daemonsversion

[daemonsversion]

Requested by anonymous:

Daemon Targaryen with Dark Sister.

[daemonsversion]

He is more myself than I am.

[daemonsversion]

Hightower Girl | Daemon x Reader

Pairing: Daemon Targaryen x Female (Hightower) Reader

Summary: Sometimes it seems like Daemon has made it his life's mission to annoy you as much as possible. However, when he learns that your father has practically arranged a marriage for you, a long hidden desire comes raging to the surface.

Content etc: profanity, slight masturbation but not really, smut (fingering, loss of virginity) I never know what to put here tbh. Sorry for any mistakes, I only read back through it once or so.

Word count: 6,935 (my first fic on this page was NOT meant to be this long help)

The air held a chill as you turned your gaze up to the sky. You were standing at one of the large windows, looking out over the courtyard as the morning light continued to grow. It was beautiful to look at, yet the chill felt similar to the one that ran through your heart.

With a sigh, you turned away and retreated down the corridor. Last night your father, Otto Hightower, had told you of his plans to marry you off to one of the lords on the small council. You would, quite frankly, rather eat your own head but when you tried to protest all he'd done was get upset with you and tell you it was long overdue that you wed.

So you had been in a downward spiral ever since, trying to decide what - if anything - you could do to get out of it. It was a feeling of powerlessness that had you in its grip as you lamented that there might actually be nothing that you could do about it. Unfortunately, in many ways, you were seen as your father's property. To effectively sell off as he saw fit.

You didn't see him at first. Your eyes were fixed firmly ahead as you walked but they were not really working as they should. You had tunnel vision, moving mainly on autopilot. It wasn't until you'd walked right into Prince Daemon and trodden on his foot that you realised he was anywhere in the vicinity.

"Ah-careful!" He hissed, though not out of real anger, just a bit of surprise and pain because you'd really stomped down on his toes without meaning to. His hands had shot up to your shoulders, pushing you away from him, holding you at arms length.

Your gazes met at the same time and he blinked, abruptly letting go of you and stepping back, his eyes looking you up and down. "Oh." Hightower girl.

You frowned at his reaction but you were not in the mood today to get into an argument with the prince of the city, though some days you almost lived for it. "Forgive me, I was not looking where I-"

"No. I daresay you were not." Daemon smoothly interrupted, causing a flash of irritation to go through you. As much as you tried to conceal it, it did not go unnoticed and his lip curled into an amused smirk.

He leaned in slightly, his eyes now full of mischief as he saw the reaction he'd drawn out of you. Very similar to the ones you often drew from him, merely by the circumstance of your birth. He had not the stomach for Hightower cunts, after all, but he had absolutely found some use for you - getting to make you scowl and want to stomp your pretty little foot was the highlight of his day sometimes.

"You know, if you wanted to be close to me, all you had to do was ask." He purred, a hand coming up to brush a stray lock of hair from your face.

Your own hand immediately came up to slap his away before he could even touch you. Daemon chuckled, straightening up and letting his eyes roam down your form once more, from head to toe. This time it felt like there was something more than just derision there... and a sort of heat started to creep through you. Once his eyes met yours again, he gave you another one of his irritating smirks and then turned on his heel and vanished as quickly as he had appeared.

With a glare, you watched him leave, ignoring the deep ache that started to gnaw at you somewhere within and then you turned away and continued about your business.

Idiot.

Hours later, your frustrated footsteps took you through the keep, away from your father's office, out into the fresh air. The expression on your face was anything but happy, the argument you had just had with Otto fresh in your mind. You had, of course, gone to him intending to have a very levelheaded conversation about all of this but as usual it had descended into madness.

'It is high time you wed and start a family of your own, I have coddled you too long. Grow up. You will marry him.'

The words were spinning in your mind as you exited and stormed out to the Godswood. Not for any reason other than the fact that you knew it would be empty of people and your main desire was to be alone.

You didn't even want to talk it out with your little sister right now because you knew Alicent would only try and defend him. Ever the little appeaser, she would probably say that Otto was only doing what he thought was best. If he wanted to do what was best for you, why not let you marry someone you wanted, when you wanted?

A large pair of hands suddenly gripping you by the waist from behind and pulling you backwards, flush up against a hard body, startled you from your web of thoughts.

"You know the Gods aren't actually listening, don't you?" Daemon's lips grazed your hair and his breath was hot in your ear.

With a squeal, you scrunched in on yourself, squirming out of his grasp, twisting around to shove him away by the chest. "Daemon!" Your tone was scolding.

He only chuckled, leaning against the nearest tree as he looked back at you. "What?" He asked innocently.

You could only frown. Usually you had no problem giving back what you got but you simply don't have the heart for any of it today.

"Oh, what?" Daemon practically sneered, his lip curling as he stared at you. "Cat got your tongue, Hightower girl?" He knew your name but he never bothered to use it, simply out of a desire to further annoy you. You only ever called him by his name and he never called you by yours.

You rolled your eyes and gave him a look but there was not as much fire in it as usual and he found that this disappointed him a little.

"I saw you leaving your father's office." Daemon continued, watching the way your jaw tightened just slightly. He smirked. "Is it your cunt of a father that has upset you, hm?"

Where he expected to see a scowl at his insult against Otto, perhaps even a little fight, you instead huffed a humourless laugh and threw your hands up in a defeated manner. Upset was an understatement, you felt so far beyond just upset.

Daemon frowned, his expression becoming more serious. Well, teasing you was no fun if you did not react in the way he had become accustomed to. It seemed that he might have hit the nail on the head here without even really meaning it - he thought your mournful look was due to his presence, though now that he thought about it you had stormed out here in something of a temper. He had followed you all the way from inside, after all, so he'd seen the swiftness of your steps.

"What has he done now?" He asked then, studying your face with a look you rarely saw on him.

"Nothing." You mumbled, looking down at the ground. The last thing you wanted to do was pour your heart out to Daemon fucking Targaryen.

"It does not look like nothing." Was all the prince said in response.

Just that, not a hint of mockery in his tone, and you lifted your head to frown at him again. He did not look his usual level of cruel amusement. He looked almost like he... actually just wanted to know. That couldn't be right.

However, something about that made you just blurt the words out. Your father had basically sold you off to one of those stupid, stuffy lords on the small council. You had no choice and you felt like you were suffocating!

After you finished venting, Daemon's expression changed again. It was subtle, barely noticeable, but you caught the slight narrowing of his eyes as he stared at you in silence. The smugness seemed to have been wiped completely from his face. You couldn't remember the last time you'd seen him without it.

"What?" You asked, confused now as well as frustrated. Why was he not making fun of you about this? Why was he not taunting you with your looming fate?

Daemon gave the slightest shake of his head, his gaze dropping away from your face slightly. He opened his mouth as if to speak and then he closed it again as if he'd changed his mind. His tongue darted out to wet his lower lip and then he turned his face, looking away over the trees.

Your gaze had dropped to his mouth but you ignored the feeling in the pit of your stomach that the glimpse of his tongue gave you and tried to focus.

"What?" You asked again, a little more firmly this time. Daemon's silence was setting you on edge.

"What do you mean, what?" Daemon practically hissed as he turned his face back towards you.

Your glare returned at his tone. That was more like it. More familiar. "What do you think I mean? What is your problem?"

"You are my problem!" Was his furious reply as he took a step towards you.

"I have never done anything to you!" You exclaimed back. It was always him! Starting an argument or saying something snide in passing. He'd started this whole thing! If you were such a problem, why did he keep seeking you out just to bother you?

"Oh, do not act as though you are blind!" Daemon said, exasperated.

"What are you talking about?" You could not understand how a discussion about your predicament had spun so out of control. Why was he so angry? He was the one who'd asked! You were the one who was being given to some random man! "This is typical Daemon Targaryen. Everything is always about y-"

"You know very well that I have desired you, do not try and deny it!" Daemon snapped.

The silence that followed was absolutely deafening. You stared at him, your expression now one of shock. He stared back, his one of anger and also regret for speaking the words aloud.

"You..." Was all you could get out before you fell silent once more. This did not make sense.

In one of the most surprising moves he had ever pulled on you, Daemon closed the remaining distance in an instant. Taking your face in between his hands, he held you in place for a moment as his dark gaze burned across your features, and then his mouth descended upon yours and you were thrown so far into shock you were not sure you would ever come back from it.

His kiss was hot and passionate and his tongue was in your mouth before you knew what was happening as you... kissed him back, the desire that had been fighting for attention inside you for years now taking control.

His hands moved from your face and took hold of your waist as his mouth continued to explore yours, guiding you backwards towards the tree and pressing you gently up against it. You would have expected him to be rough and quick but he was not. His touch was gentle and soft and your heart was practically flying in your chest.

His body pressed up against yours as he deepened the kiss and you couldn't stop a soft sound of desire leaving you. It spurred Daemon on as a hand moved up from your waist, sliding up over your dress. He groaned into your mouth at the shape of you and you felt like you were on fire.

Only when Daemon's fingers began to fiddle with the lacing at the front of your bodice did you come back to your senses, turning your face to break the kiss and the hands that had moved to grasp his shirt began to push him away. "Stop... stop..."

The kiss stopped but Daemon did not immediately move away, his nose grazing your hair and his breath now hot against your ear as he fought to get his lust under control.

Eventually, he pulled away, his hands leaving you, stepping back to put distance between you both.

You were in an absolute whirlwind. Had that actually just happened? You had kissed Daemon. Daemon had kissed you. He'd been desiring you? For how long? Why? He hated you, did he not? You had so many questions and a moment later you turned your face back so you could see him.

Daemon stood where he was for another few moments, breathing heavily as he stared at you, his expression unreadable. Then he suddenly turned on his heel and started walking off.

"Daemon!" You called, stepping after him in surprise. What? He was just going to leave? This was not finished!

The prince said not another word, nor did he turn around, simply picked up his pace and disappeared.

The night was quiet.

The hour of the wolf had come and you had still not managed to fall asleep. It was not just your marriage predicament playing on your mind this night, it was also the moment with Daemon in the Godswood.

His hands on your waist. His tongue in your mouth.

You would be lying if you tried to convince yourself that you had never imagined it before. Despite the way he often spoke to you, and the remarks or looks you sometimes even gave him back, you had always had that funny feeling around Daemon. Try as you might (because he was a complete bastard, there was no denying it) you just hadn't been able to shake it. That desire.

Desire. He'd said he had desired you. How long had he felt that way? Why had he never said or done anything? To be fair, you knew why, and it probably had everything to do with your father.

Otto Hightower was the snake in Daemon's boot.

You thought about the way he'd looked at you when you'd told him about Otto's plan to marry you off. The speechlessness you had never witnessed before. The way his anger had risen quite quickly, causing him to just blurt out these apparently hidden feelings he'd been harbouring.

Your thoughts began to wander, wondering what would have happened if you had just let him continue what he'd been doing. If you'd let him pull at the laces of your dress and go further. He'd already had you up against the tree, what would it have been like if you'd just... let him take you?

As you imagined it, an ache began to grow steadily down between your thighs. Sighing, you squirmed. It was too late for this! You needed to sleep... yet it would not go away and your thoughts would not quiet.

With a frustrated noise, you shifted and your hand slid beneath the sheets. You couldn't believe that you were about to do this. Touch yourself to the thought of Daemon fucking Targaryen. That rude, arrogant, self-centred...

Your eyes drifted closed as you pulled the hem of your nightdress up and moved your fingers where you wanted - no, needed - them.

The lightest of touches was all you were afforded before you heard the sound of soft knocking at the door. You flinched, eyes flying open again as you sat up on your elbows and stared at the door with a frown.

The hour was so late. Who could that possibly be?

"Who is it?" You eventually called out, in case it was Alicent or maybe a guard informing people of a problem - though you had not heard any activity in the halls.

Instead of receiving a reply, your heart leapt into your throat as the door was simply pushed open upon hearing you were awake and a figure slipped into the room. It took you a moment to realise it was not any old intruder.

"Daemon!" Your heart rate slowed again, though not by much. The fact he was here at all was very improper.

He did not speak but stayed standing by the now closed door, staring at you through the darkness.

His silent, lingering presence in your dark chamber unnerved you slightly. "What are you doing?" You hissed.

Daemon blinked, seeming to snap out of whatever reverie he'd found himself in. He had been staring at you in the bed, not having been prepared for the sight even though he'd known logically you would be in it. "I thought that we should speak." He said, taking a step away from the door.

You sat up even further in the bed. "At this hour? In my chambers? You should not be here."

"I could not sleep." He said simply. Even through the darkness you could see the way his gaze flickered very quickly over your sheet-covered form.

"What has that got to do with me?" You asked even though you were pretty sure you already knew the answer. Had he been thinking about it too? Had it kept him awake as it had kept you?

Daemon's slight smirk returned as he took another step towards the bed and slowly moved to sit down on the edge of it. He wanted to touch you but he refrained. You were right, it was late and inappropriate but he just hadn't been able to rest. He had been pacing a hole in the floor of his own room for the past few hours.

You shifted in the silence that followed, refusing to be the first to break it. Your eyes were glued to him.

"I would say sorry about earlier," his voice came again. "But I would not mean it."

"Why are you here, Daemon?" You asked, ignoring what he'd just said completely.

He smiled a little wryly and his gaze dropped briefly to the low neckline of your nightdress and back up to your face. The moonlight streaming in through your window was the only thing illuminating the room.

"I think you know why I am here." He murmured, lifting a hand as if to reach for you face.

As earlier in the day, you lifted your own hand and lightly smacked his away before he could touch you. "I am not one of your whores!" You snapped, offended.

"Give yourself to me and I will never take another whore again, I swear it." Daemon said simply, his voice low as he leaned in slightly, his eyes never leaving your face.

"What?" You leaned backwards but the pillows didn't let you move too far from him. You could feel that ache again... the closer he got, the more he spoke.

"I mean it, I am being serious." He stated, lifting his hand again to graze the backs of his fingers down your cheek. This time you let him. "You do not wish for your father to marry you off to that stuffy idiot." He whispered, shifting closer. "Well, neither do I." His tone had darkened a little on that, taking on an almost possessive quality that made your heart somersault. "I presume you are a maiden." It tended to be something of a good bargaining chip for arranging unions between houses, after all.

Daemon's touch travelled slowly down your cheek towards your jaw and he eventually curled his long fingers under your chin, his thumb brushing your lower lip. "Give yourself to me," he repeated. "And I will deflower you and make it known... the marriage will be over before it is even begun." He knew this particular lord well and he knew he would not want a wife who had been sullied.

You stared at him in stunned silence for a long moment, trying to ignore the tightening in your belly and the racing of your heart at his proximity and his words. "To what end?" You asked in a helpless little whisper. "I would not have to marry this lord, no, but then what? I will surely be...-" Unwanted by most, seen as ruined perhaps, used. And gods the fury of your father when he found out...

As much as you desired him you did not want to be just one of Daemon's conquests, especially when it would leave you ostracised with no options while he continued to swan around doing whatever he wanted with no consequences. Oh, to be a man, you thought bitterly.

However, you did not get to finish your thought as Daemon interrupted, with a frustrated little frown on his face as if he'd expected you to piece that together on your own. "You would marry me."

A silence followed in which the two of you simply stared at each other. You were stunned. Did he mean that or was he being annoying? Despite the frustration on his face, which was also kind of born from his lust, you got the feeling he wasn't making fun of you. Not this time.

"What?"

"I said you would marry me, Hightower girl, are you deaf?"

A small scowl appeared on your face at his response and you pulled your face from his grasp. No, you were not deaf, but it was a bit of a bloody shocking thing for him to say, wasn't it?

"I have a name you know, you arrogant-!" You cut yourself off before you could say something too terrible but the irritation remained on your face. He had never in all the years you'd known him told you off for not using a title with him, yet he had also never called you by your own name from what you could recall. No doubt he had probably long forgotten it!

Daemon smirked at the sudden rise of fire in you. You had been off for most of the day due to wallowing in your misery and fighting with you had not felt quite as satisfactory as it usually did.

"There she is." He muttered, reaching for your face again. This time he took it with both hands like he had in the Godswood and he stared directly into your eyes, amusement shining on his face as he said your name.

Something about it falling from his lips, the way his mouth moved as he spoke it, coupled with the slowly growing desire in his eyes made you cave. Something flickered in your eyes. Daemon saw it and he immediately took it as a yes and leaned in. You did not object, tilting your head slightly once his mouth came down on yours, kissing him deeply.

A moment later his hands left your face and he was tugging at you to get you to lie back down. You shifted, still reeling slightly, and lay down again in the bed. Your heart was racing. You should not be doing this.

Any further thought was momentarily ceased as Daemon slid over top of you, hovering for a few seconds as his eyes seemed to take in as much as they could of you through the dark. "You are beautiful." He mumbled, so quiet that you thought he'd probably said it accidentally. His mouth immediately descending upon your own to prevent any response strengthened this thought.

You kissed him back right away, not in the state of mind to fully think on it anyway. Your desire was rising and the ache that had kept you awake was growing once more.

You made a small sound into his mouth which made Daemon press his body down against yours a little. The contact just made you feel hotter.

His hand slowly moved up to the neckline of your nightgown and this time you did not try to stop him. You let his fingers tug at the little ties, feeling it loosen with each one he pulled free. Your heart was now hammering so hard in your chest that you wondered how you had not passed out.

This is wrong, your mind was screaming.

But if it was wrong... then why did it feel so right?

Your thoughts ceased again when Daemon's fingers touched the bare skin of your right breast, having gotten the laces at the bust undone while you were kissing. You made a sound into his mouth and then he broke the kiss, pulling back so he could look down at you, wanting to see you properly.

The light in the room was dim but his eyes were keen enough and he groaned at the sight of you, gently pulling the rest of the fabric aside.

Again, Daemon continued to surprise you. Earlier, in the Godswood you remembered expecting his kiss or his movements to be rough and demanding yet it had been soft and gentle. In bed, you had imagined (yes, shamefully, you had imagined) Daemon ripping clothes off impatiently and taking what he wanted, yet he was taking his time undressing you and he was looking at you like you were something special, not just a body he wanted to use.

There was a funny, fluttery feeling in your stomach that you ignored as Daemon's eyes met yours again. He just held your gaze for a few seconds and then his lips were on yours once more. While his tongue explored your mouth, his fingers roamed your breasts - pinching, rubbing, tweaking, caressing - until you were squirming and whining.

You felt the beginnings of one of his trademark smirks and he broke the kiss with a chuckle, pulling back and looking down at you with amused eyes. Before you could complain about his teasing, a hand reached down and began to pull the skirt of your nightdress higher up your legs.

Briefly, you tensed. You tried to hide it but Daemon, who had been watching you very closely, immediately stopped his hand.

"Tell me to stop..." He said quietly. "And I will."

You could have. You could have told him to stop. You could have pushed him off. You could have told him to get out of your room. You could have stopped this whole insane plan right there and then.

