragging over the curve of your lips, silently asking you to part them for him. And you do, prompting him to deepen the kiss. 
Aemond deliberately backs you up against the Painted Table, its edge pressing firmly against your rear, and splays his hand over the small of your back. He gives you no chance to escape his lips to catch your breath; when you pull away, his lips chase yours, eager to capture them again. 
A spark of something familiar ignites in the pit of your belly, something that has you pulling back just slightly to gasp against his kiss-swollen lips. You were so lost in the kiss, that you haven’t paid any mind to him herding you like a sheep, keening at the proximity and attention.  
But Aemond doesn’t stop at that. 
The laces of your breeches are undone swiftly by him merely using one hand, clearly experienced with it being his everyday attire. He pushes the thick fabric and your undergarments down to pool around your knees, exposing your soaked cunt to the chill air of the chamber. 
You, however, don’t give his fingers time to drag through your swollen folds. Catching him off guard and coaxing a grunt to escape his throat, your hand trails over the hardness in the front of his breeches, cupping it over the fabric and squeezing it slightly, before your fingers unravel the laces just as skilled as his did yours before. 
You can tell by the way he finally breaks the kiss as your hand slips inside of his breeches, wrapping around his hard, throbbing cock, that he’s taken by surprise. He instinctively bucks his hips against your hand, and releases a gasp as the cold air hits him with you freeing his length from its confines, pulling it out and stroking it deliberately slowly. 
Aemond’s fingers dig into your hip as a means to steady himself, a breathy ‘fuck’ spilling past his lips. 
“Is this one of these… privileges?” you tease, although it’s more of a whine with two of his nimble fingers easing into your cunt without a warning, pumping in and out of you in the rhythm of your hand tugging on him. It encourages you to move your hand quicker along his shaft in hopes of him doing the same, but when that doesn’t happen, you start rocking your hips against his hand to which he just tsks in disapproval. 
His lips find the side of your neck, and you’re quick to tilt your head to the side to grant him even more access. When his hot breath fans over your skin as he speaks, words laced thickly with arousal, a shiver runs through you. “It certainly is,” he groans. There’s a wry smile on his lips as he pulls back, meeting your half-lidded gaze. “But that is not all.”
The implication of his words causes your heartbeat to quicken, your walls tightening around his fingers in response. He draws in a sharp breath at that. “And… what else is there?” you ask, breathily. “Are you just talking or will you show me?”
“My my, what an eager, little wife I got myself here,” he taunts with a scoff, bucking his hips into your hand once. Your cheeks lit up at his words and the tone of his voice, but there’s no chance for you to cower under his piercing gaze when he peels your hand off of him and turns you around; his patience seemingly not infinite.  
He pushes you flatly onto the table, the warmth radiating off of it seeping into your cheek. Towering over you with one hand buried in your hair, the length of his hard cock presses into the crevice of your arse and makes you whimper; your body aching for more. “Are you not satisfied with what I’ve shown you so far?” he mocks, his slick coated fingers trailing over your hip. 
Pushing your lips into a pout, you try to catch a glimpse of him from over your shoulder, but not without shoving your hips back against him to rile him up even more. “I just… I just wish to indulge in what my husband has to offer,” you whimper. Using that term of endearment feels unfamiliar, yet it just manages to spark more desire inside of you. 
“Oh, is that so?” he drawls. “What luck that it’s an option which lies open to you.”
He rises back to his full height, and grabs both of your hands to pin them behind your back, locking the wrists with one of his large hand and rendering you immobile. There’s no need for him to tug himself to full hardness, as just the sight of your cunt slick with your arousal is enough to get him rock hard. 
“That perfect cunt of yours is weeping for me.” You don’t have to look at him to see the smirk draped across his lips, the smugness very much prominent in the raspy drawl of his voice. 
Aligning the tip with your entrance, he’s met with little resistance, your soaked and swollen folds embracing him in one, swift thrust that knocks the air from your lungs. You moan in unison at the intrusion, your walls fluttering and clenching around him to fully accommodate his size. 
He pulls out of you almost completely with merely the tip of his cock remaining buried inside, the lack of his fullness already driving you insane. With his hand around your wrists, he proceeds to pull you back onto his cock while he thrusts his hips forward, meeting you halfway and resulting in his heavy balls slapping against your sensitive pearl. 
He pounds into you with reckless abandon in the following, the tip of his cock brushing the spot inside of you that has your vision grow blurry over and over again. 
With your face pressed against the table, you aren’t able to spot the desire blazing in his eye. The only thing that makes you aware of the excitement he finds in your unison is the tone of his husky voice. “When I am done with you,” he rasps, bowing forward to put more of his weight onto your small frame beneath his. “You will never desire another cock but mine.” 
Being in a stupor because of his cock, you’re not able to whine and whimper more than a string of yesses, the last one interrupted with a hard, percussive thrust. Then follows another, and another, until you can’t focus on anything else but the delicious pressure inside your cunt. 
You push your hips back against him, and he rears up to pull you back with each of his thrusts, meeting him halfway which results in the lewd sounds of skin slapping on skin bouncing off the walls.
The ‘gods’ he mumbles is hardly audible over both your moans and pants, but still doesn’t go unnoticed by you. You find it extremely pleasing to know that you’re able to coax him out of his composure more easily than you’ve first assumed; the highest praise he could ever give you. 
With one hand on your hip, he hoists you further onto the table, your feet leaving the cold ground beneath and dangling in the air. The edge of the table cuts into your hips in a way that slowly but surely becomes uncomfortable with the force of his thrusts, but it also ruts so perfectly against your pearl each time; juxtaposing pain and pleasure, making your mind hazy and your body go limp. 
It’s almost embarrassing how quickly your peak builds in the pit of your stomach with the right stimulation, taking over your body and rippling through you with soaring pleasure. 
Each time the sac of his stones slaps your little bud, your body tries to jerk away from him – but to no avail with your hands still pinned behind your back. Your body trembles in his grasp, and the tremors grow more and more apparent with each second he doesn’t pull out of you, prolonging your peak. 
“I shall breed you until you’re round with my seed,” Aemond rambles behind you, his own mind scrambling from pleasure. “To show everyone that you’re mine.” 
“S-Seven hells, yes!” It’s the overstimulation making yourself more desperate for his release, begging for his seed. “Please, please… please.”
Your walls tremble around him, choking him so tightly your husband has to take a deep breath to keep his composure. But all effort is fruitless when his pulsing cock spends itself inside of your quivering walls. His grunts and groans fan into the chilly air of the chamber, and you’d love nothing more than to feel them fanning over your lips instead. 
Out of instinct, you start to roll your hips against his, prolonging his own peak as you milk him for every drop of his seed. Aemond is out of breath by the time his movements come to a stop, staying buried inside of you as if he means to make sure his efforts bear fruit after the first try. And you relish in it, despite the vulnerable position it brings you in.
Releasing your wrists, his hands proceed to grope at your arse while he considers your trembling, satisfied frame. He can’t help but feel somewhat proud of himself. 
Being the first one to break the silence, you flush as you hear his raspy voice ring out. “Well, I see you were certainly eager to engage in those privileges,” he says, his voice laced with mischief. “Very eager.”
You chuckle softly, and when you move to push yourself off the table, Aemond takes that as his cue to pull out of you. Marveling at the sight of his seed slowly oozing out of your swollen cunt, he’s quick to stuff it back inside using his thumb. The gesture brings another wave of heat to your cheeks, more so when you feel his chest press flush against your back and the warmth radiating off of him with his finger still inside of you. 
Taking in a deep breath, you hold onto the table for support. “You certainly did not waste any time in… indulging either,” you reply. Not just your body is trembling with the after-effects of your intimacy, but also your voice still shakes. 
With a chuckle, Aemond dips his head down and presses a kiss to your shoulder. “We only have a few more hours before our absence is called into question by the court. We must return promptly.”
Your husband is the one fixing your attire, pulling up your smallclothes and breeches before he tugs himself back into his own. And it makes you well aware that the semblance of calm and freedom is very much over now. “They will realize where we have been anyways once they see me arriving on dragon back,” you counter with a pout on your lips. Perhaps that would coax him into staying just a little longer. 
He brings his hand up to cup your face, his thumb tugging on your bottom lip to free it from its position. “Yes, they may very well come to such a conclusion, but at least we shall preserve some of our dignity if we do return after a reasonable time. The last thing we need now is the whole court speculating on our whereabouts. It is already scandalous enough as it is.”
At his words, you let out a soft, grumbled noise of frustration, although you can’t deny that he has a point. “And what do we do then? We cannot just return to court and pretend as if nothing has happened.”
“No, I suppose not,” he replies. “We shall confront our fathers.”
Though you know your own father won’t take kindly to the news, you’re certain that your uncle won’t bat an eye upon hearing of it. Still, your demeanor shifts at hearing the notion that you’ll be facing your father, your eyes flickering with a hint of worry. “That will be just as bad as not returning to court at all.” 
Truth is, you haven’t spent a second thinking of the consequences, always pushing the thoughts aside for a later time. And with that time being now, a tiny amount of sweat appears at the back of your neck. 
