#hotd fics | Explore Tumblr Posts and Blogs

dragonbarbie · 10 months

Text

𝐖𝐇𝐘'𝐃 𝐘𝐎𝐔 𝐎𝐍𝐋𝐘 𝐂𝐀𝐋𝐋 𝐌𝐄 𝐖𝐇𝐄𝐍 𝐘𝐎𝐔'𝐑𝐄 𝐇𝐈𝐆𝐇?

modern!aegon ii targaryen x reader

rating: 18+, minors dni

summary: reader thinks aegon can never be more than a one night stand, and aegon is intent on getting her to give him a chance.

word count: 2.5k

tags: modern!au, smut, drunk!aegon having sex with sober!reader, voyeurism, exhibitionism, tity sucking, pussy eating, p in v sex, unprotected sex

note: i very much write fanon!aegon, not the canon, show!version.

sidenote: is this lowkey inspired by my irl situationship who wont quit calling me every time he gets drunk?? maybe

it was a regular friday night for aegon. his frat was throwing a big party, and he had organised everything down to the last detail. he had a reputation to maintain after all, known affectionately as the king of parties of dragonstone university. he had already drunk his own weight in alcohol, flirted (and then proceeded to get handsy) with a couple of girls but he’d been too distracted to follow through with any of them.

his mind instead wandered back to a couple of weeks ago, at another party, where he’d met y/n. she’d been chatting to cregan stark, wearing a little black dress that hugged her in the best way imaginable. he knew, looking at her enchanting laugh at stark’s dumb joke, he had to have her. putting on his most charming smile, he’d approached her.

she’d been wary of him because of his reputation around campus (who wouldn’t be) but after a few disarming jokes as his fingertips grazed the side of her thighs, he’d managed to convince her to give him a chance.

drunken steps were then taken back to her dorm room, and they’d had what aegon could only call amazing sex.

now hold on, you have to believe him when he says amazing, alright? he’d slept with too many women to count, after a while the nights blended to the point that he couldn’t much differentiate between what having sex with each of them had felt like. so, when one such night stood out for him? it meant it had met a very high bar indeed. after all, he thought, he didn’t go around spending the night at every girl’s place.

he'd thus expected a little warmer treatment come morning and was rudely shocked at her attempting to throw him out. still, wearing his jeans in such a hurry that its button and fly was undone, unlaced shoes, bare-chested as he held his rumpled shirt in his hand, he’d had the audacity to offer her a lazy grin and promise “i’ll call you.”

“please” she’d snorted with an amused look, “everyone knows aegon targaryen is not the type to call.” taking no note of his offended expression, she’d shut the door in his face.

he’d been wondering about those words ever since. sure, she hadn’t been wrong but, hey, he’d meant the lie this time! with tits that great, ass that perfect, why wouldn’t he want a repeat of last night? he’d thought to himself.

determined to prove her wrong, he’d asked around the frat house and found out her number. but as his hand had hovered over the call button, something had stopped him. she’d caught him spot on, he realised. he wasn’t a relationship guy, and she wasn’t expecting the relationship-thing with him. perhaps it was best he left her alone.

he’d done just that, at least while sober. drunk aegon on the other hand, found it much easier to pick up the phone and dial her number.

“who is this?” there was panic and sleep in her voice, having picked up an unknown number at 2 in the morning “sweetheart! you picked up” he’d grinned, words slurring. he could practically hear the eyeroll on the other end. “aegon… to what do i owe the pleasure?” “i was just missing you.” he sighed. “sure.” nothing in her voice indicated that she believed him.

“i’m actually not far from your dorm. how about i come up with a bottle of tequila and we can… catch up?” he suggestively added. “it’s 2:14 am…. on a tuesday.” she pointed out, but her words didn’t seem to mean much to him as he replied, “so?” an exasperated sigh could be heard over the phone, “good night, aegon.” click. he stared down on the iphone in his hand in disbelief, she’d hung up on him.

he decided maybe he’d come out too strong, so the next time he texted first. he’d stared at the text for a couple of minutes, and when he saw that she was online but hadn’t bothered to text him back, he’d walked over to the nearest girl and proceeded to make out with her in the bathroom. until he was interrupted with a buzzing in his pocket, “just a minute” he’d mumbled against her lips, unbothered by her disappointed expression as he fished for the phone in his pocket hurriedly.

he saw that y/n had finally replied to his ‘u up?’ with a ‘depends.’ his brow furrowed at her response in confusion, he typed back ‘on what’.

the notification arrived with a ping. her response read ‘are u drunk?’. something told him instinctively to lie. he typed out a no, but once the message sent, he realised it had autocorrected to ‘yo’. he corrected it to a no and sent again, only to find the same mistake committed again. it was only after a string of typos had been sent, did he blink and realise autocorrect wasn’t to blame at all, his damn fingers just refused to cooperate with his inebriated brain.

ping. after receiving the string of nonsense, she finally replied ‘i got my answer.’ “aegon?” the girl in front of him looked at him impatiently, only to have him grab the handle of the bathroom door, leaving with a quick “gotta go”. he immediately called up y/n as he walked out of the party, but the call went straight to voicemail. all four times.

thus, every night aegon had gotten drunk since, he found himself being distracted by thoughts of y/n, frustrated at her refusing to engage with him.

that night too, once the clock on the wall started to look to him as if it were melting off and his feet seemed to stumble wherever he walked, his brain suddenly thought showing up to her dorm was the best idea ever.

reaching her door, he ran a hand through his hair before knocking. no response. impatient, he loudly whined “y/n! c’mon, open up!” met with more silence. he whipped his phone out, blinking at the bright screen as he concentrated to make sure it was without typos, he sent her a text, ‘m 0utsidee’. he pounded with his fist on the door one more time, before a door opened, but not the one he was standing in front of.

three doors down, y/n stood against her doorframe in her small black shorts, red tank top riding up slightly to reveal skin just above them. “wrong fucking door, idiot.” aegon grinned as he walked towards her. “you’re lucky baela’s out of town for the weekend, otherwise she would have kicked your ass for banging on her door like that.”

ignoring her, he pouted as he leaned his head against her door frame, looking too much like a wounded puppy. y/n felt a tug at her stomach at how undeniably cute he looked. “why don’t you ever pick up my calls?”

“why’d you only ever call me when you’re high?” she asked instead of answering. “what?” he mumbled, confused. “high….why’d you only ever call me when you’re high?” she slowly repeated, as if talking to a two-year-old. “i’m not interested in someone who needs to be drunk to call me. i don’t want to be your booty call.” she shrugged. his lower lip jutted out further at her response, crease appearing between his brow. oh, gods, y/n found herself thinking, how could someone manage to look this pathetic and this cute at the same time.

“you’re not a booty call.” he groaned in protest. after all, there were enough girls at that party willingly throwing themselves at him, he could have been with anyone, and yet… it was her door his drunken steps had taken the path of.

“go home, aegon. it was a one-time thing. it’s not happening again.” she insisted. her words seemed to have no effect on him, as he placed a hand around her waist and pulled her closer to him, close enough for her to feel his breath on her face. he bent down to her ear and whispered, his words slurring, “let me show you all the reasons that this should be more than just a ‘one-time-thing’.”

he pressed his lips to hers, softly at first. she didn’t immediately kiss him back, but the feeling of his lips on hers felt more intoxicating than whatever it was that she could smell off his breath, and she found her lips moving against his within seconds. he bit her lower lip playfully, at her response. she parted her lips to allow him to slide his tongue past them. his hand, meanwhile, slid under the material of her tank and travelled upwards, thumb pressing against her nipple as he squeezed her breast. breaking from the kiss for a second, he smirked at her, “didn’t bother wearing a bra to greet me?”. “i was preparing for bed!” she hissed in response. “excuses” he shook his head at her, teasing.

with his hand he lifted her tank to reveal her bare breasts. “aegon!” she attempted to keep her voice low, lest her neighbours wake up to the scene, “we’re in the middle of the hallway, anyone can walk in!” the idea of someone catching them only made it all the more exciting for aegon, “relax.” he told her with a laidback smile.

before she could protest, his head dipped and he captured her nipple in his mouth. a moan escaped her lips at the feeling, and she stumbled back, her back hitting her doorframe. aegon continued his tongue’s assault on her sensitive nipple, one hand gripping her waist to keep her in place, the other reaching behind her to squeeze her ass. her hand held the nape of his neck, as her head was thrown back in pleasure at his actions. she whined when he abruptly stopped.

he kneeled down and his fingers reached up, pulling her shorts and panties down her legs, causing a shiver to go up her spine. chewing on her lower lip in nervousness she weakly said, “we should go inside” but she couldn’t deny that the thought of getting caught made her even more wet. there was a hint of recklessness and danger in his eyes, “where’s your sense of adventure?”. he threw the clothes inside her ajar door, then lifted one of her legs over his shoulder. she audibly gasped as she felt his tongue upon her already soaking pussy.

“aegon…ah!” her hand gripped his hair as his tongue played tricks on her core, her eyes rolling back till she could see stars. his grip on her thigh remained firm, and she was certain she would be waking up with a bruise. “close… so…close…” she had begun to say after a few minutes, feeling her muscles tense, when he stopped.

he stood up and started to undo his pants, freeing his length. he grabbed her by the waist, letting the tip of his cock tease her folds. she was already moaning for him, “want me to take you right here? make you scream my name, till your neighbours come checking?” she swallowed at the thought, lust overtaking her eyes.

“let’s do one thing.” he smiled as if he’d struck upon the most perfect idea, but the gleam in his eyes told y/n it couldn’t be anything good. he turned her around by her waist, hand coming to her front to rub her clit as he whispered in her ear, “you see that door?”. she knew he could only mean the door to the elevator which was the way to enter her dormitory floor. she managed a nod in response, unable to form words as his fingers pressed down on her so ruthlessly. “keep looking at it.” he commanded as he grabbed her hips back to push his cock inside her. “aegon!” she gasped at the feeling.

he entered her completely in one go, pulling out punishingly slow before pushing back in. he continued speaking as he impaled her, “someone’s gonna walk in any moment now…” he teased, “…and see you in this mess… see you bent over, taking me from behind…like a whore” the thought embarrassed her, yes, but what embarrassed her more was that she found herself almost wanting it to come true.

“even when they walk in, i won’t stop.” he threatned, his thrusts becoming faster. “you’ll be on display for everyone to see… to see how well you take my cock.” he gathered her hair in his fist in one hand, and she felt him pulling it lightly. “yes, oh, yes!” she found herself moaning, eyes intently trained on the door. “you’d like that? of course, you would, little slut.” she only whimpered in response, his words bringing her closer and closer to her edge. “you’d love to have everyone see just how well you receive a ‘booty call’” he chuckled. she could feel herself going weak at the knees at his pace and dirty talk.

“aegon… i—ah!” pleasure spread over every inch of her body, as she came all over his cock. he continued to thrust into her, chasing his own orgasm, until he emptied inside of her with a grunt.

her legs felt wobbly as he pulled out of her, turning her back around to face him. “next time i call—” he panted as he spoke, exerted from their activities, “—pick up.” she smirked, in contrast to his dominating actions mere moments ago, his words now sounded more like a pleading request; one she felt gracious enough to grant him as his juice and her own dripped down her legs. “i will. promise.”

his pearly white teeth showed as he grinned at her response, pleased. “oh, but i’m not nearly done with you for the night, just yet.” he lifted her up, her legs instinctively wrapping around his waist. he shut the door behind them as he walked back inside her dorm.

the next morning, she didn’t kick him out like the last time. she let him linger around her bed, aegon placing a trail of kisses down her body as a manner of greeting her good morning. he was needy and showed it by being as tactile with her as could be. yet she felt comfortable with his touches, allowing herself to lie with him for hours, their legs tangled. even as she bid him goodbye from her door, she had to practically tear her lips off his, neither able to get enough of the other.

she felt content as she’d shut her door behind her, leaning against it as she thought back to the night that had passed, when her phone started to ring. she picked it and smiled as she saw the name being displayed, ‘aegon (don’t pick up)’.

“see i am the type who calls. a lot” she laughed at his words through the phone, able to hear him standing right outside the door. “and also the type who does breakfast. what do you say, brunch in an hour?”

1K notes · View notes

jacesbeloved · 2 years

Text

mirror, mirror

summary: you had grown insecure of yourself and your body, but aemond finds a way to get rid of that insecurity.

pairing: aemond targaryen x fem!reader

warnings: 18+, oral (f receiving), mentions of body insecurities, praises, body worship, slight spanking, face sitting, overstimulation

a/n: it’s been so long since i wrote smut so forgive me

Your back hits the wall harshly, Aemond's lips attacking yours feverishly. The kiss was all but gentle. His hands are touching you everywhere. From your neck, your breasts, your hips, everywhere.

His lips felt like he had been starved. Like he was deprived of the feeling of his lips against yours for years and now he's making up for it. Exploring every inch of your mouth as he massaged your breasts, making you whimper in his mouth.

He takes off his tunic quickly before expertly sneaking his hands behind you to undo the fastening behind your dress, swiftly pulling it down while guiding you to the bed.

Your mind suddenly goes haywire when he manages to pull it off. Being left in your undergarments, he pulls those off to admire your body, only for you to gasp and cower in bed and try to shield your body with your arms.

This was the first time you had done this. Both you and Aemond have done the deed more times than you can care to think, but this was the only time he saw you hide yourself. Block out your stomach, cover your thighs, and look away.

"No, no, no, don't hide yourself from me. I want to see you," the hand he grabs yours with was gentle. Pulling it away from your abdomen and the other from your bare center.

He takes a second to marvel at you, his eyes darkening with lust as he kisses up your stomach. Your hands still desperately hiding what you can, but Aemond holds your hands down with one hand. "The prettiest thing. Absolute perfection," he whispers to your skin. His gaze is fixed on yours as he annunciates each word.

"Aemond!" you whine at him, the feeling of his free hand pulling down your brassiere to suck your nipples. You didn't know if you were whining from insecurity or from the want for more.

"Come, sit on my face, angel." He drags you over to him after pulling himself up the bed, laying down on his back. His hands coming over to your hips and quickly pulling you up his firm chest.

Your hands plant themselves on his bare chest, stopping yourself from further going up. His eyebrows knit together in confusion at you.

"I.. I don't think I can sit, Aemond."

"That is not an answer, Y/N."

"I can't! I'm kind of- I'm a little too heavy right now. I haven't-"

Aemond groans, cutting you off. "If it's your cunt that I would be faced with, I doubt I'd care about anything else aside from making sure your legs are shaking."

But you were stubborn. Shaking your head at your betrothed while he holds your hips in a firm manner. Doing your best to not let him pull you onto his face.

You hear him sigh heavily and you think you've persuaded him enough, but he suddenly sat up from the bed, picking you up by your waist before heading to the open area near the couches and chairs.

He sets you down and pulls the full-length mirror towards both of you. Your bewildered eyes suddenly see your naked body on full display in the mirror.

Aemond pulls you in for another rough kiss, tilting your chin up. His hand coming down to circle your drenched cunt as you stood on your knees. His lips smirked into the kiss at the liquid.

You were still caught up in the kiss when he pulled away, and you didn't notice him lying down under you. His hands quickly pull you onto his face without you having enough strength to resist, holding your thighs firmly to stop you from moving away.

"Aemond- fuck!" Your legs quivered weakly when he licked a stripe up your cunt. His tongue lapping expertly at your pussy while his nose bumps into the bundle of nerves that makes you moan.

Your body moves up only to be pulled down onto his tongue. The warm muscle plunging deep inside of you as he explored every crevice. Moans and whimpers filled the room as your hands desperately tried to hold onto something. You closed your eyes harshly as you let your hands be lost in his platinum hair.

Aemond's hands come up to slap your breast making you hiss and clench on his tongue. "Open your eyes, my angel. See how beautiful and extravagant your body is," he mumbles from underneath, peaking to see you slowly opening your eyes.

Your eyes widen slightly at the sight. It was completely erotic. Sitting fully on Aemond's face now, his hands making sure to hold your cunt close to his face as if you weighed nothing. You watch his hand fondle the breast that he just slapped, feeling yourself grow wetter at the erotic sight.

"Oh fuck, I can die in this cunt." He mumbles in your pussy, your body jerking because of the vibrations.

He takes one hand and uses it to circle your clit while he fucks you with his tongue. The other hand guiding your hips to ride his face.

It was strange at first, but you were soon riding his face on your own while his hands occupied themselves with everything from massaging and teasing your nipples to harshly slapping your ass. The room was filled with nothing but lapping sounds, wanton moans, and high-pitched whimpering.

"Don't take your eyes off of that mirror. Watch yourself."

Your eyes desperately watch your reflection as you ride his tongue, his fingers circling your clit in figure 8s. "F-fuck! Aemond, shit- I'm going to-"

"Go on, angel," he says inside of your cunt once more, the vibrations and the way your eyes locked with Aemond's from under you pushing you off the edge as your orgasm comes over you like a strong wave. Your eyes rolling back and legs shaking around his face, threatening to close around his face as you let out a scream. He watches intently at the bliss on your face, allowing your hips to slow down as you come down from your high.

He suddenly plunges his tongue inside of you once more, making you scream out loud in surprise. As your chest heaved up and down, the man licked you clean, his hands easing the probably reddened muscles of your ass.

"You taste heavenly. Gods," he moans deeply. Your hole clenching around nothing at the sound of it.

"This fucking body," he rasps, as he gropes your breasts with one hand while he moves the other up and down your body. "...is so perfect. The most beautiful thing inside of the realm and all mine."

Your cheeks heat up at his comment, trying to fix his hair that you have messed up from your orgasm earlier. You thought it'd be nice to return the favor, but he merely smirks at you. Pressing up a wet kiss towards your clit.

"Aemond, I'm still sensi- Oh! Fuck, feels so- shit- so good." Aemond smirks smugly at this, inserting two fingers inside of your wet hole while he flicks your clit with his tongue.

You tried to pull yourself off once again, the feeling too overbearing as you had just came from your orgasm, but his arms were too strong. Each feeling of his tongue's swipe, lick, and suck now heightened with the recent orgasm he gave you. His long, slender fingers hit just the right spots, making you moan like a whore in a brothel.

"Look at yourself. Look at how fucking beautiful you are, angel." He purrs and you glue your eyes towards the mirror once more. The sight made you clench again around his fingers as you met each thrust with a buck of your hips.

"Gonna come again, huh, angel? Will you give me one more?" He inserts another finger inside of you, the satisfying stretch making you wail. "Of course you will. You’re doing so well right now, angel. So, so, well.”

Your head goes into circles with his praises as you release once more, now on his fingers. The older smiles proudly as he lets you ride out your orgasm before pulling out his fingers with a lewd pop. He sticks his fingers inside his mouth, his eye boring into yours as he did, and you swear you felt yourself come back for the third time just from what he did.

You try to pull yourself up once his hands loosen, the glistening liquid covering his mouth to his chin, some even on his nose. You pull him into a kiss, tasting your release on his tongue. When you pulled away, you tried to get up before falling down. Your legs too weak from your consecutive leg-shaking orgasms.

When his arms manage to catch you before falling down on his face, you feel your heart drop when he grips your thighs tightly.

"How about one last? You can give me one more, right, angel?"

#aemond targaryen #hotd #house of the dragons imagine #aemond x reader #aemond x reader smut #aemond smut #aemond one eye #aemond targaryen smut #aemond targaryen imagine #aemond targaryen fic #aemond targaryen x reader #smut #hotd fics #hotd season 1 #aemond fanfiction

4K notes · View notes

moris-auri · 3 months

Text

I never knew daylight could be so violent.

Pairing: Aemond Targaryen x female reader

Warnings: angst, spoilers for Fire and Blood, canon typical behavior, oral (f receiving), smut

Word count: 1.4k

Summary: Fear weighs heavily the night before Aemond is to set out for the Riverlands.

A/n: beta'd by @sapphire-writes tyty and ilysm 💙💙💙

Taglist: @bottlesandbarricades @black-dread @orcaunionleader @arcielee @helaelaemond @artyoms

"I don't want you to go."

Even to her ears the words sound weak, and she has the inkling that her voice is much the same. Threadbare and worn, her nerves frayed to almost nothing but ragged edges. Her voice trembles as she speaks, staring up at the canopy over their bed blankly. Her heart thuds, pounding like a drum behind her ribs, all but betraying the fear she's tried to hide in the hours it's been since the words left her husband's mouth mere moments after he returned from the Small Council, brow furrowed and bearing an unreadable expression on his face just as the sun had begun to set, casting an orange glow to his spun silver hair.

She fails though, almost pitifully so, when she feels the all too familiar sting of tears begin to form in the corner of her eyes. She blinks furiously as she raises one hand to drag the back of it across her eyes in an attempt to hide her tears from him. Not that it'll do any good, when even the thought of it makes her stomach churn sourly, bile rising in her throat.

The tears fall despite her efforts, trailing a path over her cheeks in a way where she can almost taste them on her lips. Salty, but not entirely unpleasant. She half hears Aemond’s barely half exasperated sigh, a long, slow breath that makes strands of her hair flutter around her face. She feels his arms tighten around her almost to the point of crushing, but she doesn’t care, wishing for nothing more than to stay like this with him, childish as it is.