But you didn't.

Because you wanted him.

You shook your head and Daemon raised an eyebrow, still not moving. He needed more than that.

You wriggled in frustration. "Please." You muttered, a little embarrassed to seem like you were begging for it, but Daemon did not mock you. His gaze seemed to darken with desire and his fingers clawed at the fabric once more, pulling it all the way up your thighs, wanting access to you. He might not seem it but he was growing impatient. He could feel the proof of it straining against his breeches, practically screaming to be let out.

But he would not be selfish and greedy. Not tonight. Not with you.

His fingers reached your most forbidden area and your mind immediately went blank once more, a gasp catching in your throat as he began to touch you there. His eyes did not leave your face once, wanting to see every little expression of pleasure that passed across it.

Daemon let out a groan when his fingers slid up and down your centre, feeling how wet you already were for him. He could scarcely believe his luck, it took everything not to just hold you down and finally make you his.

It was all he had been thinking about for months, probably even longer. Every whore he'd fucked to try and banish the thought of you from his mind had only succeeded in lodging you deeper into his heart.

He circled your clit a few times, drinking in the way you writhed at the sensation and then he slipped a finger inside of you. Your breath caught in your throat and he felt you tense slightly once more, an involuntary reaction. He'd felt such a reaction many times before. This was not his first deflowering.

"Shh.." He soothed, leaning in to press soft kisses to your cheek and jaw. "Shh... relax."

Daemon began to move his finger slowly, to allow you to become accustomed to the feeling. He felt you relaxing in response to his kisses and his gentle movements and soon it felt nice and you were making those sweet little sounds once more. He swiped his thumb over your clit again and then inserted a second finger, moving them both in and out with a gentle rhythm.

His lips came back to yours and he stayed like this for a little while, tongue exploring your mouth while his fingers worked you, slowly increasing speed. Your body felt hot, you were shaking and moaning... and Daemon was growing more and more turned on.

When he finally drove you to climax, he could take no more and he grunted, pulling his mouth from yours and leaning back to watch you come undone on his fingers. You were almost dizzy from the stars he'd just made you see but your eyes reopened as you felt him move away, whimpering slightly as his fingers left your heat.

You heard the sound of his belt being unbuckled and your heart started to race.

His fingers were starting to becoming impatient as he freed himself of his bothersome clothing and then moved himself back on top of you. When he kissed you this time, you felt something pressing up against you that was certainly not his hand. You shuddered and moaned into his mouth.

Daemon's lips left yours and began to trail down your jaw to your neck. He let them linger there, kissing and licking your skin as his hand moved back down your body, caressing your breasts and familiarising himself with the shape of you. He gently nudged your legs apart with his knee, trying not to rush too much because the last thing he wanted to do was go too fast and ruin the experience for you, but he wanted you to badly by this point it was almost painful.

Your body was on fire and your mind was focused on nothing but him, him, him. If there had been any lingering doubts anywhere inside of you, there wasn't any longer. You wanted this. You craved it. You had craved it for a long time, though you had not fully let yourself think it.

Daemon's hand took hold of his length and he gave himself a lazy stroke as his teeth gently grazed against your neck. The scent of you and the way you were responding to him was driving him absolutely mad. He wanted nothing more than to be inside of you. For you to finally be his.

He guided himself to your cunt and began to slide himself through your wetness, not quite pressing in yet, teasing you over and over as he got you used to the feeling of him.

You whimpered desperately.

Daemon groaned, his breath hot against your neck. "Gods, I want you." He muttered. He was frustrated, almost guilty, that he had not the patience to spend more time on your body. He wanted to taste you, but he told himself next time.

"Please..." You whispered, once more practically begging him. The feeling of his cock gliding through your slick was too much, you needed more, you needed to feel him. "Please." You said again, in a whine that caused Daemon to groan again in response.

He pulled his head back and looked down at you. "Say you want me."

"I want you." The words fell from your lips easily. They were true. They had always been true.

"I want you too." He whispered, leaning back in to kiss you one more time before he pulled away again and then shifted slightly. He kept eye contact with you the whole time as he began to press himself into you, your arousal making it so easy for him to slide himself into your heat.

Gods, the slick between your thighs made you feel like such a wanton little thing. He almost growled.

Another few seconds and he was buried inside you. He gave a deep moan as he pressed his face back into your neck, dizzy on the feeling. He wasn't so far gone that he didn't feel the tension rise in you once more though and he leaned back up, his lips pressing gentle kisses to your face and jaw again.

"Shh..." He soothed once more as he heard your breath catch in your throat when he shifted his body. He had gotten you ready for him and been as gentle as he could but he knew you were hiding the fact it still hurt a little.

"Look at me." He murmured, pressing a kiss to your lips and then looking down at your face. "Good girl." He purred when your eyes met his, brushing a stray strand of hair from your face. The praise awoke something inside you and you made a soft sound. He smirked slightly, having felt the fluttering of your walls around him. "Mhm. You liked that." Daemon teased.

If your face was not scarlet before, it was when he said that. Still, all panic had left your body as you were now just focused on the pleasure of the moment. When Daemon tested the waters by shifting his hips a little bit, a soft moan left you and he could tell it was feeling better for you. So he moved again. Then again. And again.

Soon, he had built up a steady pace, thrusting in and out of you. The room filled with lewd sounds and you could do nothing but revel in it. The burn had faded and now each thrust of his hips gave you a jolt of pleasure. Daemon was good at this. You supposed it was to be expected with all the experience it sounded like he had.

He wanted to last. He really did. But he had wanted you for so long and he felt like he was about to burst with each little sound that left you, each little wriggle you made underneath him, each time your nails gently bit into his arms as you clung to him.

His movements began to get quicker and you whined as he rubbed repeatedly against a certain spot inside of you. He grunted hard as he realised the reaction you were having. Daemon, however, was slightly unhappy with something. You were not reaching release quick enough and he was worried, with the way things were going, that he would before you did. He would be damned if he left you unsatisfied.

He moved his hand back down between your bodies and found your clit again, circling the little bud with skillful fingers. It was not long after that you were trembling and then shattering as he pushed you over the edge once more.

The sounds that your release pulled from you were so hot that he pretty much fell apart there and then. He groaned helplessly and buried his face back into your neck, breathing heavily as he moved his hips a few more times, his movements becoming a little less controlled as he felt himself nearing completion. With a harsh moan, Daemon then spilled himself inside of you and collapsed on top of you.

For a few minutes, the room was filled with nothing but heavy breathing as the two of you lay there like that, tangled together, all hot and sticky. You felt utterly boneless. Your eyes were shut and your breathing was ragged, your heart racing, your body limp beneath his weight.

It was perfect.

He was perfect.

"I will speak... to my brother to... tomorrow." Daemon muttered against your neck, slowly coming back to himself. Even if Otto held any reservations after what happened, Viserys would no doubt smooth them over somehow and convince him that you marrying Daemon was the best (and only) option to come out of this.

You could only hum in response, delighting in the kisses he began once more pressing against your skin. You felt warm and content and when he eventually moved and rolled off you, you couldn't hold in a sound of disappointment. Immediately you felt embarrassed but Daemon's arms coming around you and pulling you to him distracted you from it.

Opening your eyes, you blinked at him. "You can't stay."

"We are to be married." He said simply, a small smirk on his face. "I have taken you. Everyone will find out anyway." He reminded you. That was the plan after all.

"Yes, but..." Your cheeks felt hot but hopefully he would think you were just still coming down from the high because you partly were. The idea of being caught with a man (Daemon Targaryen of all people) in your bed was too scandalous. A step outside your comfort zone. "...you..."

"I will go, do not worry." Daemon purred in your ear, flicking his tongue out lightly over the outer edge, smirking as he felt you shiver. "I only want to hold you until you fall asleep. Does that not sound nice? Hm?" He did not say that he simply could not stomach the thought of just rolling out of bed and leaving you lying here all by yourself after your very first time. He did not want to leave you alone in the dark.

You sighed, acting bothered, but it did sound very nice and you were already so comfortable. He was very warm... so you were quick to relent. "Fine. But as soon as I am asleep..." Your voice held as much warning as you could muster.

Daemon chuckled softly, nodding as he adjusted slightly, getting more comfortable in the bed and pulling you up tighter against his body. "Yes, my lady." He said it as if you had given a command and he liked the way his teasing tone made you giggle.

It did not take you long to fall asleep. Indeed, you were so exhausted, you were out in a few minutes.

Unfortunately, Daemon was also so exhausted that he fell asleep mere moments after you did.

When Alicent entered your chambers the next morning, she got quite a shock... and quite an eyeful, as Daemon had kicked himself out of the covers at some point during the night, giving the poor girl an unfortunate glimpse of his backside that did not leave her memory for the rest of her days.

Her shriek was what caused your father to come running into the room. You were not sure you had ever seen Otto quite so angry in your whole life. After the initial shock wore off, you thought he might actually be so angry he would lay hands upon the prince but he managed to somehow hold himself back.

The look of disappointment was clear as your father turned his gaze on you but Daemon, now standing, shifted in front of you the second he saw it and blocked Otto's view.

If anyone would take Otto Hightower's anger, it would be him.

"What's say you and I go and have a talk with my brother, hm?" Daemon muttered, his eyes narrowed.

Otto stared at him with barely concealed rage. The last thing he wanted was his child linked to a man like Daemon Targaryen. He had been a thorn in his side for years. And now he had... defiled one of his daughters! He tried to look at you again but Daemon cleared his throat.

Otto glared at the prince. "You may wish to put on some clothes first." Was all he said before turning and sweeping from the room, dragging Alicent out by her elbow, letting the door slam behind them.

You would have burst into tears if you were not so shocked. You watched Daemon turn to pull his clothes back on. When he looked up at you, he was smirking.

"It's not funny!" You exclaimed.

"Oh, come on." He teased, sitting down on the bed and leaning closer. "It is a little bit funny."

You turned your head so he couldn't kiss you, frowning. You had never felt so embarrassed and ashamed in your whole life. Though it would have come out anyway when Daemon told his brother and you confirmed but to have been walked in on by your father and sister was another thing entirely!

Daemon sighed, lifting a hand to your chin and gently turning your face back towards him. "I'm sorry."

"You said you would leave!"

Daemon blinked, feeling a little bit guilty because he could see this actually had been difficult for you. "I did not do it on purpose, I fell asleep!"

You scoffed. "Right."

"Hey. I mean it." He said and he looked and sounded so serious that you did believe him.

There was a brief silence and then Daemon smirked again.

"What?" You asked, half snapping at him.

Your tone did nothing to rid him of his smile, the smirk turning into a bit of a grin. "When I return," he said as he leaned in again. "You and I will be betrothed."

You could not stop your face from breaking into a smile of your own. "You seem very confident in that fact." After what he'd just walked in on, you were pretty sure your father would be vehemently against this, perhaps simply out of spite and anger.

"Don't you know by now, Hightower girl?" Daemon's eyes glinted with mischief as he closed the distance and kissed your lips once more. When you parted, he was smirking again. "I always get what I want."

#daemon targaryen x reader #daemon x reader #daemon targaryen fanfic #house of the dragon fanfic #hotd x reader #daemon targaryen fanfiction #daemon x you #daemon targaryen x you #house of the dragon x you #hotd fanfic

[daemonsversion]

#me

[daemonsversion]

Sworn protector - Daemon Targaryen x female!reader

Summary: For days you have been walking in a never-ending forest. Daemon has the mission to escort you safely to the capital. But a short bath and its consequences change your relationship with each other.

Pairing: Daemon Targaryen x fem!reader

Warnings: Smut; 18+; NSFW; Minors do not continue reading!

Author’s note: Hey you (:

A one shot Daemon story that just popped into my head. I hope you like it! English is my second language, please forgive me if I made any mistakes (:

Word count: 3 k

Other stories of mine

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You are standing in the middle of a small lake. The water is up to your waist. It envelops your body like a welcome coolness. The sun, high in the sky, has been making you sweat for days now. And now you have had enough and try to wash off the dirt and sweat.

For days now you have been walking with Daemon through this damned forest that seems to have no end. One tree follows the next. Even the bushes seem to follow this rule and repeat themselves continuously. You need a distraction - you need a bath. When you noticed the splashing in the distance, you could no longer hide a smile. You quietly moved away from Daemon and now you stand in the cool water, your eyes closed and you hold your face up to the sun. It is peaceful and quiet.

But this peace seems disturbed when you suddenly feel that you are being watched. Like a threatening presence, you feel a shadow creeping up your neck. You listen into the forest, but notice nothing out of the ordinary. You slowly turn around to reach the shore. Maybe you should go back to Daemon... But then you see him standing on the shore. You are frightened.

Immediately you put your hands over your breasts, "Daemon! Please turn around!" you scream.

But he just stands there. His arms are crossed over his chest, a smile flashes on his lips and then it's gone again. He slowly turns away.

"Why do you, without saying anything, just walk away from my side?" he asks you as he stands with his back to you.

"You are impossible, Daemon...", you snort. You get out of the lake and walk over to your clothes. Your gaze is unblinking on his broad back, careful not to turn around. You put on your dress, "Why are you sneaking up on me when I'm bathing?" you finally ask.

Daemon looks over his shoulder, you see his purple eyes, "You were a fool to swim naked. Anyone could have come to you in the lake or hid in the trees. Not to mention you could have drowned, my lady. You are no longer a child"

You roll your eyes slightly, "My prince... we've been walking for days now... I had to take a bath," you say as you squeeze your wet hair between your hands to get rid of the excess water.

He looks at you seriously, "And then you only think of a lake where many could have seen you? How could you be so reckless?"

You snort, "Well, the only person I've seen here watching me was you... Besides, we've been walking through this forest for days. Not a single person has crossed our path... why on earth would anyone show up now?" I ask, "I was dirty and sweaty... I needed a bath...", You added.

His hands clenched into fists, but quickly relaxed again, "I am still your protector. I have to watch you and keep an eye on you"

His voice is softer gentle now, "If you needed a bath, you should have come to me. I would have bathed you myself"

You see the cheeky smile on his lips.

You chuckle slightly, "I can imagine you would like that... But I know your reputation. So you will not bathe me..." but you smile at him anyway.

He looks at you questioningly.

"What?" you ask him when he doesn't answer you.

He hesitates briefly, "You can trust me with your life, but not with your skin?"

You laugh lightly, "I would trust you with my life any day. You know that. But I also know your reputation... and no... I will not become one of your whores. No offence, my prince"

You approach him slowly, "Have you lit the campfire by now?", you ask him.

But Daemon just looks at you. His look is suddenly more serious, "And what exactly is my reputation?" his voice had taken on a sharp tone. "If you think I would lay hands on you without your consent, then my reputation is that of a rapist, is it not?" His tone was cold as he looked down at you. He shook his head in dismay, "Is that what you think of me?"

You gasped in shock, "Of course not, my prince... If that were the case, I would not trust you with my life..." you say.

He is still looking at you seriously, "What is my reputation then? Say it... I've known you since you were a girl. And you think I would take advantage of you?"

You look at him, "You know very well that I don't believe that"

That's all you say to him, slowly you turn away from him and walk to your small camp where the fire is burning and the furs are lying where you will spend your night.

Daemon follows you, but his gaze is still serious. "Then do not speak of my reputation when you do not know what it is. How many times have I saved you from certain death? How many times must I prove my devotion to you before I am no longer considered a rascal in your eyes? I will give my life for you, my lady," he suddenly chimed in.

Daemon felt annoyed. He doesn't really know why this enrages him so much. But the fact that you could think badly of him almost makes him want to just shout out.

You roll your eyes again, "Oh, stop it! You know I trust you. I trust no one as much as I trust you. But I grew up knowing nothing but you seducing women. But that doesn't change the fact that I trust you"

You reach your small camp and sit down by the fire. Try to get completely dry before you go to sleep.

His lips twisted into a slight smile again, "Then why don't you let me bathe you?" he sat down beside you, the anger gone.

You smile slightly, "I am a grown woman. I don't need you to bathe me"

He looked at you in the light of the fire. There was something in your eyes that worried him. He hands you some food.

"Why is it so important to you that I am not near you when you are naked? And why can't I be trusted?", His tone was softer now but it was still very sharp, "I want you to trust me completely"

You eat and look at him, "It's very simple. We women have been brought up to hide from the gaze of men. And so I can't stand naked in front of you and just bathe. I don't think badly of you. But I'm not stupid either. I know what effect you have on women," you say softly.

The words stung him. He swallowed the meat, which now tasted more like sawdust, and sat quietly thinking about what you had said. The more he thought, the angrier and more confused he became.

"Is that all I am? A temptation to be resisted?", he says dryly.

He looked into the fire, the light flickering across his face.

"Am I nothing more than a..," he looked at you, searching for the right words. Then he found them, "...A whore magnet?" A half-smile crossed his face. He laughed softly, "You just make me sound like a beast," he said.

Now you look at him angrily, "No, you're not. And you know that as well. But you can't deny that you've slept with a lot of women. And broken at least as many hearts. But I still don't think badly of you... I've known you since I was born. And you've never done anything that would have put me in danger...' you say.

He sighed to himself. There was no point in arguing with you. He was frustrated. He stared into the fire and said no more. His appetite had disappeared. He couldn't finish what was on his plate and gave you the rest.

You look at him as he hand you his food, "No, no, no... you have to eat, please... how are you supposed to protect me if you don't eat..," you smile slightly at him.

Hesitantly, he eats. He doesn't know why it bothers him so much that you might think badly of him. He has never cared what others think about him. He looks at you, observes you lightly. He wants you to trust him. With everything, in every situation.

You smile at him after a while and slowly stand up, "I'm going to sleep now... Are you going to sleep soon?" you ask him.

He chuckles briefly, "Yes... I'll join you in a moment"

You smile at him and go to your furs. Slowly you lie down. You pull the furs over your body. Daemon has slept close to you the last few nights. Sometimes you even warmed each other. It never had any other aftertaste. But the talk that he would want to bathe you has awakened a strange feeling in you. You'd be lying if you never thought about the fact that he's quite attractive. But it was never a major issue for you, you never thought he could even think that way.

But when you think of him suddenly lying behind you, maybe even holding you in his arms, you feel warm somehow.

The cool wind blows over you and by now you can see the stars through the treetops. You close your eyes and snuggle further into the furs. You notice that the fire behind you is slowly dying out and although you are lying on two furs, the cold of the forest floor creeps into your limbs. After a short while you feel that Daemon is lying down behind you. Neither of you says anything, but you immediately feel the warmth emanating from him.

"You're freezing," he suddenly says in his deep voice.

You look a little over your shoulder, "It'll stop in a minute," you murmur and lie down again.

You can hear Daemon's grin as he speaks, "I am always warm..."

You just snort and slap your hand lightly backwards. But you are slightly startled when you realise how close Daemon is to you. Quickly you pull your hand back to your body.