“It won’t,” Aemond says firmly, his tone taking over a sudden sharpness. “At least then we shall be the ones defining our own fate. They will have no chance than to listen to us, rather than making an assumption based on hearsay.”
You exhale a deep breath. “Back to King’s Landing, then.”
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ultralightpoe · 21 hours
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Rubies Hidden With Blood -Aemond Targaryen
Authors Note: Hello, thank you for the patience while I am on a writing break. I’m still trying to figure out life and how to fix it, but I channeled some of the pain and anger into this and I hope you like it . I hope you are all staying safe and healthy out there in the world - Ultralightpoe
Warnings: mentions of executions, adultery, foul language
Word Count: 4996
MAIN Master List
Description: Inspired by Anne Boleyn and Elizabeth. (INSPIRED. You are not either of them you’re a character inspired by them)
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(Thank you for the gif @onemillionyous )
x Enjoy! x
To Anne Boleyn, who spent the last month of her life preparing for the rest of her daughters life to the best of her ability. Every stitch and warning given was noticed.
And to Elizabeth, who spent the rest of her life hiding footprints for her mother in a home that had tried to strip her memory.
To the bond of the two, never truly understood.
-
You stood, stiff and freezing in the cold weather, on the very steps your mother walked up the day she was executed. A message you were very sure your father intended, one that you would not cave into. 
Verlain, your fathers hand, stood to your right with a grim expression as he did his best to stop looking to the stained spot at the top of the steps. Where her blood had leaked down, seeping into the stone in a mark that would be there forever. It would be centuries before her death would be forgotten, a fact that sent a wave of nausea through you, gripping you in its fierce hold as you tried to inhale some fresh air. Fighting to keep the tears welling in your eyes at bay as the corset constricts against your ribs. 
Breathe. Keep your wits about you. 
“Are you feeling alright, your highness?” Verlain asks, eyebrows pinching together as he watches your hand slide across the front of your dress, as if you could ease the ache in your ribs and lungs from rubbing it. His tone slips at the last two words and you have to bite back the bitter laugh, not willing to risk your breath on it. 
A moon ago you had been nothing more than a bastard to this court, upon his orders. Anyone within earshot of his majesty knew that the forsaken daughter of the castle whore would be painted a bastard the rest of her life. 
The second her body had been carted off he had your handmaiden pack you up, sending you both to an estate far off, so that he would never have to look upon your face again. 
“You haunt me! You plain cunt! You HAUNT ME!” He had yelled the day you begged, the day you crawled to your knees begging him to keep you. Of course you haunted him, you had her face. And whether he had to look upon you or not you were sure she haunted his every move. 
She surely hadn’t visited you since she passed. There were no ghosts in the offwood estate. This castle, however, had more than you could dare keep track of. 
But you hadn’t seen her. Whether you should be thankful for that had yet to be seen. 
“Princess?” Verlain asks again, taking a step up, getting closer as he extends a hand to you. “Prin-“ 
“Don’t call me that.” You sneer, slapping his hand away from you and readjusting the veil that covered your face. Even with your back turned to the spit you could still see her blood on the stone, gulping quickly. Don’t look. Don’t. Look. 
But Verlains eyes cast behind you to the stain, his neck showing an audible gulp before he guiltily looks back to you. “Princess, I never got to speak with you after-“ 
“I’m not your princess.” Your tone was cold, and you made a show of shooing him away. “And you should mind yourself, Lord Verlain. If his majesty catches you this close he might think ill of the intent.”
Verlains face pales, the man stepping back so quickly he nearly slips on the steps before turning back to the courtyard below, fixing his embellished attire. 
You missed being a bastard. A bastard would never be sold off like this. 
There was a war brewing, and many of the kingdoms were beginning to panic for alliances, this kingdom included. And there was one ally that everyone wanted, the seven kingdoms. Westeros. For there was truly no war that could be won against them. 
You’d never seen a dragon, and if this was any under circumstance you would be excited. But this was your very own death march. Or as your mothers own prophet had claimed “you’ll earn your mothers reckoning.” 
There was an ax somewhere out there with your name on it….. or maybe the jaw of a dragon ready to chew you up. 
Before you could much more on it a firm grip snatches the back of your neck, pulling a gasp from you as it pulls you to them aggressively, the smell of wine filling your senses. “You step a foot out of line today and I’ll have your head just like I had your fucking mothers. You hear me, bastard? I’ll spike in on a fucking post.” 
You can only nod, afraid that if you give a verbal response you might whine in pain, and you refuse to show him that weakness. He takes your response, letting go before moving to speak with Verlain as your older sister and little brother stand off to the side. 
The best way to secure an alliance was through marriage. Your older sister couldn’t be married off since she was already married to a lord, and your younger brother was the heir to the kingdom, not to mention the Targaryens didn’t have many girls to marry off. 
But they had Aemond Targaryen, the rumored demon of Westeros, with one eye and the largest dragon. 
So you were renamed a princess, one that would be able to marry a prince. 
Princess of whores being married to a prince of monsters. If your mother could see you now. 
Bile rises up your throat as the memory of her face flashes through your mind, your eyes once again welling with tears. Stop thinking about her. Stop stop stop stop stop.
The heavy sound of thunder pulls your attention, blinking slowly as you try to peer through the veil to see the storm on its way, only to see clear skies. Confusion fills you as your brother gasps loudly, and then you see them, a hoard of dragons filling the skylines as their wings flap in unison . Not thunder, dragons. 
Nausea fills you once more, and yet your mouth goes dry, fists clenching into the heavy skirts of your dress as you spot the older dragon riding in the back, a blur of long white hair flying with it. 
And you know without a doubt, your future husband has arrived. 
“Listen to me.” She sobs, falling to her knees before you as you cry out, the banging on the door scaring you even more than her tears. “You need to listen to me.” 
“Where is papa?!” You scream, your mothers handmaidens rushing around the room as she pulls your face closer to hers by the back of your neck, pressing your foreheads together. 
“Listen. To. Me.” She seethes, wiping your tears with a swipe of her thumb. “Breathe. Keep your wits about you. I need you to remember that these people are not your kin. They are not yours. They will not protect you.” 
“Mama-“ 
“And your father is not- do. Not. Trust. Your. Father.” 
“Mama please-“ 
“You need to remember to breathe. Breathe. Keep your wits about you. And?” 
“Breathe. Keep your wits about you. And…. Unbowed, unbent, unbroken. They cannot break me.” 
“Good. Good girl.” She sobs, reaching to kiss your forehead, her lips holding there for a long moment as the door to your mothers apartments break open and the guards storm in. 
The handmaidens pull you back quickly, right as your mother shoves something in the top of your dress before they are on her. There is no gentleness in the way they grab her by her hair and drag her out, and there is no gentleness in the grip the handmaidens keep on you as you claw and bite to get to her. 
By the time they are out of sight there is nothing left but her shoe that had fallen as she was dragged out, and what she had hidden in your dress. 
Your mother had been taken. 
Aemond was sick of the wind, a feeling he never thought he would get and yet it has arrived. He was ready to land, get a break from the beast below his thighs and have a meal that hadn’t been dried and shoved into a satchel last week. 
His mothers boat stayed below them, his eldest sister's dragon taking the lead of their travel in the front as his uncle stuck to her right. Aegon, a spoiled brat through and through, was left in Kings Landing to act as King Regent as Rhaenyra traveled with them. 
Helaena and Jacaerys keeping him in check. 
But his brother had gotten under Aemonds skin just fine before they left, whispering rumors about his future bride in drunken slurs that made him both angry in a protective manner and angry in nervousness that the whispers might be true. 
“They passed her mother around the court like a toy to their whims, and when she was used up they killed her and replaced her with her daughter. You’ll get nothing but a rag dear brother.” 
The kingdom they flew to now had always been secretive within itself, and word rarely left it’s shores. The only thing anyone really knew is they had an army of soldiers that had yet to be conquered, who wore gold armor and spoke in ancient whispers. 
He is snapped out of his haze as Rhaenyra signals to land, and Aemond takes a moment to rejoice in the feeling of his feet on soil, focusing on that the entire hike up to the castle with his mothers arm now looped into his as Vhagar and the ship are left at the docks. 
“Don’t be nervous.” Alicent Hightower whispers, reaching a hand to swipe at his cheek, humming in discontent before licking the pad of her thumb and swiping his cheek once more. He groans, trying to pull back. 
Even if she meant well he knew his mother never understood how painful the skin near his eye was. The scar was always pulling and swollen, not to mention how hard the eye was to clean if the patch moved even the slightest bit. 
“I hear she’s beautiful.” Lucerys offers, keeping close to his own mothers side. “You saw her painting!” 
Indeed Aemond had, and like a lovestruck fool he had stared at it for hours until it was time to go. The very painting now sat in his chambers, waiting to be hung for after the wedding…. If there was to be a wedding. 
His chest tightens as the castle steps come into view, multiple figures dressed in their finest clothes standing among them. 
In the front, in the most ridiculous frille of red and gold, stood the king. A smug smile laced on his features as an overly large crown stands on his head. Beside him with her arms crossed primly was a younger woman, wearing a smaller tiara of red rubies and a busty gown that he was sure Aegon would have leered at, smiling from ear to ear. 