"But I must." He murmurs the words quietly, sounding almost as torn as she does, but she hears the resolute note lurking just beneath the surface, his thumb stroking a mindless pattern over the skin on the inside of her wrist. She half turns in his hold, the best she can anyway, tilting her chin back to look at him. His hair frames his face like a halo, a curtain of silver fire laying flat against the pillows beneath his head.

"Why?"

The question sits like a stone inside her, adding on to the worry churning roughly in her belly. She holds her breath as she watches his nostrils flare and the corners of his lips tighten. "We've talked about this, ñuha jorrāelagon. I rule in my brother’s stead. Du-"

She grumbles something irritably under her breath at that, frowning as she turns her head in the opposite direction. Duty. Duty. Duty.

She loves Aemond, she does, more than anything, but his sense of duty is one of the things she has grown to dislike the most about him in the almost year they have been married. As is his urge and his desire to prove himself, whether by the time he spends in the training yard or flying on the back of the largest dragon in the realm. To step out of his brother's shadow and make his own way in this world.

She tangles her hands in his hair, her nails scratching against his scalp, the motion drawing a sound that teeters between a groan and a whine from his mouth. She shifts her body as she draws him to her, pressing her lips to his, pouring all the things she cannot say into it. I love you. I need you. Stay. Please.

"Don't make me watch you leave," she ends up pleading instead, panting softly as she slides one hand from his hair to under his jaw, his skin hot and near burning under her fingertips.

"Mine own wife would not see me off?" He breathes almost tauntingly, his hand shifting to settle over hers as he kisses her again, once, twice and a third time, subsequently swallowing her protests. His knee slips between her thighs, the broad width of his hand withdrawing from her face to spread wide over the expanse of her lower back, the heat from it scorching through the thin fabric of her shift.

"I could n-" she croaks, digging her fingers into his shoulder blades without a care, moaning against his mouth as she tilts her head to the side to grant him further access. He groans something unintelligible against her mouth when she makes a faint noise of protest as he pulls away, his attention shifting lower.

"Will you let me taste you?" he rasps, his hand curling around her hip, delivering a sharp nip to one collarbone that has her letting out a yelp, her body twitching at the brief flare of pain that forms under her skin. He eyes her unabashedly, the look in his eye as heated as she's ever seen it, an intoxicating mix of unconcealed want and lust that has the ache between her thighs growing. She stares up at him, lips parting involuntarily in surprise.

"You have to ask?" She half whines the question, her voice cracking on the last word. "Aemond-"

He smirks in response, his eye darkening as he hums something under his breath. His eye darts down a second later, no doubt feeling the bumps that rise over her skin as she shivers beneath him. "Let me give you something to remember then," he says roughly, his smirk only seeming to grow wider as he speaks, gaining an almost smug edge to it.

His eye never leaves her face, his touch bordering on reverent as he slides his fingers under the straps of her shift, pushing it down her arms, bearing more of her body to the chill of the room. The bed creaks as he shifts, looming over her on his knees as he blindly tosses the garment to the side without a second thought. She bites her lip, tugging it between her teeth as the smell of him all but invades her senses, potent and rich and more than a little addicting.

His grip on her hips turns almost bruising as he slides down the length of her body before settling between her thighs, his eye flicking from her cunt to her face and back again. "I've barely touched you," he croons, and she can practically feel his smugness now, emanating from his every pore as he withdrew his finger, wiping it along the skin of her thigh.

He wedged his arm underneath her hips, bringing his eye to be level with her cunt, the hunger within his pupil growing. She moans then, cannot help it really, when the sensation of his breath fans over her already oversensitive cunt makes her hips buck, back arching at the feel of his mouth on her. It feels like an eternity of overflow of sensation after sensation, a too pretty form of torment that she would not change for the world.

Aemond replaced his mouth with his hand, slipping one finger inside her, crooking the digit in such a way that dragged yet another wave of moans from her. Her mouth falls open as she grips the bed linens tightly, her knuckles standing out starkly under her skin, a twinge of pain shooting up her arm, a faint, pulsating throb in her upper arm. She relaxed her grasp almost immediately, the pain fading more with each flex of her hand.

She murmured his name again, extending her hand outward blindly in search of him, exhaling a low breath when his fingers twine with hers, watching him press his lips to her skin through half lidded eyes. His cock pressed against the inside of her thigh, his fingers brushing over her mussed hair, his previously smug expression fading as the events of the past day seemed to finally catch up with him. The fear she had felt earlier felt as distant as one of the Free Cities now, something she could easily cast from her mind without a thought.

"I meant what I said, you know, that I will not watch you leave," she said softly, dragging one hand mindlessly up and down his arm as she spoke, feeling the dusting of silver hair beneath her fingers that was nearly invisible in the dark. "I will be here waiting when you come back," she added, dropping her hand as she returned her gaze to his face.

#my fics #house of the dragon #aemond fic #aemond x original character #a song of ice and fire #hotd fics #aemond one eye #aemond targaryen #aemond the kinslayer #hotd aemond #aemond fanfiction #aemond smut #aemond targaryen fan fiction #ocappreciation #aemond oneshot #aemond #prince aemond

222 notes · View notes

lauraneedstochill · 1 year

Text

I won’t fall for someone who can’t misbehave

summary: Aemond is betrothed to the sweetest girl in the Seven Kingdoms. She's smiley, soft and kind-hearted. Until she isn't. (or, alternatively: "No one took your side when you were a kid. But I'm doing it now.")

pairing: Aemond Targaryen and F!Reader (her House is not specified) words: 9000 +

warnings: slow (!) burn, attempted harassment, Aemond is in pain 70% of the time (headache and all that) and has no clue how to act around someone he's clearly in love with.

author's note: I'm working on 3 fics at the moment, and it's taking forever to finish (yay for my poor time management skills!), so I whipped up something short(er) for starters. I'm a bit more comfortable with sharing this one because I feel like it's actually more of my style (wow, that sounds kinda pretentious). Rhaenyra is the queen here but I barely mention the blacks (not out of spite, I just thought it wouldn't add anything to the story). also, I don't think women would be allowed to misbehave like that... I don't care ;)

Aemond knew of the preplanned betrothal even though everyone around him was ridiculously mysterious about the subject matter. He's been made aware of the upcoming visit of some noble family, and the preparations were quite extensive. Then he overheard Baela telling Jace that the expected guests will bring their daughter. The middle one. It wasn't very hard for Aemond to put two and two together. His wedding was long overdue, and Alicent was eager for him to make his choice. But he dreaded the mere thought of it.

Aemond's never been very good at courting women, but mostly due to the lack of trying. He's used to them looking at him with fear and suspicion as if he's some kind of wild animal ready to attack at any minute. Getting sidelong glances did hurt him growing up, but with time Aemond learned to benefit from it, using his fearsome image as a shield. No one ever dared to try and break it to see what was underneath. But now he is faced with the inevitable change that's approaching his life at the speed of a storm wave. To him, taking off the eyepatch won't be nearly as excruciating as giving into the vulnerability of letting someone in, opening up to someone. He's never been afraid of much but that? That was terrifying.

The anticipation made Aemond nervous. He knew he should probably ask around and try to gain any information about his soon-to-be wife, but it felt wrong. Not knowing felt even worse. No matter how good of a fighter he was, fighting the uncertainty seemed like a challenge. Aemond spent his nights tossing and turning, wrapped up in blankets as insomnia was clinging to his body. He tried to busy himself with training, but his usual easy victories brought him no satisfaction. He's been winning for so long maybe it was time for him to lose. Except not to his training partners but to a stranger, who in time will get a permanent place in his life.

His rides with Vhagar, which usually brought him peace, now had the opposite effect. The old dragon acted annoyed and disgruntled for no reason, huffing and grumbling at every turn as if she could sense his own frustration. You can’t tame your emotions yet I’m supposed to listen to your commands? Silly boy. If Vhagar could speak, she would probably tell him that, Aemond thought. And he blamed himself even more.

Somewhere in the midst of it all, the headache came back. As usual, it started with a feeling of pounding heaviness in the back of his head, which then spread further: into his temples, forehead and down the hateful scar. Within a couple of days, the pain gets so bad, he has to grit his teeth to keep a straight face, and he's barely able to shove a few bits of food down his throat. But it's a topic he never brings up, it's a humiliating secret that's just between him and his mother. When he lost his eye, for the first month the pain was close to unbearable. The maester kept telling him that it was caused by the healing of skin tissues and assured that the intolerable feeling would go away. It never did. His scar was something he learned to cover up, and the bright red stripe faded slightly with time, but the pain lingered. Aemond opted to think that it only contributed to him becoming more resilient, yet that argument didn't withstand the test of time. The pain receded for some short periods, but then it'd always come back, and he could never get used to that, no matter how hard he tried.

He can only hope it will get better by the time the guests arrive. But the gods seem deaf to his prayers, and the night before the event he doesn't get a wink of sleep. He goes through his day in a daze, skipping the training session to hide in the library instead, although he can't bring himself to focus and read more than a single page. When the time comes for him to walk into the dining hall, it's the last thing he wants to do but he forces himself to go. Festive ornaments, tables laden with the finest dishes, bright-colored clothing of everyone around him blend and blur into each other. He takes deep breaths and counts his steps, gathering all his strength to sit down and not wince at the movement.

All it takes is one look at him for Alicent to understand what's going on.

"Aemond," she approaches him, whispering. "What's wrong? Is it the headache again?"

Aemond doesn't want to admit it, but he lacks the energy to deny it either so he just nods. She gives him a regretful look, gently squeezing his shoulder.

"Should I call for the maester? Maybe he will be able to come up with something to ease the pain."

"I don't think we have time to fuss over me," he declines with a pain-stained voice. "I was under the impression that we're expecting someone to join us today."

Alicent sighs. She knows better than to fight his stubbornness, but she hates how helpless it makes her feel. Aemond hates that feeling, too.

"Please don't tell me you require motivation," Aegon's voice is loud as it is but right now it sounds deafening, and Aemond sharply exhales. His brother flops on a nearby chair, bringing his ignorant attitude with him.

"Undoubtedly you've interacted with women before," he chuckles, completely unaware of Aemond's suffering. "Try not to scare her with your creepy stare, and maybe she won't run away."

Alicent briefly closes her eyes in annoyance. She glances around, making sure not to attract any attention, and then grabs Aegon by the chin, forcing him to look at her.

"Enough with pestering, I need you to behave yourself," her voice is tinged with irritation. "Just for one evening. Can you do that?"

Aegon's body stiffens up, the smug look disappearing from his face.

"As you wish, mother," he mutters, and she lets go of him. Alicent shoots another glance at Aemond before leaving. Aegon gives his brother a side-eye but says nothing.

Aemond is exhausted, anxiety's bubbling in his chest, and he thinks he has a few more minutes to compose himself yet that time passes in the blink of an eye. Before he knows it, the guards at the door make the announcement, and he sees a group of unfamiliar faces. None of them are of his age, though, and for a moment that realization brings him some comfort. But then he notices a female figure in the distance as she's approaching the entrance.

When she walks in, the music goes quiet, and Aemond hears people gasping. It seems like every man in the room has his gaze on her. And she certainly is a sight for sore eyes. She moves with a gracious pace, the silky fabric of her dress flowing downward with every step. It's not too revealing, but it hugs her body in all the right places. Her hair is up, and he can see the waves of her collarbones peaking through. A half-smile is plastered on her face, but she doesn't seem to be nervous. If he was to take a guess, he would've said she was tired. But she won't let it show, keeping her head high and being seemingly unaware of the attention she got. Maybe she's used to it just like he is, Aemond thinks. Although people usually glare at him for a completely different reason.

"Someone is about to get a piece of cake," Aegon elbows him lightly, his voice low.

"Someone needs to shut up," Aemond snarls, earning a laugh from his brother. That catches her attention, and her gaze lands on Aemond. When their eyes meet, her face softens, smile growing wider. He tries his best to force a wan smile in return, but his stomach turns in discomfort. He can already imagine how people will react: a stunning woman like her with a man like him, what a tragedy. That thought stings, his anxiety growing stronger. The headache gets worse, and he tightens his grip on a cup of wine that he hasn't even tasted yet. Aemond can't help but wonder if she knew she would have to marry him. If it does bother her as much as it bothers him.

The members of her family are greeted as guests, with no mention of a possible betrothal. Her name is the only one he catches — and then silently repeats it a few times. Y/N, Y/N, Y/N, the sound of it breaking through his clouded mind. She's seated next to him, as expected, and he notes that her dress compliments her eye color. Aemond is thinking of a way to start a conversation, but she beats him to it:

"You gave us such a warm welcome, but I must admit, I'm surprised by the scale of it. I hope it wasn't too much of an inconvenience?"

When her words reach his ears, the buzzing in his head stops, and Aemond turns to Y/N, astonished by his own reaction. It's not the naivety of her question, nor the friendly tone of it. It's just her voice. Melodic and mellow, it feels soothing among the loud noises they're surrounded with.

"I assure you, your family was simply welcomed with the respect you deserve," he answers pensively. His throat is sore, but he can't steel himself to take a sip of wine, afraid that it will make him sick. He wants her to speak again.

Aemond asks about her family, letting Y/N lead the conversation. She's easy to talk to and she gives just the right amount of information before jumping to another topic. At any other time, he would've really enjoyed the flow of it, yet now he is growing weary. The headache is still there, but her voice does bring him some relief. That's until she abruptly stops.

"Are you feeling alright?" she sounds worried, and the same emotion is written on her face. Aemond tries to blink away his exhaustion.

"I apologize if I'm not exactly the best at keeping you company. It's been a long day," he knows he should've come up with a better excuse. He feels like he can hardly function at this point.

She keeps her attention on him for a few more seconds. Then Y/N moves her eyes to the other end of the table, where her family is seated. She makes eye contact with her father and gives him a big yawn. It's obviously and comically fake but it works: her family finds an excuse to leave earlier. Aemond knows that now he also got a chance to escape soon after. He feels a pang of guilt knowing that he's the reason their conversation was cut short, but Y/N doesn't make a big deal out of it.

"We shall continue on the morrow when we are both well rested," she smiles reassuringly at him before leaving.

Aemond seriously doubts that he'll get any rest as his head feels like it's gripped in an iron vise again.

The next morning he drags himself out of bed later than usual, the pain now dull but present nonetheless. He sits with his face in his hands, breathing in and out, until he's almost numb. The almost leaves a sour feeling in his mouth — or maybe it's the nausea, he doesn't know nor does he care. He's been handling this for years, he can survive another day.

Aemond decides that since he is to be wed, he should make an effort for it to work. He thinks about his duty, his mother, about Y/N, who traveled all the way to the King's Landing for a man she's never met before. Aemond thinks of everyone but himself because there's only so much he can do without draining himself completely.

He missed the breakfast already but hopes to find Y/N within the perimeter of the castle and rushes out of the bedroom. He's passing by Helaena's chambers when he hears someone laughing. And it's not his sister. Aemond debates if he can deal with kids right now, but chooses to give it a chance and quietly walks in. Helaena has embroidery in her hands but seems more focused on a sight in front of her, and he follows her gaze. Y/N is sitting on the floor with her back to the door, Jaehaerys and Jaehaera are on either side of her, their cheeks plump and pink, tiny fingers grabbing her dress. She's reading to them, and it's a tale they've heard many times before, yet the kids are listening attentively, occasionally making noises of excitement. Aemond doesn't need to speak gibberish to know that they are fascinated by the melody of her voice and the playful tone she uses to make the story more engaging. He leans on the door frame, his body relaxing at the sound. Jaehaera puts her head on Y/N's shoulder and eagerly turns the page, making her laugh again.

"You are an impatient little thing," Y/N giggles.

"That she is," Helaena agrees, and when Y/N turns to her, she is surprised to see that Aemond joined them.

"Pardon me, I didn't hear you coming in," she stands up in a hurry, both kids are instantly glued to her. "Your sister was kind enough to keep me company."

"I asked her to come by after breakfast, and they haven't left her side ever since," Helaena explains, sounding very pleased.

"Would you mind if I steal this new friend of yours?" Aemond asks while keeping his eye on Y/N, waiting for her reaction. Her face flushes but he sees no indication of discontent. Aemond grudgingly admits to himself that it brings him something akin to joy. But it fades, absorbed by his numbness.

"Make sure to be on time for dinner," his sister nods, calling for the nanny to take the kids.

It takes a little bit of persuasion but eventually Jaehaerys and Jaehaera let Y/N go, and she follows Aemond out of the room. Y/N mentions that Helaena wanted to show her the library, and Aemond agrees to take her there. Along the way, he strikes up a conversation in attempt to compensate for their last one. As she's telling him about her morning, her voice seeps into his mind like honey, and Aemond tries to concentrate to take the right turns and not trip on the stairs.

When they walk into the library, Y/N pauses, looking around in awe. This woman makes men turn around after her, yet she is so easily impressed by the simplest things, Aemond thinks. The prince wonders if she'll ever be impressed by him.

"This is where you study?" she's admiring endless rows of shelves, and Aemond gives her an affirmative "hmm".

"How many of these have you read?"

"Quiet a few," he is modest as ever, and she shoots him a curious look.

"I wonder what are your preferred subjects."

"History and philosophy," he doesn't mean to sound so terse, but whatever interactions with women he's had before, that experience obviously didn't turn him into a lady's man.

"Would you be so kind to share your favorite books with me?" when Y/N glances at him, there's a sparkle in her eyes. It looks like she's actually interested to know more, as if she does want to know him. His immediate response, however, is to distance himself, and he takes a step back.

"I'm afraid there are not enough hours in the day to name them all," Aemond opposes, hands clasped behind his back.

"Please, take pity on me, I need something to help me pass the time," she presses the matter further but does so very gently. "Name just a couple."

He gives into her pleading tone and reluctantly agrees but they don't stop at just a couple. They end up spending the day roaming in the library, lost in the labyrinth of shelves and books. She's never too pushy with her questions, she's making small jokes, she doesn't take offense at his cold demeanor. Behind his mask of feigned indifference, Aemond feels like someone is hammering at his left temple, and the pain echoes through his whole body. But he doesn't dare to leave Y/N hanging for the second day in a row.

The prince is too preoccupied with his internal struggle to notice that she's growing worried about him again, and by the time they come back for dinner, her face expresses an alarming concern.

"I must apologize if I tired you out with my relentless chatting," she says, almost whispering, when they're seated.

"You did not, no need to fret," Aemond states. I must apologize that you are to marry a man who can't curb the pain that's spilling out of him, he thinks.

Food is tasteless in his mouth. Y/N is sitting on his right, and Aemond's body can't adjust to the foreign feeling of someone being in his close proximity. He's so accustomed to being on his own, he doesn't know how to unlearn that.

Throughout the whole dinner, Aemond can feel his mother's gaze on him. Later that evening, when a maid brings him a cup filled with the milk of the poppy, he decides against taking it.

He regrets it the very next day.

When Aemond tries to lift his head off the pillow, he feels like his skull is full of rocks. They're rolling from side to side as the pain rumbles, and for a few minutes he can't hear anything else around him. That's why, when Aemond opens his eye, he's startled at the sight of his mother standing in the doorway.

"I did knock but got no response," she gives him a look that's a mix of concern and suspicion. She suspects that he's unwell again and it concerns her. He wishes she never knew of that burden of his.

Aemond moves up in his bed, clenching his jaw. He knows his mother well enough to realize she must've had a reason for this early visit. Alicent proves him right when she speaks:

"The queen went into labor a couple of hours ago."

He absentmindedly hums, not knowing how to react. His mother continues, with a hint of hesitance:

"There will be a feast when the baby is born. We thought... Rhaenyra and I, we thought it would also make for an occasion to do the announcement. About your betrothal."

Her words come as no surprise to Aemond. It is what's expected of him, it's about his duty and his responsibilities, but this time he doesn't want to think of that. He wants to be left alone, to drown in the layers of blankets, to go back to his short-lived slumber.

"The day Y/N arrived, I asked the queen to postpone the announcement. To give you some time to get to know each other," Alicent takes a few steps towards his bed. "It seems like you're getting along quite well?"

"I could think of no better woman than Y/N," Aemond admits and it is true. What he doesn't say is that he can also think of a dozen other men who would be more deserving of her, more than he is.

Alicent catches the discreet sadness in his words but doesn't know what caused it. She eyes her son with undisguised empathy.

"Her father implied that she is content with the betrothal, too. I thought you'd be happy to know," Alicent gives him a lax smile. "I shall let you go back to sleep," she adds and leaves.

Aemond knows he'll get no sleep now. He repeats the well-known routine of deep breaths with the minimum movements, scraping up the remains of his strength before leaving the room. He goes straight to Y/N's chambers, wondering if his mother visited her, too, and how that visit went.

To his surprise, Y/N is nowhere to be found. A maid informs him that she left the room a few hours ago. He can't find her in the library and she isn't in Helaena's chambers, either. He searches for her in the courtyard and then goes back to roam through the corridors, peering into every room on his way. He's lost in his thoughts until he hears Y/N calling his name. Aemond turns around — and there she is, at the other end of the hall.

"I've been looking for you," she skips towards the prince, beaming. He could never imagine anyone being this happy at the sight of him. She stops when they're only a couple of meters apart, her smile glowing.