But it seems, now that Daemon has mentioned it, that you can no longer ignore the cold. You feel your feet getting cold. You pull your legs closer and wrap your arms around your body. But the warmth radiating from Daemon is not really helpful. Like invisible claws, they seem to draw you closer to him. And finally, annoyed, you give in and slide closer to him. But before he can say anything, your voice sounds, "I'm just cold. You can save yourself any further comment"

Daemon says nothing and only puts his arm around you. His warmth devours you immediately and flows into your cold limbs. You close your eyes and slowly come to rest.

Your eyes widen as you notice Daemon's fingers moving. Slowly they glide over the fabric of your dress. Light, circular movements are left on your hips. You bite your lip. Your heart beats faster and you are almost certain that if it doesn't leap out of your chest right now, Daemon must hear it.

He moves slightly behind you and slides closer to you. His strong arms have a firm grip on you. You feel his warm breath on the back of your neck. A shiver runs down your spine and you feel your warm core begin to pulse slightly.

But Daemon does not move any further. He breathes so softly and evenly behind you that you are convinced he must have fallen asleep. But just as you are about to close your eyes again, you feel his fingers moving over your body again. Slowly they glide over your thigh. They brush over the fabric towards your knee.

You hold your breath as you feel him slowly pull up your dress.

"What are you doing?" you gasp softly.

His fingers do not let up with their movement.

"Well... I'm making you warm... making you relax..." he whispers into your neck.

You gasp again briefly. A warmth spreads through you. Your warm core pulsates almost unpleasantly now.

You bite your lip again as you feel his fingers glide gently over your naked skin. They slowly glide up your thigh. You feel his breathing become heavier on your neck.

Suddenly he grabs your soft thigh and lifts your leg slightly, you exhale in shock. Wordlessly he places your leg on top of his. You bite your lip hard, but a whimper escapes your lips. He presses his lips into the crook of your neck and you feel a grin wrap around his lips.

His fingers continue to slide to your warm core. You are sure that your underwear must be completely soaked by now. Unconsciously you press yourself closer to him. Your breathing is heavy and just before his fingers reach their destination, you hear his deep voice, "Do you really want this..?"

But you can't answer, you just nod.

For him it is answer enough. His hand slides over your underwear, enclosing your sex completely with his large hand. His fingers glide over your wet arousal, only the thin fabric separates them from your folds. You moan lightly. He lets his fingers slide faster over the damp fabric. He applies light pressure, "So wet for me already..?" he groans in your ear.

You whimper softly and press yourself closer to him. You just have to feel him. You reach for his hand and push your underwear aside. You press his fingers against your wet arousal. He grunts deeply when he realises what you are doing with his hand. But he does not hesitate for long. He lets his fingers slide through your wet folds. You moan loudly when his fingers find your pearl. He works on it with quick and firm movements and elicits continuous moans from you. You move your hip faster towards his hand as he suddenly slides two fingers to the entrance of your hot arousal. You whimper as he carefully slides them inside you. A deep groan sounds from him.

"You are so tight... How is my cock supposed to fit in there.." he gasps.

You moan out. He notices how your walls immediately clench around his fingers.

"You like that, don't you? If I put my cock in your pussy?" you hear his deep voice again.

You whimper and move your hips further towards his hand. He lets his fingers slide into you faster. With each thrust, his palm slides over your pearl. You feel him press his hard length against your ass. You push yourself towards his cock and hear him groan. With the next thrust into your wet core, he angles his fingers a little. He now strokes your sweet spot with each thrust. You close your eyes and see stars. You are a moaning mess. Daemon leaves passionate kisses on your neck. His lips glide almost gently over your soft skin while his fingers thrust brutally into you. You notice how he lets his other hand slide between your bodies. Distantly, you hear him undo his belt. Suddenly you feel him press his cock between your thighs from behind. His hot length is immediately drenched by your arousal. You moan as you feel his cock slide between your thighs, sliding along your folds again and again.

Slowly he pulls his fingers out of your wet core. They glide up to your pearl and leave firm movements there. But his fingers are quickly replaced by his hot length. He presses his cock against your entrance, you whimper impatiently, you must feel him. Your arousal makes him slide into you almost without resistance. You press against him and he slides even deeper into you. He hisses as he slides into you to the base. You immediately clench around him. He fills you completely. But this unaccustomed, almost unpleasant pressure quickly turns into pure pleasure. You continue to press yourself against him. You hear him groan deeply again and again. His hand moves to your hip and now he sets the pace.

His hand grips your hip firmly. He guides you and lets you slide onto his cock. With every thrust he penetrates you deeper. You cry out. He leans forward, kisses your neck and breathes heavily.

"Fuck... You feel so good... so tight... so wet... your cunt is mine. You are mine," he grumbles.

You just whimper.

He thrusts brutally into you.

"Say it!", he says emphatically, "Say whose cunt this is!"

"Yours! It's yours!" you moan.

You only hear him groan deeply again. He slams your hips harder onto his cock. Obscene noises are the only thing to be heard in the forest.

Daemon notices with every thrust you clench harder around him.

"Come... Come on my cock... cum for me..." he grunts.

And that's enough, you cum on his cock. Your walls milk him, want to take in all his juice.

You moan and cry out... His name leaves your lips countless times. His thrusts don't let up, he fucks you through your orgasm.

When he realises he's about to cum, he doesn't pull his cock out of you, but spreads his seed deep inside you. He grunts deeply and groans out. His hand grips your hip firmly. His thrusts become more sloppy until they subside completely. You hear him breathing heavily. His hot breath brushes your ear as you hear him whisper, "You are mine... I want you to trust me in every situation..."

You turn to him, look into his face. Your breathing is heavy. You pull his face towards you and just kiss him. Your soft lips attract each other like magnets. He devours your lips and you his last groan.

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Tag list

@aemonds-wifey @hoshi-miharu-blog @arryn-nyx @aemond-targaryenx @praline357 @melsunshine @drinking-tea-and-be-obsessed

#daemon #* #help #literally just take me into the forest with you daemon

[daemonsversion]

— I miss you (traitor)

Aemond x Niece!Reader

A perspective on the iconic dinner table scene in episode eight.

Word count: 11k

Dividers: @cafekitsune @saradika

Rating: Explicit +18 (friendship, angst, heartbreak, fingering, dry humping, grinding)

Proceed with caution.

English is not my first language.

••••••

••••••

"Zaldrīzis buzdari iksos daor." You try one more time.

"Zaldrīzes buzdari iksos daor." Aemond corrects you gently, in perfectly correct dialect.

You huff, a pout forming on your lips as you cross your arms over your chest. "It's unfair how good you are at this. We have the same instructor, I don't understand." Your childish voice sounds sullen.

Aemond smiles and shakes his head at your little tantrum, flipping through the Valyrian dictionary to the next page. "I'm older than you, Y/n. It's only natural that I have an easier time with this." He tries to spare your feelings.

"You're only two years older, don't be so arrogant." You complain with flushed cheeks, feeling even more humiliated than before. It's true that you're only seven years old, but your Valyrian isn't progressing as well as Aemond's was a few years ago at the same age as you. "I just wish I was as good as you."

He brings a hand to your head, where he shakes the strands of your hair in a familiar gesture of affection. "Well, I need to get some advantage, don't you think? After all, you have a dragon and I don't."

You know it's supposed to be a funny comment, something to continue the subtle teasing of your conversation. But as he looks at you, even in the precarious lighting of the single candlestick the two of you brought into the library, you can notice how a shadow of pain shines in his lavender eyes - something he quickly covers up with a subtle shake of his head, returning the previous kind expression for you.

"You can't win every time, bug. Don't be greedy." He ends with a shrug and a mischievous look, the annoying nickname hanging in the air like bait on a hook, just waiting to catch the fish.

"Huh?! Aem! I already told you to stop calling me that, it's annoying and I'm definitely not a bug." You allow yourself to be hooked, your pout increasing drastically, which only serves to get a few laughs from the boy sitting in front of you in the dark corridor of the Red Keep's huge library.

When you huff loudly and roll your eyes, bracing your hands on the floor to stand, Aemond grabs you and knocks you down; pale fingers circling your belly in a tickling attack. You scream in shock and try to grab his wrists, but he is bigger and faster, preventing your movements as he continues his torture.

"Aemond, stop it now! I already told you I don't like it when-" you cut yourself off as an almost hysterical laugh bubbles up uncontrollably from your throat, your small body shaking and writhing on the floor as you try to escape his cruel fingers. You laugh and cover your lips with your hands so that the two of you won't be discovered, but Aemond laughs even harder at this, hitting the same sensitive spot on your stomach several times until you're literally crying with laughter.

"Please, please Aem, I can't breathe!" You try to control your voice. It's late at night and the Keep is silent. Any noise could alert someone and there was no way your mothers could find out about you and Aemond's nighttime escapades.

Aemond notices you breathing heavily, tears streaming down your chubby, rosy cheeks. With a softer smile he loosens the grip he had on you, holding your hands as he helps you sit up. You both fall silent, only the sound of your rapid breathing is heard.

He takes one last look at you to make sure you're okay, then grabs the dictionary, ready to pick up where they left off.

"Aem..." You call him, softly.

He looks up from the book.

"You will claim a dragon soon. It will be a large and terrifying dragon, everyone will be afraid of you two, just as they feared Aegon the Conqueror and Balerion. I know it." You feel your cheeks getting warmer, your little fingers nervously twisting the hem of your cloak. Aemond just looks at you, lips parted and lilac eyes surprised. "But –, well, until that happens, you can always stay with me and Rhaegon. I don't mind. We love having you around."

Aemond blinks slowly at you, eyes wide. You start to get nervous. Did you say something wrong? You both had always been very close, you didn't think something like that could offend him. But Aemond is actually very sensitive when it comes to this, so maybe you crossed a line.

"I-I know it's not the same. I'm sorry, I didn't mean to make you offended or upset-" your little hands are flapping in the air as you try to adjust what you said.

"Hey, hey..." He cuts you off, holding your nervous hands in his with a comforting grip. He breathes slowly, a small grateful smile on his lips. "Thank you, little bug." You let your shoulders relax dramatically, a loud, relieved exhale leaving your mouth, almost making you sink to the floor.

He gives your forehead a gentle flick.

"Now, enough talking. Where do we stop?"

He picks up the dictionary again, ignoring the starry, dreamy look you give him.

At that time you couldn't notice how he sits a little closer to you after that.

You are nine years old when Aemond finds you crying.

Huddled against a darker corner of the hallway, hugging your knees to your chest. Your once immaculately embroidered dress is now smeared with mud, your hair is falling in disheveled curls around your flushed, tear-stained face. You're trying to hold back the sobs, but your small body shakes with each ragged breath.

Aemond doesn't like the sight at all.

"Y/n?" He asks softly, moving closer to you until he's crouched beside you, one hand gently smoothing your back - as if you were a delicate piece from some beautiful collection; a precious but fragile reliquary that could crack at any moment under his touch. "What happened?"

You lift your head to look into his eyes, cheek muddy and small lips quivering as you try to calm down.

"T-they were cruel to me, again."

Aemond furrows his eyebrows.

"Aegon and your brothers?" He asks, a dark tone already taking over his youthful voice. He wouldn't be surprised if the answer was yes. The boys didn't just like to humiliate and have fun at Aemond's own expense, but at your expense as well. The provocations were constant; from how fragile and whiny you were, to how you would never be a true dragon rider - even that you, in fact, have one.

You don't have many friends.

But neither did Aemond.

"N-no, it wasn't them this time. It was some kids who were near the training yard." Aemond blinks in confusion, waiting for you to continue. His fingers try to gently wipe the tears from your cheeks, even though more are leaking from your eyes. “They pushed me into the mud puddle...” you sniffle, trying to rub away the dirt stain that is embedded all along the length of your dress sleeve. "And then they stood there while I tried to get up, laughing and pointing at me, saying that the mud was where I belong since I'm a...they said I was nothing but a...a..."

Aemond feels like he knows where this is going, but he wants to hear it anyway.

"What?"

If possible, your cheeks seem to blush even more.

"A dirty little bastard."

You sob and hide your face in your arms, pulling your legs closer to your body.

He takes a deep breath, knowing he was on shaky ground now.

The rumor is not new. Aemond knows this. And the undeniable physical evidence points to confirming the suspicion of a large part of the population of Kings Landing.

He may be young, but he is no fool. He himself has his thoughts (his certainties) about this. He knows you are not the daughter of Laenor Velaryon.

But while he goes to great lengths to internally resent his nephews about it, he's never held it against you.

It felt wrong.

And it seems even more wrong that others are using it to humiliate you.

"I don't understand, Aemond...why are people so mean?" He can barely hear your question with the choked way your voice sounds.

Aemond definitely doesn't like this.

“They-,” he starts, using two fingers to cup your chin and gently lift your head. "Look, they just want to destabilize you. They want to wipe the smile off your face. I just, I should- you know what? I will resolve this."

He says after a huff, already standing up. He cannot allow something like this to happen, he cannot allow boys with no name or relevance, probably sons of the kennel master or some other function as simple as that, to insult and attack the Princess and still dare to get away with it.

You shake your head, eyes bright and wide, your hand closing around his wrist as you stop him from leaving.

“N-no! It's okay...I'm okay now, please. Don't go. Stay with me. I don’t want to be alone right now.”

Aemond twists his lips thoughtfully. But you bat your long, dewy eyelashes at him and he sighs, returning to crouch beside you. He is weak; he knows. Unable to deny anything when you look at him like that.

The boys' punishment would come later.

You're still crying, but your lips stretch into a wide, trembling smile and you look at him like he's your knight in shining armor and Aemond thinks your presence is like the sun itself, burning his skin with heat as you jump and hugs him abruptly. He rolls his eyes at your exaggerated attitude, but wraps his own arms around you, unfazed by the mud that is now staining his clothes.

"You're the person I trust most in my life, Aemond. You know that, right?" You whisper close to his ear.

And as you hold him tightly, as if you would fall apart without his arms keeping you close, Aemond thinks about the depth of your statement and can feel his own cheeks heat up and his heart speed up in response.

"I know that, little bug."

With every fiber of your being.

You trust Aemond.

You are ten years old when you discover that your words have come true and Aemond is in the heavens, riding none other than the largest dragon in the world.

He's magnificent.

He's really like Aegon the Conqueror.

It's like witnessing a miracle and you want nothing more than to reach Rhaegon and dance in the skies with Aemond.

But it's also all a disaster.

It all happens too fast. Too fast for you to have any real chance of understanding in clear detail what is happening.

You remember leaning on the balcony of your designated chamber for the time you've been in Driftmark, still sad from the day's events. Sad for your cousins, who just buried their own mother. Saddened by the death of Harwin Strong, a tragic event that no one seems to give due importance to. A good, kind man who you had had a deep bond with since you were a baby - bond far more meaningful than the one you had with your 'real father'.

You are not so innocent anymore. No matter how much Jace says otherwise, the truth has been hanging over your head like a physical weight for some time now, just waiting for your confession. Which only makes dealing with the man's death more difficult.

It's all a lot to handle.

You had gone out to your private balcony in search of some relief from the unexpected suffocation in your chest, but the high-pitched choke that leaves your throat only makes everything worse. Because, there in the skies, there is Aemond - majestic and indomitable, unquestionably claiming Vhagar for himself in plain sight, the dragon your cousin would claim for her after recovering from her mother's funeral.

After that, there was only chaos.

You almost fall down the stairs in your rush to get to him before your brothers and cousins. And still, you arrive too late.

Before you even see them, you hear Aemond teasing Rhaena that Jace and Luke should get her a pig to ride, and she shoves him violently at the same time as you finally catch up to them. Aemond recovers quickly and pushes her back to the ground.

Baela roars when she sees her sister being hit and punches Aemond. He hits her in response with enough force to knock her to the ground. You scream and try to push him away - not to hurt him, just to keep him away. But it's as if he were another person, ignoring your presence as if you weren't even there. He screams and says that if Baela comes to him again, he will give her as meal to Vhagar.

Jace, angry that Baela was hurt and threatened, pulls you hard by the shoulder and you bang your head against the wall from the intensity of his action, your eyes closing in pain, which finally seems to draw Aemond's attention to you. He blinks and tries to go towards you, but Jace gets to him before, knocking him down and hitting him with several punches.

"STOP IT! JACE, ENOUGH! YOU ALL NEED TO STOP NOW!" You scream and try to pull Jace away, but Luke grabs you around the waist and pulls you back. You scratch his hands, hearing him scold you for defending Aemond.

But Aemond manages to kick Jace at some point and Luke finally lets go of you, heading towards him, his chubby-cheeked face turning red with blood as Aemond hits him with a punch.

Jace gets up and pushes Aemond to the ground and then the four of them gang up on Aemond while he's still on the ground. You run and try to pull the first person you see in front of you, but Baela (lost in her anger) hits your nose with her elbow and you scream, feeling the blood run like a river through your lips.

You can barely see as Aemond stands up and takes down Rhaena, Baela, and Jace, grabbing Luke by the throat and picking up a rock from the ground.

"YOU WILL DIE SCREAMING IN FLAMES, JUST AS YOUR FATHER DID. BASTARDS!" Aemond almost growls, his face bloody and his eyes fierce.

“A-Aemond…” You whisper, horrified. Your heart goes cold, the pain in your nose is forgotten. Because he wouldn't...he wouldn't -

He could never...

But Aemond doesn't stop. Even when Luke counters that his father is alive, he only mocks his innocence, calling Jace 'Lord Strong'.

"Aemond, that's enough!" You're almost crying, your eyes burning. But you tirelessly repeats to yourself that Aemond is out of control, everything is happening very violently and he doesn't really mean it. It's just the heat of the moment.

But, as impossible as it may seem, everything gets worse.

Jace pulls out a dagger, offended by Aemond's words. Without backing down, Aemond pushes Luke away and Jace attacks him with the dagger. Aemond dodges and hits Jace in the head with the rock he had in his hands, knocking him to the ground. Even while Jace is on the ground, Aemond walks up to him with the stone - a grim expression on his face, indicating his cruel intent.

"AEMOND PLEASE NO!!" You try once again to get closer, but you are too far away to be able to act in time.

Jace, fallen and anticipating the worst from Aemond, grabs a quantity of sand between his fingers and throws it in his face and Luke screams as he slides the dagger blade across his face.

And that's it.

Fast and tragic.

A single blow and Aemond is lying on the ground, screaming in pain.

You would never be able to forget that scream.

You try to hold his shoulder and see what had happened, but you are pulled away by the commander of the King's Guard, who arrives at that exact moment.

When he pulls Aemond's face you cover your lips with your hands shaking to avoid screaming, tears finally running freely down your cheeks.

Everything is a blur to you after that. But the gravity of the situation does not go unnoticed, even in your limited and childish understanding.

There is a violent argument between the adults, accusations made and threats shouted.