The king and his 5th wife then, and behind him a bit to the left on an upper step, had to be Verlain. The hand to the king. 
Two more figures a bit further up, one clad in a light blue dress, rubbing at her stomach softly as she watched with nothing more than a nervous expression. Making eye contact with Aemond for just a moment before her face goes red and she looks away, disgust at himself rising in his chest. 
What will my future wife think? He wonders, panic clawing at his throat. Will she refuse me? Will I truly be so ugly?
Before he can take a closer look at the boy beside the pregnant woman he looks over to…. You. Standing a little further to the right of the rest, obviously not really knowing where else to go, with a veil covering your face and wearing a gown of black and red. The long petticoat skirts held within your hands, the long bell sleeves barely covering your hands and the cape connected to the back of the dress making you look every bit pristine. 
The first thing he notes is the lack of jewelry. No rings, no crown or tiara, no bracelets. An odd thing since the rest of your family was completely adorned with anything they could find. 
“Queen Rhaenyra.” The king smiles, bowing his head the slightest inch, a fact that has both Aemond and Damon straightening. A slight to Rhaenyra, he was sure. “And her traveling companions. We welcome you.” 
Aemond risks another look to you as Verlain extends a hand to help you descend the stairs. He can’t hear anything of what anyone is saying as he watches you, heart thumping through his chest at your every movement. 
“-and this is my daughter.” The king mumbles out, his tone tightening at the phrase daughter as you bow gracefully, neck going low as you curtsy need to Rhaenyra then greet the rest of the party in correct order. Before he could say anything you lift the veil and his breath catches. 
The oil painting did you no Justice. And within moments he found himself yearning to trace his fingers over your cheek as he had done to the painting to see how the softness would compare. 
“And this is my brother, Aemond Targaryen. First of his name, rider of the great Vhagar and-“ 
“It is an honor.” The king interrupts Rhaenyra, your cheeks tinging with blush as your jaw tightens. You must know your father is being disrespectful then, and at least one of you has the decency to be embarrassed. 
“As much as I love flattery,” he begins, not tearing his eyes from you. “I’d prefer if you showed my sister more respect. Last person to disrespect her so had his head sliced through the middle.” 
Daemon has the audacity to check his nails for dirt as Rhaenyra sends him a knowing look, his mother tightening her hold on his elbow in approval before moving to you. 
“It is an honor to meet you.” She holds out both hands, which you calmly place your own above as you watch her, and Aemond sees the skepticism glint in them. The narrowing of them as your nose scrunches. “Your beauty was surely understated. Don’t you agree Aemond?” 
“Indeed. But to be fair I don’t think any painting or letter would ever do you justice.” You don’t say anything, merely bow your head in feigned shyness while the crowned woman behind you speaks up. 
“They say she has her mothers complexion.” She giggles loudly, and your spine tightens quickly. “May the child be blessed with the one good thing about her-“ 
“You’ve had a long journey. I’m sure your hungry and we still some final touches on this alliance. I trust you find my daughter to your liking?” There that tone is again, like he is disgusted to call you his daughter. 
“Of course. We accept the marriage proposal, let’s feast and forge out the rest of the details.” Rhaenyra nods, allowing Daemon to help her up the stairs as the king leads them inside. 
Aemond is torn between offering his mother his arm or you, desperate to touch you but not wanting to seem like the type to leave his mother. 
Lucerys is there, offering his arm and drawing the first actual smile from you, a wave of anger filling Aemond at the sight. “Might I escort you to dinner?”
“You may escort me up the stairs, but unfortunately it would be improper for me to join dinner.” His mother snaps her attention to that, watching you as closely as Aemond already had been while Lucerys leads you up the steps. 
They both watch as you look in the opposite direction of where you are walking, keeping your face turned away from one particular spot. 
“Is that…. Blood?” His mother gasps, and Aemond can do nothing but stare at the large stain of it, blinking slowly as the sun hits the dial at the top of the staircase. 
It was clear that this had been set up as a stage at some point, the message still stained into the earth. 
He doesn’t answer his mother, instead he helps her up the steps as he follows the rest of the group. 
-
He was angry. It was the only thing he could register, the anger. The rest of it was numb, the blade that took his eye had made sure of it. No love, no happiness, no remorse. He just felt anger. 
It burnt through his throat until he had no choice but to scream, tore through his chest like acid as he raged to relieve some of it, his sword swinging at anything he could. 
The posts on his bed were the first to have been attacked, the broken canopy it once held brutalized and torn in the corner. The desk was next and he even took a hot poker from the fire to shatter the mirror in one swift move. 
Every move was sheer force, every yell was an attempt to ease him, every slam of his fist and kick of his feet an instinct he could not fight. 
Where was the justice? 
People avoided looking at him now, whispers following him everywhere he went. Females outwardly laughed and gasped at him, acting as if he was a demon that had clawed from the shadows.
“Aemond.” Alicent tries, her hands folded against her dress as she watches her son rage within the walls of his room, feeling useless. He was in pain and there was nothing she could do. “Aemond please.” 
“I DONT WANT TO BE HERE! THEY THINK IM A MONSTER!” 
“Aemond-“ 
“KILL ME! KILL ME KILL ME KILL ME!” He rages, picking up the sword once more as she takes a step back, the tears falling from her eyes. She knows he would never, he was forged from steel itself, but the fear consumes her as she calls for Cole. Sobbing. 
“Help him.” She pleads, hearing the old dragon roar in the distance as Aemond shatters under the pressure. 
“It hurts.” The boy sobs, falling into the glass of his once mirror. “It won’t stop hurting!”
Cole nods, without a word he heaves the boy up, dragging him out and across the glass until they clear the room. His grip is brutal, even Aegon tries to stop them when they pass him in the hall. 
“Where are you taking my brother?” He snaps, standing straight, the soberest Aemond has ever seen him. 
But Cole doesn’t answer, and when Aemond trips the armor pinches into his skin as he is hefted back up until they make it to the training yard. 
“You want to die? Earn it.” Cole snaps, picking up a sword. He doesn’t warn his strike, Aemond barely has a second to dodge as the blade swipes at him, falling to the mud quickly. 
The wetness of it seeps into his clothes, staining them as his fingers dig in to crawl to the weapons to defend himself. 
He remembers the feel of the earth in that moment, latching on to that anger once more as he stands to fight.
You weren’t allowed at the feast, a fact that Aemond finds suspicious as his Uncle moves around the room with his hand on his sword ready for an attack, making eye contact with each servant there. Everyone was on edge, this entire ordeal one that screams trap. 
“Might I ask why the bride will not be joining us?” Rhaenyra breaks the silence, fixing herself in the chair given, nodding to the rest of her party to sit as well. 
“After the events of her mother…. It’s better if she doesn’t join us.” The king answers, casting a look to Daemon. “She mourns her mother. Taken too soon from an illness.” 
The air around them turns pungent, the sign of a lie fallen flat. Lucerys casts him a side look, his thick eyebrows pinched together in confusion as the king raises a glass to toast. 
“To the blessed union of our families.” Everyone raises their own glasses before taking a sip, but not Aemond, he sets his glass down and looks around the room some more while the conversation is struggling to be picked back up. 
“Those are lovely pearls.” Alicent tries, doing her best to ease some of the tension. 
“Oh thank you.” The young queen giggles, leaning forward. “It’s out of fashion out here ever since-“ 
The king slams his hand upon her own, a bang emanating from the wood. She flinches, but tries to smile through it and Aemond feels a rage fill him as he imagines you having to do the same thing before. Is that why you chose not to eat with them?
“Pearls are…. Out of fashion out here.” Your sister fills in the silence, “the woman at the court tend to avoid them.” 
“Speaking of.” Verlain smiles. “I have some things packed and ready to be transported. Gifts from the royal family to yours as a part of the arrangement. To be presented on the wedding day.” 
“I just hope there will be room for all of us aboard that ship of yours.” The king smiles, though Aemond sees right through it. 
“I can assure you it’s quite big. What a lonely ride it was here, while the others rode dragons. I am looking forward to the company on the way back. I do hope the bride fares well in the sea.” 
“I believe my sister to be excited for it.” The pregnant once smiles, the first real smile from this table. 
Aemond says nothing, picking up his goblet and draining the liquid in one easy go. Even the wine here tasted shit. Lucerys laughs under his breath when a pig is set on the table and when Aemond turns to glare thinking the jest is to him he finds that the young queen was using her cutlery to check her appearance. 
He leans closer, Lucerys following his lead. “I hope that my future bride is not too attached to her family. For if I have to spend a second past the wedding with them I might just-“ 
Alicent slaps his shoulder quickly, making him sit up as Lucerys snickers. Whether he got to finish his sentence or not the message had been delivered. 
She spent the last month of her life trapped in a tiny room, with nothing but a bed and a small window barred to keep her in. Her chamber pot was changed once a week and she was allowed one handmaiden. 
But she tried not to let it craze her, pouring herself into preparations for the future ahead of her. Everyday followed the same routine. 