"We must've passed each other, because I've been looking for you, too," he confesses. Y/N seems very pleased with herself though he isn't sure why.

"I think the weather calls for a walk," she blithely suggests. "Would you like to accompany me?" — as the words leave her mouth, she reaches out a hand to him. For a moment Aemond's looking at her baffled, and then hesitantly takes Y/N's hand. Her skin is soft, fingers warm, and she intertwines them with his own. That gesture comes so naturally as if they've done it before, yet Aemond clearly hasn't. The feeling of holding someone's hand is unusual to him. But it seems enjoyable.

By the time they get to the garden, Aemond finds that her hand fits perfectly in his. He's blushing profusely. He also notices that his headache receded a little and he can't help but think that Y/N was the reason for that.

"Your mother came to me this morning," she informs him as they are walking hand in hand. "I assume she talked to you, too?"

"She did," Aemond confirms. "Am I right to guess we had the same conversation?"

"Well, mine was about uniting two great Houses," Y/N mimics a man's voice, and Aemond grasps that Otto was there, too. "Your grandfather gave a very convincing speech".

"He had a lot of practice while being the Hand of the King. Maybe he misses having an audience," the prince chuckles and she laughs. Aemond holds a pause and then adds:

"Forgive me if I'm being too blunt but I wonder if the conversation was of unpleasant nature to you."

"It was not," she slows her steps. "I know what's expected of me and I will perform my duty. But if I'm being honest...," she turns to him, and the tenderness of her gaze tugs at his heart. "I am glad that it's you," Aemond feels a flare of an unknown emotion deep in his chest. "We'll make a pretty good team. Wouldn't you agree?"

Aemond lets out a breath he didn't know he was holding. He looks down at their hands and then back at Y/N.

"It seems so," he tells her, a slight smile in the corner of his lips. There's a moment of comfortable silence as they make a short stop in the shade of the trees.

"But I shall give you a warning," Y/N says with a mischievous grin. "My siblings take any celebration very seriously. Every single relative of ours will come to the wedding, and most of them won't shy away from enjoying a cup of wine... Or two".

"Can any of them outdrink Aegon?" he jokes, and Y/N bursts into laughter.

Aemond gets carried away by their conversation once again, losing track of time. While she's listing her relatives, adding innocuous remarks about each of them, the prince is enthralled by the warmth that radiates off her. Her presence alone calms the storm of his insecurities, lulling his fears to sleep. She does that so effortlessly, it's almost intimidating. But there's a certain thrill to it, too — the thrill of being close to her, sharing laughs and stories, and Aemond clings to that feeling.

He enjoys the moment while it lasts; until his headache predictably creeps up on him a few hours later. He can't tell if Y/N senses that something is wrong but she's the one to suggest returning to the castle. Aemond gladly accepts it.

On the way back they're greeted by one of the guards who notifies them that the queen gave birth to a girl. Y/N lightly squeezes Aemond's hand.

"Tomorrow is a big day then," — and the prince knows exactly what she means. The fragile bond that they only started to get the hang of will soon become public knowledge. It won't be their secret anymore but rather an over-discussed gossip.

"There is still time for you to plan an escape," Aemond jests half-heartedly.

Y/N looks puzzled for a second, but then shakes her head:

"Only if you're planning one. We are in this together, remember?" her thumb brushes over his. "It's all about teamwork."

Aemond savors the last fleeting minutes of their day. He barely touches the food at dinner, the pain in his head intensifying but he pushes through. When the time comes for them to part, he doesn't want to. That feeling is alien to him and the prince is clueless about its nature. But he knows that with her any misery will be bearable.

When Aemond walks into his chambers, he notices a little jar on the bed table. It's the one that the maester used to bring him the ointments in, and the prince sighs. The maester doesn't grasp the extent of the problem but occasionally would suggest a thing or two to help with the pain. They've tried using cold packs, then the warm ones, tried massaging his temples, then drinking cinnamon tea, then adding some ginger that's known as a remedy for reducing inflammation... Nothing has worked so far.

But he should make an effort.

Aemond barely glances inside the jar and tosses away a piece of paper with the instructions scribbled on it. The prince already knows it all too well: he applies a thick layer of whatever that concoction is on his scar, involuntarily wincing at the cooling sensation. It smells of herbs and feels oily but absorbs into the skin pretty fast.

For some reason, his mind goes back to his mother's words — "I thought you'd be happy to know". Aemond is unsure what happiness means. The happiest day of his life is forever chained with the worst one, smeared with blood and pain that he's been carrying through the years.

But now that he met Y/N, he questions if there's more to life than what he's been through so far.

While he is laying in bed, Aemond wonders if can consider Y/N his friend. If she will ever be more than just a friend to him.

And then, before he knows it, the prince is fast asleep.

He wakes up feeling like a new man. At first, he mistakes that feeling for the remnants of his dreams that he was enveloped with at night. He shakes off his drowsiness and looks at the ceiling, catching a glint of sunlight that seeped through the curtains. That's when Aemond realizes that the pain is gone.

He sits up, bewildered, waiting for any sign of discomfort yet nothing happens. He waits for a couple of minutes — and then for up to thirty, but his head is clear and doesn't ache at all. His eye shifts to the jar on the bed table, and Aemond makes a note to extend his gratitude to the maester later. Suddenly the upcoming festivities don't seem so torturous anymore.

He doesn't get a chance to see Y/N throughout the day as everyone is preparing for the feast. When Aemond walks into the hall of the Iron Throne, he takes in the decorated surroundings. Unlike the last time he was here, now he wants to remember every detail, knowing that this evening would be of great importance.

The room fills with people, but Aemond patiently waits for her alone. He spots Y/N the second she steps in. Her dress is violet, the material bright and luminous, and it puts her into the spotlight yet again since she's the only one wearing that color. As soon as she takes her place at the table next to Aemond, her hand finds his. He's getting used to that way too fast. It's hard not to.

The first round of toasts goes to honor Visenya, the newborn daughter of the Queen. Rhaenyra willingly tolerates the sweet talk, generous with her smiles and appreciation. At some point, when the timing seems right or maybe when her cheeks are already aching, she gives a nod to Alicent, and Aemond knows what it means. As she starts her speech, he ruefully releases Y/N's hand.

But right when they're standing up, with everyone around cheering and staring, Y/N lightly presses her body against his, and Aemond feels how tense her back is. That's when it dawns on him that she's well aware of the attention but she doesn't really like it. Instinctively, he puts his fingers on her waist, his touch respectful and delicate. She breathes out and briefly rests the back of her head against his shoulder. For a moment it feels like it's just the two of them.

That feeling doesn't go away.

Usually, he's not the one to take part in dancing, but he does so for her. Aemond feels out of practice and he can't tell if that's what makes his head spin or if he's getting tipsy from the intimacy of their dance. Her moves are elegant, well-rehearsed, her body follows the rhythm of the music with ease. He doesn't remember when was the last time that silly activity brought him so much elation. Did it ever?

Time flows by in a blur, and they eventually take a pause after going into a fit of giggles at the sight of Lord Velaryon trying to improvise a move and failing, only to amuse his loving wife. Y/N suggests going out for a while and Aemond is keen on following her but then his mother catches up to them, her hand and her gaze are on him in an instant, pulling him away.

"Aemond, you've been dancing," she can't hide her bewilderment, a timid smile on her face.

"Should I not? Seems like a suitable occasion," Aemond chaffs with a tilt of his head.

"It is, indeed," she doesn't let him go just yet, and he discerns the hidden meaning of her words, the apprehension she fails to conceal. Aemond wants to grant her some respite, at least for the rest of the day, so he tells her with plain-spoken sincerity:

"I can assure you, this isn't a cause for your distress."

But then he quickly finds a cause for his when he doesn't see Y/N around. He goes searching for her in the crowd, then leaves the room altogether, coming out into the hallway.

Aemond hears her before he sees her — and she isn't alone. It takes no effort to recognize the second voice, which belongs to no other than Jason Lannister. As the prince rounds the corner, they come into sight, and Aemond has a very bad feeling.

He missed the start of their dialogue, and the look on Y/N's face is unreadable. She's oblivious to Aemond's presence and he decides to watch them. He tells himself that he'll never allow her to get into trouble. There is something very tempting in having a chance to save her from anything; as if he feels the need to prove himself to her. He tries not to entertain that thought.

"... It's not too late to change that, don't you think," Ser Lannister purrs, his tone sickly sweet but arrogant.

"It is. Which I have no regrets about, ser", when Y/N talks to him there's not a hint of friendliness in her voice.

"Your approach may be short-sighted. The proposition of mine wasn't of a frivolous kind," he's circling her, the manner of his movement is borderline predatory.

"I believe you will soon find a lady to welcome your advances but I would very much prefer to drop this conversation," she recapitulates.

Aemond tenses up, feeling like this is the moment for him to step in. Then he looks at Y/N and realizes that something is off. Her face expression changes — but it's not a look of fear. By the rising of her chest, he detects that her breathing sped up, eyes are shooting daggers at the man in front of her. She's looking, for the lack of a better word, positively furious.

But Ser Lannister, apparently, is not very good at reading signs as he comes improperly close to her.

"I can be very persuasive," his fingers fall on her back — and then go lower. "I think you should appreciate the attention while I'm this generous and..."

He doesn't finish his sentence. In about two seconds his face is suddenly slammed into the nearby wall, the hand he put on her is now twisted behind his back. Y/N uses her free hand to push right between his shoulder blades, pressing him into the stony surface.

To say that Aemond is shocked would be an understatement.

Right at this moment, she looks like a different person. This side of her he's not acquainted with but it only adds to her appeal. The change is barely perceptible: she's still maintaining her posture, keeping up the face of a woman who knows her worth. But Aemond catches a flaming spark of defiance that threatens to shutter her restraint. He can sense her anger from far away despite her doing her best to contain it.

"I do not know what kind of attention you are used to, but you're forgetting your manners. Next time you dare lay your hand on me, I will not hesitate to break it," her voice doesn't lose its usual softness, but now has an added layer to it. It sounds sharper, bolder. It sounds like she's not afraid of anything.

Y/N lets Ser Lannister go, taking a few steps back and smoothing her dress. He's frozen at first, but then slowly turns to her.

"You didn't... You did not just do that," there's a visible red mark on his cheek that will undoubtedly turn into a bruise.

"Did what, ser?" her tone is laced with coldness.

The man looks at her in disbelief, his face is a parade of emotions — from shock to annoyance to anger.

"You will not get away with this," he scowls, nettled.

"You're telling me that you're considering letting everyone know you were overpowered by a woman? Sounds hard to believe," Y/N seems unfazed.

His mouth opens and closes a few times before he roars:

"You, insidious wre...!"

This time Aemond is the one to interrupt the man:

"I suggest you watch your tone when speaking to my betrothed," Y/N flinches at his voice, turning to face him, and Aemond slackens his pace a little.

"Shouldn't she watch hers? She's talking to a lord," Ser Lannister exclaims lamely, his arrogance instantly toned down a notch.

"And I see no wrongdoing on her part. Care to explain what got you into this situation?"

"It was a... a simple misunderstanding," his excuse is so pathetic that it makes the prince sneer.

"And what was the matter in question?" Aemond comes closer to the man which makes ser Lannister evidently uncomfortable. He carefully contemplates his next move.

"I only wanted to extend my congratulations on her betrothal," the man fakes a smile. "Mayhaps I expressed myself poorly".

"You should opt to choose your words more wisely next time," Aemond looks down on him. "Perhaps you are needed somewhere else?"

"I shall rejoin the celebration then," ser Lannister eagerly agrees and bows out way too quickly.

Aemond can barely wait for the man to get out of sight before turning to Y/N. Even though the prince witnessed the whole thing, he can't stop himself from asking:

"Did he harm you?"

"He didn't get a chance," she mumbles, avoiding his gaze. She looks so embarrassed, he wants to offer her some comfort but isn't sure how.

"Dare I say we've got enough interactions for one evening?" Aemond tries to lighten the mood yet she only offers him a half-hearted smile.

"I'll escort you to your chambers," the prince suggests, and before she can argue he adds: "I know you can stand up for yourself if needed. But I insist."

Y/N doesn't move an inch.

"...You are not mad at me?" she's looking at him with doe-eyed sincerity, clearly upset. Aemond is mad at himself.

"I'm thinking about cutting his arm off," he says under his breath, but she catches it.

"Aemond, there's no need!" Y/N gasps and he sees a glimpse of a smile on her lips.

"I will have to disagree," he starts but then she grasps his elbow and Aemond's hand — finally — clings to her again.

"I don't want you to get in trouble because of me," Y/N confesses.

"And I don't want you to get hurt," his fingers caress her arm through the lace material. Y/N's cheeks heat up and Aemond finds it adorable.

"I think I... I was the one who did some damage," she complains.

"You must imagine my surprise," Aemond drawls, teasing.

"Oh, Gods," a quiet groan leaves her mouth. "That was not very ladylike of me."

Y/N covers her face with the other hand, her grip on his arm loosening. Aemond dithers before gently brushing her palm away from her face.

"You did the right thing and you have nothing to be ashamed of," he enunciates each word. "He only sets an example of unseemly behavior."

"I'm afraid I wasn't too far off," Y/N remarks, her voice relenting.

"Hmm, you're certainly not to be truffled with," he retorts, earning a faint laugh from her as they start walking, arm in arm.

"May I inquire how did you... master that very handy skill?" Aemond ventures to ask. That image of her — brave and unapologetic in her anger — will be forever engraved in his memory. Aemond is apprehensive about voicing his curiosity, uncertain of her reaction but when she answers:

"My father taught me that," her tone is surprisingly impish.

"And how did you manage to talk him into it?"

"Talking didn't help much, actually," Y/N grins. "And then I broke my brother's nose and my father decided he should find a way to guide my enthusiasm."

"How old were you?"

"Nine," she looks so satisfied with herself, Aemond can't hold back the laugh.

Y/N joins him and they fall into the comfort of each other's company. But then her smile wilts.

"There was a time when I was the youngest child and my siblings... They weren't very nice back then," she blurts out. Aemond feels his heart sinking.

"What did they do?"

"Oh, it wasn't that bad, honestly, they were only teasing. It's just um," she's looking for the right words or maybe for an acceptable explanation, but there isn't any. "It was very tiresome mostly. I could never understand the reason for them being mean."

Aemond is yet to tell her the story of him losing his eye, and the memory pops back into his head in a flash. He knows exactly what she feels, his own sense of helplessness fresh in his memory. And it still stings the same, and Aemond loathes that.

While he revisits the past, unwillingly slowing his pace, Y/N spots the change in his demeanor within seconds. She sees his facial features congealing, his fingers clenching, and she comes to the only conclusion she can make.

"Is it the headache?" her voice is suddenly quiet, and Aemond comes to an abrupt stop. The question catches him off guard, words stuck in his throat and his mouth agape. He doesn't know how to react nor does he understand how could she possibly know that. Y/N is quick to clear up his confusion:

"I noticed not long after we met and then your mother confirmed my suspicions. I am sorry that I didn't ask you directly, I thought... I didn't want to sound intrusive," she explains coyly.

"By asking about my health?" he finds his voice again. "I am to become your husband, you are free to ask such questions."

"We've only known each other for about a day back then. Surely, you're allowed to take more time than that to open up to someone," she kindly points out.

A day. Up until now the only person who's known about his pain was his mother, and for years no one else ever questioned his well-being. And it took her a day to notice that something was wrong.

"Did the ointment help?" she asks hopefully. For a second he thinks he heard her wrong but the shadow of concern on Y/N's face tells him otherwise.

"That was your doing?" he can't hide his amazement, and it elicits a laugh from her, sonorous and dulcet. Aemond likes the sound of it, he really does.

"I've been fortunate to obtain the knowledge required," she informs him.

"And what kind of witchcraft is it?"

"It is not," she playfully elbows him. "It was something my grandfather taught me. He used to have an ache of a similar nature. No one could understand the cause of it, and it only got worse with age. But my grandmother refused to sit idly by and one day she found a way to ease his pain," Y/N has a dreamy expression on her face but it melts into a wistful one. He guesses that both of her grandparents passed away.

"After her death, he wouldn't let anyone help him. It took me months to persuade him and eventually he let me on her secret," her smile is bittersweet. "Then he died, and I never thought the recipe would come in handy ever again."

Aemond hates seeing her wallow in sadness. He puts his palm on top of her hand in an attempt to offer some consolation. If there was a way to free her of that grief, to take at least some of it upon himself, he would've done it in a heartbeat. But his touch is enough to bring back the cheerfulness in her voice.

"I should mention that your maester did help, too, although he was reluctant at first," Y/N reveals.

"And I presume that it also took some convincing?" Aemond thinks of the maester's face that always looks like he is surrounded by imbeciles.

"I shamelessly boosted his ego," she wrinkles her nose. "Told him there was no way anyone would ever be as skilled as he is, and that my attempt was merely a gesture of goodwill."

"But I wasn't just that," Aemond cordially protests.

They already reached her chambers but he doesn't want to let go of her hand. He wants to tell her that meeting her was like taking a breath of fresh air after being held underwater, like finding a source of light in the pitch darkness of the night or feeling the warmth in the dead of winter. Aemond wants her to know that she's been a saving grace for him, but he's somehow at a loss for words, his thoughts jumbling together.

"It was way more than that and I...," never in his life had he gotten this tongue-tied and flustered. Yet she treats him with the same kindness and with no sign of prejudice, listening closely and keeping her eyes on him. Her gaze is disarming enough to make him say the first thing that comes to mind.

"I must admit, you exceeded my expectations," Aemond breathes out.

It immediately feels like the worst, the dullest choice of words possible, and he wants to sink into the ground right this second. But then he sees her natural smile, genuine and bright, blossoming on her face again.

"I am glad to be of service, my prince," she murmurs the last part, and his heart skips a bit.

He didn't register the moment Y/N came a bit closer, but she isn't shying away from shortening the distance. There's something enamoring about her trusting nature but that's not what draws him in. For the first time, he experiences an unfamiliar feeling that tightens his chest, makes his breathing rapid. His gaze slips over her face, down from her radiant eyes to her smile, framed by the lips that look as soft as freshly bloomed flowers. The feeling melts into an urge — he only needs to take a step, to lean his head forward just a bit and...

Aemond inhales deeply. He thinks they are in no rush, he thinks it would've been disrespectful and naive. He's mostly afraid to misread the situation, to scare her away.

But he wants to make his intentions clear. Aemond runs his thumb over her knuckles, brushing them one by one. And then he takes her hand to his lips, planting a kiss on it. He allows himself just this flicker of bravery before straightening up and releasing her hand. When he looks at Y/N, her gaze is directed at him already. It feels like a particular question is hanging in the air; they let it dissolve for now.

"I shall bid you goodnight," her eyes linger on him for a second before she turns away.

As Aemond watches her go, he is certain he wants them to be more than just friends.

Lucerys's name day comes in a about month, and by that time Aemond's routine has changed drastically. It might look the same: he wakes up with the sun, flies with Vhagar, he trains regularly, he spends his free time reading — except now Y/N is a part of his every activity.

She's never nosy or clingy; he's the one seeking her company at all times. She's an early riser, too, and they're always the first ones at the breakfast table: he asks her about her dreams, they make plans, they poke fun at Aegon, who is perpetually sleepy, and Y/N can effortlessly hold any other conversation with his family which only makes him ever so pleased.

She watches him train with genuine curiosity, she never looks away nor flinches, even when he gets too competitive and rough. Her attention is flattering — and it's all on him, and it feels unusual at first, but becomes empowering and he bathes in it.

When he takes her to meet Vhagar, she's terribly nervous. Aemond jokes that meeting his old dragon will pose no challenge after she handled Ser Lannister. It gives Y/N enough confidence to pat Vhagar's snout as the beast observes her calmly. Aemond assures her that the dragon will never go against his wishes. What he wants to say is that Vhagar senses how he feels about her.

They spend evenings in the library, both absorbed in reading but always sitting close by, their arms and shoulders coming into contact more often than not. He sometimes can't help but get distracted which leads to him forgetting about his book, instead secretly watching her, his glance full of adoration.

For a while, he's oblivious to how inseparable they've become until Helaena tells him one day, while Y/N is playing with Jaehaerys and Jaehaera in his sister's chambers. When Helaena mentions it ever so nonchalantly — "You two seem joined at the hip!", it startles him. But that moment doesn't turn into an awkward one — instead, Aemond realizes that he's not scared anymore.

"I will steal her away from time to time," Helaena says, as cheery as ever.

"Bold of you to assume I will let you," he chuckles, his gaze not leaving Y/N.

"I think she’ll have the last word," his sister retorts with a cunning smile.

Aemond doesn't think twice before admitting:

"She will never say no."

"My point exactly."

The Queen plans a great hunt to celebrate her secondborn son, and a feast is being held in no time. Aemond detests those pompous events yet Y/N seems too enthusiastic about the idea, and he begrudgingly agrees to participate. He doesn't want to burden her with his weighted resentment toward Luke but, as usual, she sees right through him. Y/N asks him if he has any reservations about the upcoming celebration, and that's when he decides to tell her. Aemond doesn't want her to pity him nor does he want to upset her so he keeps the story brief: he claimed the dragon, his siblings didn't like it, things escalated way too quickly and they haven't been on good terms ever since.