You don't care about that, though. You only care about Aemond, who is bleeding and writhing in pain as the Maester stitches up his wound. You cry when the old man informs, in an apogeic and wise voice, that Aemond's eye had been lost forever.

Maybe it's the knowledge that he was physically harmed in an irreparable way that makes you step up and defend him in front of everyone, even though you know that he was just as much the cause and culprit of the feud as the others involved. You don't know if you believe yourself as you speak words of absolution for him and all the adults to hear. But you can't abandon him. Especially not when he needs you so much. It wouldn't be fair after all the times he came to your rescue, after all the times he was your helper and protector. You owe it to him.

In the end, however, your words on his behalf don't result in much — except sharp, hurt looks from your brothers and cousins.

The words of a ten-year-old girl make no difference between the loud voices of adults who are committed to hating each other.

You are not allowed to see Aemond that night, a guard is posted at your door to make sure that doesn't happen. And when morning comes, you and your family leave for Dragonstone, without being allowed a chance to say goodbye. You cry all the way home, the only witness to your pain is your dragon who emits sympathetic coos every now and then.

You don't know when you will see Aemond again, but you can only hope and pray that when it happens, he has recovered from the traumas of that night.

You are no longer a child when you see him again.

And much less him.

His hair is longer, more neat and perfectly aligned, falling like a silver waterfall down his back. His facial features have lost any and all boyish fat they once had; now defined and pointed lines mark the design of his face. A long, imposing nose, thicker eyebrows and heavy eyelashes, a sharp jaw and beautiful lips that seem permanently fixed in the same indifferent expression all the time. He's taller too. Much taller, you notice. Lean, defined muscles easily filling out his dark clothes.

And he's wearing an eye patch.

You know that your own figure has changed greatly since you last saw each other. A true lady worthy of your status. At the height of your beauty and grace. Your physical attributes are as praised by people as your intelligence and education.

You are a young woman now.

He doesn't look at you, though. Which is a such disappointment for you.

It's been years since the two of you have seen each other and the longing in your chest is painful, but he doesn't look at you.

He doesn't look at you when you're in the Great Hall, deciding on Lucerys's title as Lord of the Tides. Even if you send him discreet, insecure glances from under your eyelashes every now and then, he's still looking straight ahead. Except, of course, when Lord Vaemond offends your mother by calling her a whore and (in a sadly unoriginal way, as if you've never heard that before) he accuses you and your brothers of being bastards. You think it might have been the only time he actually looked at you - quick and fleeting; a glimpse of curiosity that, as sudden as it appeared, disappeared.

Of course, what happens to Lord Vaemond after that makes you momentarily forget about Aemond's lack of attention. His blood running down the center of the throne room, so abundant that you have to lift the hem of your dress and take a few steps back to avoid getting dirty with it.

But despite how wrong and sick the notion is in your own mind, you can't feel any mercy. Quite the opposite. It's disturbingly satisfying to see that, for the first time in your years, someone has been punished after saying those words to you.

Even so, you twitch your lips and widen your eyes in a fake grimace of surprise. You're still a Princess and you're still a lady, and real ladies aren't pleased to see faces being cut in half.

That wasn't the highlight of the day, surprisingly.

Dinner would be.

Your brothers were overjoyed (it didn't even look like Lord Vaemond had been ripped in half that very day - you shared their selective forgetfulness). But their true joy came from the beautiful ladies at their side. The joy of a long-awaited and desired commitment that was finally being fulfilled.

Unlike you...

You are sure that, never in the history of humanity, have two people sitting next to each other seemed as far apart as you and Aemond at this moment.

It is poetically tragic.

He's there, less than an arm's length away from you. And yet, it's as if the two of you aren't even on the same territory, as if the years have separated you to such an extent that he doesn't even know how to recognize you anymore.

You wanted to start a talk. You've craved this every second since you arrived at the Red Keep, to be precise. But every time you worked up the courage to look up from your glass of wine, he was looking elsewhere - at Luke, at Jace, at literally anyone at the table; except you - expression sharp and serious in a way that sent shivers down your spine, posture straight and tense like a stretched bow about to release the arrow, exuding some kind of dangerous confidence that he definitely didn't have before.

He didn't look like the Aemond you knew. And every time you parted your lips to say something to him, you realized you didn't know what to say to this new Aemond. You didn't feel like you could say anything, actually. Where he was once an inviting warmth and your true safe haven to vent about anything, now it's as if the icy walls around him repress you and keep you at bay.

You don't think it could get any worse.

But guess what? You were wrong.

The crystal of the glass is barely resting on your lower lip when you see a servant enter with yet another tray. A roast pig resting at the base of it.

You’re almost afraid to look at Aemond. You're almost afraid to look at Luke. Instead, you finish pushing the crimson liquid into your lips, swallowing with some difficulty. From the corner of your eye you see the silent interaction between Aemond and Luke, your breathing already coming more quickly in a kind of bad intuition, and when you hear a sudden punch on the table it is impossible to control the small startled jump of your own body.

"Final tribute."

The glass is still close to your lips when Aemond raises his in a toast and you, in a delusional and foolishly hopeful moment that this could be anything other than a complete disaster, decide to keep your glass raised as he speaks.

"The health of my nephews and my niece." You lift your head when you hear his voice and feel the pulse of the sudden movement deep in your skull. He was finally talking to you - well, not to you. About you. It's already something. "Jace. Luke. Joffrey...Y/n." Your stupid, foolish heart quickens in response to your name falling from his lips and you dare to feel something almost forbidden in the tragic painting that is your life.

Hope.

"Each of them handsome, wise..." He pauses, meaningful and deep enough to make everyone at the table straighten their posture in anticipation. Even though nothing in his tone indicates truly vile intentions, you suddenly feel like you can't breathe anymore - because you know, you know. You know exactly what's coming next. Your hand, suddenly trembling, lowers the wine glass to the table with painful slowness, the real meaning of the situation falling on your shoulders and pulling you down like the turbulent waves of the sea. Your eyes start to water, because the feeling in your chest isn't good at all. This can't be good.

He looks at you, and you know he sees the barely contained tears in your gaze, the unspoken plea of desperation on your lips, the shadow of hurt and vulnerability taking over your features. You know he sees, because his single lavender eye glows subtly in the candlelight and his own confident expression falters for a few seconds into something softer. Long enough for you to see little fragmented pieces of the boy you used to know.

It's enough to rekindle a flame (albeit tiny) of faith in your chest.

Of course he wouldn't do that. You were being foolish to assume that Aemond would purposely do something like that to you, knowing how much it would hurt you.

He wouldn't...

"Strong." He pronounces your sentence of pain, looking away from you and closing his expression like a well-fortified siege.

Something slippery and terrible suddenly grabs your heart, and it beats faster. More painful. You swallow the prickly ball down your throat, but you vaguely registers in your mind that you're honestly surprised you hadn't seen this coming from the start. Once the shock of it all wears off, you'll probably realize that this day, this exact moment in your life, was always inevitable.

“Come, let us drain our cups to these four strong siblings.” He emphasizes when he finishes the toast, as if he hadn't already made his insinuation clear beforehand.

You can't take your eyes off your glass of wine placed on the table, you can't spy on other people's reactions. You simply can't deal with anyone else's feelings right now but your own. Dread fully sets in now, your gut twisting around the arteries that supply blood to your heart, a sharp pain in your nose and eyes.

You didn't expect that.

You definitely didn't expect that from him.

Small attacks of panic course through your veins; you want to get up and run out the front door, bend over and rest your palms on your thighs and learn to breathe again.

You can't believe this is happening.

The word itself and its real meaning is not what terrifies you. You've heard it enough times to learn not to let it get the best of you. It's sad, but it's the kind of thing you've learned to ignore after many years of pain.

That's not what hurts you.

It's the fact that it came from him.

Aemond, probably more than anyone at this table, knows how much you suffered in your childhood because of jokes like that; because of spiteful whispers about bastardy and illegitimacy, about cruel shoving and taunts from children - and even from adults; about disdainful treatment and sick looks. He comforted you countless times after words and actions like these hurt and humiliated you. You opened your heart to him about every vulnerable and weak spot it touched inside you.

And yet he used it against you.

You suppress your panic, swallowing once again and closing your eyes, curling your fingers into tight fists as you try to breathe slowly to calm yourself.

In your mind it seems like a long time has passed, but you know it all happened in the space of seconds.

The table is still dead silent after his words, everyone having their own internal reaction to what was said. But you don't wait, you can't take it anymore. With a loud, annoying scrape of wood on the floor, you push your chair back and stand up, making everyone at the table look at you. Including Aemond, who is still standing in the same position. You hold back the tears as best you can as you lift your head in the most nonchalant expression you can muster at the moment.

"Excuse me, please, I'm not feeling well."

Although respect required, you don't wait for anyone's response before leaving, hurried steps taking you towards some place you don't know where it is - you just know you want to be as far away from there as possible.

You pass guards on their watch, ignoring the curious looks they give you as they see your flushed, tear-stained face and the strands of your hair starting to get out of line with the way you're basically running through the halls.

It's hard to breathe like this. Your heart refuses to slow down, galloping wildly in your ribs.

It's your fault, after all. All those years of longing for the reencounter, believing in the ridiculous notion that nothing had changed, that the two of you could just pick up where you left off - as if the years apart had never existed.

Everything had changed, and even though sometimes it was hard to face reality, you still hated how you couldn't realize it before.

Suddenly a hand closes over his lips and muffles your frightened scream, at the same time that two guards appear at the beginning of the hallway. You're pulled back until your back hits the wall, a tall body covering yours as the hand remains over your mouth.

The lighting from the torches is soft in this part of the castle and it takes you a few seconds to identify Aemond in front of you, his body intimately pressing yours against the cold wall, making you sigh and widen your eyes at his boldness. You almost scream again, your fingers going to his wrist to release the grip on your mouth. But he puts his index finger to his lips, indicating that you should be silent.

You squint your eyes, even more irritated. But you know he's right, the guards walk calmly down the hallway, talking about things you don't care to understand - but any sound you make and they would find you. And by the gods, you didn't want to be found in this position with Aemond.

When he notices that you've relaxed under his touch, Aemond slides his hand from your mouth, but he doesn't make any move to put some distance between your bodies, and as much as you're angry and deeply hurt, it's impossible to stop your cheeks from burning with the disturbing proximity. You turn your head to the side, unable to look at him any longer, but his breath fanning the strands of hair near your ear doesn't help your embarrassment.

You already knew the sound of Aemond's heartbeat. You became familiar with his breathing pattern, with the way his heart beat faster as the two of you shared hugs in the past. You, fleetingly and unintentionally, have already known Aemond's scent; his skin tone in the dim light of the library, the glow of his lavender gaze over the embers of the flames.

But you had never been pressed against Aemond like this, the rise and fall of his breath penetrating your own body through your clothes. Until now, you had never been fully immersed in his scent, feeling his white hair gently brushing your face, his breath fanning your face.

You had never been so close to him in a context that wasn't purely meant for childlike comfort and friendliness.

With the sound of your hearts beating so loudly as the guards' footsteps get closer, you're almost certain that the two will be found. Both are motionless, squeezed into this wall, with only a pillar to keep you out of sight and Aemond's dark clothes to disguise you in the shadows. And you want to hate him, gods you really do, but the heat of his body so close to yours is making your eyes water once again and your hands sweat.

You look at each other in silence as the men continue walking down the hallway. There's an almost menacing glow in his lilac gaze, but there's also a burning heat that makes the fire glow in your stomach, makes your breath hitch and your skin tingle as you let the hurt and longing take over your body.

This needs to end.

You wait long enough to be sure the guards have turned the corner of the long hallway, and not a second too long.

Your hands push his chest hard, making him take a few steps back.

“Y/n. I-"

“Why did you follow me, Aemond? To make another joke at my expense? Please don't bother. Have a good night." You almost growl as you turn towards the hallway, although you're keeping your tone low. You hear a low tired huff leave his lips before he grabs your wrist and pulls you towards a door further away.

"What? What's your problem? Let me go!" You wriggle your hand, trying to escape his grip, but he keeps firm pressure on your skin.

Aemond pushes you into the small reading room and you feel your throat tighten as he turns to lock the door. The click of the bolt sliding into place lingers in the room as he slowly turns to face you.

The two of you maintain eye contact for what seems like an eternity as the moonlight streams in through the window. How could you not have spoken or seen each other all these years? You can't even remember what it's like to not be in the presence of the Dragon Prince; even though now the power he exudes both seduces and terrifies you.

“I hope you're not trying to find a way to apologize. Because I won’t forgive you,” you manage to say hastily, preparing to keep all walls up against this man.

"I know." He says, as calm and serious as before. "I betrayed your trust. I would not deserve your forgiveness even if you freely gave it to me."

You click your tongue and look away, subtly looking up in an attempt to control the renewed urge to cry.

“So what are you doing here? Why did you have to follow me and bring me here?" You ask after a few seconds of silence, as you gesture to the surrounding room; almost empty of furniture except for the bookshelf and a comfortable armchair near a study table, an unlit fireplace on the far wall. Your hair falling over your shoulder as you turn to look around.

"Would you believe me if I said it's because you look even more beautiful like this, in the moonlight and because I want you away from everyone else, just for myself?" he speaks slowly, as if he isn't stabbing a sharp dagger through your chest with every word.

Or will you be the one running towards the blade of his dagger? You're not sure anymore.

"Y-you can't just get back into my good graces with any charm, Aemond —" You retort, with red cheeks and even more teary eyes. The gallop of your heart makes it difficult to remain still under that penetrating violet gaze. It's not like talking to a boy anymore, like you remember it being. Aemond is a man now. His gaze caresses your body once; settling on your face with a disturbing intensity. He can probably hear your furious, traitorous heartbeat as clearly as he can see your rapid breathing. "Let me go. I really don't want to talk to you right now." You ask softly as a tear runs down your cheek.

"I can't do it." Is all he says, stepping to the side as you step forward, blocking your exit.

"Why?" More tears followed the first and you were transported back to the dinner table. "Why? If it was so easy for you to say things that would hurt me, why can't you just leave me alone now?"

“Because it wasn’t easy. It wasn’t easy to say that about you. I let myself get carried away by…” He doesn’t continue with the reasoning, but some of his calm and collected appearance is cracking before your eyes. “Y/n, I’m selfish. I've always been. I can't lose you, not again. Not ever again."

You laugh, dry and dull, painful.

"You have luck." There is barely a hint of passion or distorted feeling in your words. Just the oppressive air of disappointment. "You have luck that I'm looking at you right now. That I can look at you. You insult me and then say you can't let me go? I can't believe you, Aemond."

Aemond's breathing is hoarse as he exhales.

"I didn't...I should never have said that. Not about you. Never about you. Your look at me across the table - I can't stop thinking about it. I hate that I hurt you like that."

A breath catches in your chest.

He curls his hands into tight fists at his sides, but says nothing more. Through his own tears, he is a little confused around the edges. His words hit you straight in the heart, but you dare not hope. Not with the way everything went so wrong between the two of you.

"You hurt me, Aemond. I never thought you, of all people, would do that to me. I-I stood by you all those years. I stood up for you that night. I turned my back on my own brothers to be by your side and you hurt me like that. What were you thinking?" You sniffle, wiping the tears from your left cheek with your fingertips. Aemond takes a deep breath, reaching for you, but you flinch away from his touch with a hurt look. He swallows hard.

"I wasn't." He follows your delicate movements with his gaze as you try to clean your face. "I wasn't thinking."

You let out a tired sigh and wrap your arms around yourself looking at your feet, the exhaustion of the day combined with the emotional turmoil of the reunion with Aemond and the conversation between the two of you is completely draining you. "What do you want from me, Aemond?"

He approaches slowly, sliding his fingertips under your chin - tentatively, just probing if you'd allow contact this time, and when he notices you don't push him away, he gives you a gentle push up. He waits patiently until you give in to the pressure of his fingers and meet his one eye.

"I won't apologize for what I said to your brothers. I don't regret it. The only thing I regret is getting you directly involved and hurting you feelings during it." You snort at the ambiguity of his words and try to force your face away from his hold, but he grabs your jaw and keeps you still, looking at him. "Let me show you how sorry I am for hurting you. That's all I want."

You grab his wrist and part your lips, ready to push him away - physically and verbally. But Aemond snuggles suddenly closer to you to press his nose into your neck and inhale deeply. The words die in your throat and you shudder with a surprised gasp, gripping your fingers tighter around his wrist, arching your back like a cat as his other hand slowly travels up your waist, rubbing small circles over your dress before his lips leave a chaste kiss on the curve of your tear-damp cheek. “Y/n,” he whispers.

He repeats as his nose traces the roundness of your cheek, the curve of your neck, his breath fanning into your ear. The presence of him as a whole smelling of leather and smoke, plus something blissfully familiar like fresh mint leaves, wrapping around your senses like a comfortable blanket on a cold day. He continues chanting your name as his lips find the pulse in your neck, while his slightly sharp canines scrape your skin like the soft kiss of the morning breeze. He doesn't stop as his hand slides down your waist, fingers molding the curve of your hips, digging into your soft flesh; he keeps repeating your name over and over as he perfectly molds his tall body against yours.

This is so intimate. Intimate like you've never been with anyone. You freeze. Aemond lifts his head to look at you, still holding you by your waist and chin.

"Please?" he asks softly.

You drop your back against the wall as everything you've been holding onto for years seems to wash away like a wave hitting the shore. The longing. Misplaced anger. The desire to be close. Love. It's the first time you allow yourself to fully understand the depth of your new feelings for him and how desperately you've missed him since he left.

This shouldn't be happening. It's not something you've planned or considered. For years you waited for this moment, you waited to reconnect with him. You never thought the bond between you two would be anything more than that.

But here, now...

Is right. That's where you should be. It's scary how well you fit into the new reality.

You can only nod, the words having left your body. You feel like sugar, heated slowly in a pan until it melts and darkens, then stirred and turned into melted caramel. Aemond holds your tear-stained face, bringing his mouth to the outer corner of your eye.

"Yes?" You feel his lips brush against your damp lashes as he asks.

“Y-yes,” you respond in a low voice and dry throat. Aemond leaves a delicate kiss there and moves to the space above your eyebrows.

"So, will you let me make it up to you?" his lips slide across your forehead and his nose nuzzles your hair.

“Yeah,” you sniffle as he leaves another kiss.

You close your eyes and hum softly when his lips touch the bridge of your nose, then your eyelid. Then the other eyelid. Your lips are slightly parted as his leave a soft kiss on the corner of your mouth, his thumb caressing your bottom lip. He slowly leans over you until your foreheads touch, making you hold your breath and squeeze your eyes shut.

"I'm going to kiss you now." He sounds a little out of breath when he whispers this.

“Please, Aemond,” you beg, not knowing how much you want this until this very moment, hands clenching into his leather shirt.

His thumb frees your lower lip and his fingers slowly slide along the contour of your ear until they tangle in the strands of hair at the back of your neck. And then his mouth is on yours.