In the morning she was brought to a chapel within the castle where the minister would pray with her, and every morning he would ask her if she had any sins she’d like to pray forgiveness for. She never did, for she remained adamant that she did nothing wrong. And she could withstand the scalding look the man gave her each time for his opinion did not matter, she knew her truth. 
She spent the days seeing, ordering dresses and adjusting them. Day after day. Ordering dress after dress, a small gift her lord husband had allowed her. If she were to die then at least she would die well dressed. 
But the dresses weren’t for her, she didn’t pour over every stitch for herself and she didn’t hem each one to perfection for her own vanity, for she knew the second this was over for her that her daughters life would be ruined. 
She would prepare as much as she could for her daughter, she was a mother and she would not fail her even in her last moments. 
Meanwhile you begged and pleaded for her back, crying into your sisters arms as she held you, rocking you back and forth. 
Your father hadn’t come to see you since she was taken, and you weren’t allowed at court, soon enough even your sister was denying visits. Left alone with your handmaiden until the fateful day. 
Verlain, one of your fathers men, came to the door and excitement filled you when you saw him. He had always been so kind and often stole sweets for you when no one was looking, but that morning he didn’t smile. 
“I thought she might want one more friendly face with her.” He explains to the handmaiden, who has tears in her eyes as she nods. She pulls you away and prepares you, lacing your corset and dressing you in black before taking your hand and leading you through the halls. 
“Are we going to see-“ 
“Shhh. Don’t say a word.” Verlain warns, trying to keep his voice soft. “Not today little lamb.” 
You nod, reaching to grab his hand as well as they lead you to the courtyard. You remain in the back, with a good view of the steps, still holding both their hands. 
Your mothers group of handmaidens stood to the side of the steps, all looking worried and most with tears falling down while someone hisses at Verlain. 
“You brought her kin?!” 
“The king demanded she be here.” Verlain answers back, something like grief crossing his face. “To witness.” 
And witness you did. 
You remember it well, the silent scream that clogged your throat and the way you tried running for her. You had fallen when Verlain pulled you back, your fingers digging into the mud as you tried to crawl to her with all your strength as the blood poured down. 
After you had been dragged, kicking and screaming, to your chambers you’d been thrown in by the guards. The first person allowed access to come and see you had been your mothers main handmaiden, one you hadn’t seen at the execution, who you would later learn had reported your mother falsely. 
She did not hug you, she did not coddle you. The only thing she asked was “your mothers necklace? Have you any idea where she hid it?” 
You told her no, still crying, feeling betrayed. 
She left soon after. 
A week after that you were forced to kneel before your father as he stripped you of your title and your lineage. “You are her daughter and nothing more. A bastard in the eyes of the faith and the crown.” 
You sobbed and begged him not to, crying over and over “papa!” 
He screamed at you, slapping you across the cheek so hard you sprawled across the stone. 
That night, your last night in the castle, you sat by a singular burning candle as an unknown phantom gently traced the bruise, singing softly to you as you waited for your mother to appear to you. 
If there was anyone who would use your gift you were sure it would be her. 
But she never came, and you were sent away, and soon the castle was scrubbed of her memory.
Your last night there was spent exactly the same as years ago, a fresh bruise adorning your cheek from your fat- his majesty, and you sitting by a candle and waiting for her. Silently pleading for her ghost to appear. 
“Come on mother.” You whisper, waiting. “Just one more time before I meet you in the afterlife. Please.” 
She does not show, and when the sun begins to rise you are escorted from your rooms down to the docks were your luggage was being loaded. 
“Is this all you have?” Lucerys, the name he introduced himself with yesterday, asks and you nod. 
“Not much is provided for Basta- for brides to be.” He takes your lie, smiling before you curtsy and allow him to run and catch up with his mother and father. 
“I hope you will be okay with entertaining my mother for the journey.” An even voice fills the silence, your heart lunging through your chest as you turn to see the prince. You thought he was gorgeous, desperate to reach a hand out and see what was under the patch. 
You refrained of course. 
He, however, seemed unable to control himself as he brought a hand up to the bruise on your cheekbone. His fingertips tracing over it ever so lightly. 
“How does he have black hair?” You ask, desperate to get the topic away from your cheek before it can even start. 
“It’s…. A long story.” He huffs, a small smile playing at his lips. “Might I escort you to your chambers on the boat.” 
He holds out a hand for you to take, and for a moment a pitch of fear fills you. Don’t look don’t look don’t look. 
But you can’t stop yourself from turning to those steps, and seeing the blood among them for the last time. Once you’re gone that’s all that will be left of her memory, and that tears a hole through your soul. 
She shouldn’t have to be alone here, but you were sure that you would find her soon enough, there was no way you would ever survive the Targaryens. It was the only reason your father would ever bother to accept this at all. 
So, ignoring the white haired god beside you, you turn fully to the steps and bow properly. “Until we meet again.” 
Your tears sink into the dirt, in the exact spot you once crawled, and when a breeze hits your cheek you can do nothing but lift your head to see her. Standing at the top of the steps, bowing back to you. 
Tears fall quicker, and your throat stings from it as you turn to grab the princes still outstretched hand, and as the last remnants of the second queen fade the last memory of her is lead away to the docks, clutching the lost necklace tightly in the pocket of a dress she once sewed. 
And you know, that just as your mother once did, you would meet your fate with your head held high. 
Unbowed, Unbent, Unbroken. They cannot break me. 
But you hadn’t quite known what Kings Landing had in store for you, no one had expected it really.
(It's been a minute since I wrote something like this and this is the first time in months that writing hadn't felt like a chore. I hope you enjoy it!)
Part 2.... maybe?
118 notes · View notes
dreamlandcreations · 3 days
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After the war for the throne...
He kept you, his enemy, and he has no intention to listen to anyone who says he should get rid of you. In fact, he killed yet another fool this morning who tried to suggest it.
You are not going anywhere. You are his to torment, his to play with and his to break if he so wishes. And no matter what you or anyone else says, you are his to keep.
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64 notes · View notes
shushbambi · 1 day
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a.t. ┆ darlin', you're mine.
༘˙𓂃𑁤 i'll always luv possessive, unhinged aemond <3
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you belonged to aemond targaryen—it was a known fact across the entirety of the realm. his, his, his.
his everything, his love, his life, the very air he breathed filled with your sweet, intoxicating, innocent scent. gods, how he craved you, wanted to make you his darling girl, his one and only, his lady and wife. it was maddening, these pestering feelings that he felt towards you—and fuck, he needed you desperately, all of the time. the one-eyed prince loved you fiercely, was completely infatuated with you and your gentle nature, would do anything you'd ask without question and he'd do it proudly.
aemond targaryen was positive if you asked him to take his sword and plunge it into his own heart, he would gladly do so without hesitation, just to see your pretty, heavenly smile one last time.
and fucking hell, he can only imagine burying his face between the plush of your sweet, silky thighs, his mouth watering at just the thought of your sweet little cunt, needing to taste the sweet nectar that fell from between your womanly hips, practically a siren's call as you taunted him with pretty, demure smiles and your shy, timid, honeyed voice that he genuinely thought he could drown in—happily.
aemond targaryen always prided himself of being a man of honor, of duty, a gentleman, a man with no taste of depravity—but gods, he knew he couldn't resist your sweet temptation, he just needed one taste of your sweet lips, knowing it would damn his soul for eternity to the eternal flames of the seven hells—and the worst part, aemond didn't even care, his only desire was to claim you, and someday, he vowed to himself that he would. that... that was his most sworn promise to himself—you would be his, no matter the cost.
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thedeathlysallows · 3 days
Text
Is It Over Now? (8)
Pairing: Aemond Targaryen x Aemma Velaryon; Aegon Targaryen x Aemma Velaryon
Summary: When you lost control
Warnings: canon typical Targaryen incest
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The king is dead.
The words ring through your mind repeatedly, a horrible reminder that everything is changing for better or worse.
"Aemond," you finally find your voice after what feels like (and likely is) hours. "Is it true? Is he..."
Aemond gives you a sad look and pulls you close against his chest. His lips press to the top of your head as he whispers his answer. "Yes."
You aren’t sure how to feel. You loved your grandfather, and he surely loved you, but you’re nervous for your mother. You’ve heard so many whispers throughout the Keep… whispers that spell disaster for your mother’s ascension to the throne. There are those that would see your mother dead before they see her as Queen, and you’ve got the sinking feeling your husband and his mother are at the head of that battle.
“The safest place for you is our bedchamber,” Aemond tells you, and your heart immediately drops to your stomach. “You must stay here.”
“And if I don’t?” You look up at Aemond, tilting your chin in defiance. “Besides, why should I? My mother will be Queen. She is Queen if Viserys is truly dead. Why should her heir hide away and not be seen?”
Aemond’s lips are set in a thin line. “It’s in your best interest to listen to your husband.”
“Is that a threat?”
“Do you know what my grandfather is currently doing?” Aemond grabs you by the wrist and pulls you close. The pupil of his good eye is blown wide, black swallowing violet until only a void is left. “He’s searching the grounds for Aegon. Why do you think he would do that?”
“Because his father is dead.”