She heeds his every word, then bluntly asks:

"Must you really go?"

He ponders before answering with a sigh:

"It would be rude not to. I should pay my respect."

"I wish he had the courtesy to do the same for you," she frowns.

"It would be a little too late for an apology," Aemond shrugs even though her caring tone moves him deeply.

"I still think you deserve one," she says like it's the most obvious, logical thing in the world. He wonders how obvious the reddening of his cheeks is.

"I do not wish to dwell in the past when so many great things lay ahead of me," and he only means her. Having a future with her is his greatest blessing.

She bestows him with her softest smile:

"I guess we should make the best out of the situation we are in. Maybe you will have some fun hunting."

Aemond doesn't know what was her definition of fun, but his definitely doesn't involve babysitting Aegon. Yet that's what he ends up doing as they get separated from the group of hunters and his brother gets so drunk, he can barely stay in the saddle. He babbles and whines and Aemond is on the verge of praying for a miracle when the two of them finally stumble upon a boar. The younger prince catches the animal without a struggle.

"Oh, must be good to be a boar. Wild and free!" Aegon grumbles on their way back to the camp.

"I just slit his throat. I doubt you would want to switch places with him."

"I didn't say I want to switch places," he shakes his head so vigorously, he almost falls down. Aemond moves his horse closer, grabbing Aegon by the shoulder to steady him.

"Although switching places with you sounds tempting," he sneers.

"And why would you ever want that?" Aemond raised his brow questioningly.

"You've got yourself a pretty wife-to-be," Aegon chants and whistles.

"Are you asking for me to tie you to that boar? That can be arranged," Aemond deadpans.

" 'tis won't be necessary," Aegon's quick to object. "Whatever she sees in you, those qualities are not in my possession," his frown turns into a grin and he winks at his brother.

Aemond lightly chuckles:

"You'll get no argument from me."

Leaving Y/N is not an easy task for Aemond but coming back to her might be the second-best thing in the entire world. And the first one, obviously, is being with her.

When they return to the camp, he helps Aegon down, impatiently looking around, and as his eye lands on her, his breathing hitches.

She's standing next to the hunting tent, surrounded by a group of ladies, Helaena by her side and they're both laughing as his sister unsuccessfully tries to finish her sentence. Y/N has a violet in her hair, strands of it falling down her shoulders, her smile bright against the fading evening sun. She helps Helaena to articulate whatever she's talking about, the ladies around them cackling.

Aemond admires his betrothed from afar, savoring the moment.

It amuses him that her softness is a choice, that she chooses to be open-minded and kind, even though the world around her is armed to the teeth, and she does know how to fight back. And yet, that's not what motivates her. Instead, she's an image of benevolence and generosity, always understanding and forgiving, hence why people are so naturally drawn to her. And he is no exception.

Aemond gets distracted when a couple of servants approach him and he instructs them to take the boar's carcass away.

"You had a successful hunt, dear prince," when Aemond hears the question, he rolls his eye. Turning around, he sees Tyland Lannister with a smile so forged his face might crack in half.

"As usual," Aemond answers indifferently. "Never took you for a hunter."

"I cannot appreciate cruelty," Lannister forces out. "And I am afraid I will not be able to negotiate my way out of a bear's grip. So I am here merely to control my brother's primal impulses."

The mentioning of Jason makes Aemond cautious.

"Developing some self-control may be beneficial for him," the prince mutters.

Tyland goes blanch white, taking the hint.

"I was wondering if I should address the delicate issue of my brother's sympathy toward your..."

"You should not," Aemond cuts him off. "Would be better to address his manners but it's the thing you must sort out amongst yourselves," with that, he turns away to find Y/N again.

Except she isn't there.

The ladies moved closer to the tent but she and Helaena are the only ones missing. It takes him a second to realize that the women look alarmed, glancing at the tent. Or rather inside of it.

Aemond all but runs there, going over the worst scenarios in his head. When he gets in and sees Y/N in the company of Ser Lannister, he thinks he's never been angrier in his life. If Aemond was a dragon, the lord would've been burned to a pulp as of right now.

Jason keeps his distance and his face expresses nothing but regret yet it looks like it's already too late as Y/N is glaring at him with a sharp glint in her eyes. And in the next moment, she loses her temper.

"...What am I missing exactly?" she asks Jason, her voice unexpectedly loud, and it draws the attention of some nearby men. She doesn't care.

"You've been eager to win me over, but I am yet to find a single reason why would any woman find your company endearing," she takes a step toward the lord and he shrivels under the weight of her words.

"Is it the winery that your servants built for you? Is it your herd of fine horses? You talk so much about your stable, one may think your betrothed is to marry a stallion," her smile is mirthless. Aemond hears a faint groan behind his back and recognizes Tyland's scared tone.

"But what are your accomplishments?" the tent gets deadly quiet as she continues. "Do you consider your persevering courtship to be one of them? Or your harassing of my parents, my relatives and even my maids with your never-ending propositions, no matter how many times were they all rejected? Or mayhaps ambushing me in the hallway counts as an achievement for you?"

Out of the corner of his eye, Aemond sees Helaena and Aegon, both looking stunned. Pretty much everyone around him has the same expression at the sight of Y/N. He, on the other hand, has never been more proud of anyone.

Y/N looks at Jason as if she wants to bore a hole in him, her voice getting lower but harsher.

"You want to know what prince Aemond did? None of the above," Aemond feels his heart freeze at the mention of his name. She is yet to see him but when she speaks, it feels like she's seen enough.

"The man I am about to marry has been nothing but kind, respectful and loving, fulfilling my every wish, granting me the comfort of his company and his loyalty. The man with the sharpest mind and the kindest heart — both of which you're clearly lacking," Y/N casts Jason a disdainful glance. "So from where I am standing, it looks like I'm the luckiest woman in the Seven Kingdoms."

When she feels a hand on her waist, she isn't surprised and welcomes the touch with no hesitation, knowing full well who is standing beside her. She swiftly turns to Aemond, their eyes locking.

"I would like it if we left earlier, my prince."

"As you wish," Aemond wishes he could marry her right now.

Disregarding everyone's attention, he leads her out and asks the coachman to fetch their carriage. When they are away from prying eyes, her confidence wavers a little. It only fuels Aemond's ire.

"Give me just a second," he can't help himself.

Aemond goes back to the tent — and right to the Lannisters, one of them is already scolding the other. Tyland stops his lecturing when he notices Aemond, but the prince doesn't let him make a sound.

"That was the second time your brother couldn't hold his tongue," Aemond ignores Jason and walks up close to the other man. "If you care about his well-being in the slightest, make sure there will be no third time."

"Aemond, let us not make another scene. You must think how that will look like..."

Aemond stares Tyland dead in the eyes and promises:

"I will gut him like a boar. Imagine how that will look like."

Without saying another word, the prince storms off.

Y/N already got into the carriage, fidgeting with the hem of the dress as she falls deep into her thoughts.

"Ser Lannister will not bother you anymore," Aemond says, sitting next to her.

"I sure hope so," she mumbles, looking down at the wrinkled fabric.

"Y/N, whatever he said, you should not let it get to you. I do appreciate the gesture," way more than he cares to admit, "but there's no need to go through the trouble of standing up for me," Aemond barely finishes the sentence when she retorts:

"I will."

She looks at him, her eyes burning with blazing certainty.

"No one took your side when you were a kid. But I'm doing it now," she states as her palm covers his, the touch is as warming as her glance.

Aemond thinks he is the luckiest man in the Seven Kingdoms.

He runs out of luck so fast, he must've jinxed it. They are nearing the castle when the pain on the back of his head stings so unexpectedly, he winces, his eyebrows furrowing. Y/N notices it immediately and insists he should take a rest when they arrive.

"Mayhaps you have some of the ointment left?" she wonders, leading him to his chambers. Aemond rarely allows people to coddle him but he accepts her care freely. He is also aware that the near-miraculous balm that she makes is long gone because he hasn't had a headache in a while.

When Y/N finds out, she looks devastated.

"It must steep for a few hours, I can't make it right away," her enthusiasm brittles. She glances at him in a dither, mulling over something, while he lights the fireplace.

"There is another way that I know of," she slowly suggests. "But you will need to lie down."

"Quite a vulnerable position you want to put me in," Aemond lightheartedly jests but brings himself at her disposal with no second thoughts.

She sits on his bed right next to him, the bend of her hips an inch away from his arm.

"Close your eye," she asks calmly and he obliges.

Aemond senses that Y/N leans over him and he struggles not to hold his breath at the realization of how close she is. Then he feels the tips of her fingers on his face, the touch is so light and gentle, it makes him shiver. The pattern of her movements first contours his face, then goes up to his forehead, then slowly glides onto his temples. She massages them delicately in a circular motion.

"It was probably all the noise that caused this," she presumes.

"Or maybe the fact that the man makes my blood boil," Aemond says, although his anger is completely gone by now.

"He is pissed I didn't choose him," she laughs quietly.

"Choose him?" her words peak his interest. "You had a choice in the matter?"

"My father said he would hate it if I marry someone I didn't like," her thumbs are following the lines of his cheekbones, then run under his chin, then all the way up to his hairline, right next to his ears.

"May I ask what was your decision process?" Aemond selects his words very carefully. What he really wants to ask is why would anyone pick him, out of all people.

"I've heard you claimed the biggest dragon in the world at the age of ten," he can't see her smile but he can hear it. "That was impressive enough."

Aemond takes a peek at her through his lashes:

"That can't be the only thing you've heard."

"I can distinguish valuable information from pointless rumors," she notes imperturbably.

"I bet those rumors included the stories of me being the scariest man in the realm..."

Her fingers cover his mouth and he stumbles.

"I decided I would be the judge of that," Y/N says firmly.

"And what is your verdict?" he can't stop himself from asking, his pulse speeding up.

She doesn't think for a second:

"All the people who were spreading those vile tales clearly have never met you. There isn't a single bad thing I can think of when it comes to you."

Aemond shouldn't take it to heart but that's precisely where it hits, her voice cracking his shield, her eyes telling him she will never regret knowing him, caring for him. He thinks this is what true happiness is — being with someone who will choose you every time.

Her fingers graze over the strip of his eyepatch and she pauses her movement. She isn't breaking eye contact, waiting for his reaction, for his permission or refusal. Aemond gulps, helpless under her gaze, and doesn't stop her.

She picks up the leather strip slowly, as if she wants to give him a chance to change his mind. Aemond watches her, his body still, heart rate booming in his ears. Y/N removes the eyepatch and looks straight at the sapphire that gleams brightly in the warm lighting. And then she smiles.

"What do you see?" he exhales.

"Nothing scary, that's for sure," Y/N's gaze doesn't leave his face, her index finger tracing the scar, barely touching his skin.

"Nothing I don't admire," her voice is a little above a whisper.

"Nothing I wouldn't love."

His heart is beating so fast, it feels caged and ready to jump out at any second. Aemond forgets about the headache as if it never existed. In this state of bliss, he contemplates making a very emotional decision. But she makes one instead.

Y/N lowers her face closer to his and all of a sudden he feels a touch so light, it's almost like a petal brushes over his skin. It's her lips. She kisses his face — his scar — moving tenderly from the high point of his cheek to the area under the sapphire and then right above what's left of his eyelid.

When their eyes meet again, Aemond can only think of one thing.

He surges upward, his lips colliding with hers — she responds in an instant. His chest feels like it's on fire as kissing her is the most overwhelming feeling in the world, but he doesn't want to stop, ever. Her fingers gently slide down to his neck and Aemond uses his arm for support as he sits up without breaking the kiss. He then pulls her closer, one of his hands on her lower back and the other nestled under her jaw.

She softly sighs into his mouth — and it might be his new favorite sound. She tastes like berries, her lips getting more eager, fiery, addictive, and he is dizzy with joy and longing, trying to memorize each second. The pacing of the kiss grows heated and intoxicating as they melt into each other perfectly. They only part when both are out of air, their lips tingling, swollen and craving to continue.

"I must admit," she tries to catch her breath, she can't stop smiling, her hands caressing his face, "you exceeded my expectations."

Aemond laughs, cheerful and carefree, his nose bumping into hers.

"It's all about teamwork, as I've heard," he plants a quick peck on the corner of her mouth — and on the other one. And then they're kissing again, desperately drawn to each other. He's lost in the sound of her voice, in the feeling of her lips on his.

His love for her is all-consuming. Her love for him is healing.

Turns out, letting her in doesn't make him lose. With her by his side, he always feels like a winner.

English is not my first language, so feel free to message me if you spot any major mistakes!

> the title is a quote from Hozier's song

>> I originally took inspiration from this post that lists the possible consequences of losing an eye. I also can't help but mention the extensive research that @ adderess did, which only adds to that heartbreaking yet very realistic concept.

>>> I have a playlist for Aemond 🎵 I didn't add any music in this fic BUT I've listened to "Mr Sandman" a lot, especially the instrumental version (I didn't mention it earlier in case you don't like listening to music while reading). 💕 my masterlist

2K notes · View notes

ladystarksneedle · 3 months

Text

Darkly, delicately

Pairing: Aemond Targaryen x Original Character

Warnings: Minor character death, mentions of period typical crimes and their punishments, prostitution, implied smut.

Word count: 4.7k

Summary: All her life Meynara has struggled to belong. Captured and taken to a land far away she's made her place in the world of Westeros with allies she can count on one hand. With the siege of Duskendale by the army of King Aegon II, she finds herself facing odds that change the course of her life once again, weaving her fate to the tune of the dragon in a dance hidden through time, as the war between the blacks and the greens rages on.

Link to read on ao3: here

She hears the bell ring twice as the castle erupts in chaos. “Noom, Narrah, Nyel” she chants to herself as the third dong reverberates through the wind drowning the screams around her before she's shoved hastily to the safety of the dingy cellars below. The scent of sweat fills her nostrils as she navigates the musty cramped quarters, filled to the brim with anxious ladies clasping their hands in prayer as they kneel together trying to stifle their whimpers. Lady Meredyth wrings her hands nervously as she stares into the distance, somber in demeanor. A moment of recognition seems to pass through her eyes as she spots her near the hastily barred door, before she turns abruptly to question her ladies maids’ who bow their heads in response. She finds her place near one of the walls, turning away from the woman reprimanding those around her to assess the scene in silence. Ever since the war began she knew the siege was inevitable. The family of the dragon had torn themselves in two embroiling most of the realm in their chaos and it was about time they too were hit with the consequences of their support. One of the dragons would soon grace their skies, she only hoped it wasn't their queen. Rumors of the kinslayer had wafted through Duskendale these past few moons. Round the winding harbor and the cobbled streets, onto the market square threatened over a bargain gone wrong, passed around taverns along with a drink in hand all up to the Dun Fort and it's gates in hushed whispers carrying over inwards to the pale walls enclosing winding threads weaved together for their lady, his name had evoked fear, disgust and surprising wonder alike. As the clashes of metal drew nearer to them she wondered how long it would take for him to finally reach his mark.

Seven blows was all it took to bring down the giant gate of the Dun Fort. The irony of the number isn't lost on her as they are rounded up in the central courtyard by noon. Captives surround her in haphazard lines along the posts and below the outer gate manned by armed men in green, their banner of the three headed dragon glinting maliciously in the sun. Some of the women struggle to stifle their sobs as they watch their husbands and sons being rounded up for slaughter before being hushed with a shove and a sharp word. She cranes her neck to see an older man at the head flanked by two heads of silver around a familiar face kneeling in chains.

“People of Duskendale, you face the price of your betrayal! Lord Darklyn has condemned you all but the King is just and merciful. Whoever wishes to make good on their vows again and pledge allegiance to the true heir to the Iron throne need only speak it now and his grace shall consider their folly pardoned” booms the older man, his tanned skin streaked with the blood of the burning ports. She hears a few whispers of indignation and fear before a handful of knights step forward to pledge their allegiance. It is a meager number which she realizes dissatisfies them deeply.

“Very well then” murmurs the King before they hear a shrill roar near the top of the castle. There in all his glory, perched atop the highest parapet, she sees a beast so beautiful, unworthy of the carnage it has wreaked, yet as it growls and makes its way towards them with its scales of shimmering gold she feels the true power that the men before her yielded. More of the folk around her now rush to bend the knee, hastily murmuring their pleas and apologies as the men in green smile haughtily. A lone eye, stern in its gaze, catches her unmoving. She suppresses the shiver that runs through her as she curtsies in response. The urge to live has long outlasted whatever moral code runs through the heart of the realm and it does not fail her today. Somewhere to the side she hears a familiar scoff of distaste. “It won't be my head on a spike when they're done with us” she thinks as she stares at her rival in defiance. Lady Meredyth scorns her in response as she's dragged off to witness the event of the day. Lord Gunthor kneels a few paces before her, locking eyes with their captors before turning to face her with hurt and disdain. She sees him gaze at her for a moment before offering a few words of comfort to his wife along with affirming his allegiance to the Queen with pride. She feels a quiver of fear pass through him, a cry of anguish a few feet away and an unrelenting stare on her as he's beheaded. A hush falls over the courtyard as the deed is done and the guffaws resume their way to the main hall shoving all in their path. Somewhere in the distance her heart leaps, far away across the fishing villages dotting the skyline towards the ruins of Hollard castle near the fork of the Crownlands. Duskendale would face a similar fate tonight.

She wastes no time in making herself scarce. She trains her ear on the whispers clinging to the walls as she makes her way downwards. They have been sacked by a little under three thousand men amassed during their journey through Rosby and Stokeworth that are to stay on till further word from the King. The lower kitchens and the halls are filled to the brim and are easy to blend into as she hurries towards her destination. She finds herself taking the familiar flight of stairs past the makeshift bakery to wind down to a hidden door below. Exactly three knocks later it opens to reveal a harsh face staring right at her.

“You are late”

“Forgive me for trying to stay alive” she huffs in return.

“Did they hear you?”

“Not yet”

“Let us keep it that way then.”

She knows he means to assess the threat before them both before feeding her to it. That is how it has always been, her body for the price of their safety. For all her bravado she hasn't been able to escape the clutches of home and the thread that ties her to it remains the one that cuts her the most.

“I know what I have to do”

“You move on my command Meynara, not before, nor after. We've made a decent life for ourselves here, do not go ruining it now.”

“I suppose the head of the lord staring at us as we walk through the hallways is enough of a hurdle in our path” she retorts shakily.

“As if you were ever fond of him”

“No, perhaps I wasn't. Doesn't mean I wanted him dead either”

“Life and Death are right around your corner”

“Faith shines the ability to prevail in both” she finishes turning away from him. Those were his father's words, ones that he'd told her on the boat to Westeros as they lay together shackled and starved. She remembers his eyes shining with a promise in the dark, willing her to forgo her fear. It seems a lifetime ago yet the man before her stares at her just the same. It is her gaze now which is filled with apprehension rather than the faith she's long left behind and no feelings of ardor can bring back the naive trust she has lost.

There is a feast to be held in honor of the King as Duskendale had yielded with ease, unprepared and caught off guard. Perhaps if Gunthor had insisted on better fortifications and riders rather than her religiously mounting him each night, his head wouldn't be hollow and unattached at the moment. She finds herself slinking into the shadows, with that thought, trying to keep an eye on the party at hand. The ale flows freely in the lower halls with the men getting handsy with the serving girls despite their indignation. Her only option is to reach the upper halls unnoticed hoping the stronger wine would dull them long enough to be done with her faster. She spots him in the distance as she makes her way up. He stands still near a burly man, eyes as empty as the dead hanging outside. A brief flicker of warning passes through to her before he's consumed to his farcity. Faith shall have to suffice for both of them tonight.

The main hall is decorated with banners of gold yet much sparse compared to the mess below. Anyone with a title should occupy the benches ahead of her, some newly appointed lords and generals, who all sit jesting and drinking below the dias as the men of the hour watch on. She watches the King engrossed with the head cook’s daughter fully partaking in the merriment. She sees her blush and smile coquettishly turning a lock of her hair as she entertains him and wonders how much persuasion it took for her to be offered up on a platter. Freshly plucked and naive, innocence was always coveted first at the altar, of worship and sacrifice alike.

Next to him sat two men with equally stern faces. She recognised the first with the booming voice, still in his armor refusing woman and drink alike, surveying the crowd for an imminent threat yet the man flanking the King's left drew her attention the most. To see him in person after their loss at noon made her skin tingle and the rumors had not done him justice. He sat poised, with his hair still braided for battle, eye lazily surveying the crowd like the elder man next to him, sipping from his chalice at ease. His gaze seemed unfocussed, unwilling to seek out anything in particular yet she saw through the haze. A predator responds only when it spots a worthy threat.

“What's a pretty thing like you doing all alone” she hears someone say before being grabbed by pudgy hands. The man near her reeks of nauseating sweetness. Arbor red she discerns as he leers close to her.

“Apologies my lord, I was on my way to serve the King” she lies promptly.

“Perhaps you might serve me first then. His grace would not refuse his loyal subjects tonight” he spoke earning a few jeers.

“Wait” she hears a crisp voice break through the crowd. “That one is mine”

There is no room for argument as she's pulled by two armed knights towards the dias, under the eye of the dragon.