Gods. His lips are soft, like the fluffy pillows on your bed. It's the last coherent thought you have as Aemond presses his wet mouth against yours again and again in a gentle, experimental rhythm that quickly becomes more determined, more urgent as you kiss him back. He makes short, delicious grunts that shoot like flares of fire to your core, a constant buzz of excitement being the only sound in your melting brain as you grip his shoulders to keep yourself steady.

His fingers delve into your hair, caressing your scalp and pushing your head back to deepen the kiss. You gasp and Aemond takes the opportunity to lick into your mouth. You moan shamefully and lewdly, tasting the clean, fresh taste of his saliva as he slides his tongue along yours before sucking on your bottom lip in slow tugs.

“Ah- Aem”, you moan the childhood nickname between rapid breaths, without even thinking straight, but the muffled and wild sound he releases in your swollen lips proves how much he likes it, pushing you harder against the wall as he plunders your mouth with his tongue again, drinking from you with the reverence of a starving man who has found his oasis. You're floating and somehow sinking, breathing deeply through your nose, completely enveloped by the heat of Aemond's mouth.

In a figurative sense — you're flooded with the feeling of wanting this to happen all the time from now on — you could really get used to having Aemond's warm lips sliding over yours and his hand gripping your waist like this.

In the literal sense, however, you don't think that you'll ever be able to get used to this feeling.

How could you, when his mouth is so precise and so dominant on yours, exerting the most delicious pressure on your lower lip? When it feels like his warm palm is a magnet that finds streams of fire deep within you and draws them to the surface of your skin? When the way he drives you into his body feels nothing short of proprietary, but in an incredibly hot way – a way that, instead of raising your pride for independence, neutralizes all your qualms and just excites you?

Because, damn, you really are excited now – a fact you can feel between your legs with every passing second.

I want him, I want him, I want him, you think in a rhythm that matches the beat of your heart.

With one last wet touch to your lips, Aemond breaks the kiss and rests his forehead against yours. The sudden absence draws from you an involuntary sigh and then an irrational wave of disappointment and anger. You're mad at him for stopping kissing you, and you're mad at yourself for wanting his touch so much to react this way.

Your cheeks are burning. You feel like a mess of frustrated desires, right there in that abandoned reading room. Yet Aemond appears as calm, cool, and collected as you've ever seen him. Except for the slightly altered breathing.

Damn him.

"Is – is that all?" You stutter, out of breath and with a cute frown, “if that’s how you intended to show you’re sorry, you didn’t convince me.” The dismissive tone completely missed the mark as your voice came out choppy and fragile, but Aemond smiled anyway, a versatile smile that started out being adorable, then hopeful, and then so wicked that you think your heart (and, hmm, other parts of you ) may explode.

"You're absolutely right. Besides, you've been such a good girl. You deserve a little gift, right?"

Despite your false bravado, you didn't know how to respond, so you just nodded once, your chest warming at the praise. He gave your waist a tight grip and you bit your lip, feeling the heat from your face travel down to your neck as well. You watch with wide eyes as he slowly walks away and sits down in the comfortable armchair near the study table, a large hand patting his own thigh as he smiles softly.

“Come here, little bug,” he purrs your childhood nickname in that tone that’s still unfamiliar but decidedly masculine, and you almost faint. You always hated that nickname. But gods, hearing that again in his warm, husky voice makes something unholy course through your veins and your legs start to shake for a completely different reason than the anger from earlier in the night.

Is this some kind of dream? This really couldn't be happening, right? This behavior is far from what is appropriate or acceptable, but how could you resist? He's elegant, charming, powerful, intelligent - and on top of all that, he's drop-dead gorgeous.

How in the name of the gods could you resist?

You freeze for just a few seconds, unable to move in front of him. But after a moment, your legs begin to move on their own, pulling you closer and closer to Aemond's personal space. When you're within his reach, he gently grabs you by the waist and pulls you down until you're fully straddling him.

“A-Aemond,” you try, your body shaking with anxiety and sudden excitement. Everything is happening so quickly and your mind is struggling to keep up - even though your body is basically begging for more.

Your lips opens and you dare to meet his gaze once again. That eye patch. You're sure that the recently reestablished relationship between the two of you is still too fragile for you to ask him to take it off - even if you really want to. He'll show you the damage from that night when he's ready, you know that. So instead of asking for it, you focus on his single lavender eye, noticing a new glow there, a giddiness that's almost childlike, as well as affection.

Then, he leaned in and kissed you once more. His eye shine with excitement as yours closes, and he moans softly against your lips, sending more shivers through your body. You melt into the kiss, just like before, your body molding to his as his tongue probes your bottom lip. You open your mouth, allowing him access, his tongue brushing against yours.

That's when things suddenly changes.

He growls sharply and grips you tighter, both hands flat on your back holding your body against his as he pushes your hips down in a single thrust. You let out a sharp scream into his mouth when you feel his warm, hard erection between his legs. Your eyes roll slightly at the sensation, his hungry lips devouring you, releasing moans into your mouth each time the head of his covered length brushes against your core.

“Oh, oh,” you moan when he finally pulls away and you can breathe, one hand on your heaving chest - but rolling your hips instinctively, making him moan louder than before.

“Yeah, my sweet girl,” he murmurs deeply, voice hoarse from his own arousal. A shudder runs down your spine and you squirm in his lap, clenching your teeth to stop yourself from letting out an undignified moan. But Aemond notices anyway, a devious smile forming on his lips, flushed and swollen from previous kisses. “You like the sound of my voice, don’t you?”

Well, apparently there was no hiding it. You blush and nod softly, small hands curling around the back of his neck as your body moves on pure instinct, rolling your hips into his. The one-eyed prince smiles again and leans towards your ear, his breath brushing your earlobe. You moan as he starts to whisper devilishly in your ear.

“All these years I thought about you, you know. How would you be; your personality, your manners, your appearance. I always knew you would turn out to be a stunning woman." As he speaks, you pant and squirm uneasily, feeling his wet lips sliding erotically across your ear at every word. "There are so many things I want to do with you, Y/n...I want to see you writhe beneath me as I take what has always been mine. I want to hear you scream when I bury my tongue in that sweet pussy. I want to feel your throat squeezing my dick while I fuck your face...”

You do not answer. There are no coherent words that can leave your lips and your mind hazy at this moment. Instead, you roll your eyes and moan, sinking once again onto his pulsing length. Friction is good, but disturbingly insufficient. And maybe Aemond knows this, because in the next movement he's pressing his palm against your sternum and lifting you a little, so that his other hand can snake between your bodies.

The dress gets in the way a little and you blink, confused, but before you can question his movement, the same hand dribbles the volume of your skirt and enters the barriers of your underwear in a skillful glide, brushing the lips of your intimacy. You gasp and throw your head back, supported by his hand on your back. You close your eyes as his fingers stroke your shamefully wet slit and you bite your lip when he parts your lips and presses two fingers against your swollen clit.

You had touched yourself intimately before, of course. But in that moment, you feel as if you are experiencing the sensation for the first time in your life. His fingers are thicker and rougher than yours, pinching and teasing your core in a way you've never done before. He massages your clit in slow circular motions, and the electrifying jolts of pleasure it sends up your spine make it impossible for you to stay still. Your nails dig into the soft flesh at the back of his neck and your moans echo through the abandoned room - and as the speed of his caresses increases, so does your pleasure.

There's a burning pang of discomfort as the same two fingers sink into your tight heat, sliding in gently with the aid of your own wet arousal. The sensation is new and you can't help the way your body tenses in response, your teeth biting down hard on your bottom lip. But Aemond kisses your cheek affectionately, giving you a few seconds to get used to the width of his fingers stretching your walls.

"That's it, little bug. Relax for me, you can do it." He murmurs as he feels you relax your limbs and sink your body into his fingers with a shaky sigh, happily accepting the invasion and already yearning for more.

Your hips twitch against his fingers as he slowly pushes them into your core. A thumb running through your folds before pressing hard against your clit. A guttural moan escapes your lips the moment your hand grips the roots of his hair tightly, pulling at the softness of his silver strands until he's grunting at the sensation. The more you pant, the faster his fingers work.

By now his length is impossibly harder and warmer against your thigh, and every time you tug on his hair you feel his cock pulsing in response. Your pussy clenches around his fingers, your moans and your breasts press against the solid muscle of his chest, begging for more of his touches.

“Aem,” you say in low, panting breaths just below his earlobe.

“Y/n,” he growls into your skin.

“Give me more of you, please,” your request is greedy and raw.

He pulls his fingers out of you (the wet sound makes your head spin), reaching out and grabbing a fistful of your hair to expose your neck. Aemond drags his tongue from your collarbone to your chin, tasting the sweetness of your skin. The opposite hand, still wet with your juices, wanders up your body to your breasts hidden by the dress, grabbing your left breast so hard that you gasp in surprise at the pain amidst the waves of pleasure.

It's like the most vivid fire in your veins.

“Get up and take off your underwear.”

You push his thighs for support, standing even though your legs are wobbly, sliding your hands up the skirt of your dress. With a quick movement, you pull your underwear off, letting the fabric slide to the floor. Now you're wearing just the long stockings above your knees underneath your dress, the heavy fabric of the skirt clinging to your hands as you keep your intimacy hidden.

"Lift that up so I can see you, love."

His penetrating violet gaze remains fixed on yours; you feel the blush spread from your cheeks to your breasts with his request. But both are too far gone to stop now. With a deep breath, you pull the skirt of your dress up, keeping the fabric secured above your waist as Aemond looks at you.

The hunger in his expression almost disturbs you. The feeling of his gaze trailing up the length of your stockings to the apex of your thighs is like a physical touch. You shudder and look away when you feel him looking directly at your pussy.

"You're fucking perfect. So beautiful." Is all he says, his voice lower than before. Even though his words make you blush, you keep your gaze on the floor for the next few seconds.

"Look at me, babe." He hums, and you can almost feel a small mischievous smile in his voice. "Don't you want to see what you do to me?"

This piques your curiosity and you look at him shyly from under your eyelashes, almost choking when you notice his fingers undoing the fly of his pants. Your breath seems to die in your chest as time passes slowly, his long, pale fingers pulling the waistband of his pants down, grabbing his length and gently lifting it out of the fabric.

Vaguely, you're somewhat aware that your gaze is wide and your lips are parted, but you can't help it. The sight of his long, thick cock trapped between his fingers is almost enough to make you reel, the veins running down his length, the head almost purple and pre-cum leaking from the tip. Your excitement seems to increase tenfold as you watch him run his thumb over the rounded head, spreading all that wetness along his length. He pushes his hand further down and massages his balls still hidden inside his pants.

Your heart pounds, your clit throbs and your brain stops working.

His hand glides along the seam of his cock again, from base to tip, before letting his length rest against the leather of the bottom of his shirt, though you can see how he bounces slightly under the tension of the tight muscle in his belly. “Come take what you need from me, bug.”

You take a deep breath, feeling your legs soften with each step, the moisture that was once contained in your underwear starting to slide down your inner thigh. You move forward to straddle him, Aemond reaching down to your sides to help you adjust, the fabric of your skirt bunched around your waist. He smooths the length of your socks, from the heel to your thighs - squeezing the soft flesh while leaving a gentle, encouraging kiss on your lips.

With great anticipation, you lower yourself onto him, pressing your pussy to the underside of the cock he had so beautifully presented to you. You may feel yourself slipping slightly as the wetness gushes over your folds and all over the silky skin of his penis.

He groans. "You're so soft and wet for me, baby."

“Yeah?” you moan, closing your eyes at the sensation. You made a small movement of your hips forward and felt your clit press against his hardness. You're already shaking. Your pussy is already swollen and pulsating. It will take almost nothing to completely undo you.

You begin to move against him, rocking your hips, following the gratifying bliss that comes with each press of your bud against him. His large hands roam your waist, steadying you so you don't sway to the side, but allowing you the freedom to move as you see fit. You set your own pace, alternating between slow and fast movements, rocking and pressing into him to smother your sex. Your breathing becomes more frantic and when you open your teary eyes, you can see his too.

His dusty cheeks with a soft blush, his half-closed violet gaze, his long eyelashes almost touching his cheek, that eye patch increasing his dark aura, the sharp lines of his jaw, his parted lips...

Your fingers twist in his hair like a vise and Aemond moans your name like a prayer.

His grip moves to the back of your knee, adjusting your leg in a way that keeps you more open for him and your back arches as the searing heat of his cock head pokes your clit again. The friction is so intense and fierce that you perfectly feel every ridge and jagged line of veins down the length of his cock and you want more, more, more, until your bones crack and crumble and burn, until you are nothing but ash scattering Aemond's skin.

"One day...soon...I'm going to take your purity for myself. My cock will be buried so deep inside that pussy that you'll feel me here..." He presses a spot on your belly as he speaks, voice broken and hoarse, sighing faster and faster every second. "I'm going to fuck you every day, every night, in every fucking corner inside and outside this castle."

A cry leaves your throat and you pulse on Aemond's cock.

“There we go, sweet girl,” he murmurs, his lips just whispering against yours when you actually want to take whatever he gives you. You arch again and pull him closer, gyrate your hips insistently, wildly, feverishly, and allow yourself to moan so loudly that the sound settles on the stone walls around you. Aemond stretches his lips into an unhinged and truly frightening smile, wrapping a hand around your throat to pull you in until all you can see, feel, and smell is him. Only him.

He brushes your pussy with precise, firm strokes, meeting your clit with the soft head of his cock and you rub your folds faster and faster with each thrust, all the while moaning his name like it's the only word you knows: Aemond, Aemond, Aemond...

“Tell me,” he breathes into your mouth. He runs his tongue against your bottom lip, then dips in to taste his name in your sighs. “Tell me, Y/n, will you truly be mine this time? Will you stay with me until the end?”

You whimper and shake your head as best you can while you're held in your throat by his fingers, tears streaming down your flushed cheeks.

"P-please, Aemond...please, we will stay together. Please, that's all I want. I need, I need-"

He pulls you by the throat, wanting you to face him. Your lips drift towards his and he hums in approval, parting his lips to let your tongue meet his. Every kiss and every touch, even the smell of his skin, the taste of his tongue, and the little hums and moans from deep in his chest, go straight down your spine and into your groin. You pull away, a trail of saliva forming from his tongue to yours. You look between your bodies and notice his head appearing from below your waist. The slit glistening with precum.

It's deliciously profane.

When you look back up, his gaze is locked on yours, watching the way your face contorts in pleasure. He thrusts even harder somehow, tilting his hips so the head of his cock rubs frantically against your clit and makes you shiver. You hold the back of his neck tighter, moaning.

"Aem...Aemond, I'll...oh-"

“Yeah, fuck,” he whispers against your lips. “That’s it my baby, make love to me. Feel good with me. Come on."

You feel the pleasure building beneath your belly, on your clit, on your nipples. And then you break. Your stomach tightens like a board and your body recoils as the pleasure washes over you. Warm white light explodes in front of your eyes and scatters into colorful dots. You scream and cry, shaking your head. Your pussy squeezing around nothing. Aemond puts his arm under your waist and pushes you even faster; eager to milk himself while you are still tense and sensitive from the orgasm. The pleasure starts to get more raw, scorching like an electric shock. A gradient from pleasure to pain. It's almost uncomfortable and you cry as you nuzzle your head into the crook of his neck.

“I know, baby, I know, just hold on. Just be patient with me. I’m so close,” he grunts, muscles tense with euphoria. “I’m so close, please let me cum.”

His jaw clenches and you feel a burst of heat against you. His hips stutter helplessly from the force of his orgasm. And then he finally stops. He stays still. His harsh grunts turn into soft moans and heavy breathing and you feel even more sticky and wet at the evidence of his cum dripping between your legs.

(It's scary how intense the thought of how much you'd rather it were inside you.)

Together you both stay in that boneless, contented trance; your minds going into a reverie. His cock stays nestled against your folds for a few moments, but now it feels like a permanent part of you. Even as he slowly pulls away, you still feel him against your skin. The feeling of his touch, the warmth of his breath, the weight and thickness of his cock as it lived between the swollen lips of your pussy, feels less like a memory and more like a phantom sensation that will last as long as you let it.

You’re almost dozing off when you feel a gentle kiss on your sweaty cheek, his breath on your ear.

"And then, would you say I have adequately redeemed myself?" There's a touch of urgency to his question, even though he tries to sound amused and dismissive - like he really wants your approval, after all.

You smile tiredly against the crook of his neck before lifting your head, meeting his beautiful violet gaze once again. He's also a little sweaty, his silver hair is disheveled from where you squeezed him, and his cheeks are still a little flushed. But he seems more relaxed now than at any time since you arrived at the Red Keep and saw him for the first time.

“Hmm…” You hum, pretending to think about it as you frown and bring your index finger to your lips.

Aemond rolls his eye and you have two seconds to smile at this before he's grabbing your waist and tickling your belly, hitting the same sensitive spots on your flesh as when you were a child, as if no time had passed.

"Aem! Wait- that's not fair!" You laugh and squirm, throwing your head back as your body shakes with each laugh.

"Tell me what I want to hear and I'll stop." He says, calm and collected, but you can hear the amusement in his voice.

"Ah, okay, okay, okay..." You say breathlessly, cheeks red for a completely different reason this time, the corners of your lips hurting from laughing so hard. "You redeemed yourself, completely. I was joking. I swear!"

Obviously satisfied with your response, he loosens his grip on your stomach, letting you breathe normally. You're still smiling, though, feeling the phantom effects of his tickle attack. He looks at you with his head up and his face calm, a small smile on the corner of his lips. He's so different from the boy you knew, physical and emotional, you know it will take a while to get used to this new Aemond. But what he just did made you sure that there was still something of the old Aem there - even if it was buried deep beneath his new self.

"Let's get married. I'm going to ask father tonight." He says, so confident and assured that it makes something in your heart soften and open like the petals of a flower. The smile on your lips diminishes to something softer and more sincere, emotional even, and you tuck a few strands of his hair behind his ear.

"Really? You know, my brothers won't like it very much." You whisper teasingly, gaze shining and stomach twisting in gleeful anticipation.

Aemond's smile stretches a little wider, his gaze flickering to something darker.

"I'm counting on it."

You snort, but you can't hold back your smile as you nuzzle your head into his neck once again. The heat of satisfaction blooms even more when you feel Aemond kiss your hairline. With just a little adjustment, you lean back against his chest and close your eyes, happy to be with him like this for a moment. Soon you both will have to get up and go to your respective chambers.

You will talk more about everything that was said and done here when the morning comes, but it is not morning yet. Then you sigh and hold this sweet moment in your arms like a precious jewel.

Like a second chance.