“Aemma, you aren’t a stupid girl. You know why. My grandfather will not allow your mother to sit on the Iron Throne.”
You swallow the bile rising in your throat. You didn’t expect Aemond to lie to you, he would never do that, but you didn’t expect such blunt honesty either. And if Aegon has truly ran off… you take a deep breath to center yourself. Your marriage to Aemond is still so new and now you’re being tested in a way you never could’ve imagined.
“What will you do?” You finally find your voice as you gaze up at Aemond, his features sharper than usual in the early morning light.
“Mother has tasked me with finding Aegon before our grandfather’s men.”
“And then?”
“I have no desire to see Aegon on the throne.”
Despite his words, something remains unsaid. He doesn’t want Aegon on the throne, but he doesn’t want your mother either. He won’t support her claim, therefore denying your claim as well.
Before tears can fall, you yank your wrist out of his grip. “Go then. Support a usurper over your wife.”
“It’s more than that and you know it.”
“No! I don’t know, Aemond! Viserys chose Rhaenyra as his heir. She is his oldest living child. I am my mother’s heir as her eldest child. What’s so complicated about that?”
“People will never accept a woman on the throne. Not only that, but your brothers are bastards and everyone knows. You have to be her heir because you are her only legitimate child. Unfortunately, not even that will save you if the people decide to rise up against your mother in favor of Aegon.”
“They would never! All the houses swore to recognize-“
“Words said by dead lords whose children don’t share their sentiment.” Aemond observes you quietly for a moment. “Don’t make me post guards at your door. I have no desire to make you a prisoner, but you’re forcing my hand. Stay out of this fight.”
Aemond presses his lips to yours, but you refuse to kiss him back, keeping your body rigid when he tries to hold you. You watch him go silently, rage simmering in your blood. When the two of you married, you had promised yourself to try. Try and make it work. Try to be a good wife to Aemond. How can you possibly do any of that now without betraying your family?
There’s only one option left for you: you need to find Aegon before anyone else. If anyone can convince him to not take the Iron Throne it’s you. He would do anything you asked of him.
Luckily, you know him better than anyone else. Even Aemond. They’ll search the brothels, the ale houses, but you know better. Aegon is smart enough not to hide in places he’ll be expected. That only leaves on place.
The Great Sept.
When you go to leave your room, you’re stopped immediately by the King’s Guard. True to his word, Aemond posted them outside of your shared chambers. They glare at you silently until you shut the door and retreat deeper into the room. There’s another way- a secret way your mother taught you should something like this happen. So you set to work, tapping against the wall until you find the door hidden by the fireplace.
You slowly make your way down the dark passage, sticking close to the damp stone wall. It won’t be far to the Great Sept once you make it out of the Keep. The difficult part will be not being spotted. You’ll stick to the shadows, though, and you’ll keep your hood up as far as you can without drawing suspicion.
You can do this.
You have to do this.
For your mother.
Fresh air finally washes over you as you reach the exit of the passage. You’re well outside of the Keep now, no guards to spot you as you sneak down the street. The Sept looms large and imposing in front of you. You’ve never been particularly religious, but you’ll praise any god you can if you’re the one to find Aegon first.
The Sept is still in the early morning as you step inside. Candles haven’t even been lit yet and the silence around you is suffocating.
“Aegon?” You try to make as little noise as possible, unwilling to alert anyone to your presence.
You hear a small cough come from underneath a table and kneel down. Aegon grins up at you, absolutely reeking of wine. You offer him your hand. He takes it willingly.
“Everyone is looking for you,” you tell him.
“And yet you found me first.” His expression grows dark. “I won’t do it. I don’t want the throne. Tell them to give it to Aemond… I’m not suited for it.”
When you don’t argue with him, Aegon lifts a brow in question. “Isn’t that what you wanted to hear?”
“Not exactly. I don’t want Aemond to be King and gods know I’ll only be Queen if my mother is dead.” You take Aegon’s hands in your own and hold them against your chest. “Aegon, we both know they’ll never stop trying to make you King. I need you to stop them. Do whatever it takes. Please.”
Aegon tilts his head, eyes drawn to your lips. “Run away with me. We can go to Braavos and write to your mother. She’ll understand and pardon us after she takes the Throne back.”
“Aegon, You’re married. What will happen to your children if we leave? You can’t protect them from Braavos.”
“No mention of your own marriage. Is there trouble for the newlyweds?” He steps forward and crowds you against the wall. “Say the word and I’ll take you away from all of it.”
“We can’t. We have to stay and you have to fight. I’ll stand by your side as your brother’s wife, but we can’t leave this mess for my mother to clean up alone. We have to help her.”
Something changes in his expression. His face tenses up and his eyes darken as he listens to your words. “And if I don’t? If I decide to take the Throne from Rhaenyra, will you still stand by my side? What if I stay the selfish bastard I’ve always been?”
“What would you gain from doing that?”
“You.”
That one little word sits heavy in your soul. “Aegon…”
He shushes you, kissing you sloppily. His lips are warm and demanding while one of his hands drifts down to hike your thigh up his waist.
“The only fucking thing I’ve ever wanted is you, and you’re the only thing I can’t have. But if I’m King? No one can stop me from taking you for my own.”
“You can’t.”
“I could. Who would stop me?”
“I would.”
Aegon trails his lips against your neck before biting down hard. “Would you? I don’t think so. Aemond wouldn’t stop me either. He doesn’t have the fucking courage. You’ll be mine one way or another. I’m letting you decide how.”
You let out a deep, shuddering breath. “I can’t leave.”
“Then a king I’ll be.”
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li0nn3stuff · 3 days
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You left Aemond on read.
English is not my first language, be kind.
Modern!Aemond x fem!Reader 
Part one: You and Aemond fought, so he invites at dinner another girl
Part three: Aemond apologies
Warnings: Kissing, almost smut
“Let’s meet up.”
“To talk.”
That was three days ago. I sigh and I put on my jeans jacket. Underneath it, I was wearing a nice black top, that wrapped my upper body so good, cutting my waist just on the right spot, and squeezing my boobs good enough to make them more visible, along with it, a nice tight black skirt, that reached down under my knees and a simple pair of black converse.
I’m hot. I think to myself as I look at the mirror. Nice and hot. Fuck Aemond.
I grab my purse and my phone, the keys to my place and get outside.
Yes, fuck Aemond. I repeat to myself, nodding slightly. He was just a douche. I sigh and I turn my attention to the beautiful day today was.
“Jesus, you’re giving me a headache!” he shouted, he was almost fuming. “How can you be this fucking stupid? Uh?!” He kept shouting.
A beautiful day. I smile and I walk down the stairs, looking forward to my date with Jason. Fuck Aemond. I am way more happy to go out with Jason. I walked down the street, going to the bar where I was supposed to meet Jason. I immediately spot him from this far. I force myself to not roll my eyes when I see him giving me a simple nod as a way to greet me.
“Hey.” I smile when I finally reach Jason. He smirks at me.
“Hey, sexy.” he says back. Why was it not pleasant to hear that from him?
Hey doll. Fuck. Him. I press my lips together and force a smile. Jason put his arm around my waist, leaving his hand hanging on my butt, ready to slip lower. It embarrassed me, how he unashamedly touched me. There were tables with families, Jesus. I pull away as soon as we reach a table, sitting in front of him.
Jason was… unique. He had his own way of doing things.
“You seriously think he just wants to be your friend? Or that he is actually interested in you? He just wants to take it back on me.” He looked at me, almost smiling as you do to a child who doesn’t understand. I hated that look.
“How much of a self centered person are you?! Are you even listening to yourself? Stop acting like a pick-me girl!” That got him. He just snapped.
“I was surprised to hear from you.” Jason snaps me out of my thoughts and I smile at him.
“What do you mean? We texted a bit before.” I force a chuckle, and get the attention of a waitress. I get a glass of wine as Jason gets a beer.
“No, I mean… when you asked me out. Never thought Aemond would have let you do it.” He huffs a smile.
“Aemond doesn’t tell me what to do.” I answer, happy to see my glass of wine coming, and taking a long sip from it.
“Of course.” he mumbles, laughing to himself. I raise my brows at him, already getting annoyed. I take a deep breath and smile.
“What does that mean?” I try to sound nice. Jason shakes his head, still chuckling.
“I mean, of course you don’t do what people tell you, you’re a woman.”
My grip tightens around the glass. I take a deep breath, followed by a long sip of wine.
“I don’t know what you’re trying to say, but I’ll tell you it’s not sounding good this far.” I say. Jason chuckles and fixes himself on his chair, leaning more towards me and smirking at me.
“Then let’s change the subject, shall we?” He says in a flirting way. Jason was cute. He was more than cute, he was hot. Really hot. Objectively talking. I smile back and nod. Like it was that easy for me to forget what he just said.
“Let me just go to the bathroom, okay?” Jason nods, still with that smirk on his face.
I get up quickly and I head to the bathroom, rubbing my hand on my forehead, when I suddenly get grabbed by my arm and pulled at the end of the hallway of the bathrooms.
“Leaving me on read? The audacity of yours.” he growls. I look up confused and I find myself trapped between the wall and Aemond. I frown.