“My my brother, you've caught a pretty one. A shame she's too old to be plucked” smirks the King playfully biting the girl on his lap.

She sees the prince ahead of her regard her with interest before beckoning her forwards with his finger. It isn't long after his appraisal that he takes her by the arm retreating to the sounds of muffled cheers. She feels him make his way around the castle assuredly, neither in haste nor at leisure, before he pulls her into the nearest chambers he can find.

“What can you do for me?” he asks abruptly, leaning against the door as he surveys her again.

“Whatever you desire my prince” she responds, as demurely as she can muster.

“I do not wish for pleasantries”

She balks at his refusal as she stands before him, tilting her head to observe him closely.

“I meant what I said”

“Are you a whore?”

“I am what you want me to be”

“If I wanted a whore I'd find one more willing, you may quit your farce”

“And what if this isn't one” she finds herself saying.

“Then I have wasted my time and I do not wish to be proven wrong”

She stares at him in bewilderment and defiance meeting his gaze as he turns to pour himself another cup of wine.

“I can entertain you to your heart's content”

“I am not a man who revels in the pleasures you seek to offer”

“You are hard to please, as any prince should be, yet I am not one to yield. Allow me to show you instead” she says confidently walking towards him. He looks at her skeptically, before his eye widens slightly upon hearing the clinks that follow her. He lets her lead him to the chaise nearby, raising an eyebrow at the sound that clings to her while she smiles at his astonishment, ready to finally play her part.

She keeps her gaze on him as she begins her routine, serpentine and sinuous, twisting her arms above her head with precision entrenched in her bones. She feels his eye take in her form, the flow of her wrists twisting like waves to the swell of her breasts rising and falling with each turn, moving in tandem with her hips all while the room jingles with the ring of threes; Noom, Narrah, Nyel. He continues his trail along her frame trying to match her pace and she sees him relax through her lids, taking in his enraptured face.

“Is this to your liking, my prince” she smirks as the ringing comes to a halt, the chanting of her soul, awake at the appraisal in his gaze. She finds her answer soon in the nights to come.

“You move to the sound of the gods” he says as they lie together, sweat clinging to them as the wind wafts through the open windows. It is the second night under the new command of Duskendale and all seems to be at rest, lying in wait for the bells to strike.

“Do you believe in them?” she whispers back, turning to regard him with mirth “I thought the Targaryens fashioned themselves as gods”

“The blood of Old Valyria leaves little to imagination.”

“But Valyria is gone and all you have left in this strange land is the power you wield through the skies” she continues stroking his bare arm.

“Which strange land should I thank for gracing me with such beauty tonight” he whispers, turning a lock of her hair between his fingers as he gazes into her eyes.

“Norvos, across the narrow sea”

“Norvos” he repeats, rolling the syllables around his tongue regarding her with awe. “Are all Norvoshi so,”

“So?”

“Quiet”

“I thought you found my chatter incessant”

“I never heard you” he stops her, “Not once as you crept around the castle all the way into my bed”

“You wish to know my secret?” she asks him playfully “Perhaps my blood is as special as yours”

He scoffs in turn earning a crease to her eyebrows which does not go unnoticed. “We are not so different, you and I. We both seek to soar far beyond what fate plans for us”

“Your riddles can exhaust a man far more than your movements” he huffs petulantly.

“You are only displeased because you cannot decipher this one” she hums thoughtfully earning her a pinch to her hip which she swats away promptly.

“Careful, I am not fond of that wayword tongue of yours” he warns her with a smirk.

“Why when it has given you such pleasure? What is the use of depriving yourself of such an investment” she finds herself giggling in return to the bashful pout of his lips.

It has been long since she's been so enamored with a man. There have been a few, young and beautiful, not immune to the charm she summons at will but none so rigid yet tender that makes her heart want more.

“Dance for me” she hears him say as he lies back, hair splayed around the pillows like a halo.

“As you wish your grace” she responds devilishly, slinking away from his embrace to twinkle under his eye.

Their nights continue with well practiced rhythm as their days stretch on. She finds herself at the precipice of good fortune, confined mostly to his chambers as his prize, content to stay hidden till she's displayed with pride. The King she learns takes offense to her growing presence in his brother’s life yet is dissuaded to take action by his elder hand, his disapproval making itself known in its own way.

“My lady, the prince is betrothed to Lady Baratheon of Storm's End and is to be married in a few moons”

“With the tide of the war changing ever so often I feel it best to practice restraint Lord Hand. I'm playing my part just as everyone, as a loyal servant to the crown won't you agree?”

“As I am certain you are” he responds with distaste.

“The prince seems quite sated does he not? What then I wonder, merits such growing concern. As long as your plans come to fruition I am sure a woman such as me should hardly pose a worthy obstacle” she bites back eager to send him away from her new chambers. Victory in the face of adversity tastes almost as sweet as the dreaded wine she brings to her lips, sipping at it with mock delight as she watches the commotion enfold out her door. As he walks to give way to someone, she hears a familiar scream of anger grace the threshold. Lady Meredyth barges in, red faced and fuming. She finds her predicament almost hilarious were it not for the state she's in. Dressed in mourning for a neglectful husband who managed to give her a daughter too young to give away for the dwindling power she now tries to hoard, she tries to muster whatever pity she can find for the woman, before she opens her rotten mouth.

“You seem mighty pleased with your situation, finally living up to your true potential as the whore you are”

“Widowhood suits you my lady. The black brings out your eyes” she responds back sarcastically.

She sees her spit at her feet before she's escorted away, spewing curses through the halls. There is no greater joy in watching the old crone claim her late husband's chambers where she rode him to death while she lounges on her very own bed waiting to be taken in the arms of pleasure at night.

“What did I tell you about that tongue of yours” he retorts as he pulls her into an alcove at midday.

“To use it more often” she whispers, running her lips along his jaw. The walk she'd managed to take away from her confines had proved to be a welcome change after that harrowing ordeal in the morn.

“You wanton thing. Do not vex me outside of these walls”

“You have my word” she says flightily resuming her course along his neck.

“And much more” he breathes, palms burning through the blue she's clad in. She finds herself smiling as she pulls him closer, enjoying his proximity during the quiet of the day. Perhaps nights are not the only thing to look forward to anymore.

She feels his presence in the hallways later, long before she turns the corner, trying to rid herself of the evidence of her dalliance.

“You've lost your faith” he remarks somewhere behind her.

“I've simply found it around another corner” she replies, turning to face the judgment in his dark eyes. There are bags underneath them, weary with doubt and the wisdom he seems to wield like a weapon.

“He is a dangerous man to be around. Someone who kills his own is not one to be trifled with”

“And yet we've faced far worse”

“Worse than treason?”

“Tell me you don't mean to support yet another foreign queen”

“You've grown slow” he states glaring at her. She finds herself at a loss of words. Her old self would have caught on to what was spoken almost instantly with an equally sharp retort in tow. Shame creeps up on her at being caught off guard, vulnerable and at his mercy.

“I will not fail you” she says, turning to avoid his eyes, tears glistening amongst her own. “I am only doing what I think best”

“And therein lies the problem”

“Lady Meynara” a voice cuts through the silence suffocating her as she turns to face the source of her shame. He stands with his hands clasped behind his back regarding her companion with distrust only for her to turn around to find him gone.

“Do all of you possess such talents of evasiveness” he questions her as she sighs and makes her way towards him.

“It has served us well”

“On the contrary, it makes you noticeable. The very thing you are ever so keen to avoid”

“I think you happen to have a keener eye than most, my prince. Do not fault the entire realm with the same flaw you possess.”

“I would hardly call it that”

“A flaw?”

“More of skill honed and fortune bestowed” he smirks leaning towards her.

“Something that earned you your birthright” she questions back impudently. “I've heard the rumors”

“I didn't think you'd put much stock in them”

“One tends to learn a lot through tales, true and false alike. Besides aren't rumors as such keeping your plan afoot”

“You know far too much to be jesting as such. Do you not fear for your life?” he asks her, eye glinting in the light.

“You'd have me hanging near the gate by now if I was such a threat”

“By your feet” he replies, watching her face darken. “You needn't worry as long as you serve me.”

“That is a threat my prince, far worse than what I'm accustomed to”

“Good, my intentions must be made clear then.”

“And what exactly might they entail”

“Your faith for a price” he says regarding her in earnest. The promise of more lingers on her lips as he leaves her wondering what it is she plans to do about it all.

“You mean to leave” she asks him on the third night they're together, with the moon at its height bathing them both in its embrace. He's reclined on the bed, one arm resting behind his head as he listens to her, eye closed in sequestered bliss.

“Rumors can only serve their purpose with cause to back them”

“You are to leave at dawn then?”

He hums in response as she fidgets with the sheets around her.

“Do not fret, I shall ensure your safety for your word”

“That is a hefty promise”

“And one I intend to keep”

“You will tire of me soon enough.”

“Perhaps,” he says, opening his eye to look at her. “Yet I'm certain it won't be so soon”

She feels the sheets pool at her feet as she rises to sate him for the night, eyes trained on him as she watches him cock his head in piqued interest. There is an unspoken understanding between them as she glides by the bed, running her fingers over the wood to stand in the center of the room, the light from the candles illuminating everything she wishes for him to see.

“Not tonight” she murmurs, running her hands over her hips.

“You'd deny the man who holds your fortune” he asks incredulously.

“I'd offer him something far sweeter”

“And what is sweeter than your company my lady”

“Joining me in ways a man would take his woman”

She sees the bed dip with his weight as he rises, moving with agility to stand before her. She cranes her neck to see him peer down at her, eyebrow raised at the game she wishes for him to play.

“In Norvos, we move like this to show our feelings. For emotion sometimes is best expressed through something tangible” she says reaching forward to steady his arms.

She feels him follow her movements with ease, twisting and turning with surprising accuracy never letting her out of his sight.

“You are a trained warrior”

“So are you, it seems. This is much like swordsmanship”

“All art is said to be inspired”

“What inspires you tonight little soldier” he rasps as he spins her around, arms enclosing her as she stares ahead. She feels his breath against her neck, her back pressed against the ridges of his body leading her to exhale before she writhes in his embrace.

“I do not wish to be a piece in the war you play at”

“We are all pieces to be moved about, each for a different purpose”

“It seems you've mastered my tongue in these past few days”

“I've only claimed what's mine” he says running his hands along her waist.

“Your plan will only work on trust, something the people here lack in abundance. Faith, which you scorn me for holding on to, is only meaningful if adhered to in earnest”

“I don't begrudge your faith” he whispers, turning her around to face him. “Just who it's tied to”

She finds herself mesmerized by the blue of his eye, so still yet violent, unrelenting yet open to the words that spill from her lips. “He is what connects me to who I am”

“To cherish something so deeply is a suffering in itself that I've come to accept. I think you understand that very well, Aemond.”

She feels him stiffen at the mention of his name, fingers clasping her arms tighter before he turns her around in a pirrouette, bowing before her as he ends their performance.

“Always your way, yes” she responds breathlessly.

“I do not wish to mold you Meynara, only to make you realize how well you belong. I can offer you something far more than the life you wish to subject yourself to”

“Wealth and power?”

“Purpose” he says with finality.

“Then I ask one thing of you. Bare yourself to me, in good faith” she whispers, watching him carefully “and I shall do the same.”

“Haven't I seen all of you?” he questions, removing the barrier across his face.

“Not without adornment” she says, reaching down to remove her restraints. “They are as much a part of me as this is of you” she finishes reaching up to cup his face. The sapphire glistens brilliantly as she stares at the angry scar accompanying it, intensifying his beauty.

“Is this what you've heard of” he remarks, gritting his teeth at her request.

“Indeed” she replies, reaching up to stroke his face. “We wear our shame and pride on our sleeve. It is time to embrace it together for the purpose you so wish to achieve”

“It will require much more than I've since asked from you”

“I think it is time I left the chains that bind me my prince, yours will have to suffice for now”

They wake again at the crack of dawn to the domestic bliss of togetherness. There in his chambers she experiences what it means to be a wife at last. The euphoria of nurture, she'd long dreamed of since she was a girl, envelops her in a sense of longing and nostalgia. As she bathes and readies him for battle, she finds herself gazing at him wistfully.

“I shall return soon”

“I am aware. I did not forgo my bindings for a lie”

“You wished to soar did you not.”

“You know, the Norvoshi do not trust a man without a beard. They say one as such lacks the honor to defend and the foresight to lead” she responds by running his blade across his face as he turns away from her.“You have your own honor though”

“Many would disagree. I am said to be cursed ”

“One man's curse is another's blessing. You shall return a King”

“Because I've given you the freedom you desire?” he jests “Your faith is truly boundless”

“As is your routine. Hold still while I finish or they'll have to wait the whole morn for you to ride out with glory”

It is an hour later after she meticulously braids his hair and secures his armor, over his eye and body that she finds herself truly bogged down with the weight of his departure. He kisses her temple as he leaves, the act too chaste for her to protest before he's gone. As she sits ruminating on her time spent with him, she hears the flap of the great wings of Vhagar, leathery and forceful as she rushes to spot her out of her window. A shadow falls over the Dun fort as she flies past, giving way to three rings of the great bell of Duskendale, thrice for the sound of freedom that soars through her heart.

Taglist: @arcielee @succnfuccubus @barbieaemond @watercolorskyy @paprikaquinn @witheredoffherwitch

#house of the dragon #aemond targaryen x fem!oc #aemond targaryen x ofc #fyeahhotdocs #aemond x oc #aemond x fem!oc #hotd fics #zae's fics #aemond fics #aemond targaryen x oc #aemond targaryen x original character #aemond targaryen x original female character #hotd fic #fyeahgotocs

74 notes · View notes

dragonbarbie · 10 months

Text

𝐑𝐈𝐃𝐈𝐍𝐆 𝐀 𝐃𝐑𝐀𝐆𝐎𝐍

aemond targaryen x prostitute!reader

rating: 18+, minors dni

summary: aemond becomes captivated with the most prized woman working the street of silk

word count: 3.3k

tags: mature content, sex work, choking, aemond being a tad bit dark here but still in character imo

aemond had scoffed at aegon’s penchant for the whores of the street of silk, but when he found himself attracted to one of its prized attractions, he felt like a hypocrite.

he had caught a glimpse of her the day he had gone searching for his brother with ser criston. aemond had stood by the door while cole conversed with the madame of the establishment and been momentarily distracted by the sight of the angel walking down the hallway inside the brothel, visible behind the older woman.

that day he could not stay to investigate as his duties called him away. but as the days went on, he found himself obsessed with the face he had only seen for a split second, and the delicate form barely hidden behind the flowy dress of silk that had stalked down that hall.

he had always imagined himself as a dutiful man, a man who lived his life in accordance with the code of honour that cole hammered into him with each sparring session, and with the faith that his mother had guided him towards. but with every dream he had about her, he found his resolve towards being that dutiful man, weaken.

those eyes, damn those eyes. there was something hypnotic about them, about the way she had kohl spread under them to make them look even more seductive. her skin, it had a shine, despite the lack of light inside the building.

she tortured him every night, invading his dreams without care. he would chase her each night, and she still seemed to elude him come morning.

until he had had enough. he donned a non-descript cloak to walk through the streets unrecognised, and walked till he reached the same brothel his brother had taken him to all those years ago. it looked much different in the dark, the doors were flung open invitingly for one. when aemond walked through them, he saw that it was teeming with people. men being led down by scantily clad women to areas sectioned off by thin veils of linen, women openly being pleasured by men upon cushions laid down on the ground. he could even recognise some lords from his father’s court, but as his mind began to judge them for their presence a voice in his head reminded him that he wasn’t much better than them, for finding himself skulking around these halls.

but among all those faces, he couldn’t see her. the thought that she might be off pleasuring some man in one of these corners crossed his mind, and he had the urge to storm out of there. but just then, he was recognised by the same whore his brother had chosen for him all those years ago. “my prince, i am delighted to have you grace my establishment once again.” her smile seemed more seedy to him than gracious. “hm.” he merely hummed in response, eye still looking around for her specific figure. “would you like to see the selection of pleasures that we can provide you with this evening, or…” she looked around to where he had been scanning the room, “…are you seeking someone more particular?”

how was aemond supposed to explain her, to this woman? he had no name, only a vibrant memory in his mind. thankfully, he didn’t need to. because suddenly a hush fell around the proceedings, and all eyes turned to the centre of the room where upon a slightly raised platform, he saw her. it seemed as if this was a performance that had been expected by the patrons eagerly.

the musicians then began playing their instruments to match the beat at which she was moving her body as she danced. slowly at first, every movement of her hands deliberate. her waist, exposed in the dress she was wearing, showed off its curves with the way it swayed. and those damn eyes. who needed wine when those eyes were intoxicating enough to beat any dornish red. the older whore hadn’t missed how his eye hadn’t left her. “ah, y/n… she’s our jewel that one….the finest you can get anywhere in the street of silk. the opportunity for even one night with her is sold out moons in advance.” “i don’t have moons to waste, and i am not a particularly patient man. money is no object.” he stated, his voice dangerously low as his eye closely followed each seductive step. “of course, my prince.” the older woman seemed to grin at the thought of the sheer gold that she would be able to get out of the prince.

aemond hadn’t even realised that his mouth had gone dry watching her until she finished with applause surrounding her, and men throwing coins at her feet. there was a proud smile upon her face as she picked the silver and tucked them somewhere inside her silk skirt. Men were approaching her already. she gave them a smile, as she apologised, “my lords i am promised to lord frey for tonight, alas.” he caught her words, his eye darting to where he had recognised frey sitting on the cushion earlier in the night. he was looking at her with unabashed lust in his eyes already, a look which lit an inexplicable fire inside the prince.

“my lord, i’m afraid y/n already has another patron for tonight. let me show you some of our other girls, i don’t think you will be disappointed.” aemond heard the madame placate frey as she walked towards him, but he was not pleased. “i have waited for days, and paid good coin for the whore, and i will have her!” he angrily proclaimed, and aemond saw y/n give her madame a confused look. as far as she knew, she only had one customer for the night, and frey had already paid in full. frey walked over to y/n and grabbed her arm, intent on taking her by force if nothing else. that was the point aemond decided to intervene.

“my lord frey.” he did not have to raise his voice beyond its normal volume, its distinctness coupled with him removing the hood to reveal his silver hair and eye-patch were enough to confirm his identity. “i believe you should look for other arrangements for the night.” he could hear the whispers around the room, the shock on everyone’s faces, including y/n’s. frey immediately let go of her, and bowed, “my prince… of course, yes…” he seemed to mutter.

so that was the new customer, y/n realised, taking in the man before her. she had never seen him around the brothel before, but she had heard from the older girls of the day the two royal princes had visited. and even more tales about the seedier activities his brother got up to at flea bottom. she wasn’t sure having the attention of the targaryen was an entirely good thing, as she thought of his brother. but with her profession, and her station, she knew one could not just refuse a prince of the realm.

she put on the sultry smile expected of her, “my prince.” she greeted as she approached him. “y/n, take his grace to your rooms. and take good care of him.” she caught the look in her madame’s eye, it seemed to read ‘tread carefully’.

had it been a different patron, y/n would have taken their hand as she led them up the stairs to her room, a luxury that was of the upmost rarity in the street of silk but that she had managed to accomplish with her revered skills. but the prince seemed so stoic, she couldn’t bring herself to reach out and hold his hand. “follow me, my prince.” she said instead and walked him up to her room.

aemond noticed that it was a small place, filled with only a bed in the centre and some cushions to the side of it near an open window. lit candles littered the corners, to shed some light for the work of the night, he realised. the sheets seemed to be made of fine material for the consideration of the noble men she brough up there, but the rest of the room was bare. then again, he thought, what items had he expected to find in the room of a whore? not that he’d ever imagined being inside one’s chambers anyway.

now that he’d come to think of it, he wasn’t sure what he was supposed to do now, he hadn’t exactly thought that far ahead. she seemed to pick up on how awkward he felt internally, even if he had kept his cool appearance.

“would you like some wine, my prince?” “no.” “i only offer because it tends to make one more… relaxed, for the proceedings.” she suggested, trying to put him more at ease. her words had the opposite effect. “are you suggesting i need wine to be able to fuck?” he accused her, offended as he took threatening steps towards her. used to placating customers who could turn on her at a moment’s notice, she kept her open palms reassuringly against his chest and told him, “i was suggesting it for myself, your grace. a woman’s heart, it’s a weak thing.” she had expected him to believe her words, batting heavy eyelashes to appear as pliant as possible.

his blue eye, it seemed to have the ability to read her. he chuckled darkly, “you’re a good liar.” and an unexpected, large hand reached to grab her throat. his hold was rough, but she could still breath and she refused to look away or struggle against his grip. she had learned that the best way to pacify these great men was to let them have the power over her that they so craved. she was surprised though, for no one had been able to look through her so quickly and easily, in all her years.

her lack of putting up a fight seemed to satisfy him, but at the same time, he couldn’t understand how she could lack the basic need to preserve herself. he tightened his grip further and further, testing her. yet, her hands remained limp by her side and her eyes trained on his. when he finally pulled his hand off her, it was only the coughs that left her and the red marks of his hand printed around her neck that could evidence the pain she must have felt, but not acted against.

he picked the goblet and poured from the wine jug kept in the corner, to hand it to her for the cough, wordlessly. she eagerly grabbed the cup and downed its contents to provide some relief to her throat. “why did you not struggle? do you enjoy pain?” he asked, curious. her fingertips rubbed against the skin where his hand had been moments ago, as she answered, “in my trade, you learn quickly to endure pain. to fight against it usually means something worse will befall.” she answered, her voice still coarse.