Tagging: @croatianprincess @delilah1990 @fan-goddess @hanihoney88 @supmymainhuman @navyblue-eternity @gothicxs @toodlesxcuddles @loving-enemy @ostricx @azperja @echos-muses @thedamewithabook @schniiipsel @snowprincesa1 @nezzlysixx @maximizedrhythms @mavieemav @ammo23 @dark-night-sky-99 @deeeeexx @hotdsworld @darylandbethfanforever9 @malfoytargaryen @qyoquixote @pick95 @moonxhunt @tired-ninfa @fcbformulaeri @daydreamy-me @vyctorya @lovelymoonkiid @babyblue711 @zondereleutheromania @spookymicrowave @wintrr13 @namelesslosers @chainsawangel @beautbuck @arcielee @ratfromdeepspace @brianochka @greenowlfactif @qyburnsghost @rwdkarla @dontforgetoctober3rd @violetexpress1

#aemond #* #screamed reading this

[daemonsversion]

defile me | aemond targaryen x fem!reader

You reluctantly sell yourself into the pleasure house on the same night Aemond reluctantly pays the brothel a visit.

WARNINGS: pleasure house activity, slight SA, fingering, oral (fem receiving), p in v, deflowering, slight mention of v bleeding, praise, degrading, soft sub!Aemond turns dom!Aemond quickly, breeding, cum play.

WORDS: 4.3k — I am SO sorry.

DISCLAIMER: I do not own any of the House of The Dragon/Fire & Blood characters nor do I claim to own them. I do not own any of the images used nor do I claim to own them.

My requests are open! 🖤

The pleasure house is no place for a virgin.

Your family’s farm struggled through a harsh winter and income was scarce, which led your father to somehow persuading you to place yourself in the brothel. “A few coins tossed by the noblemen of the land may go some way to help us get by,” he said, “and the chance of bearing an illegitimate child of a prince and potential heir to the Iron Throne would be priceless.”

The degradation. The humiliation. It would be unbearable. But the mere suggestion passing your father’s lips led you to believe that this was your purpose in life, that you could do no more to assist your family’s plight than to whore yourself to the gentry of the land. Your worth surmounted to becoming a bedslave to perverted men whose wives, bearers of their children, could no longer satisfy them.

You blindly cooperated with the plan to resolve your family’s financial crisis, refusing to acknowledge the depth of the depravity to which you would soon become accustomed, right up until the moment you found a quiet corner in the pleasure house to call your home, a peaceful nook where a pile of pillows laid while the other surfaces in the house were occupied. You placed yourself amongst the cushions, uncomfortably facing the wall while tugging at the hem of your significantly scanty attire, a drape of sheer linen designed to eccentuate your every curve not-so-well-hidden beneath, held together only by one ornate brooch positioned at your hip. Not last week, you would not have been seen dead in such scandalous dress, but financial needs must.

The low hum of seductive conversation and rising moans around the house began to drown out your thoughts within minutes of finding your space. Counting your blessings that no commotion had arrived into your safe haven, you clenched your eyes closed every chance you could find, willing every lecherous occupant to find a girl far more visually receptive to their advances than yourself.

“How about it then?” A deep, warbled voice boomed by your ear, accompanied by the sinking of the pillows you were perched upon as a man took his seat beside you. Prizing your eyes open, your gaze fell upon the outline of a greasy man leaning into you, engorged hands hovering over your thigh as if waiting to strike. Without a thought, you swung your leg from his reach and adjusted the scanty fabric over your knees in some warped grasp at decency.

“N-no, thank you,” you politely declined with a shaky voice, gesturing toward the buzz of activity across the room from you. “I am sure my fellow ladies will be gracious enough to assist you. Good morrow, ser.”

“Hah!” The man chortled heartily, clamping his hand down onto your thigh regardless. “Your job is to serve me, whore, you would do well to remember it.”

You placed your hand upon his in hopes to prize his fingers from digging into the soft flesh of your thigh, but his grip was too strong.

“Please, good ser, bid me leave,” you protested weakly, wriggling your leg in futile defence. “I… I’m not ready.”

“Not ready?!” He boomed his repetition, mocking your complaint so loud that a number of faces in the crowded room turned to face you. “You’re a whore, my girl, you have to be ready.”

Pitiful giggles spread around the room, hushed mutters of ‘frigid’ and ‘virgin’ reaching your ears just above the rising volume of your thundering heartbeat.

“Please, ser—.”

“That’s more like it,” he leered, grasping your leg tighter and sinking his nails into your skin while his free hand wandered to grapple with his breeches. “Say that again when you’re choking down on my cock.”

“No, please…”

“There’s no such word as ‘no’ in the whore house, little bitch,” he hissed, globules of spit firing from his lips as he salivated over his next move, palming at himself beneath his pants.

“The lady said no,” came another male voice behind you, softer and yet more assertive. “You would do well to listen, old man.”

“Who the fuck do you think you—,” the lewd man spat before craning to see the figure behind him. As soon as he registered the source of his interruption, he immediately released his vice-like grip on your thigh and grappled to his feet. “Y… yes, Prince Aemond.”

Gasps shook through the pleasure house as the pairs of eyes trained on your once-comfortable nook scrambled to find a distraction, scattering back to their own business and refusing to look back.

Taking a deep breath, you strained around to see your saviour only to find a pair of black leather boots nestled amongst the pillows. Tracing up the black-clad figure, the man who came to your rescue appeared to be tall, lithe and battle-weary, one of his eyes concealed by a mysterious leather patch which disappeared into his poker-straight blonde hair. The saviour stood defiant and unresponsive, his hands clasped studiously behind his back and a faint smirk cinching the corner of his lips as you looked up at him.

“Th… thank you, kind prince…” you stuttered, brows knitting at the thought of the words that were about to roll from your tongue.

“Aemond,” he interjected, folding his knees to bend to your level. “Call me Aemond.”

“To what do I owe such kindness, Aemond, ser?” You scrambled to cover yourself once more with the flimsy textile drape, grabbing a cushion to place in your lap for some semblance of presentability in the presence of royalty.

“You seem as reluctant to be here as I am,” he chuckled softly, resting both hands on his bended knee. “Were you forced to serve here, gevie?” Beautiful.

“By circumstance, ser,” you bowed your head. Admitting poverty in the face of royalty would surely abolish your remaining shred of dignity, as if your presence in the pleasure house had not already dispelled that notion.

“Me too,” Aemond sighed, nodding in agreement. “Although I imagine under quite different circumstances.”

You would not dare to question what he meant by that comment, but he seemed eager to appease your wordless curiosity.

“My brother Aegon is over there,” he pointed across the room to another platinum blonde-haired youthful figure, his tumbling curls framing his face as he seduced another bedslave. “He brought me here to ensure I bed as many women as possible to acquire experience enough to satisfy a future wife.”

Your vision wandered to meet his eye once more, that same kind glow exuding from his gaze back at you, blinking softly and recognising your fragility in the same manner as his own. He looked upon you as an equal, another human worthy of the same respect and honour afforded to himself by all that engage with him. His instant inviting nature only succeeded in intimidating you more, coming from a man so sublimely ethereal that you should never wish to reject him for anything even if he were not the prince of the realm. Your eyes lingered upon his lips, pursed in thought as he looked upon you.

“Thank you, ser,” you smiled warmly in return, willing yourself to find the courage to reach out and touch his hand in sympathy. “For your kind reassurance and your company when you have other business to attend to this night. Please do not allow me to keep you from your purpose here, kind ser.”

“Dear earthbound angel, I am quite certain you are my purpose here this night,” Aemond half-purred, drinking in your appearance as a man dying of thirst yet determined to remain composed in front of the bustling company in the pleasure house. His eye darted around the room to ensure all gazes had averted from you before unfolding his legs and perching on the cushions beside you. “Tell me, why waste your virtues on the rich yet ill-mannered of Westeros in here? You could well serve in the royal court and escape this hellhole.”

“I believe this place matches my worth, ser.” Your gaze dropped into your lap in shame but Aemond’s pale hand reached toward you, planting a tip of a finger beneath your chin and gently raising your countenance to meet his.

“Do not be ashamed, little dove,” Aemond soothed with a reassuringly authoritative tone, his eye wandering to your lips as he spoke. “Let me show you your worth.”

Aemond leaned into you slowly, giving you every chance to withdraw from his advances, but instead you met him halfway and pressed your lips against his. The contact was brief before he pulled back to gaze into your eyes once more, taking another opportunity to ensure you were comfortable with his motions. This time, you reached a hand to curl around the back of his neck and drew him in again, kissing him deeply. Aemond grunted softly into your kiss, wandering both arms to envelope your waist as you traced each other’s mouths.

The mysterious one-eyed prince pressed even closer to your lips as if starving for your touch, craving contact with you with every part of his body. Parting his lips ever so slightly, the tip of his tongue ventured out to beg for entry to your mouth, moaning into you as you granted it. His hold on your waist tightened, pulling you flush to his chest so close you may as well be seated in his lap.

Aemond embraced you as if you were the only two people in the room, completely oblivious to the stony silence in the room which was once filled with echoes of gratuitous moans, the lewd slapping of skin and raucous laughter, now only occupied by the sounds of your tongues lashing together.

Breaking contact to draw breath, you opened your eyes to find Aemond’s one eye completely blown with lust, glazed and hazy, looking upon you as if the rest of the world around you had shattered like a mirror and all that remained was you, Aemond and the plumped cushions beneath you. Your vision darted around the room to find every pair of eyes glaring at your display, fascinated by the sight of the one-eyed prince claiming his first conquest in the pleasure house. Aegon propped himself against a table with one hand on his hip, a smug grin tapering his lips as he watched his brother executing his plan perfectly.

“Aemond,” you called to attract his attention away from you. It took a few more moments before he finally tore himself away to look around the room, noticing his brother’s gaze and quickly clearing his throat. Hurrying to his feet, he extended a hand toward you to help you up from the cushions. His graceful, beautiful hand had clearly seen conflict judging by its scrapes and scars, but nonetheless gifted in its regal pale pallor. Quickly accepting his invitation, you lifted yourself up and looked to the one-eyed prince for guidance.

“Let’s get out of here, my Lady,” he muttered, stepping down from the cushion pile while clutching your hand to ensure your safe disembarkment.

“Aemond, I am not a la—.”

“If you will excuse us,” Aemond announced to the room, causing a tidal wave of searing heat to wash over your cheeks as he walked you through the crowds. With one hand still holding onto yours, another raised dismissively into mid-air to ensure the pleasure house returned to its usual function with haste. “Please, continue your festivities.”

———

The door to Aemond’s chambers slammed shut behind you so loudly, the sharp crack of wood snapped you back into the room. You froze upon the sight of his large bed before you, smooth silk sheets draped so beautifully, cascading over the edge of the mattress and draping to the floor. Such an elegant sight that would soon be destroyed.

“Aemond, you called me your lady,” you muttered under your breath, not daring to turn to face the man as he approached you from behind. “I am not worthy of such an address.”

Without warning, pale hands softly snaked around your waist and a chin rested gently upon your shoulder, planting butterfly kisses into your neck.

“You are a woman, are you not?” Aemond affirmed against your ear. “You have treated me with the honour, respect and grace of my position and I have returned the favour. You have not questioned me, you have not defied me, and you have certainly not wronged me. Therefore, I see you as nothing less than my Lady.”

Convinced Aemond would feel you blushing, you dipped your head into his touch as his careful breaths warmed your skin. Planting feather-light kisses atop your hair, the prince breathed in deeply, inhaling your presence in the safety of his chambers far away from the debauched prying eyes of the pleasure house.

“Do you trust me?” Aemond whispered into the shell of your ear. Suddenly, your gaze flicked back to the sight of his bed, swallowing thickly at the realisation of the inevitable next step of your evening with the One-Eyed Prince. Shaking your head to dispel your concerns, you placed your hands atop his as they rested on your stomach.

“Completely,” you sighed happily, melting into his touch as he peppered another kiss onto your hair.

“You have never laid with a man before?” His tone was soothing, devoid of judgement. You shook your head, encouraging Aemond to grip your hips and spin you around to face him where his reassuring smile greeted you once more. Cupping your face in both hands and gazing down at your lips, Aemond sighed contentedly.

“Then this will be a first for us both.”

Capturing you in a haunting kiss, you barely noticed Aemond carefully stepping you backwards until your calves met with the hard wood of his bed, tumbling into the depths of his sheets as he stood before you. Aemond drank in the sight amongst his once crisp bedlinen, squaring up to the only obstacle between him and your innocence — the flimsy translucent garment concealing your body from him.

“Gevie,” Aemond whispered in a tongue unfamiliar to your uneducated ear. Beautiful.

He reached to unclasp his belt and breeches without tearing his eyes away from you, swathes of leather and black linen pooling at his feet and buckles clanking against the flagstones as he stepped out of every layer that restricted him. You froze to the spot watching him, swallowing thickly in anticipation and want as he revealed more and more pale flesh.

“You like what you see, sweet girl?” He chuckled, a curt grin eking across the corner of his lips.

“I do, Prince Aemond,” you concurred, leaning up on your elbows to observe him closer. “Do you think me wicked?”

“I think you are the most beautiful sight a man’s earthbound eyes will ever see,” he cooed, planting his knees on the edge of the bed and crawling slowly over to you, leaning down to hover over you, his lips an inch from yours. He ventured a hand to your face, brushing your hair behind your ear. “However, there is one obstacle that stands in my way.”

His hand traced gently down your neck to your collarbone, guiding down through the valley of your breasts on its mission toward your hip, tantalising over the elegant brooch that so rudely prohibited him from your figure.

“Cursed thing,” he muttered lowly, fiddling with its clasp and casting the bronze accessory across the room, a distant clank assuring him he would not be further inhibited by its presence. With a low, hungry growl, Aemond swept aside the linen concealing you and exposed your curves beneath. The room’s cool air graced your skin and left goosebumps in its wake, leading you to inhale softly at the sensation. Aemond was now rooted to the spot, gazing at your frame nestled amongst his sheets for what felt like an eternity as you waited for his next move. The anticipation was unbearable, clasping your thighs together beneath him and squirming uncomfortably.

“Aemond,” you snapped him out of his lust-ridden stupor, beckoning his gaze back to meet yours. Dropping back against the sheets, you reached both hands through his blonde locks to cup his neck, drawing him in closer. “Please, fuck me already.”

“Well well,” a chuckle erupted in Aemond’s throat, smirking gleefully from ear to ear. “This is quite a transformation. What happened to my shy little virgin?”

“She has waited long enough,” you sighed, your fingertips impatiently traversing his back and tracing idle patterns across his bare skin and raising a gentle shiver in response.

“Then my Lady shall not be kept waiting,” he sighed, guiding his own fingertips across the traverse of your hipbone in retaliation, rejoicing in the soft buck of your hips in response. “I trust she will at least allow her prince to prepare her beforehand?”

Unclenching your legs to part beneath him, you spread yourself open wide and elicited an explicit groan from the depths of the one-eyed Prince’s throat.

“That’s my good girl,” he murmured, trailing his forefinger to meet your mound, shivering under his touch. The very tip of his finger journeyed to trace the outline of your folds, ghosting ever so slightly over your moistened entrance yet still collecting the beads of anticipation on its way. “Tell me, who owns this pretty little cunt?”

Between strangled breaths, you mumbled his name. Displeased with your muted response, Aemond slipped two fingers through your folds, delving knuckle-deep within you.

“Speak up, little dove, let the whole castle hear you.”

“Y… yours, Aemond,” you spluttered, chest heaving and hips convulsing at his every movement. He curled his long fingers inside you, pressing against the ripples of your walls in gentle stroking motions.

“And what would you have me do with it?” He pressed, drawing his bottom lip between his teeth as he watched you unravel beneath him.

“Pl… please,” you mewled helplessly as he added another finger into your depths, pumping fervently in staccato time with your racing heartbeat, now reaching his free hand to press down into the valley of your hips so he can feel his fingers inside you. The unusual sensation sent your head sinking into the pillow, hands fisting into the sheets and pleading for your climax to release you from the tension within. “Please fuck me, Aemond.”

His fingers pummelled at a breakneck pace inside you, driving you careering toward the precipice before a telltale strangled gasp signalled your oncoming orgasm to your one-eyed tormentor, who withdrew his dripping fingers and left you clenching around nothing. Bucking your hips like a wild animal and fighting against his grip to squeeze your thighs together, you cried out in despair at Aemond’s sudden betrayal.

He watched you struggle for a few moments, glee spread across his thin lips until they suddenly plunged down to meet your clit, his tongue racing in fervent circles around your bundle of nerves and journeying south to delve into your folds. Lapping at your soaking cunt like a man possessed, Aemond’s low moans vibrated through your core as he curled his tongue inside you just the same as his fingers, which now found themselves digging crescent dips into the flesh of your thighs to spread them wide before him.

“Aemond, please… m—more,” you wailed weakly, throwing your head back into the pillow and jerking your hips into his face, craving more friction to help you tumble over the cliff-face this time.

“Needy girl,” he muttered against your folds sending tremors throughout you, splaying his tongue out over your entrance to venture a clean stripe with each breath. “My virgin knows exactly what she wants before she’s even tried it.”

Cooperating gladly, he unlatched from your sodden core and swooped up to capture you in a deep kiss, one hand venturing to line his leaking tip with your entrance.

“Are you ready to take me, my Lady?” Aemond enquired, a considerate tone in his voice suggesting he knew a woman’s first coupling is laced with a degree of pain. The breaking of your maidenhead would cause discomfort, that much was certain, but the sheer ecstasy of laying with such a caring man, least of all a prince of the realm, dispelled a vast amount of your trepidation in the process.

“Defile me, Aemond,” you nodded, pleading, begging for contact.

“Your wish is my command, your Grace,” he smiled, dragging his tip over your folds and dipping in slowly. Your harsh intake of breath met the sound of his teeth-baring hiss as he gently sheathed himself fully within you in one thrust, resting balls deep inside you before searching your face for a response.

You mewled softly, which was response enough for your prince.

“You’re doing so well for me, my good girl,” he praised effortlessly, his one eye roving into his skull as the sensation of your walls enveloping his cock finally satisfied his craving. “You’re taking my cock so well. Does it hurt so, or are you ready for me to move?”

You nodded in approval, riding out the uncomfortable stretch within you by rutting up into him, easing his next thrust before he even reared his hips back.

“Aemond, more… please,” you stuttered between laboured breaths, wrapping your arms around his shoulders to draw him in closer. “Faster, please. Oh gods, fuck!”

“This cannot be the same innocent virgin I saved earlier.” Aemond chuckled under his breath, obeying your command and gazing down to watch his length accumulating a small splatter of virginal blood before plunging deeper, drawing out further and slamming back into your depths so deep you swore you could feel him in your guts. “I thank the Seven for granting me the good fortune to be your first…”

One particularly devastating thrust summoned stars in your peripheral vision, glazing over your view of the blonde gyrating above you.

“And your only.”

Another earth-shattering piston of his hips made you yell out in ecstasy, scratching your nails down his back before peppering chaste kisses into his breastbone in an attempt to silence your screams.