“Get off of me.” I say and I pull my arm away, and Aemond lets me go.
“The fuck were you thinking, uhm?” he keeps growling.
“None of your business.” I immediately get on defensive.
“Getting out with Jason? I specifically told you to stop everything with him, texting, talking, and that includes going out with him, obviously.” he towers over me, and I’m forced to lean my head back to look him in the eye.
“Does it look like I care?” I spit back. Aemond lets out a cold laugh.
“You never fucking listen, do you? No. Jason.” He says, pissed. I cross my arms to my chest, and I see Aemond’s gaze drift immediately to my boobs, then he looks away, some way more angry.
“The only reason why you’re here with Jason now it’s me. You had to prove something to me. Well congrats, you did it! Now let’s go.” He grabs me by my arm and starts dragging me behind him as he goes for the exit.
“That’s not true!” It was. “This is not about you!” It was. “You’re just a self centered idiot.” I say as I try to resist.
“Going somewhere, Targaryen?” Jason sees us from the table as we go for the exit. Aemond stops and takes a deep breath.
“Just bringing my girl home.” he answers coldly, with his usual expressionless face.
How could it be possible that Jason calling me “sexy” almost made me cringe, but Aemond calling me something simple as “my girl” made my heart flutter? God, it was annoying.
“Doesn’t look like she wants to.” Jason smirks. “Let her go. I’ll bring her to my place, I’m sure she’ll find it more entert-“
Before Jason could finish his sentence, Aemond already started walking towards him, but I grabbed Aemond by his arm to stop him.
“No! No, Jason, thank you for everything, really. I’ll see you around, okay? Bye.” I pull Aemond towards me, and drag him outside, where he quickly redirects me to his car, opening me the door and hushing me inside.
Once he gets inside he closes the door harshly and he grips the steering wheel tightly. His nostrils flare as he takes some deep breaths to calm himself. He then starts the engine, as I cross my arms to my chest, and I look outside. Even the radio was off. Fine. He wanted silence? He’ll get silence.
No way I would be the one to talk. He was the dick. He got angry over something stupid and he messed it up. Though, even if I was trying to ignore the tension in the car, it was getting impossible, so I moved my hand to turn on the radio.
“Don’t.” his voice is glacial, and it actually sends shivers down my spine. I sigh annoyed and go back to looking outside.
“I hope I made myself clear today. To you? Jason is dead.” he adds then.
“You don’t get to tell me what to do.” I answer back. Though, I wasn’t gonna ask Jason out again anyway, I didn’t really like him. He had too many filthy vibes, and not in a good way.
“Why do you have to be so goddamn stubborn, uh? Why can’t you listen for once? Jesus, you're so annoying.”
“If I’m so annoying then why did you show up? Why am I in the car with you? Uh?!” I clench my hands into fists as Aemond clenches his jaw so hard that I almost think I’ll hear it crack.
“It would be nice to just have you listen to me sometimes.”
“Maybe I would have listened if you hadn’t insulted me.”
“You were being naive.” he says as he glances at me for a moment, then he goes back to looking at the road.
“And you think that’s an excuse?” I question. Aemond presses his lips together, as silence fills the car again. This time it is him that turns on the radio. Of course he knew I was right.
“I’m sorry.” he mumbles. I look at him surprised, with a hint of a smirk on my lips.
“You what?”
Aemond groans.
“You heard me. Don’t push it.”
“I didn’t hear you, I was listening to the radio.”
“I’m sorry, okay? I’m sorry I acted like a dick.” he sighs. “And that I insulted you. I didn’t mean any of it, I just… I really can’t stand Jason. He’s a douche and I know that he would just love to steal you away from me, and see me suffer because I would be jealous that he would be the one who gets to have you .”
I am actually stunned. I expected a better spoken apology, but this was… did he just talk about his feelings? I look down and then back outside. Aemond had always had me lower my barriers. I know how much it’s hard for him to talk about his feelings, or say that he cares for someone. It got me more than I thought.
“You’re still here?” Aemond glances at me.
“Yeah… okay. I guess you’re forgiven.” I say as I give him a little smile. He glances at me again and grins.
“Never wear that top for anyone else.” He says. I chuckle, knowing that this was his favorite top of mine, he appreciates how it just evidences my shape just perfectly. He drives us to his place, and as soon as he cloves the door after me he puts his hand on my neck and pulls me to him, kissing me passionately, deeply, slipping his tongue in my mouth, caressing mine. I moan and wrap my arms around his neck, hugging him close as his hands start roaming all over my body, ending up on my buttocks, that he grabs and squeezes hard, making me whine.
“Going out with another guy when you’re still mine, baby? That’s not good.” He slaps my ass making me gasp again. He bends and he puts his hands on the back of my thighs, lifting me up in his arms as he walks upstairs to his bedroom, kicking the door close with his foot. He lets me fall on the bed, and I try to sit up, but he pushes me back, unfastening his belt.
“On your knees.” he orders. I look up at him and I slide on the floor, getting on my knees in front of him as he looks at me. He uses one hand to unbutton his pants as the other caresses my cheek, I lean my head towards his hand, as his thumb passes over my lower lip, pushing it down.
“Let’s put this mouth to a better use, uhm?”
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bookofbonbon · 3 days
Text
creatures from within the woods - aemond targaryen.
Pairing: Aemond Targaryen x Reader.
Warnings: Kidnapping. Imprisonment. Paralysis. Witchcraft. Implied assault.
Summary: Aemond had often been warned about the strange and dangerous creatures from within the woods who looked like humans but, he just had to have you.
Word Count: 1049.
A/N: Old fic from over a year ago that I posted then immediately deleted.
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Blood weeps from the open wound, an unnaturally steady stream of red flowing from the cut in your palm and pooling at the edge of the make-shift altar you arranged with what materials you had.
Chanting quietly to yourself, an uneasy feeling goes down your spine. You sense his presence before he makes himself known, body vibrating with the weight of each of his steps as draws nearer to your cage, wait- no. Your chambers, he so kindly put it but, a gilded cage is still a cage. 
When he enters, he does so quietly so as not to disturb you and you don’t allow him to either, remaining as distant and stoic as you always do when he’s around. The few times you did pay him mind however, you never showed him your true face, only the one you had carefully crafted for him. 
Aemond's gaze wanders the apartment that was once occupied by his elder half-sister and her family, concern growing in the pit of his stomach when he notices that you’ve once again opted to eat little to nothing. 
He thinks nothing this time. 
“You’ve barely eaten since your arrival, I do not wish to see you harm yourself in this way. Please, you must eat,” Aemond pleads.
“I will,” you mumble, distracted. “Soon.”
You roll your shoulders, trying to loosen the stiff muscles in your arms - manacles weighing heavy on your wrists; you could’ve easily removed them but, you were drawing form them - as you watch your blood prickle as if a thousand needles moved through it before it begins a slow slither to the altar’s centre. 
You were too weak to do this on your own.
Satisfied, you rise from your knelt position with a slight wince, still not quite used to the rigidity of human bones.
“You know,” you begin, rubbing at the shedding skin of your hands. “Your mother visits me some... she speaks oft of your visits to the Sept?”
Aemond nods, the gesture unseen but felt. In the same way that you could feel his longing gaze at your back; willing you to look at him so you may see the depths of the love he holds for you. He knew in his heart that once you did, all your resentment for him would disapparate.
“Yes,” he finds his words. 
This was simply not the way he wanted or imagined things to be and they wouldn't have been if you had just come willingly with him when he found you in the woods.
“Tell me… what do your Gods whisper to you in the quiet of the Sept?”
Aemond’s eyes widen, surprised by the question but quick to answer. 
“They offer me forgiveness,” he tells you softly. Careful still not to disturb the peace and, oblivious to the way your skin shimmers oddly beneath the moon's light. “They tell me in time that you will too.”
Your body stills, head turning slowly toward him with narrowed eyes. The wickedness that lurked beneath your beautiful face threatening to reveal itself.
Gliding inhumanly across the room, you leave the smallest of spaces between the two of you. Aemond’s gaze wide-eyed and foggy, unshed tears lining the edge of his eye as he peers down at you.
How pleased you were that you no longer had to wait. If you had to spend a minute more with the bumbling fool, you would sooner kill yourself than him. 
Sliding your hands from the manacles, you reach toward him and caress the side of his face with your bloodied hand. The heavy thud going unnoticed by Aemond as he leans into your touch and presses himself against you, his forehead touching yours. He’s careful in his next moves, his nose brushing gently against yours, breaths intermingling for a few moments before he hesitantly closes the gap between your mouths and you allow him. With closed eyes, he presses the softest of kisses to your lips, savoring the feeling of your willing lips against his but, with each second that passes his kisses grow hungrier, his lust making itself known as he presses himself harder against you - the young Prince too caught up in the moment to notice the odd tingling sensation starting in his mouth. 
Pulling away from him, Aemond lips try to follow you until you press a firm hand on his chest. You feel the rise and fall of his chest as he remains dazed, eye still closed as he commits the feeling of your lips to memory. But the sweet moment is snatched away when you bring those same lips to his ear.