“then why choose it? you can earn a wage as a serving girl, a maid…” he looked at the bed in her room and couldn’t help but think just how many men before him must have pushed her against it and had their way “…why suffer such indignity?”

she was surprised at his question. some men did like to talk to her before they had her, but she had never been asked such intrusive questions about herself. “there are many reasons, every girl here has her story. i have mine.” never talk about your own woes with a client, she had been taught. it would break the spell, the fantasy if they thought of her as a living, breathing thing, as opposed to a doll only meant to please them. that was what she was attempting to do, but her answer did not satiate him. “and that story is?” “not one i care to share with your grace. i do not need your pity, i promise you. i’m paid ten times more than any serving girl at your grand castle, and all my work is done lying on my back. i am content.”

aemond could see the logic there, but he seemed unconvinced. she seemed to be in a hurry to move past the conversation. “is this how you would like to spend your night, asking me questions? i have no qualms, but you are paying quiet the small fortune for it, and i would not want you to feel as if i have robbed you.”

“since i am the one paying, why don’t you let me be the judge of what we are going to do.” y/n shrugged in response, “whatever you wish, my prince. i am but your humble servant.” she had a small, amused smile on her lips as she sat down on the edge of her bed. “ask whatever you like.” and he did.

once she got used to the invasive questioning, she settled in his presence. she found him polite but straight forward, proud but intelligent. he was unlike any man she had met. he seemed to be full of questions about who y/n was, where was she from and how she had ended up in a place like this. all questions that she patiently answered as she drank more wine by the hour. it was not common behaviour of a patron, to ask about her so insistently. even when the men wanted to talk, it was usually them talking about themselves, their problems and y/n sitting there patiently to listen. but every time she tried to ask the prince a question in return, he brushed her off or gave her short replies.

“why did you decide to come here today?” she asked him at one point. he had settled on one of her cushions a few meters away, but he never really looked comfortable, choosing to sit with his back straight as steel. his discipline was admirable, y/n thought. “you’re not known to frequent the street of silk, or i would have heard of it.” or i would have had you already, she thought, she was the most sought-after woman on the street after all. “your visit is most unusual.”

aemond swallowed at the question, “every man has needs.” it wasn’t a complete lie. he had come there because of a need to see her, to be near her, to touch her. “had you come here to fulfil some ‘need’, we would not have spent the night merely talking.” she commented. oh, he had meant to do much more than just talk, from the second he saw her dancing downstairs. she had captivated him, with the way her body had moved and set his imagination to wonder all the ways in which it would move against his.

but first, he had wanted to quench his curiosity about her. he hadn’t realised when he got so lost in their conversation that it was nearly daybreak, and he was yet to fuck her. every time he had thought to move in and close the gap between them, she had made some clever comment that he had to give a retort to, and so the night had passed.

“it’s a shame.” y/n sighed as she laid back down on her bed, “when you walked in here, i thought i would have the story to beat any other girl’s. the story of the night i rode a dragon.” she lazily smirked.

oh, she was a minx, he grinned as a hand grabbed her ankle to pull her down towards him. she yelped at the action but allowed him to snake an arm around her waist to seat her at his lap. “is that a desire of yours?” he asked in a murmur, close enough to feel her breath on his face. “i’m a whore, my prince, i cannot afford such luxuries as desires.” she draped her arms over his shoulders, fingers entangling themselves in his silky hair. “as your prince, i command you – tell me what you desire.”

she had lost count of the number of times men had asked her that question, the number of times they wanted her to tell them that she needed them, desired them. she had complied each time of course but had never really meant the words. as she gazed into the clear blue of the prince’s eye, though, she answered with the utmost sincerity, “you.”

he didn’t need more words, he leaned forward and closed the gap between them, his lips upon hers. there was a hunger in his actions, a desire to push in as further inside her as he could, of wanting to be one with her. she reciprocated the sense of passion, hands reaching to undo the buttons on his leather coat.

soon he had her pinned beneath him on the cushions, his coat and tunic discarded, her flimsy dress pushed up, so her bare core rubbed against his leather pants. he hadn’t objected to her removing other items of his clothing, but when her hand reached to pull off his eye patch, he broke the kiss and grabbed her wrist firmly.

when she had told him she desired him, he hadn’t taken her to mean it in a physical sense. For, how could she, he thought, with an eye missing and an ugly scar running down half his face? where she was a goddess reborn that men paid their weight in gold to be able to pay a pilgrimage to, he thought himself deformed.

as with many things, with this too it seemed she could read his mind. a crease formed between her brow, “this is a whore house, your grace. the price of admission is all your clothing.” she teased. her free hand reached to caress his face. gods, he was beautiful, she now understood why they said targaryens were closer to gods than men, for with the first rays of the sun hitting him to form a halo over his form, how could this man be anything else but heaven-sent?

“i would see all of you.” she softly told him. he hesitated, but there was a conviction in her eyes that he could not deny. he eventually let go of her wrist, but she could feel how uneasy he felt as she slowly pulled the eye-patch off his face.

her eyes went wide at the sight of the blue sapphire she had heard only rumours of. it dazzled with brilliance, and almost matched the colour of his remaining eye. her hand caressed the side of his face, thumb tracing the scar before she pressed a soft kiss to the healed skin. “i wasn’t aware whores were supposed to be this… sentimental.” he mused at her actions, “you’re a special customer.” she grinned. “let’s see how good this service of yours is then, hm, that you can afford to rob all these lords blind.”

and service him she did, with a steady chant of her voice saying ‘my prince’ filling the room. she heard him whisper things too, against her skin in a language she couldn’t understand, but his voice was filled with a devotion she could recognise.

hours passed, till she could no longer feel her legs, and beads of sweat had formed on her forehead. she felt sore, but in the most perfect way. the day had set in now, the rays of the sun making her room shine bright as she laid with her head on his chest, legs tangled. she could feel his fingers tracing shapes on her bare back. it seemed like the perfect morning.

until he broke the spell with his voice, “i have to go.” he had only just realised the time, realised that he was late for cole’s training. as he shifted to get up from under her, she whined at the loss of touch but wordlessly watched him gather his things. “will you visit again?” she asked as he walked out the door, but it seemed he hadn’t heard her.

she lazed around until a some of the younger girls entered her room, excited to hear all about y/n’s night with the prince, brimming with questions. “oh, how i can explain to you, my darlings, the pleasures of riding a dragon.”

note: by the time i finished this i had sm muse im thinking of doing a pt 2 w an angry and jealous aemond, when reader is entertaining other clients?? lmk if you guys would be interested in something like that 👀

update: part 2 available now!

#aemond imagine #aemond targaryen x you #aemond targaryen x reader #aemond x you #aemond x reader #aemond the kinslayer #aemond targaryen imagine #aemond fic #hotd imagine #hotd x reader #hotd x y/n #hotd x you #aemond x y/n #hotd aemond #hotd fics #hotd fanfic #aemond targaryen angst #aemond targaryen fanfic #fics i wrote

815 notes · View notes

jacesbeloved · 1 year

Text

for the kingdom: part II

summary: being the youngest daughter of alicent, you hadn’t known what it was like to feel restraint until you had been betrothed to the eldest son of queen rhaenyra for a pact. for who? for the kingdom

pairing: jacaerys velaryon x targaryen!reader

warnings/notes: sexual innuendos, tension again, drunk jace and rude y/n, mild enemies/rivals to lovers, them arguing 60% of the time. (a/n: i haven’t read the part in the book w/ jace being in the north and w/ cregan so pls don’t come at me at the latter part <3 and also meraxes the dragon is alive yay)

part: I, II, III, IV

ftk taglist: @kentarosbaby @lady-ashfade @simrah1012 @mfrnchsk @sexualityisajoke @elsyyie @instabull @ephemeralninon @chrisevansgirlfriendsposts @mainstreambitchlife @alexandra-001 @writer-lee5 @nightly-polaris

jace taglist: @cosmicfairygirl @simrah1012 @lucerysvelaryonstan @lady-stark-winter-rose @moon1gt @aureliapappa @jcrsctrl @bobfloydluvsblackwomen

It was quite mind boggling to you how Jace managed to irritate you even more than your pre-wedding feast.

After telling you that both of you had to travel around Westeros, he only clarified now that you two would head north to Winterfell. Telling you there's no need to pack or choose your clothes to bring since he already had them tailor different clothes.

Your voice boomed around you and Jace's chambers, furiously ranting about your own style and preferences all the while, Jace stared at a random book he picked up on his cabinet.

"What do you even know about my clothing!?" You roared, glaring at your husband. "I'm well aware of your tastes and colors, beloved. No need to yell," Jace replies swiftly, his tone calm as if you weren't hysterical at him, loudly slamming the book shut.

"Rich green and white colored gowns, hand-sewn images of Meraxes on the cloth, golden accents and belts, emphasis on the bust area, curvy patterns. I may elaborate further if it pleases you." He started to list out before you could respond, each thing he mentioned describing your own collection of gowns perfectly. He stood from his seat, eyebrows arching in challenge as he saw the surprise in your eyes.

You scoff at him before leaving him in your room, walking out, and yelling at him to get on with the flight. Your husband followed quickly right after.

With your and Jace's bags loaded onto carts and horses set to journey to the north, you and him, along with the Kingsguards, head outside the walls of King's Landing to your dragons. Vermax was brought outside by dragonriders, while Meraxes, your dragon, lived outside. She didn't fit in the Dragonpit.

Your blank face slowly brightens as you see your dragon, and you smirk when you hear Jace marvel at the sight of her. "Meraxes is beautiful," Jacaerys comments, staring at the silver beauty that is your dragon.

Having been riding Meraxes since you were 12, you were quite proud of your dragon. Her silver scales that made her look white, her red eyes that made any person gulp in fear, and the fact it was first ridden by Rhaenys Targaryen, sister-wife to Aegon the Conqueror, gave you all the more boast.

You side-eyed him, getting a glimpse of his dragon before sighing. "Vermax is small, very much uglier as well."

Some of the kingsguards stifle a quiet chuckle at your comment while you smile sweetly at Jace. Your husband glared at you before scoffing.

"Truly such an honest woman, aren't you, my dear wife?"

"Only for you, my lovely husband," you grin, and he scoffs sarcastically before turning to his dragon. You did the same, patting the side of Meraxes' head as she mewled, the ground rumbling when she started moving.

You easily mount your dragon, pulling at the ropes cautiously and patting the base of its neck as it starts to rise. You see Jace rise the same way, his dragon roaring as well.

"I bid you a safe flight, my princess." Criston Cole spoke, bowing with respect. "And to you, Prince Jacaerys."

The both of you nod at him, your heads gliding as you glance at each other with squinted eyes, the wind blowing in your faces.

"May you reach Winterfell safely, my beloved," he says loudly, nodding at you.

"See you there." Was the only thing you replied before ascending with your dragon.

Winterfell appeared to be much colder at night. The infamous grey direwolf that every person in Westeros recognizes greeted all of you inside the castle walls warmly, contrary to the cold environment surrounding it.

You walked the pathway of Winterfell with your head held high, meeting halfway with Jace after you and Meraxes had to take a detour. Your husband now wore a thick fur coat around him, placing a matching coat onto your shoulders after you arrived at his side.

Jace leans over to your side, breath fanning over your ear. "I see Vermax may be uglier, certainly faster though." He withdraws with a cheeky grin as the both of you arrive in the very heart of Winterfell, the courtyard.

The guards holding the Targaryen banners halted when you both did, facing the people of Winterfell as you and Jace did.

In one united motion, they all descended onto their knees, bending the knee to you both, bowing their heads out of respect. Jace inhaled a sharp breath before beckoning the lord up, his people following after.

"Prince Jacaerys Velaryon, Heir to the Iron Throne, and Princess Y/N Targaryen, his future Queen Consort, daughter of the late King Viserys, the first of his name."

"You honor us, Lord Cregan," Jace was the first to speak, smiling warmly at the older man before they hugged. "It is our honor to have you both in Winterfell," Cregan says, pulling away from Jace and kissing your hand.

You nod at Cregan's council, sisters, and children beside him, them bowing in return whilst Jace shook their hands.

"How long has it been, a decade? More than?" Cregan inquires, "I'm afraid more than, Lord Cregan. It's been quite some time, if I may say so myself." Jace says with sympathy.

While Jace had been conversing with Cregan, you let yourself stare at the people surrounding him. You're not really familiar with any of them; you haven't really known much about them aside from what's written in the books in the Red Keep and what you hear from your mother.

They all had a small smile as you looked at them; even the children looked happy, like they were excited to hear the prince and princess would come to their castle. Although, one of the men caught your attention.

A lowborn. His face was dirty and messy, blank expression, and his clothes were torn. He was haunting. You two locked eyes with each other, as everything else seemed rather irrelevant.

"Beloved, are you okay?" Your husband's hand lightly holds your arm, startling you a bit. You looked at him alarmed before your face softened, turning to Lord Cregan.

"I’m fine." You nod, smiling tightly at him. Jacaerys stared at you weirdly before nodding as well and turning back to Cregan.

The man clapped loudly, a jolly smile on his face as he spoke. "Well then! Let us have them settled and rested for the hunt tomorrow!" The rest of them clapped as well, slowly dispersing away as you heard your horses neighing, glancing to see your stuff being taken off of the carts.

Cregan led the both of you to the guest house himself after feasting for a bit, cracking jokes with you and Jace. He was actually much more jolly and warm than you had expected.

You enter first, a massive door opening up to a warm living room with a fireplace already burning in the middle. There were heads of wild animals decorating the walls, and a staple, the House Stark banner, in the middle of it all.

"We gave the princess her own table of sweets, we heard the princess loves that." Cregan directs your attention to a platter of fruits, crackers, and pies.

"That is well appreciated, Lord Cregan. Such thoughtfulness," you replied, nodding softly at him. Cregan nodded his head at you—a bit ambiguous, which made you and Jace confused a bit.

When he saw the way both you and Jace looked confused, he chuckled loudly. "Oh, are these the newlyweds that threw away tradition? I see why now, you two are still stiff with each other."

"My prince, go on, feed her." Cregan encourages, patting the other's back rather harshly, which made him lunge forward a bit.

Your forehead creased, looking at Jace to see what Cregan meant, and the man had the same amount of confusion as you did. He tried to utter something, but the smile on Cregan's face never faltered, now resulting in Jace laughing dryly and nodding, picking up a fork from the silver tray, cutting a piece of the pie, and gathering a big amount of cream on it.

You swallow harshly, wondering if that big of a pie slice is going to fit in your mouth. It was the side of a fist, and Jace had a grin on his face as he cut it.

"Say "ahh," my beloved," Jace holds up the fork, your eyes going over to Cregan, a proud smile on his face.

"There's, uh, there's a lot on it, husband," you chuckled at Jace, the man clearly knowing the smile on your face only meant a threat.

"You can take it, go on." You glare at him as the pie eventually dissolves in your mouth, surprisingly fitting. The sweet taste of the blueberries and the sweetness of the cream on top of it mixed so well. "Very good," Jace whispers, wiping the leftover cream on the side of your mouth.

You quickly swallow the pie down whole, quickly grabbing the fork from Jace as you cut an even larger piece than the one Jace made you eat. Cregan laughed loudly at this, thinking of it as a sweet interaction between the two newlyweds, but it was just both of you trying to shove pies down each other's throats.

There wasn't a second you wasted, after cutting the piece, you scooped it up on your fork, shooting the fork inside Jace's mouth as you ignored his nervous excuses.

"It's- Gods, it's really good. Thank you, Lord Cregan," Jace says while munching on the pie, grabbing a glass of wine to drink as he side-eyes you. "And you as well, my dear wife."

"Truly such a sweet couple," Cregan sighs, walking away to head upstairs. You smirk at Jace, hitting his side before following Cregan. Jace had clutched his side before following you. He led the two of you upstairs, where there were only two doors, one of which you recognized as the room with the chamber pot.

You look at Jace, trying to communicate with him with your eyes as he still holds his side now with a delicious cup of wine in his other hand. He furrowed his eyebrows when he saw your glare, a jerk to your head to the door and he finally gets it.

"And, uh, this is our chambers then?" Jace asked, gesturing at the door.

"Ah, of course! This is where I hope the miracle would happen," Cregan winks at your husband, the latter freezing in place. "Rest easy now, my princess, prince, and be ready for the feast tomorrow! We have a hunt!" He bows at the both of you before excusing himself, leaving the two of you there now.

"Miracle," you grimaced, glaring at him while he rolled his eyes, ignoring you and opening the chamber's door for you.

The door revealed a beautifully lit and decorated room, warm fur all around, an incredibly large bed with fabric draped on the frame, and a dozen candles all around. The room had everything.

Your things had already been arranged inside the room when you saw your familiar knick-knacks and bottles by the mirror. Jace's things were also mixed in with yours, his black and red coats hang beside your green and white ones on a wooden hook.

Your hands quickly pulled open the cabinet, ready to lash out again at Jace when your mouth dropped.

The green color of your gowns was just as rich as you always liked, the amount of gold accents were just right, the appropriate buckles, buttons, laces, everything. Even the embroidered images of Meraxes were done well.

"Told you. A beaut, aren't they?" Jace smirks, joining you by your side to look at the extravagant dresses inside the cabinet.

You swallowed down the need for complaining in your throat, tonguing at your cheek before grabbing a hold of one of the gowns and inspecting it critically as if you had five sets of eyes. You had wanted to look at something to nitpick at, but none of them were ugly or imperfect.

"What now, Jacaerys? Do you want me to fall to my knees in front of you? Do you want me to smother you in kisses? Warm our bed? Tell me, I'd give it to you since you're such a darling for having such beautiful gowns tailored for me." Jace could hear the sarcasm even if he was deaf. The sarcastic look in your face contradicted your actions as you tried to give him lovestruck eyes while walking towards the bed.

"Does your family have a knack for drama?" Jace remarks. "You're welcome, Y/N. I see giving thanks is not your specialty."

You lay on the edge of the bed, your head lying beside Jace's figure. "I give thanks in different ways, Jace. Would you like to know how?"

The man's eyes flicker from your eyes to your lips, licking his own in a split second before standing up, the knock on the door making you both stand quick.

The door opens to reveal Lord Cregan's sister, holding a fruit basket. "I beg your pardon, my prince. I did not mean to interrupt you and your wife, my brother, Lord Stark, had just wanted me to give you these."

She smiled sweetly at him. The man reciprocates the smile as he takes the fruit basket gratefully, surprised at another basket. He inspects a few of the fruits in the front, glancing at you, who had been lighting a few candles before handing Sara an apple.

Sara furrowed her eyebrow at him, chuckling lightly at the prince as she waved her hand as a no.

"Go on." Jacaerys gives her his hand after she takes the apple. "I don't think we've been properly introduced to each other, I am Jacaerys-"

"I already know who you are, my prince. I am Sara Snow, Lord Cregan's sister," she replies, shaking Jacaerys' hand.

"I already know who you are as well, Lady Snow," The two laugh lightly before waving, Jace closing the door.

When he stepped back into the room, you still had your back to him, lighting your candles.

"So you prefer brunettes," you spoke quietly while fanning the matchstick you held, raising an eyebrow at him.

"You're taking an interest in my preferences, might I say you like me?" Jace replies, walking over to you to grab his clothes from his cabinet.

You laugh at him, side-eyeing your husband as he pulls off his shirt. "And you're always undressing in front of me, might I say you are hinting at something?" He halts his movement, turning to face you with his bare chest in front of you. His lips jutted out as he cocked his head to the side.

It was tempting to look down. It took every bit of control you had not to look at his body.

You had expected him to reply, but he doesn't. He merely looks at you from your head to your legs before taking the cup of wine he had set aside earlier on your dresser and drinking it, walking away from you.

The whole hunt had been boring—mainly just Jace and Cregan laughing and drinking with each other, not paying you any mind. You hated being bored, so here you were, playing with three highborns from Winterfell for hours.

"A boar's arse? Just a peck?" One of the boys clarified with you, the other two were already thinking about how they'd get to do it.

"No, kiss a boar's arse also using your tongue. You must kiss its ass for two minutes. All four of us must be present for it to be valid," you explained once more, laughing to yourself when you saw them look at each other worriedly.

They nodded at you, making you laugh at how stupid they were. They even kneeled, swearing to you that they'd do their best. As if you'd actually let them ride Meraxes, you'd rather jump off of your dragon mid-flight than place another person with you on your dragon.

The maidens beside you looked scared but intrigued, anticipating whether or not they would actually do it.

"Oh, and, the boy that could do that and climb the broken tower in the middle of Winterfell, I'll bring him to King's Landing on dragonba-"

"I'm deeply sorry, my lords, my wife is not bringing anyone to King's Landing on dragonback," the familiar voice cuts you off, placing an arm around your shoulders while you roll your eyes. "If I may have a word with her, that would be splendid."