Aemond noticed.

“Never,” he punctuated with another gut-wrenching thrust. “Ever, let me catch you holding back again. Use your voice, little dove, scream the castle down if needs must. I will not rest until Castle Black hears me fucking you unconscious.”

Your fucked-out gaze up at the graceful blonde pummelling his cock into your womb set Aemond’s every vein alight, a searing heat coursing through his body that he was sure he would not allow to escape his clutches after this night. He needed to ensure you would return to his chambers every night in the same manner, receiving the same mind-altering fucking each night for the rest of your life.

Aemond needed more than to claim you for the moment. He needed a guarantee.

“Bear my child,” Aemond spoke in an inquisitive tone, asking rather than stating. Laying a flat palm into the valley of your hips and revelling in the sensation of his cockhead brushing against his palm as he thrusted deep inside you, the way he returned your gaze with his own wanton, desperately lust-blown expression suggested this was a plea.

“Yes, yes, yes,” you repeated between gasps and staccato breaths as his relentless pace denied you the oxygen to form full sentences. Hooking your feet behind his hips and clasping around him as tightly as possible, you hummed lowly into his ear: “Breed me, Prince Aemond.”

The mere passing of such filthy words from your lips sent you slipping over the precipice of your orgasm at last, flooding around his cock and gushing out from your folds, soaking his once crisp sheets beneath you.

“That’s it, that’s my good girl,” he purred under his breath, head bowed into your neck as his rhythmic thrusts faltered in turn. “Suck my cock dry just like that, take everything I give to you.”

A gratuitous moan betrayed his own climax as he spilled his seed within you, deftly painting your walls and retaining his thrusts to ensure his cum would not escape your quaking cunt. Both refusing to relent your pace as if wishing you could rut together forever, you slowed your bucking hips and stilled beneath him while he pulled out from your folds and quickly ventured two fingers to push his seed back inside you.

Aemond leaned back to kneel between your legs for what felt like an eternity, gazing at your body slick with beads of glistening sweat and shaking gently in his wake.

“Gevie riña,” he hummed to himself as he drank in the sight before him. “Gevie fucking riña.”

As much as the sight of the one-eyed prince worshipping every inch of your figure made your heart soar, something suddenly dawned on you.

“Aemond,” you enquired, a note of nervous anticipation in your voice. “All evening, you have called me your Lady. In the throes of passion, you called me your Grace.”

“Rest assured, little dove, I meant every word,” he confirmed without tearing his gaze from your swollen core, red raw and pulsing from the manner in which he so monumentally deflowered you, moulding you to his design, ensuring no other could take his place inside your body forevermore.

“But I am not worthy of such addresses,” you affirmed, grappling to cover yourself with the sheer linen he tore from your frame, eyes darting around the room for any glint of the fundamental brooch you required to dress yourself to leave. “I must return to the pleasure house at once.”

“No!” He snapped, throwing himself forward on his knees to stop you. “You shall never return to that brothel, nor any other for that matter.”

“But… why?”

“Because, little dove, you will soon be addressed by the whole of Westeros in the same manner as I,” he sighed contentedly. “As soon as I make you my princess, people across the length and breadth of our country will dub you their Grace.”

You quirked an eyebrow at his sudden revelation, which seemed altogether not so sudden as if he had thought his grand plan through as thoroughly as he had just fucked you senseless.

“I see, and when will you be making a princess out of me, Prince Aemond?”

The blonde one-eyed prince leaned forward on his knees, crawling to hover his lips over yours once more.

“Tomorrow. At sunrise.”

#aemond #* #having trouble breathing actually

[daemonsversion]

"Your Place" - Aemond Targaryen x Cousin!Reader

a/n: from an anon request for daemon/rhea's daughter being seduced to the greens' side by aemond! i hope you like it nonnie, this was a fun one to write and i'm quite proud of it 🩷

Summary: After several years apart, Aemond comes to Runestone to convince you to take your place at his side.

TW: canon typical incest, profanity, innuendo, she/her pronouns, AFAB reader, mentions of toxic family relationships (reader resents daemon), mentions of murder (daemon killing rhea), idk reader's kinda a hater in this sorry, oral f receiving, fingering, p in v sex, breeding kink

Word Count: 3,000 words

Disclaimer: I do not own any of the House of The Dragon/Fire & Blood characters nor do I claim to own them. I do not own any of the images used nor do I claim to own them.

Comments, likes, and reblogs are never required but are immensely appreciated 🩷

Runestone is a vital tactical ally. At least, that’s the story Aemond spins to his brother before he takes to the skies atop Vhagar, heading for the Vale. House Royce is a noble, proud house. One of the most powerful in the Vale, second only to House Arryn. It is not a complete lie that gaining their allegiance would be beneficial to the Greens.

Aemond just leaves out the true reason he wishes to visit Runestone.

Its lady.

You, Lady Targaryen, the only daughter of Lady Rhea Royce and Aemond’s uncle, Prince Daemon Targaryen. Since your father harbored no love for your mother, his indifference extended to you. The last time Aemond saw you was that day when he claimed Vhagar, when he lost his eye. It was at Lady Laena’s funeral. 

You had walked up beside him, your face eerily calm as you remarked, “It’s quite a shame, my father’s luck in marriage. Perhaps the next one might survive. Don’t they say the third time’s the charm?”

Aemond had barely resisted the urge to laugh at your dark sense of humor. You were two years his senior, four and ten while he was a mere two and ten. You were graceful, beautiful. And he fell for you instantly. He knew that no matter what happened, no matter who your father was, one day he would marry you.

You did not go to Dragonstone with your father after he wed Rhaenyra. You, instead, went to Runestone, where your uncle had been serving as Lord Regent in your stead. You refused to live with your father and his third wife, stating that you had no interest in this depravity. You had no interest in a man who bedded another woman before his wife’s body was cold in the ground. You came to say goodbye to Aemond before leaving, finding him in his sickbed, a bandage wrapped around where his eye used to be. You pressed a chaste kiss to his forehead, apologizing for all that happened. Stating that you wished you had been there to put a stop to all of this.

And you congratulated him on claiming Vhagar before leaving. You harbored no ill will toward him for “stealing” your sister’s dragon. Your attitude made Aemond wonder if you truly cared for your sisters at all. He watched you walk away from him, toward the ship that waited to whisk you away to your mother’s ancestral home. He stared out the window as you sailed away, yet again promising himself that once he was a man worthy of you, he would find you and make you his.

His wife, his princess, his love.

You were by far the most impressive woman he’d ever met in his life, and so he decided to make himself an impressive man in turn. He practiced swordplay three hours a day, learned the language of his ancestors, studied history and philosophy extensively. And, of course, mastered the art of riding on horseback. From what he has heard, you spend hours riding atop your mare, apparently because of how close it makes you feel to your mother. There’s something so beautifully tragic about that, he thinks. And it endears you to him all the more. He falls in love with you even more with every new thing he learns about you.

It is late in the afternoon when Runestone comes into sight, and Vhagar lets out a mighty roar as she begins to descend from the clouds, allowing her rider to climb off her back before taking to the skies once more, ready to return at Aemond’s behest. He walks toward your keep, his boots clicking on the stone path as he walks. He can feel his heart in his throat with every step he takes closer to you, praying to the Smith to give strength so that he may not waver in his confidence before you.

He sees you, sitting atop your mare, your hair whipping in the wind, a steed waiting for him as well. How very thoughtful of you. Aemond bows as he approaches you. You are even more beautiful than you were when he saw you last. The dress you wear, one of Myrish lace and Dornish silk, clings to your figure, your curves now that of a woman’s. Your hair has grown longer and there is a calm about you that was not there when you were at your father’s side.

You have become your own woman, graceful and beautiful like all said your mother was. Aemond falls deeper in love than ever before as he gazes up at you.

“Cousin.”

Your voice is just as he remembers, gentle yet firm, that of a woman who knows what she’s doing.

Aemond smiles, “I see that my cousin has matured greatly.”

You nod, watching him as he climbs atop the stallion beside you, “I have indeed. The last time we saw each other was at my stepmother’s funeral, I believe?”

“Yes,” he replies, the two of you beginning your ride toward the keep, “It would seem, as you said, your father’s luck in marriage improved with the third time.”

“Indeed,” you say, and he can see the beginnings of a smile curling on your lips as you question, “But I am sure you’re not here to discuss matters of my father’s ill-fated marriages. Why have you come to Runestone, cousin?”

Aemond presses his lips together, turning to face you completely before questioning, “I wish to ask where your allegiance lies in this coming war, cousin. Who will House Royce fight for?”

“Runestone remains neutral,” you tell him calmly, “As I told Jacaerys who arrived here not one fortnight before you on his way to Winterfell. We will not be dragged into a war that has nothing to do with us.”

“So you’d stand aside and allow Rhaenyra to usurp my brother’s birthright?”

“You forget that she’s my stepmother,” you comment dryly, the sarcasm in your voice making Aemond smile. You haven’t changed a bit. He admires the side profile of your face as you stare straight ahead, nearly at the castle now, “That my father fights at her side. You’d ask me to turn against my own father, cousin?”

Aemond’s gaze moves to your lips, so soft and so ripe for kissing, his mind running wild as he imagines stopping the horses here and now, hauling you off somewhere to have his way with you. To have you underneath him, crying out his name in ecstasy.

“You’ve outgrown your father. His decisions were never wise. All he brought upon the Realm was chaos.”

You scoff, “I do not argue with that. You know that I have no love for my father. It is an ill-kept secret that my mother died at his hand. But still, I will not have Runestone dragged into this foolishness.”

Aemond chuckles as the two of you hop off of your mounts, taking a step toward you, resting a finger beneath your chin as he tilts your face up toward him, his blue eye boring into yours, flickering back to your lips for a brief moment before he asks, “And what of me, cousin? Have I done something to anger you, Lady Targaryen? I only ask for a fair chance to convince the Lady of Runestone to stand on the proper side of this conflict. Perhaps even as a princess, my bride.”

“You forget that I am betrothed, cousin,” you inform him sharply, “Your honeyed words won’t sway me.”

Aemond is not yet deterred. He is still determined to win you over, the feeling of being near you again driving him to madness.

“I’m sure your betrothed would understand that a lady of your grace, your beauty is better suited as a match for the king’s own brother.”

It drives him mad, not knowing if his presence affects you when he rests his hands on your waist, squeezing gently as he presses his body against your own. He needs some indication that you’re enjoying this, that you like the fact that his cock is hard from the mere sight of you, that his thoughts are consumed only by you, that his heart only belongs to you.

“You have traveled far. Please, allow my servants to show you to our guest chambers.”

Aemond chuckles quietly as you turn to walk away, grabbing you by the hand before you can get too far. He pulls you back to him, your back against his front. His hands move along your side, feeling the curves of your body. Aemond leans in, his lips tickling the shell of your ear as he whispers.

“Guest chambers? Why not let me spend the night in your chambers, Lady Targaryen? We are family, after all.”

You roll your eyes, wrenching yourself from his grip, staring up at him, “I remembered Aegon being this presumptuous. Not you. You were always so shy and sweet.”

Aemond feels almost like a child again in front of your scrutinizing gaze, the way you stare him down making him want nothing more than to prove himself to you. He feels his cheeks flush slightly, this back-and-forth between you only making him want you all the more.

“I have changed, sweet cousin,” he says quietly, “But please know that it is not presumptuousness. I am sincere in my affection for you.”

Your lips curl into the slightest of smiles as you turn to leave, “Get settled in. We can discuss any potential alliance at supper.”

Aemond takes a deep breath, nodding, “As you wish, cousin.”

He turns to leave, only to immediately face you once more when you call out his name. Aemond pauses, his heart racing as he wonders if he should cross the hall and kiss you now. He meets your gaze hopefully.

“Yes?”

Then, it’s as though the heavens part and an angel stands before him when you give him that soft, sweet smile of yours and say, “I’m glad to see you.”

His eye widens with surprise, staring after you as you walk away, murmuring, “I’m glad to see you too, my lady.”

You look so beautiful, sitting across the table from him, sipping on your wine. There’s a quiet dignity about you, an effortless grace. He sees a painting of your mother hanging behind you and decides to break the silence.

“You look more like her. Your mother.”

He’s surprised when you laugh, meeting his gaze, “That might be the nicest thing you ever could have said to me.”

Aemond decides to take a chance and stands from his seat, crossing the room to kneel at your side, taking your hands in his own, “I know you are betrothed to the Tully boy. That your father has done this in hopes of keeping the Riverlands loyal to his wife. But do you truly think that he can care for you the way I would? Make you happy the way I would?”

“I don’t know the faintest thing about you, Aemond. You were a child when I saw you last-”

“A child who fell in love with you,” he declares, pulling you to your feet, his large hands caressing your face, his voice thick with desperation, “And now a man who desires nothing more than to marry you. To care for you. To love you and make you his princess. And perhaps one day, even his queen.”

You arch a brow at his words, and Aemond knows you have picked up on the implication behind his words. He has long coveted his brother’s position as the firstborn. He would not say it to anyone other than you. But he knows, for some reason, that you will not begrudge him for this. For this hatred that brews inside of him. He knows it because he’s seen it in you as well. He saw it when you watched your father doting upon your sisters at Driftmark that day, that resentment brewing.

“In truth, I believe you,” you tell him calmly, your fingers intertwining with his, “Runestone is not so important that your brother would have urged you to come. He would have sent you to the Eyrie. Not to me.”

Aemond lets out a quiet laugh, “Indeed. I came here to express my intention of wedding you. Of stealing you away from your betrothed and making you mine.”

You hum in acknowledgment, turning to face the painting of your mother, “I owe the Blacks nothing. All my father has ever given me is a lifetime’s worth of neglect and hatred. My sisters never cared for me, though their lady mother was kind enough to try and make them do so. And I know my current stepmother,” you pause before remarking sarcastically, “Or is it cousin? Does not care for me. She sees me as the obstacle that stood in the way of Daemon claiming her all those years ago. There is no place for me with them. Perhaps there is no place for me anywhere. The product of a loveless marriage between a man and a woman who utterly despised each other.”

“There is a place for you, my lady,” Aemond says firmly, “And it is by my side, and in my bed.”

You gaze up at him, the tension between the two of you growing with every passing moment. You lean in, as does he, closer and closer, your breath soft and sweet against his lips.

“And where is your place?”

“With you,” Aemond says quietly, “You and I, we were destined for each other.”

“Destined,” you repeat, resting your hands on his chest, “I choose my own destiny. I do not leave my fate in the hands of the Gods.”

“Then choose me.”

Aemond doesn’t know who leans in first. All he knows is that your lips are pressed to his, his hands tangled in your hair as he lifts you up onto the table, standing between your thighs. He has never known a feeling so intense as this, your own hands tugging at his hair as he pushes the skirt of your dress up, revealing your bare legs. Aemond drops to his knees, reveling in your look of surprise. He presses a hot-open mouthed kiss to your ankle, trailing his lips up along your leg, your thigh, before he finally reaches his intended destination. You gasp as he gives a hesitant lick at your cunt, waiting for your reaction. He stares up at you, and when you nod, he buries his face between your thighs, tongue eagerly lapping at your folds as he lifts your knees over his shoulders. Your hands grasp at the table, knuckles going white as you grit your teeth in an effort not to make too much noise.

Dissatisfied by your lack of response, Aemond increases his efforts, moving to suckle at your sensitive pearl while his fingers move to pump in and out of your cunt, the wet noises that come from you making you cry out with surprise in the throes of ecstasy. Aemond grins against your skin, feeling your body shiver as you near your peak, finally reaching it, the taste of your arousal coating his tongue, tart yet so very sweet, making him moan, his cock impossibly hard against his breeches.

Aemond stands to his full height and you quickly help him undo his breeches, your soft hand palming at his cock, making him throw his head back with pleasure at the feeling. It is so much better than he ever could’ve imagined, having you touch him and gaze up at him like that with those sweet eyes of yours. Before he can align himself with your center, you rest a hand to his chest. His breath quickens as you move to rid him of his eyepatch, your fingertips tracing the scar that runs along his face, the one he has been so ashamed of all his life.

But all you say is one word. One of the few you know in the tongue of your forefathers.

“Gevie.”

Beautiful.

Aemond smiles, genuinely, for the first time in so long, pressing his lips to yours as he joins your bodies, the soft moan that escapes your lips sounding like music in his ears. He stays still after sheathing his cock completely inside you, the two of you basking in the intimacy of the moment, gazing into each other’s eyes.

“Will you marry me?”

You nod, reaching a hand up to touch his cheek as you nod, “Yes.”

Aemond kisses you once more, beginning to move against you, his body desperately rutting against yours, the feeling of your walls clenching around him like a vice being almost too pleasurable for him to bear. He’s dreamed of this for so very long, but the real thing surpasses everything he ever imagined. Your arms wrap around him and you rest your head against his chest as he pounds into you over and over, making you cry out his name in the most wanton of voices, begging him for more, begging him to fuck you harder.

And Aemond is all too happy to oblige, the thought of filling you with his seed, his babe growing in your belly spurring him on, your breasts swollen with milk, the entire realm knowing that the beautiful Lady Targaryen is his and his alone.

He is yours and you are his. He says as much as he spills himself inside you, feeling you squeeze around him impossibly tight mere moments later, having reached your own peak, your body going limp against him, the two of you basking in the afterglow of your shared pleasure.

“I love you.”

You smile, standing on shaky legs, pulling him into a softer, more gentle kiss, as you whisper, “I love you too. I am ready to take my place at your side. As your princess,” you pause before whispering in his ear, a smirk playing on your lips, “And one day, as your queen.”

Aemond smirks, his lips finding yours once more.

#* #aemond #i'm a slut for rhea/daemon daughter x aemond dynamics actually

[daemonsversion]

MATT SMITH as DAEMON TARGARYEN in HOUSE OF THE DRAGON | 1.01 The Heirs of the Dragon

[daemonsversion]

Aemond Targaryen + his very pretty and very flowy hair ✨😌

[daemonsversion]

MATT SMITH as DAEMON TARGARYEN + tweets [insp] GOT’s HOUSE OF THE DRAGON 1.06 The Princess and The Queen

[daemonsversion]

Invisible String

MULTI-CHAPTER AEMOND TARGARYEN x OC: COMPLETE.

SUMMARY: A young Prince Aemond notices a girl in a pale blue dress. His life is never the same.

MOODBOARD BY: @sapphirehearteyes🩵

TEXT DIVIDERS BY: @saradika🩵

WARNINGS: 18+; SMUT; Dubiously Consented Sexual Encounters; Sexual Assault; Mentions of Child Sexual Abuse Trauma; Gore; Major Character Death.

STORY CHAPTERS:

PART 1

PART 2

PART 3

PART 4

PART 5

PART 6

PART 7

EPILOGUE

BONUS:

These blurbs are some wholesome fluff scenes that did not make the final cut because I believed they did not flow well with the story.