“Your Gods may forgive you but, I never will,” you hiss.
Aemond rears back, a cold feeling washing through him as you raise the fog clouding his vision and reveal your true self; a low hiss emanating from your chest as a forked tongue flickers out from between your lips and serpentine eyes stare back at him. 
It’s only then that Aemond smells the blood on his skin and sees the red of your hand. His eye follows the bloody trail that drips from between your fingers and leads to the altar behind you. Horror setting in as he finds the socket of his eye hollow, the blue stone sitting in the altar's centre. 
“What have you done?” Aemond roars, slamming you against the nearest wall.
He pushes his forearm into your neck but it isn’t you who begins to gasp for breath.
Body weakening, Aemond’s arm drops against his will, the limb too heavy to hold. He steps dizzily away from you, thoughts moving quicker than he could; his legs turning to lead as he dives desperately toward the altar. An attempt to stop whatever it is you've set into motion but, it's too late. His body ceases and he falls to the ground with a heavy thump.
Aemond had always been warned about the strange and dangerous creatures from within the woods who looked like humans but were not. But he couldn't help himself, he had to have you and, now with his head laid beside the altar, regret courses through him as he stares in unblinking terror as your blood finishes coiling its way around his sapphire and seals his fate.
-
All fics are my own work - I have not posted my work anywhere else.
Disclaimer: I do not own any characters/places mentioned above.
Do not copy. Do not translate. Do not repost.
bookofbonbon 2024. All rights reserved.
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myocsfanfictions · 3 days
Text
THE WRATH OF FIRE
House of the Dragon Fanfiction
MASTERLIST
Princess Ysilla Targaryen is the only daughter of Prince Daemon Targaryen and lady Rhea Royce. The affection that she felt for her mother was strong, while her father had never been there, acting as if Ysilla was not even his. But she was. The dragon egg that had been put in her cradle hatched. An outcast of a dragon was born. A dragon with no legs. An outcast of a dragon for and outcast of a dragon rider. Ysilla’s hair were dark, but streaked with white. She was a Targaryen and her wrath was not different from the one that burn inside the members of the House of the Dragon.
《 Previous - Next 》
CHAPTER 3
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Ysilla had loved her time in King's Landing. Her uncle was a sweet man, and he liked Ysilla's company. It had been strange for the little princess because no man had ever treated her like family. She had only her lady mother in Runestone. But King Viserys had been very kind to her, allowing one of the Maesters of the Dragonpit to follow her back to the Vale so that he could attend to her dragon.
"Your grace," she had asked timidly one morning as they were breaking their fast. Queen Alicent was with them as well.
"Tell me, dear niece," Viserys answered with a smile.
"I would like to learn High Valyrian," she noticed how the King shared a look at his Queen. A hint of sorrow was in his eyes, and Ysilla wondered if she had asked too much.
"That would be a lovely idea," the King said, smiling gently at her. Ysilla blushed, happy that her uncle appreciated her wish. "From your mother's words, I know you like to learn."
"It is true, your grace," Ysilla answered, nodding her head. The Queen chuckled softly.
"Let's hope our Aegon will have the same endeavor for knowledge," Vyseris said.
Ysilla had met the little Prince Aegon, who was almost two years old. The girl did not know what to think of him; he could not even talk properly yet.
"Is my father happy to hear it as well?" Ysilla asked curiously. But then again, she noticed how the King shared a look with his wife.
"I... I'm sure he is, dear." Those words should have made her happy, but they didn't because she was not sure how true they were. Was her father not happy with her? Was she disappointing him?
"Did I do something wrong?" She asked, confused.
"Of course not," her uncle was quick to say, "Your father is at war; it's been long since I last saw him."
Ysilla looked down. She was truly so silly. She was only two when the war on the Stepstones started. But she wanted to meet her father and talk to him.
She had been trying to talk about him sometimes, but no one would talk about Daemon Targaryen. She was not sure why, but it seemed to her that the Hand of the King didn't like her father, while the king seemed pained to talk about his brother. But no one explained anything to her; she was too young, they said.
She had hoped to get to know her father better in King's Landing, but he was far even in a place that he had loved. Or so her mother would say.
Ysilla missed Runestone, but she could understand why her father loved King's Landing so much. Her favorite place was the Dragonpit; she even loved the smell of dragons. And it seemed that her own dragon liked to be there, too. At first, she was afraid he would not have recognized her, but he did, happily and clumsily crawling in her direction.
"Is Vhagar in the Dragonpit as well?" She had asked curiously at Rhaenyra one morning under the Heart Tree.
"She is too big," Rhaenyra answered. "Why? Do you want to see her?"
Ysilla smiled, "Visenya was Vhaghar's rider," she explained, "I like stories about Visenya."
"I like them too," her cousin answered, sitting closer to Ysilla, "I would have liked to have a sister like you."
Ysilla felt like blushing, but then she got curious, "You've got Aegon, though," but Rhaenyra's eyes lowered silently.
Did she not love Aegon?
Ysilla wondered why. But she dared not to ask, not wanting her cousin to get sad.
"I hope my dragon will be as big as Vhaghar," Ysilla confessed, "And that I'll become as strong as Visenya." And that her father would be proud of her.
"I'm sure you will," Rhaenyra promised.
Ysilla was enjoying her time in King's Landing. She enjoyed spending time with Rhaenyra and the Queen, but never together. The two of them didn't seem eager to stay in each other's presence, Especially Rhaenyra.
"You truly look beautiful," said Alicent the morning of Aegon's second name. The Queen was wearing a beautiful red gown, and her auburn hair was held together by a net of jewels. Ysilla blushed at the compliment. No one ever complimented her appearance. Her mother didn't want her to focus only on her physics. She was a woman of the Vale, stronger than most. But Ysilla wished to be pretty. She sometimes wished that her hair was silver like the rest of her family and not strange like hers. Dark and streaked with silver. It always looked messy; it didn't matter how many times she'd brushed it.
"I wish I was as pretty as you," she said, biting her lips.
"You are just five of age," the Queen told her gently. "You've got time to think about those things." Then she put her hands on her shoulders and said, "Shall we go?"
That would have been her last week at the Capital, and she was very sad about it. She enjoyed that visit as much as her dragon. He was little, but he was not afraid of other dragons, and he was growing healthier by the day.
The feast for Aegon's name-day was like nothing Ysilla had ever seen. So many people were dressed in rich, embroidered clothes and the finest jewels. All the ladies fussed about Aegon, and they were all happy and made a lot of compliments. They seemed to love him very much, the first son of the King.
"May I introduce you to my niece Ysilla Targaryen, Lady Redwine?" The King said, lightly pushing Ysilla towards an old lady. The woman looked at her. Her eyes lingered on her hair, but then she smiled. It was a tight smile; it didn't fully reach her eyes. "The daughter of Prince Daemon," Ysilla nodded her head proudly at the woman's words. "It is a pleasure to meet you, princess."
Ysilla bowed clumsily, "The pleasure is mine."
"What about Lady Rhea?" Lady Redwine asked the King. "Is she not present?" Ysilla didn't like her tone. She seemed to be judging and mocking. But she had no right to speak in such a way about her noble mother.
"Lady Rhea is a very busy lady," her uncle answered, "But Ysilla is here in her place."
The woman nodded, "To not let people forget." Ysilla frowned, looking up at her uncle, who was glaring at her for some reason.
What should people remember? Ysilla asked herself. She did not understand that woman.
"How about Prince Daemon, your grace?" Lady Redwine asked Viserys, "What words are from the Stepstones?"
Viserys smiled with tension. Ysilla could tell he did not like the question. "A war of little concern for the realm." Ysilla frowned again.
Her father was fighting. His brother. Why was that a little concern?
"Ysilla," Alicent called her, gesturing to get closer to her. The little princess looked at her uncle once more before doing as she was asked. "What about you sit here with Aegon?" she asked, gesturing to the wet nurse to put Aegon on a soft carpet. You could play together."
Ysilla was not sure what she should have done, but she nodded nonetheless. Then, she sat quietly next to the little prince, but her eyes remained on her uncle.
I wish I was older, she thought. I could understand better.
Ysilla started to play with Aegon a little, but her eyes kept looking at the people around. And she noticed it. They would whisper as their eyes lay on her.
Is it for my hair? She asked herself. But even if she hated her hair, she was not quite sure that was the reason behind their gaze and whispers.
Then suddenly, she felt something pulling at her dark lock, not enough to hurt her. When her eyes moved, she noticed Aegon looking at her hair curiously before his lips turned up into a smile. He seemed to like it.
It is not for my hair. She thought, looking back at a man with golden hair and a roaring lion embroidered on his chest, whispering to his twin brother.
Did they know something she didn't? Did something happen to her father at the Stepstones, and no one would tell her?
She wanted to know.
Ysilla managed to get away from Aegon's grip before telling the wet nurse that her tummy was empty and that she would have to go to eat something and then come back. Ysilla walked to the table, observing the food as if she were truly hungry, hoping to catch someone talking about the Stepstones and her father. But she didn't catch anything. Women were talking rumors, and men were looking forward to the hunt that would have closed the Prince's celebration.