The three boys and maidens beside you all bowed to the prince, scurrying away while they still hoped your offer still stood. They wanted to ride a dragon that badly. You winked at one of the boys, nodding to him teasingly.

"A boar's arse, really, Y/N?" Jace spoke, disappointment in his tone, as he took a seat on the log beside you, holding a canteen of wine, courtesy of Cregan, as you expected.

"You should've seen earlier, one of them ate a rabbit raw after I told them I'd take them to see Meraxes—not even a ride, just see." You laugh at the memory, remembering the boy puking his guts out because of it.

You glance at Jace; he still has a disappointed look on his face. "Oh, come on, at least I'm keeping myself busy. What d'you want me to do, chatter with the maidens? Head back to the halls? This is honestly so boring, Jacaerys." You groaned while dramatically massaging your own forehead, even closing your eyes.

Jacaerys reciprocates the same gesture, probably even more stressed than you were after he'd been hearing your tricks and challenges to the mindless boys with you, seducing and playing with their feelings and desires.

"Do whatever you wish for entertainment, but leave the poor boys alone," Jace says, and you giggle at him, slowly cocking your head in his direction while batting your eyelashes. "Or else what?"

He turns to you, no longer stressed nor disappointed, but amused, "Do you really have to turn everything provocative?"

"I just asked what would you do if I did it again, how is that provocative?" He crossed his arms. "I am either provocative or dramatic, which of me do you like more?" You asked, crossing your arms as well.

"Isn't there a nice one of you?" You smiled at his question, one that he's always seen from you.

"Go kiss a boar's arse, my lovely husband."

After the day-long hunt, a boar was piked on top of a fire, with rabbits and birds being roasted beside it as well. Dozens of Cregan's men had their tents set up, declaring that, as per Cregan's joyful experience with earlier's hunt, they'd sleep in the woods and continue tomorrow.

And there you were, laying inside your tent while studying the handle of your own sword, given to you by your father, Viserys.

"Keep it, be someone they don't want you to be." The words of your father echoed in your head, telling the story of your older sister Rhaenyra, who was forbidden to be a queen, told not to be one as it breaks the law. But your father didn't care; he still named her heir, and no one could do anything about it.

Not even your mother.

You sheathed it back, throwing it aside as you pulled a cushion underneath your head. Closing your eyes while the rest sang songs and danced around the fire. You didn't even know where your husband-

"There you are," speak of the devil.

A relieved sigh sounds from the entrance of the tent. You didn't need to look at the speaker, you already knew who it was.

"They're... They're asking for you, for the princess." Jace slurred his words, audibly drunk.

"So you came to me, the princess, your wife, because your companions are looking for me? Not because you just so happened to wonder about what I was doing?" Your voice came out gargled as you had your face planted on the cushion.

"And also to make sure you're not tormenting boys. Who knows, someone might just throw themselves in the fire, saying you'll give them a kiss if they do," you laugh at Jace's allegation, seeing that the alcohol has given him quite a different personality now.

Alcohol does change people, at least for a few hours.

You raise your middle finger at him from your back, and you feel him sit beside you. The rustling and clanking of glasses make you sit up. And there you saw that Jace wasn't only audibly drunk, he was the most obvious drunk you have ever seen. His eyes were puffy, his hair disheveled, his cheeks a light shade of red, and his lips in a pout as he took a sip of his wine once more.

If you knew any less, you'd actually think he was adorable right now. He looked like the type to read stories at night, but you knew better than to expect nice things.

Silence floats around the air between the two of you, him silently sipping on his wine all the while you watch him blankly, taking a sip of your own wine as well.

"Well then? I am alright here. You can go back to your companions and drink 'til you drop. Tell them to just drop you outside of our tent after." Jace nods however, he refuses to leave the tent. Making himself comfortable with a cushion.

"Can't I stay in our tent?" Jace furrows his eyebrows at you.

You groaned, slapping your hand onto your forehead. "There's no fun in our tent, Jacaerys."

"Who said that? Of course there is." He smiled. For a second, you thought something else, but then you see him holding a ball—various balls—and throwing them upwards in amusement as he tried to catch them again with the same hand he used to throw them.

You watch him entertain himself with some balls and wine while drinking some wine yourself.

"Oh, so you'd rather drink here with me, have fun with me?" you spoke. "That's... provocative," Jace replies, clearly drunk as he downs his wine, making you scoff.

"Do you want to see how provocative I can be, husband?" You whisper just enough for him to hear, and he gulps.

You stood up from your seat, walking slowly to the older man before sitting down in front of him. The two of you are now inches apart. You placed the cup somewhere, making sure it was far from both of you as you unclipped your coat, throwing it to your side of the tent as you were now left in your dress. You stood once more, swinging your leg over him as you straddled him, making sure there was still a decent amount of space between you two.

Jace froze completely, not sure what to do as he was intoxicated. His mind was hazy, drunk and nervous. This is the first time you two have ever been this close. You placed your hands on top of his shoulders, leaning in slowly.

You manage to give him a short kiss, his own lips moving subtly with yours as you taste the strong wine on his lips. Before you could fully close the distance between you two and continue, he spoke. "Don't."

hearts, reactions, replies, and reblogs are very appreciated if you liked the story! <3 ^w^

#hotd #jacaerys imagines #jacaerys velaryon #jacaerys velaryon fic #jacaerys x reader imagine #jacaerys fluff #jacaerys x reader #hotd fics #jacaerys fic #jacaerys velaryon x reader #jacaerys targaryen

2K notes · View notes

madame-fear · 11 months

Text

✧.* Hello everyone! Welcome to my fic recommendations, this post in particular will be especifically for the House of the Dragon fanfics; whether they were written by mutuals, or not. Enjoy!

Queen Visenya x Haindmaiden!Reader; by @ruby-dragon

Aemond Targaryen x original character; by @solisarium [ smut warning ]

Our Duties, Lucerys Velaryon x Reader; by @mrsgrwy

Modern! Lucerys Velaryon having a crush on you, by @mrsgrwy

Lavender Haze, Rhaenyra Targaryen x Reader; by @howyouloveyourdragon [ brief smut content ]

Tell Me How You Hate Me, Modern!Rhaenyra Targaryen x Reader; by @targaryenbrainrot. Part one here, part two here.

Falling For a Lie, a Lucerys Velaryon x Witch!Reader series; by @reader-inserts-and-others-thing

The Prince's Mistress, a Jacaerys Velaryon x Reader series; by @faces-ofvenus

Confessions from the Heart, Lucerys Velaryon x Reader; by @house-strong

Two is Better than One, Jacaerys x Reader x Lucerys; by @house-strong

Shadow of the Sea Snake, Lucerys Velaryon x Reader; by @house-strong

A Bit of Fun, Aemond Targaryen x Reader; by @valeskafics [ smut content ]

5 songs, 5 NSFW headcanons with Aegon, Aemond, Rhaenyra, Helaena and Jacaerys; by @asa-do-your-thing

Comforting Aemond; by @vhagarlovebot

Bookcanon!Rhaenyra x Paramour!Reader x Bookcanon!Alicent headcanons; by @sabrinasstar

A Dragon's Love, Lucerys Velaryon x Reader; by @eunoiathewriter

Salt Fare, North Sea, Lucerys Velaryon x Reader; by @dearsnow

Poly Relationship with Jacaerys and Lucerys headcanons; by @countsmoon

Dark Male! Rhaenyra Targaryen x Cousin!Reader headcanons; by @floatyflowers

— ♡ that will be all for now! though, I have much more amazing writers and fics to add. ♡ —

#✧.* amiraverse #amira's hotd fic recs #my mutuals <3 #loving my mutuals <3 #house of the dragon #hotd fics #house of the dragon fic recs #house of the dragon fics #hotd x reader #jacaerys velaryon x reader #aemond targaryen x reader #rhaenyra targaryen x reader #lucerys velaryon x reader

225 notes · View notes

blckfyres · 1 year

Note

Hi hi! Okay so those song prompts are magnificent. How about ‘17. And at once I knew, I was not magnificent - Holocene, Bon Iver’

It would be good to have something where Aemond l sees the reader for the first time at a ball or something and his own little view that he is superior to others comes crashing down because he is in absolute awe of her? Feel free to alter/tweak/change whatever!

thank you so much @littlemisscaptainfandom ! i ran wild with this one. feral. i love the idea of aemond being outplayed because of his smugness, and the ball idea - enjoy!

request a song prompt!

Magnificent

Warnings: Aemond being in deep denial lmao WC: 3333 (nice)

Prompt 17: "And at once I knew, I was not magnificent" - Holocene, Bon Iver

He heard you long before he saw you – the uneven heel clacking of a noble’s daughter who had shirked one too many dance lessons.

“No,” he heard a lilting voice laugh, impatiently. “Like this - right foot second, you dolt.”

Dolt indeed – the instruction was lost on the girl, whoever in the Seven she was. Yet another sacrificial lamb to lure the unwed dragon into marriage, no doubt. Even with one eye and a turned back, Aemond could practically smell her family’s pathetic attempt at temptation – a corset two sizes too small and a family ambition two leagues too large.

The prince didn’t deign to watch the scene. He preferred the game of gleaning, observation – seeing without seeing. Creating the tapestry in his mind and tracing the threads to know which to pull to watch it all unravel. It had long been said by the Maesters that when one loses a sense, the others bolster themselves, and indeed, all he had to do was listen.

Aemond heard the Dolt relinquish a dramatic sigh. “It seems that I simply must retire to the fray then Elyana, lest I bring shame upon our most noble house.”

The younger – Elyana – huffed.

“It would be wise. How father expects to make you a dragon bride, I will never know. You cannot dance, or sing, or embroider –”

“Yes, and lest we forget my stunning lack of maternal instinct,” you lamented. “Remember when Darya’s little one bit me?”

Aemond smiled – smug, slight, vulpine. He was right, of course, as he always was.

The sudden sound of shattered glass upon flagstones jerked Aemond out of his wager. He acted on instinct, as he always did, head whipping towards the drunken laughter and breaking his reverie. Behind him indeed stood two girls, as different as the sun and moon. The younger, dressed in fine lilac gossamer and silver, swiftly began to chase the bard and beg for another song.

And then there was you. Aemond’s eye roamed your figure, appraising the rich, dark olive of your gown and its deep, square neckline – Braavosi velvet, he’d wager, a show of wealth to have such long sleeves of the stuff. A little demure for an attempted seduction, he mused. Perhaps her family thought to appeal to mother’s piousness.

The prince would never admit that this was the longest he had stared at a woman. He simply wanted to improve his skill of gleaning, listening, to compare the observations he made with the reality before him. It was imperative to absorb every detail; the way that your gold pendant heaved with your shallow, shocked breathing, and the sliver of hair resting on your cheek. There was a power in your tensed shoulders - coiled, reactive, ready for the threat of weight. Aemond felt his fingers twitch against his will, a yearning to carry it for you.

He snapped himself back to reality with an internal grimace - the dragon cannot lie with the lamb. The music had begun again, and you finally turned towards him, face blanching at his discovered proximity.

“Prince Aemond,” you started, eyes wide, muscles coiled – caught in the courtly snare.

The lamb is too stunned to curtsey, he mused, watching your quick fingers wringing the golden band on your thumb. You certainly were the most radiant of the sacrifices offered to him so far. Though, he parried, there would be little use in marrying a fool.

Aemond hummed, relishing in your panic for a few seconds longer than any decent gentleman would.

“I’m half-blind, not half-deaf,” he said lowly, taking a step closer. “One would do well to be wary of the court, my lady. You never know who might be listening.”

Your eyes narrowed imperceptibly – a flash of something Aemond didn’t quite recognise, gone as quickly as it appeared. Idiots have trouble accepting their transgressions, he supposed, but her polite smile had something hidden behind it, like the dark side of the moon. Deep within the tides of the fray, Alicent observed the scene with a ghost of a smile. She watched the girl hide fire and intelligence in her muscles like a coiled serpent, and bitterly wished that she had the same instinct as a girl. Perhaps then she could have avoided her fate of staring at ceilings and dancing with dragons.

Her prayer was silent as she observed you, implored with eyes instead of the tongue: Keep buying your time, sweet girl. Her second son was much too perceptive not to see through your mummer’s moronity eventually – she could already see Aemond’s eye probing your mask.

“Aemond,” the Queen beckoned with a regal nod of her head.

Time. She thought, noting the way your minds danced around each other, palpable. Love matches were rare, mind matches even more so – but she could see the way you looked at one another. Time and choice. She would gift you the mercy the gods denied her.

The prince pried his eye away from you with great effort, waiting for you to answer him. You remained silent, gaze unwavering.

Interesting. He conceded as he walked towards his mother. For a dolt.

-----------------------------------------------------------------------

Your eyes narrowed through the dim candlelight. The crowd ebbed and heaved like fresh seafoam, and you searched for your sister, your anchor in the waves, like the Oldtown lightower would a lost ship. In truth, you felt uneasy without Ely, your sworn shield against courtly attentions. It had been like this ever since you were children – a symbiotic relationship, the tide to your moon. She would sing and whirl through your father’s halls, a gossamer dervish, drawing the attention to herself and leaving you free to pursue your histories and hidden halls, and hone your sharp tongue.

You finally spotted the girl by a large table of ale, humouring a dark haired young lord who had not yet grown into his long limbs. You weaved your way through the crowd to reach her, forming a courtly, waxen smile to begin your manoeuvre.

“Sister!” You gasped, watching Elyana’s dark eyes twinkle as she recognised your ruse. “Mother requires you at once–” You cocked your head, silently wondering how every little lord fell for it. “Something about Ser Randyll?”

The little lord – Arryn, you’d wager by his gleaming brooch – blanched at the sight of your mother in deep conversation with Lord Reyne and his son. You stifled a laugh watching his chest puff up slightly at the challenge – your work was done. You pried your sister away from the little falcon’s talons, barely managing to stifle your laughing fit until he was out of earshot.

“Seven hells, Y/N, it took you long enough!” she huffed, preening over your shoulder to make sure that the young Lord Lannister hadn’t seen the exchange and think her spoken for. She had always been a romantic, excessively so, even for her six and ten years.

You pinched her dimpled cheek with a grin. “That’s for having far too much mirth in calling me a dolt earlier.”

Elyana rolled her eyes, batting your hand away. “It was your grand strategy, if I recall.”

“Yes, and I accounted for the pinch.” You said wickedly, before surveying the hall.

“A job well done I’d say, The Prince heard our performance. I even refused to curtsey. He’ll no doubt relay my idiocy to the Queen, and we’ll be home in no time at all.”

Elyana regarded you pensively, gently taking hold of your hand. Her gentleness felt like a cage to you, sometimes – perceptive, inescapable. “You know you will have to marry one day.”

Your sister watched your eyes flutter, soaking in your surroundings like a sponge. Your reply was barely audible over the internal hum of your own thoughts. “Not like this.”

You had decided that long ago. You knew you couldn’t escape a married fate – all women were cursed with the knowledge of how their lives would go from the moment they stepped into their first etiquette lesson with the septa. But, if you were to be married, it would be on your terms.

Impossible, father often branded you, but always with a fond smile. If you could not escape your fate, you would fiercely guard the little time you had with your freedom as the kingsguard would protect the king.

Though sometimes, when alone in the vespertine hush of your chambers, you could admit the presence of a longing in yourself, a desire to be seen for who you were by whoever you might be sold off to. Such longing is dangerous, you told yourself. Expect the swing of the sword, never mercy. Especially if you found yourself drawn to the wielder like a moth to flame – you were lucky to have honed your courtly mask so well upon seeing his handsome face. Though you had heard takes of the “one-eyed brute”, there was little account of the beautiful shadow his cheekbones cast, and his knowing, surveying gaze.

Your sister pulled you out of your thoughts, head nodding to a balcony alcove. She knew the price you paid for duty as the eldest. “Go. Take your refuge. I’ll be with mother.”

You offered her a tired, grateful smile before wading through the crowd towards your sanctuary, too close to paradise to be aware of the shark circling.

------------------------------------------------------------------------------

It wasn’t as though Aemond had been watching you. Mother had always taught him to be an attentive host - he was merely cultivating good will, bolstering support for the war to come. He watched you grab your third - no, fourth - glass of wine, an irritated huff escaping his nose. He supposed there was little use in lying to himself any longer - he felt pulled to you the same way he felt called to the skies. Perhaps this was the lust that seemed to drive Aegon to the depths of Fleabottom every night - maddening.

The more he watched you, the more his one good eye narrowed in bewilderment. Supposedly too dim to follow a septa’s simple instruction and notice the ears of court, yet cunning enough to weave your way through this nest of dancing vipers and their hungry sons. You could redirect the attention of a young lord with a single word, and charm your father with the raise of an eyebrow. You moulded the scenes that unfolded around you, parrying dance requests with a skill he’d only seen with Ser Cole and his morningstar.

So why the overt blundering before him? He leaned against the pillar, pensive. The only rational explanation he could fathom was that you had heard stories of him and thought to demean yourself as a marriage prospect. The prince scowled. Of course. What woman such as her would want a one-eyed beast as a husband? Aemond felt his insides twist and his fingers twitch, barely containing the ire towards himself.

Despite your repulsion of him, Aemond felt his curiosity turning ravenous in his stomach as he watched you approach your sister. He could not help but want to map you as The Conqueror once did his lands – even if you did not want him, he could watch your mind work from afar. So watch he did, as your sister held your hand in hers like water. He mapped it all to memory – your hushed words, the steely set of your eyes and jaw, your deceptive smile; a sliver of his favourite crescent moon.

The hour was late and the candles burnt low. Nobody would begrudge any of the young ladies for retiring for the night – the young Tyrell girl had already sunk so far into her cups that she had to be carried to her chambers like an overwatered rose. Yet there you slithered to the alcove, alone, alert with empty company and a full cup.

Aemond had begun to follow you long before his mind registered the movement of his legs. He followed your trail through the flurry of bright skirts, drunk on the hunt. His long legs strode with a purpose that was lost to his conscious mind, stopping when he reached the boundary of the lush, red drapery. Aemond stood outside of your sanctuary for a long while before breaching it, in an act that almost reminded him of protection. From what, he did not know. A mangled dragon guarding its hoard, he thought wryly, before stepping onto the balcony with the silence of a predator.

The prince wasn’t sure what he expected. A maiden in tears after being shunned at court, perhaps – he wasn’t sure how far you’d go to keep up the show. But there you were, in the furthest corner of the alcove, with your elbows on the dark stone and your eyes to the stars. He glanced at your now-empty cup before clearing his throat.

You sighed imperceptibly before turning to face him. So you knew I was here, then. The thought made him hide a smile - the idea of you sensing his presence and ignoring him anyway, even if you tried to hide that fact. Insolent. He thought. Magnificent.

You bowed this time, with a tired, chagrin smile - an apology for earlier. “Forgive me, my Prince. It has been a while since my sister and I have been in the capital. The intricacies of court politics appear to be lost on me.”

Aemond hummed, ignoring the way his innards clenched - my prince. He rather liked the sound of that. “Yet not so unhoned that you managed to avoid that Lannister whelp,” he paused, brow raised. It made him feel less shame to know he was not the only one you rebuked. “Not to mention that little Manderly lordling.”

The Prince enjoyed watching you war with yourself - needing to keep your shield up, yet too tired and full of ire to keep up the ruse for much longer.

“Evading them hardly requires a honed mind, my Prince.” You snorted. A clever answer. He thought. Too clever.

“Aemond.” He corrected. You narrowed your eyes at him, suspicious. “If I am to play along with your farce, let the rest of it be real.” He amended, making his way next to you but never prying his eye away.

You breathed a laugh, toying with your rings again. “You see more with one eye than most do with two, Aemond.”

The prince hummed. “It is of little consequence. They still brand me “one-eye” after all.”

“Little,” you snorted again, a glorious sound. Real, he thought, the soft skin of your hand calling him as your voice did. Real enough to touch. “Perhaps everything seems little to the rider of the largest dragon alive.”

The mention of Vhagar earnt you a small smile - a true one that you couldn’t quite look away from. Somehow you knew that it was Aemond’s version of a face-splitting grin.

You basked in comfortable silence for a while, noting how he had placed you on his right side – away from his eyepatch. The revelation made you frown, but left your vision unobstructed. It gave you a better look at the way his hair fell, an estuary of molten silver. You committed his profile to memory - the sharp edges that were strong, true, until he suddenly met your eyes. For once, you were speechless - the lush darkness of the night and the sweet smell of gardenias were suddenly oppressive.

“I really can’t dance, you know.” You blurted.

Aemond artfully raised an eyebrow in question.

“Earlier,” you clarified. “what you heard.” You tucked your hair behind your ear with what you hoped was a self-effacing smile. “I really am a terrible dancer, it was no lie.”

Aemond nodded grimly in understanding. “There is no need, my Lady, I understand your distaste for the match.” He stood taller, and tapped his eyepatch lightly.

Aemond watched ten emotions cross your face at once, until you settled on the one that most puzzled him; anger. Your eyebrows furrowed deliciously, something he noticed you did before you wielded your barbed tongue, and your lips parted. He did not see how your heart caught in your throat, nor the way your hands almost sprung to hold his shoulders. You slapped your palms onto the cold stone instead.

“Gods no. No, that is,” you breathed, warring with yourself before finally conceding. “It is not you, Aemond. Nor the sapphire eye that likely costs more than my entire dowry,” you jested half-heartedly.

You steeled yourself for honesty, looking into the sky once again and sneering in defiance at the gods who watched. “If I am to be sold off, I at least want to choose my buyer.”

Aemond’s gaze never left you, probing your truth as if he were caught in its net. He finally understood, and you knew he did. There was little that could be said, he thought.

Your eyes were almost crazed with a repressed frustration that was finally breaching the walls of your dutiful facade. A longing to be understood that matched his own. He saw fire – not that of ‘fire and blood’, but the fire of lightning. Beautiful, terrible, calculated in its strikes. Magnificent.

You trembled as if to cull the rage from erupting out of you. Years of playing placater, unable to unleash the true potential of your mind and spirit. Aemond’s eye flitted down to the stone, observing the shaking of your hands.

He did the only thing he knew how to and rested his hand gently over yours, the same way he would calm Vhagar. Real, he thought. Warm. Much too warm. You calmed under his touch. He understood, you know he did – years at court culling your own ambition at the expense of duty. Aemond created the “one-eyed brute”, just as you created the “little dolt of a lamb”.

You placed your hand over his. Horribly improper – it made you smile under the valleys of his scars and callouses. You wondered if you could map them in your mind as the maesters mapped the stars – a sky that was your own. Aemond felt your pulse thrum under his fingers and let it reverberate – his hands, his ears, his heart, his bones, it was all you. He knew you would have to leave soon enough, but for now, he would bask in you, knowing you’ve scorched him for life.

“Aemond,” You said, hushed. “How far can a dragon fly?” You looked up to meet his faraway gaze, relishing in catching him off guard. His lips were slightly parted as he stared at your own. It took every ounce of his steel restraint not to pull you to him and show you the meaning of fire and blood.

Instead, he hummed. “Vhagar has been known to make the trip from here to Dorne in a day, give or take - ”

He stilled at the interrupting shake of your head. If you had met his eyes, you would have noticed the questioning squint of his eye. Instead, your eyes were now trained above him, not wavering from the star-spittled sky.

“No,” you began, the gold of your necklace jingling as you craned your neck - as if the stars would be able to hear you better that way. “How high? Your maesters would not tell me.”

Aemond stared at you for a moment, finally following your gaze upwards with a slight smile. You asked the maesters. Of course you did. The thought of you badgering them in the palace library filled him with a disturbing level of fondness.

“Perhaps we could find out.”

Your head whipped towards him, eyes sparkling in the dark. “We?”

Aemond hummed again, this time in affirmation as he took your hand in silent question. “If I’m steering Vhagar, who will take note of the scientific observations? Maybe you are a dolt after all, my lady.” You squeezed his hand in your own, and your answering grin was like the sun. Magnificent.

#song prompts #my writing #aemond targaryen x reader #aemond x reader #aemond targaryen #aemond fics #hotd #hotd fics #unbowed unbeta'd unbroken #mine #magnificent

405 notes · View notes

moris-auri · 7 months

Text

Time is but a paper moon

Summary:

Never step into the forest. That was the first lesson. Taught to all the village children as soon as they were old enough to learn and listen at the feet of the Elders. Most of them did, too frightened by the whispered tales of those who dwelled amongst the trees and called the forest home.

Some did not.

A/N; nothing really, and I hope you like this :) I'm sorry this has taken so long too!

Word Count: 3.9k

Warnings: mature themes, somewhat dark!Aemond, pining, angst, p in v sex, fey/fair folk references, use of she/her pronouns.

Taglist:

@aemondx @sylasthegrim @bottlesandbarricades @helaelaemond @arcielee @lexwolfhale @orcaunionleader @barbieaemond

The forest around her was as silent as death, the ground saturated from the rain that had fallen the night before in fat, heavy drops that had beat into the dirt, leaving behind both the rich earthy scent and the promise of more.

At this time, when the sun had not even risen yet and tendrils of fog weaved in between the ferns and other plants like serpents, it was still, so quiet one could hear a pin drop, the only audible sound the leaves underfoot as she weaved through the dense thick brush, wincing every time a bramble or a thorn caught at her cloak or scratched over her skin.

There was a danger here. She could feel it in her bones, like an animal lurking in the underbrush hunting its prey. But it was one she cared little about, not when this was the only place the plants she needed like sage and mint and St. John's Wort grew in abundance.

And so she brushed off the concerns of the elders, promising to stay away with only one thought on her mind.

What they didn’t know wouldn’t hurt them.

Her fingers have barely brushed the edge of a leaf when the crack and snap of someone stepping on a branch came from a distance behind her, cutting loudly through the early morning quiet. She stiffened, letting her fingers fall to her sides as she stood up, wary and alert as she turned around to face whatever was behind her.

Her eyes widened when it was not an animal like she expected, but a man.

Tall and lean, he stood beside one of the trees, monochromatic and dark against the earthy colors, his face half cloaked in shadow as he stood with his back to her. Pushing down her growing unease, she squared her shoulders, letting her voice carry over the distance. "Who are you?"

He twisted at the sound of her voice, surprise briefly flashing across his face before his expression shuttered, shifting into something haughty and cold and foreboding.

She was more than thankful for the distance, barely hiding the brief widening of her eye and the low gasp she let out at the sight of the dark square of leather on the left side of his face.

Her eyes moved over him from head to toe and back, lingering on the pretty, angular curve of his face. Wraith-like shadows seemed to cling to him like a second skin, hiding something dangerous carefully concealed behind the sharp lines of his face.

His eye narrowed, almost as if he had heard her, an icy coldness settling over his expression the longer he held her gaze, making the hairs on the back of her neck rise. "Who are you?" he returned, looking like he wanted to devour her whole as he stared down at her.

The hem of his coat brushed his legs as he moved, keeping her within his line of sight as he paced back and forth in front of her warily, prowling around her in a circle like a fox hunting for its next meal.

She shifted on her feet, following his movement as the wetness of the grass began to seep onto her feet through the worn straps of her sandals as something deep inside her reared its head, the nagging fear that she should run and not look back.

Yet she didn’t, as if something kept her feet frozen to the ground beneath her. She knew this place like the back of her hand, knew every twisting path and yet she had never seen him before, this silver haired stranger in front of her.

He folded his hands behind his back as he stilled, leveling an impassive look at her. “Tell me,” he said suddenly, tilting his head to the side like a wolf. “What reason do you have for stepping foot into my forest?" he stopped, digging the heels of his boots into the dirt, gaze sharp as he watched her.

Indignation and fury welled white hot in her chest at his words as she scowled at him, forcibly biting the inside of her cheek to keep her anger at bay. “Your forest?” She bit out, shifting again as the quietness of the clearing was broken in sporadic bursts of wind carding through the trees.

“Last I was aware this forest belonged to no one.”

“Yes, my forest.” He didn’t sound amused as he lifted a brow, an almost cruel smile dancing across his lips. His hair, as pale as moonlight, slipped over his shoulders, some of the strands woven into thin braids. “Well?”

"I need herbs,” she said as she gestured behind her. “My supply has run low."

His brow dropped, the sharp look in his eye diminishing slightly as he took in the plant behind her. "You are a healer." He observed, the tension in his shoulders lessening a hairsbreadth.

“I am,” she said cautiously as fear rolled in her stomach, heady and thick, nearly saturating her insides. “And who are you?”

All at once, his demeanor changed as the tension returned to him. "Foolish girl," he murmured, clicking his tongue. "Tis not a question you should ask." He crooned, shafts of light glinting off the pale, pointed ends of his ears.

"You're one of them," she breathed, the beating of her heart thunderously loud as it pounded in her ears. "A Fair Folk." Her fear returned, dredging up the old memories of her youth, spent with the other village children at the foot of the elders and the words of her mother.

Never trust the fae, child.

He made a low noise in the back of his throat before he spoke. "In simple terms, yes," his voice was soft, a contrast to the sharp cut lines of his face. He moved closer, the smell of leather and smoke and rain enveloping her completely. It was yet another detail setting him apart from her world and the scents she smelled daily and it was a more than welcome change from the harsh smells of the forge and the markets filled with spices.

She bit her lip before speaking again, her curiosity overpowering her. "What do they call you?"

“My name is not meant for the ears of a mortal,” he murmured quietly, mere inches from her now, so close where his breath fanned over her face as his knuckle brushed over the curve of her cheek. She shivered, the hairs on the back of her neck rising as his finger trailed lower, its path stilled by the plain clasp of her rough woolen cloak before he withdrew, letting his hand drop to his side again. "Lovely as you might be."

The skin at the back of her neck prickled, hairs rising at the way he dragged the words out, curling his tongue around the syllables. He leaned forward again, this time to brush a strand of hair back behind her ear. He seemed to take delight in her silence, toying with her like this was nothing but a source of amusement for him.

Between one breath and the next, he slipped behind her, lips brushing her ear. "What will you give me? If I let you go?" She sucked in a breath, heart thudding behind her ribs. She shuddered, more than aware of the almost inferno-like heat of him at her back. Her fingers twitched under the cloak, smothering the urge to reach for the blunt edged knife at her waist.

"I..." her tongue stuck dryly in her mouth, the sweet, bitter tang of the tarragon she’d eaten before she had ventured out lingering in the back of her mouth.

Nothing.

Anything.

He circled around her again, stopping in front of her again. “Foolish girl,” he began to laugh, a low cruel sound, shoulders shaking. “Learn to be more careful with what you say, mortal,” he rasped, a muscle twitching in his jaw as his gaze focused on her fisted hands, “There are monsters here. Ones who will not hesitate to hurt you.”

Fury welled in her chest at the mocking, almost insufferable way he said it, followed by an angry, indignant noise slipping from her mouth. A faint almost cruel half-smile lingered in the corners of his thin, pretty mouth.

Her teeth clacked together as her mouth closed. “You said-”

“I know what I said, and yet you were foolish enough to believe me.” A shiver crawled up her spine as ice flooded her veins, cursing herself for foolishly brushing aside all the warnings of the elders to never trust a Fae.

How foolish she’d been in thinking that he would be different. For as beautiful as they were, their nature would never change and they would always stay the same. Otherworldly and spiteful. Treacherous and cruel.

And he was no exception.

He is the farthest thing on her mind when the harvest comes a moon’s turn later, her days filled with clouds and rain and even less sun as the pale yellow green of the tree leaves darkened as summer came, bringing with it the yearly harvest and baskets filled to the brim with an assortment of fruit that had hung heavily from tree branches only days before, weighing them down so much the tips almost brushed the grass below.

"You came back."

"Of course I did." He stood hesitantly in the doorframe of her cottage, shoulders stooped slightly as his eye slid from corner to corner, taking scope of the sparsely furnished dwelling. He moved forward, sinking down as stiff as a board onto one of the chairs in front of the hearth.

She remembered their last interaction so clearly, how he had appeared in the same place again and again, like she was a beacon. How he had seemed to sense every time she set a foot just past the treeline. How she had been startled the next time he had slid from behind a tree with a smirk on his lips.

And as the days and weeks blurred by, she had grown used to his presence. To the low tones of his voice in her ear as he opened up to her as best he could, surrounded by nothing but the rustle of trees and the sounds of birds singing, still clinging to that same cold, aloof demeanor. He was as still as cruel and vicious as she remembered, but the more time that passed, seeing the undercurrent of something that was almost vulnerable.

“Might I see you again?” He’d stood stiffly, his arms folded behind his back. That same frigid icy stoicism was on his face, his eye focused on her with an intensity that was both solemn and enthralling.

The feelings that had begun to course through her veins the longer she held his gaze. “Of course.”

She twisted her hands together as she hovered on the side where he could see her. “I’ve missed you.”

He merely hummed as he glanced at her from the corner of his eye, his lips quirking upwards. She let out a shriek when one of his hands darted out to wrap around her wrist as he pulled her onto him, arm curling around her waist.

“Be still,” he grunted hoarsely, sounding more than a little strung out, his arm tightening around her waist. Her eyes flicked downwards, gaze stopping on where his other hand gripped the arm of the chair with whitened knuckles, hard enough to snap the aged wood.

The proximity to him was dizzying as the smoke and the almost earthy herbal note that clung to his clothes flowed over her. Seconds passed before she shifted, moving to stand, only to freeze again when he hissed under his breath, the sound reverberating against the side flush against him.

He didn’t let go of her as he stood, twisting a hand in the hair at the back of her neck as his mouth sought hers, his teeth nipping at her lip, the pads of his fingers digging into her sides.

She shuddered, moaning against his mouth as she dug her nails into the back of his neck, gripping his shoulder with the other.

His kisses weren't anything like the brief ones she had exchanged in the past with the boys in her village, heated to the point where the imprint of his touch was seared into her flesh. His fingers skirted up under her tunic, moving higher and higher.

“We should not- '' he groaned against her jaw, the low, tormented noise sending desire pooling down between her thighs. “Your lifespan is naught more than a mere blink of an eye for my kind,” he rasped as he pulled back to let her breathe, panting.

“I don’t care,” she breathed, biting the inside of her cheek at the loss of his touch. “I want you. At least this once...”

He wavered at that, his eye flicking from her face to the door and back again.

She pressed herself against him harder, curling her hand around the back of his neck, consumed by a wild, desperate need inside her. She would gladly let him swallow her whole like some beast of old. Let him slice her from throat to navel and crawl inside her, burrowing his way into her bones and her blood and her heart. “Please.”

He swallowed hoarsely, fingertips skirting down the curve of her back, feeling each and every bump of her spine beneath her skin. “Turn around.” His pupil dilated and contracted rapidly as he watched the pile of fabric at her feet grow.

“You’re beautiful,” he swallowed, tongue darting out to wet his lip as he took in the sight of her. The expression on his face was dazed, his eye clouded and darkened by a lust that was unfamiliar to both of them.

She flushed at the words, bright patches of red painting her cheeks, self-conscious now as she folded her arms across her chest, the chill of the night hitting her breasts as it seeped in through the cracks in her window, wishing desperately she'd patched them over ages ago.

“May I?” her fingers hovered just above the belt cinching his waist, feeling bolder than she ever had. His eye darkened, the strange violet color slowly bleeding to black.

He eyed her with a hunger, that same wildness that had been in his eye all those months ago as tension seemed to spark between them, building and building until it reached a breaking point, snapping like a torn string.

Her body trembled, whether with desire or anticipation or something else, she didn’t know, but whatever the feeling was, knew she never wanted it to end as he kissed her again, deeper this time, slanting his mouth against hers as his hand came up to cradle the back of her head.She moaned against his mouth, each kiss harsher and more biting than the last. Insatiable now, his hands moved over every part of her. Her pulse jumped beneath her skin as the pad of his thumb swiped across the thin skin of her throat.

"There is a spot," he rasped, reaching down between them. "Here," he croaked, eye half-lidded. She moaned, grasping his wrist loosely as the tips of his fingers brushed something between her thighs, sending a flare of pleasure up her spine.

“Touch me,” he exhaled raggedly under his breath, burying his face in the crook of her neck as her fingers brushed the outline of his cock, the muscles of his stomach jumping beneath his skin. His fingers tangled in her hair, tugging lightly on the strands as he breathed something else against her skin.

The chuckle he let out reverberated against her back as he pressed closer, his hold on her bruising and harsh, and the longer she thinks, the fuzzier her head got, that it was painful in a way she didn’t mind.

"Greedy little thing, aren't you?" From his mouth, the words sounded almost like a mocking term of endearment. “So desperate for me,” he murmurs under his breath as his lips drag up over her throat, hovering just over the spot where her pulse hammered wildly beneath her skin.

She twisted underneath his weight, panting as her fingers twisted against the coarse spun bedding, the tightly wound coil of her desire for him increasing with each deliberately slow drag of his fingers, sending her hurtling closer and closer to her peak.

“Tell me this is mine,” he growled as the sinew of his arms twisted around her, lowering his head as he nipped at the skin, soothing the skin with kisses. “That you are mine.”

“Say it,” he repeated roughly, pulling his fingers back. Her back arched, lifting upwards as she tensed under him, her hands clawing at his back and her ankles crossing one over the other, her heel digging into his lower back, taking the pleasure he gave her freely.

The braid her hair had been woven into had long since come undone, curling over her shoulders in damp, sweaty strands, no thanks to the rough tugs of his fingers. She knew that come morning, bruises would mar her skin as purposefully left remnants that she was his and his alone.

The rapid thudding beat of her heart had only barely calmed when the chilling sound of howling sounded from beyond her door.

His head jerked, the arm he had draped across her stomach falling to the side as he shot up. “Stay here,” he demanded, not looking at her as he dressed feverishly, lastly flipping a cloak over his head.

“Sister.”

He stalked towards where she stood, ignoring the hulking black faehound that bared its teeth at him from behind her.

“Brother.” Helaena's voice was low and quiet, watching the candlelight flicker from behind dirty window panes. Clad in velvet and silk in jeweled tones of blue and ivory and gold, his sister was ethereal.

"Aegon knows." She spoke plainly, not bothering to embellish her words.

“Why are you here, sister?”

His face hardened, lips tightening like a shard of glass. "How?” he demanded, whirling on her.

“He sees, brother. Not to mention mother, grandsire and the Clubfoot all whisper into his ear," she murmured, every inch a queen as she folded her hands together in front of her in an echo of their mother.

“The Clubfoot should have been exiled decades ago,” he said, scoffing. "He drips poison into his ear more like. I don’t know how our brother can stand his foul simpering."

A fawn came closer, sniffing the air as it stilled a few feet from her, legs locked. Helaena clucked her tongue softly, turning away from him as she bent down, curling her fingers in a come hither gesture at the creature. It stared at her, wide dark eyes unblinking, before inching close enough to sniff at her extended fingers warily.

“Why are you here?” he repeated, flexing his fingers at his sides.

"Because Mother wants you to return home. She misses you." A pang hit him at the mention of their mother. Kind and gentle, she had been staunch and stalwart in her affection for all four of her children. He remembered it so clearly, the pained look on her face when he stormed from Aegon's halls in a fit of rage nearly a century past. "No, she doesn't. She has Daeron." He said, bitterness a sour tang on his tongue. "Her favorite boy."

Her hand dropped from the fawn’s head, giving the little thing the chance to bolt away from her on silent hooves, spotted hide swallowed by the darkness. "Don't be cruel, brother." She chastised, making him feel like a boy again. Wind began to pick up around them almost immediately after it had disappeared, the howling sound of it lashing through the tree branches grating in his ears.

His expression darkened, desperately wanting to scowl at her, the iron salty taste of blood flooding his mouth as he bit the inside of his cheek. The wind died, the quivering tree limbs stilling as the eerie calm settled once again over the forest.

“And because I see how you've grown attached to her. Your human." Her gaze was sharper than he remembered, her ability to be able to read him like no one else was more than off-putting. “Brother…” she murmured, voice laden with a pity he didn’t want.

“Don’t,” he snapped, the word coming out harsher than he meant it too.

She didn’t so much as blink, the only tell the slight raising of her brow, her expression as still and as calm as a lake. “She will die, brother. That is the way of things. She will die and we will carry on. As we've done for centuries."

"You think I don't know that?" He croaked, gaze sweeping over her willowy frame. “I know her fate, sister. I know that she, like all mortals, will wither and fade as time passes, whether of old age or some other happenstance...”

“And yet you know what will happen if you choose to stay here with her,” she warned, reaching up to grasp his chin in her hand. He could almost feel the power thrumming under her skin, heady and addictive. “He will not like it, brother.”

He curled his lip savagely in a twisted mocking grin. “I don’t care what he likes.”

She hummed, letting go of his face as she stepped backwards. “You know what he will do.”

She was gone when he opened his eye again, leaving nothing but the remnant of the flowers on her head brushing his skin and the echo of her words in his ear. It’s time you came home, brother mine.

"I cannot stay long," he murmured, pushing the hood of his cloak back once her door had latched behind him.

There was something different about him, something not even her healer’s intuition could name. She had watched, seeing him and the figure of another, almost be shoulder to shoulder. As well as the red eyes of the animal prowling around them in a circle.

“Something’s happened, hasn’t it?”

“Yes.” He was pale, almost ghostly so, with faint shadows darkening the pale skin under his eye, the pupil of his eye dilated and filled with a fear so unlike him.

She ached to touch him, dread coiling in her belly as she took in the look on his face. “What is it?”

He tipped his head back, not meeting her eyes as he exhaled, his breath shuddering its way past his lungs. “My brother has commanded that I return home. Permanently.” he murmured finally, bringing his head forward as he met her gaze. He kept his face blank even as her own went ashen and colorless.

And there was nothing she could do but watch as he seemed to withdraw and fold back into himself like a garden snail retreating into its shell, turning into a stranger once again.

"I knew you'd come back, one last time. Felt it in my bones."

He lingered in the doorframe, a solemn, silent creature of blood and bone and shadows with moonglow in his hair. He was still as beautiful as she remembered, the lingering echo of his touch still sharp even after all the years went by.

"I did."

#aemond targaryen fic #aemond smut #hotd fics #aemond x oc #my fics

238 notes · View notes