Nothing of her interest, then she heard it.
"The King does not want to help," she heard the Hand say to a man with the sigil of House Hightower on his chest. "Daemon and Corlys Velaryon acted without His Grace's word," Ysilla was as quiet as a shadow as she walked closer to hear them better.
"He has always been a disgrace," the other man said, "And the folly about Dragonstone."
Otto Hightower nodded. "His Grace wanted him to go back to Runestone, but he never wanted to."
"We all know how he disrespects Lady Rhea and his daughter." Ysilla felt her hands shaking. What did it mean? She did not understand.
Otto took a breath, "The goat and the goat's daughter. He truly is vile."
Ysilla felt her eyes fill with tears, but she was quick to walk away. Wanting to forget about that conversation. But she couldn't. Her father couldn't have talked about her and her mother in such a way. Why?
That could not be possible. They must have been lying. The Hand didn't like her father; she knew that. But could that really be a rumor? What was his end?
Those words had been repeating themselves in her ear for all the rest of her visit to King's Landing. And they never went away. They've kept coming louder and more painful.
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prophecyofwinter · 2 days
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Across the Sea and to the East
Aemond Targaryen x Stark!Reader
Summary: Under your uncle’s usurpation of your brother you have been sent away to hide in Lys under House Rogare. You’ve found new purpose with the Lord of Light but you will be called home soon.
Tags: slight slow burn, actual burning, violence, smut, angst, tags will be added as we go.
Chapter 2 | Chapter 4 | Prologue
Chapter 3: Lemon Scented Letters
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“You know it is not good luck for one to fall asleep after morning prayer.”
You groan as thin curtains were forced apart allowing the full force of the sun to shine through. You roll over to cover your face, maybe if you hid away she’d let you sleep. The pups at the foot of your bed stretched and jumped off to go seek out the cooks for some type of meat scraps.
They get bigger and bigger every day, it’s been almost a month since you’ve received them and they have grown quickly.
“Did you know it is bad luck to wake the Lady of Light at any point?”
“I will take my chances Y/N. It’s almost midday!”
You sigh in defeat and roll over to your back, letting out a big puff of air blowing your hair out of your face. Thankfully you don’t have anything to do for the rest of the day, just you, Tyanna, and a bunch of cute little sandwiches.
“Tyanna, the cooks are serving those finger sandwiches for Luncheon aren’t they? Cucumbers are in season aren’t they?”
Suddenly you hear stomping leading up to your room and the abrupt sounds of your guards berating the individuals at the doorstep of your personal chambers. You recognize the voice instantly… fuck.
“Let Priest Titus in!”
Red Priest Titus, he’s one of the oldest in the temple and came over on a pilgrimage to bear witness to you. He’s one of the few who believes in you but still gives you a hard time with your choices.
“When were you going to tell me?!”
He could be talking about any number of things, for an old wise man he fumes up far too easily. Reminds you why he doesn’t deal with the politics of the temple.
“If you wanted to join us for luncheon you could’ve just asked.”
“You know very well I am not talking about finger sandwiches!-“
“Well I only want to talk about finger sandwiches so this must wait until after…”
The old man was very clearly fuming, about to bust at the seams of his Red robes. You had no idea what he was talking about but just to see him getting mad makes your day.
“This absolutely cannot wait! When were you going to mention to- to- to anyone that you were going back to Westeros!”
“No one is going back to Westeros! Not soon at least-“
“Then explain this!”
A letter is thrown at you, but it is an open piece of paper so it just flutters to the ground a few feet in front of Titus with a more embarrassed look on his face while you lay slightly amused.
“Well. Now what.”
“Allow me to get that my Lady…”
Tyanna rushes from the other side of the room to grab the piece of parchment off of the floor and handing it over to you and backing away slowly.
You rub your tried eyes and unwrinkle the letter that had been so foolishly tossed to the floor and began to read unamused.
To the Court of the Lady of Light
The Crown of Westeros and House Targaryen humbly requests the beloved presence of the illustrious Lady of Light.
By the turn of the next moon, we wish to be gifted with her graces presence.
We hope to hold a banquet in her honor, as we understand it draws near to the Feast of the First Sun.
We would be honored to host the week of festivities in tandem with the Faith's own Summers Night Feast in Kingslanding.
Alongside her grace and her Courtesans, will be joined by his royal highness King Viserys and Queen Alicent with their children Prince Aegon Targaryen, Princess Helaena Targaryen, and Prince Aemond Targaryen. Other Houses may be in attendance at their own will.
Sincerely, the Crown of Westeros.
Your face softens as you read and a soft lemon scent wafts through your nose, clearly it was soaked into the paper somehow.
He knows… He really knows…
“Aemond…” you whisper delicately while stroking his name written on the paper.
“This is an insult! They dare try to dirty our grand feast with- with- their shit copy!” You can barely hear Titus over the blood in your ears.
“We must go, write them back immediately.”
“Forgive me for saying but have you been inhaling too much Ash my Lady?! You do not know what they have planned!”
You hop up from your bed almost immediately, you felt the need to defend Aemond. No one here knows him, and to assume he would have this sent out to harm you?
“Aemond would not allow!- The Targaryens would not allow such acts on their grounds!”
You feel the room get cold and silent even with the humid summer heat. Your outburst you’ll admit was uncalled for but, if Aemond wants to see you, you shall be seen.
Titus’s face hardens and zones in on you and the letter in your hands and lets out a strained breath admitting his own defeat.
“I see, very well. I am bound to you, I go where you go my Lady.”
“Have a Priest write a letter back confirming our attendance, and Tyanna, gather members for a procession to escort and attend to me during our stay. After luncheon of course.”
Titus’s quick defeat should worry you, clearly the mention of Aemond made him realize something. The relief and serenity of the thought of being back in Westeros, even if not the North. Is too great for you to think about much else.
Oh Aemond…
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“I heard Lys is nice this time of year.”
Alicent feels her body tense up at the mention of the three lettered country, especially when it falls from Aemonds mouth. She takes a long sip of her tea to articulate her thoughts, but the worry eats at her tongue regardless. Even the gardens that surround them help none to ease her stress.
“You have no business in Lys, you’ve never been. Why the interest in Lys?”
Aemond walks closer to the table where his mother sits and pulls out his own chair to take a seat across from his mother. Hands folded neatly, no elbows on the table as his mother taught him so, deep breath in long breath out.
“I read a book in the library, about the Lord of Light and the temple in Lys. A rather new book actually, published in High Valyrian around 2 years ago. It tells about their new Deity, the Lady of Light. Few know her name but they describe her with features from the First Men-“
“Do not torture me any longer, I cannot bear it. Aegon babbled to you, didn't he?”
Aemond sits for an extra moment longer, thinking about where he wanted this to go. What he really wanted to come from this interaction.
Maybe he would make his Mother sit in it a little longer.
“Aegon talks about a lot of things Mother, which do you speak of? I just wanted to tell you of my studies, since we tell each other important information.”
Alicent knows she’s asked for this to some extent. She knew Aegon would tell Aemond but she didn’t think it would happen this soon. She knows Aemond cares about this girl and he wants her to suffer just a little.
“Gods! I’m sorry that I did not tell you but need I remind you how you reacted the last time she was mentioned! I didn’t know where you were, you disappeared for days!”
Aemond says nothing, he sits there and twiddles his thumbs. Maybe he was sitting there to think or maybe to just see if his mother kept going. It was a cloudy day, no burning sun coming down on Aemonds black leather clothes, he could sit here all day if he wanted to. Normally the hot weather makes it too hot for him to think clearly.
“What would you have me do Aemond? Invite her here? So your eyes can meet and embrace each other while crowds clap and cheer, then marry and run away into the sunset?-“
“That’s exactly what we shall do. I read in the same book that they hold the Feast of the First Sun at the same time as the Summers Night Feast.”
Aemond had thought this through delicately it seems… What he asks is a tall order, not realistic in the slightest. However, if Alicent desires to place Aegon on the throne, Aemond having the fancy of a powerful religious leader wouldn’t… not help.
How would she get the faith to approve of such an activity though? To break bread to who they believe are heretics… The North has the Old Gods, the Targaryens have the Valyrian Gods…
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idksmtms · 2 days
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evermore series
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To all the swifties who enjoy my writing, this one is for you! I got this idea at 3am and I am now committed! I'm gonna write a one-shot for each song from the album (at least the ones I can think of) for a variety of characters! This will probably go a bit slowly because I'm writing another series at the same time but I got a bunch of inspo for some of these songs and this idea so I have to do this!
Below I have the track list and the characters:
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willow - Cillian Murphy
champagne problems - Aemond Targaryen Modern AU
gold rush - Kerry Von Erich
'tis the damn season - Aegon II Targaryen
tolerate it - Daemon Targaryen
no body no crime - Daemon Targaryen
happiness - David Von Erich
dorothea - Cillian Murphy
coney island - Kerry Von Erich
ivy - Kerry Von Erich
cowboy like me - David Von Erich
long story short - Cillian Murphy
marjorie - David Von Erich
closure - Uhtred Ragnarsson
evermore - David Von Erich
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