However, they are cute scenes on their own, so I've written them to be enjoyed as standalone reads if you'd like! Consider these deleted scenes, if you will.❤️

blurb 1

blurb 2

blurb 3

#aemond #* #not finished this but i love what i've read already

[daemonsversion]

I was bored, so I made a list of prompts.  Feel free to reblog and use for your fics or other stories!

Random Angsty Prompts

Warnings: some might include references to blood/death/grief

I believe in you.  I always have.  Maybe that’s my fatal flaw.

I never forgot you. I couldn’t.

After everything, how could you not trust me?

I wanted this to end differently.

There was only one way this could go.

I miss you, more than I thought possible.

You never did trust me, did you?

They were proud of you, even if they never said it.

How many times have we said good-bye?

This is the last good-bye.

I thought you loved me.

I thought I loved you.

There was too much blood loss, I’m sorry.

There was an accident, [Person] is in the hospital.

They aren’t going to wake up, are they?

You’re not listening to me!

You’re the last person I thought would hurt me.

I’m sorry, I forgot.

I just wanted to say I’m sorry.

Would you lie to me? If it meant that I wouldn’t find out?

I forgot you were like this.

Do you think you could ever forgive me?

[You/He/She/They] swore no one would find out.

They never forget a thing.

I made a mistake.

It’s my fault that this happened.

Forgetting will never get easier.

If you go through with this, you’ll be giving up everything you’ve ever known.

Would you please just listen to me?

I hate remembering.

I’m doing the best I can.  Can you say the same?

You lied to me? // I had to.

Do you really think I’m capable of this?

If I remember correctly, you never came for me.

I thought you left.

You left me.

I know you’re there, open the door.

I wanted to tell you I’m sorry.

You carry the weight of death with you everyday.

Take me back.  I don’t want to be here.

Don’t worry, I’ll take this to my grave.

Stop holding back, I can take it.

I didn’t want this.

What happened to you?

Well, you have everything figured out, don’t you.

There’s no more time left.

Just give me a minute!

I can figure this out.

Please, let’s try and make this work.

This wasn’t how it was supposed to go.

[He/She/They] are still in surgery, no updates.

Where are you hurt?

It’s just a bruise, nothing more.

It was an accident, I swear.

They’re delirious.

This might hurt, okay?

I tried calling you.  A few times actually.

You need to eat something.

Is that blood?

When was the last time you ate?

Just keep looking at me.

I brought you some food, I thought you would like it.

There are some things a person should never experience.  This is one of them.

When did you start lying to me?

I need to do this, why can’t you see that?”

I know this is difficult // I never said it was.

So?  Make me your villain.  Everyone else does.

You were never going to be my hero.

I had no choice. // There’s always a choice. // If you believe that, you’re far too naïve.

Forgiveness is a weakness, you taught me that.

I never much liked the dark.

I’m allowed to be scared.

Don’t let this break you.

When will you let this go?

Everything I’ve done has been for you.

Life isn’t a fairy-tale.

You were my best friend.

Why can’t you just listen to me?

Please, just let me forget you.

You’re the one who made it personal

#prompts #starters #rb'ing for future lmao

[daemonsversion]

"No One But Me" - Daemon Targaryen x Niece!Reader

a/n: combined a few requests into one - enjoy!! 💕

Summary: Daemon lusts after you, Viserys and Alicent's eldest daughter who is set to become a septa.

TW: DUBCON, profanity, innuendo, she/her pronouns, afab reader, canon-typical incest, corruption kink, innocence kink, religion kink, dacryphilia, thigh riding, fingering, oral f receiving, overstim, p in v sex, loss of virginity, breeding kink

Word Count: 2,515 words

Rating: 18+, MDNI

Disclaimer: I do not own any of the House of The Dragon/Fire & Blood characters nor do I claim to own them. I do not own any of the images used nor do I claim to own them.

Comments, likes, and reblogs are never required but are immensely appreciated 🩷

Daemon Targaryen never thought much of you, the eldest daughter of his brother and Alicent Hightower. You were a plain, mousy little thing the last time he saw you, at Rhaenyra’s wedding before he eloped with Lady Laena. You were sweet enough, curtsying and greeting him politely when you met him, thanking him for fighting so valiantly in the Stepstones. But that was the extent of your interaction.

After his second wife’s passing, he comes to Driftmark to lay her to rest. And that is when he sees you again. You are a woman now, he realizes as he watches you rest a hand on Helaena and Aemond’s shoulders, Aegon already off in his cups. There is something so sweet about you, your gentle disposition as you bend down to fix Aemond’s tunic, tapping the tip of his nose with your finger. The boy, who has been dour the entire length of the funeral, comes alive with a bright smile at your attention, something Daemon finds quite interesting. You’re beautiful, the curves of your body evident despite the somewhat conservative dress you wear, no doubt hand-picked by your mother.

You approach him, a kind, sweet smile on your face as you offer your condolences, “I am so very sorry for your loss, kepus. I did not know Lady Laena well, but she will be dearly missed by many.” (Uncle)

Daemon simply nods and you step aside, taking Aemond and Helaena with you. He muses to himself that you seem more like their mother than Alicent does, too busy tending to his brother. It stirs something inside him as he watches you, those lilac eyes never once leaving your form. You have piqued the interest of the Rogue Prince, and he has every intention of claiming his sweet little niece as his prize. He stares after you as you retreat into the castle, your siblings trailing after you, like little ducklings in a line. And, as if you could be any more perfect, he watches you interact with his daughters. The kindness you show them, the affection you shower them with in the wake of their devastating loss.

The gears in Daemon’s head begin to turn and he realizes that you are the perfect woman for him. And that he is going to do anything to make you his. There is only one small problem. That is, when your mother announces your intention to become a septa at dinner. You beam with pride as your father, in a rare moment of care for you, leans over and presses a kiss to your forehead. Aegon says something to you that causes you to slap him hard on the shoulder, that tiny spark you’ve shown lighting a flame inside Daemon. He saw the way your eyes danced with mischief. No, you cannot waste your days away as a septa, locked away from the world, your beauty never to be admired. He is most certainly going to have to do something about that tonight.

He finds you that evening, walking toward the humble Driftmark sept, no doubt going for your evening prayers. He heard your mother declaring to Rhaenyra with no little amount of pride that you have never missed a prayer. He steps out of the shadows, taking you by surprise, your hand flying to your chest as if to calm your heart. It’s adorable, really. You’re like a little rabbit, and he is a wolf going in for the kill.

“Uncle,” you greet in a soft voice, bowing your head in greeting before nervously fiddling with your fingers, “If you will excuse me, I am on my way to evening prayers.”

“Too busy to chat with kepa?” Daemon asks as he falls into step beside you, eyes roaming your frame, his thoughts growing more and more lustful with every passing moment, “I am sure that you aren’t too busy for a walk.”

“Perhaps another time, Uncle,” you say, gazing up at him with those doe eyes of yours, so innocent and unassuming, “I know you have never been religious, but my faith is something I hold quite dear.”

Daemon hums in acknowledgement, still walking beside you, glancing down at the subtle bounce of your breasts with each step you take, his mouth nearly watering at the thought of how you look under the fabric of it, the way your hair dances in the wind, “How old are you now, sweetling?”

“Nine and ten,” you inform him as you enter the sept, lighting a candle.

“Nine and ten,” Daemon repeats, “You are a woman grown. It is a shame that you’ve chosen to throw your life away and rot in a sept somewhere. You are very beautiful, you know.”

He watches with bated breath as you bite your lip nervously, “I… Um…”

“What does the faith even have to offer you?” Daemon continues, trailing after you as you kneel down before the altar of the Maiden, “A life of modesty and praying?” He leans in, his lips ghosting over your ear as he whispers, “A life of never knowing the touch of a man?”

He sees the way you shiver, the way you gaze up at him with wide eyes as you ask him if he wishes to pray with you. He kneels beside you, gazing into those sweet, innocent eyes, so ripe for corruption, those soft, full lips, your hair framing your face. He wonders if anyone would even hear if he claimed you, here and now, in the eyes of the Seven. You bow your head and close your eyes, beginning to pray. Daemon bows his head for show, but simply continues staring at you, eyeing the swell of your breasts as your chest rises and falls with each breath. Your collarbones, your neck, your mouth. The urge to claim you grows with every breath you take. You’re so innocent, naive to the desires of men. He can teach you. He will teach you what it is to be pleasured by a man.

Your eyes flutter open after a moment and you give Daemon a polite smile, “Thank you for praying with me, Uncle.”

“You’re such a sweet little thing,” Daemon murmurs, tucking a loose strand of hair behind your ear, his fingers lingering on your cheek, thinking to himself how much he can teach you, “Might I ask you a question, little one?”

You nod slowly, “Of course.”

“How would you feel if a man kissed you?” Daemon’s nose brushes against yours, close enough to press his lips against yours if he so desires, “Would you hate it? Would you be disgusted? Or, perhaps, you would find yourself not hating it, rather enjoying it.” He watches as your eyes widen, “You know, it isn’t just your body that is beautiful, those lips are almost irresistible.”

You feel the heat rise to your cheeks, turning your face away as you mumble, “I must go find my brother. Please excuse me, Uncle-”

He gently grabs your wrist, pulling you back to him, your chest flush against his as you gaze up at him, “No need to run away, little one. You know, your skin is so soft and smooth,” he says, caressing your cheek with his free hand, “Just like the rest of you, I imagine.”

You let out a soft gasp as Daemon presses his lips against yours, kissing you passionately. He feels you stiffen and then relax into his grip. His kiss is rough, aggressive, hungry even, his tongue pushing inside your mouth, exploring it, moving against your own. After a few more moments, you pull away, eyes darting around.

“I am a maiden, Uncle, I… I cannot do this…”

Daemon gathers you in his arms, his hand moving up and down your back in a motion you could almost consider soothing, “I don’t believe that, sweetling. I can see it in your eyes that you want this.” His gaze travels to your lips, slightly parted and swollen from the kiss.

“We can’t…”

He cages you in against the wall with his body, pressing up against you, “Oh, I believe we can, little princess.”

You whimper as Daemon’s lips along your neck, his hands moving to squeeze at your breasts, kneading the soft, supple flesh between his hands. He has fire in his eyes as he all but tears your dress from your frame, admiring how you look in just your smallclothes, the flimsy shift that does little to hide your curves from his lascivious gaze. You try to cover yourself, averting your gaze, and the innocence of your actions drives him nearly to the brink of madness.

He sits on one of the pews, pulling you onto his lap so that you straddle him, your weak protest coming, “Uncle, we could be seen-”

“Let them see,” he rasps.

His hands are all over you, squeezing your ass, moving up your body to your breasts again, his sweet little princess, there for him to fuck, to defile, to corrupt. You whine softly, grinding yourself against his hips, burying your face in the crook of his neck as he continues feeling your body.

“It feels strange in my stomach… Between my thighs…”

He chuckles, meeting your gaze, moving one hand to your hair, tugging it, “You aren’t as innocent as I thought, little one. I think you’re just a little tease. Look at you, rubbing yourself against my thigh like a wanton little whore. Come now, little one, make yourself peak. I know you can.”

His hands are all over you, calloused and warm, touching you places only a husband is meant to touch. You feel your pleasure building like a tidal wave as you continue moving your hips against him, rubbing your bare cunt against his thigh, feeling his muscles flex under you, how he bounces his leg ever so slightly to spur you on. His hands move to your hips, moving you faster and faster, listening to the sound of your breathing, coming out in soft, desperate pants as you reach your peak, eyes rolling back, body collapsing against his.

“What if someone walks in?”

Your voice is a hushed whisper as Daemon places you on the altar to the Maiden, tearing your shift in half, his eyes now nearly black with lust as he takes in the sight of your bare body. He pushes your knees apart, letting out a quiet laugh, admiring the sight of your bare cunny, already wet for him.

“That’s part of the excitement, little one. I’m sure any man would die to be with you, but you’re all mine, little princess. You were a maiden when you walked in here, but let’s see what you will be when you walk out.”

“This is blasphemous,” you say as he sinks to his knees, gazing up at you.

Daemon presses a hot, open-mouthed kiss to your inner thigh before burying his tongue inside your cunt, reveling in the whine of pleasure you let out, your hands gripping the altar so hard that your knuckles begin to go white. He laps at your folds, fucking you with his tongue, hiking your thighs over his shoulder as he tastes you, the lewd slurping and sucking noises he makes echoing throughout the sept. You whimper pathetically as he brings you closer and closer to your peak, his thumb rubbing against your pearl, your toes curling as you feel the pressure build in your stomach. He senses your climax is close and moves faster, his face moving from side to side as he devours you, his nose pressed against your nub, your arousal coating his tongue when you reach your peak once more with a cry of his name.

He moves to stand, cupping your mound, biting back a laugh at the way you try to shrink away from him, “It’s too much, Uncle…”

Daemon ignores your words, leaning in to kiss you, his free hand pinning your own above your head. He pushes one finger inside you, feeling the way you squeeze around his fingers, pumping it in and out ever so slowly, your entire body trembling as he continues his onslaught of pleasure. You gaze up at him, eyes watering from the overstimulation as he continues, his arousal only growing when fat tears begin to roll down your cheeks. Gods, you look beautiful when you cry. He adds a second finger, listening to you moan, your head falling back against the altar as you reach your peak yet again. But he has no intention of having mercy on you, wanting you to be nothing but a whimpering, sobbing mess beneath him as he adds a third finger, his thumb circling your swollen pearl. His fingertips brush against that rough patch deep inside you that has your eyes going wide, lips parted in a silent scream as you manage to murmur his name. He moves his fingers, curving them so he can hit that spot with each movement, bringing you to your peak once more, feeling you soak his fingers.

Your entire body shakes and Daemon pushes his fingers between your lips, arching his brow in a silent demand for you to lick his fingers clean. He watches as your plump lips wrap around the digits, thinking to himself how lovely they’ll look wrapped around his cock, your eyes watering as you choke on it while he fucks your mouth, but he’ll save that for another time. He needs to be inside you right now. He needs to breed you, to make you completely and utterly his. For everyone to see your stomach, swollen with his babe, knowing that he fucked his seed into you.

Daemon quickly undoes his breeches just enough to free his cock, already achingly hard, giving himself a quick stroke before slapping the head of it against your cunt. You let out a surprised cry, your breasts bouncing as you jump slightly. He pushes inside of you, his thick length feeling as if it’s splitting you open in the most delicious way. He sheathes himself to the hilt inside of you, bottoming out inside you with a low moan. Daemon moves like some sort of feral beast, feeling your warmth enveloping him, squeezing him so tight, so wet for him. He ruts against you, pounding into you at an animalistic pace as you gaze up at him wide-eyed. It doesn’t take much for your poor, oversensitized body to reach your peak again, but he fucks you through it, chuckling as you pray to the Maiden for forgiveness.

“Little princess, we both know it’s me who you worship now. My cock.”

You don’t bother denying it, only wrapping your legs around him, allowing him to fuck into you harder, deeper, his hips stuttering as he reaches his peak, making sure to spill his seed inside you, plugging you up with his fingers so not a drop spills.

“After you have recovered, we will go to Dragonstone, where I will make you my wife, little princess. You belong to me now, not your mother, not the gods, no one but me.”

#* #daemon

[daemonsversion]

The Gods and Everyone

summary: you and aemond sorely overestimate how much time you have before a small council meeting, which leaves the two of you in quite a scandalous predicament

pairing: aemond targaryen x reader

warnings: mature/explicit, 18+ (minors dni!), no use of y/n, afab reader, cockwarming, public sex, slight breeding kink, fingering, aemond being an absolute menace, dirty talk, aegon being a little shit but what else is new, let me know if i missed anything!

word count: 5.6k

a/n: based on an anon request for cockwarming! i hope you're still with me and that you enjoy this, friend! sorry it took me so long to get to it!

creds to @bbygirl-aemond for the gif!

likes, comments, & reblogs are very appreciated but never required!

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You watch, concerned, as your husband flits around the Small Council chamber, your eyes following his lithe form as he checks and re-checks the parchment with notes he had written for himself earlier that morning – you’d awoken in the pale hour just before sunrise to see him already hunched over the small desk in your chambers, scribbling away furiously with a quill, his pale hair glowing in the dim light of the candle next to him. All of your attempts to lure him back into bed with you had fallen on deaf ears. 

“You know you needn't do all this,” you point out, perched against the Small Council table, your eyes tracking him as he paces back and forth across the space, going over his notes for the upteenth time, “Your only job is to be on time like everyone else, husband.”

“Things will improve with time,” he rushes out, fixing you with a pointed look, “Hardly two moons have passed since Viserys…” He pauses, pinching the bridge of his nose, “The least I can do is ease this transition for Aegon and mother.”

“My love, it is a transition for us all,” you soothe, striding to him and gently taking his hand. His fingers, rough from all his years of training with swords and spears, instantly wrap around your own as he lets out a tired sigh, “You included. Aegon named you Master of War, not master of everything.” 

“I know,” Aemond murmurs, eye softening as his gaze traces over you, “I find it hard to be still when there is so much chaos – Dorne has yet to be subdued and there are whispers of rebellion from the North. There is so much still to be accounted for.”

“I understand,” you reassure him, your fingers threading through his long, silvery hair, lips quirking into a smile as the gesture makes his eye flutter closed for a second. “But all this stress cannot be good for you, husband,” you sigh, gazing up at him with a mournful smile, “You need rest and calm and…and I need you.” You nearly whisper, blush creeping across your cheeks as Aemond’s eye darkens. 

“Sweetling—“ He starts with a sigh. 

“Aemond, please,” you cut him off, wrapping your arms around his trim waist as you lay your head against his chest, his heart thumping in your ear, “I cannot bear to hear another excuse, I feel as if you have been away for weeks.” 

He’s quiet for a moment, wrapping his long, lean arms tightly around you as he rests his chin on your head, your breaths the only sound in the stony chamber. “I’m sorry,” he finally whispers, smoothing a hand up and down your back, “I miss you too, my sweet girl.” 

You hum, leaning further into his embrace after going without it for so long, “You haven’t touched me in weeks.” You say quietly, his touch already igniting a spark in the pit of your stomach. 

“Perhaps tonight,” his breath is warm against the top of your head as he speaks into your hair, “I will try to cut my meeting with–”

“You’ve been saying that for weeks,” you cut him off once more with a sigh, pulling back to look up at him, “I can’t take anymore, my love, I need to feel you.” You whine, nearly petulant like a spoiled child. If it were any other time, if you were any less desperate, you’d be embarrassed at your behavior. Right now, though, you could not find it within yourself to care as you stared into your husband’s darkened eye, finally feeling the passion you had gone so many weeks without. 

Aemond chuckles as he looks down at you, conflicted between feeling pleased to see you reduced to such a state while also feeling a similar fire in his own belly. “Sweetling, the meeting–”

“Is not due to start for at least another hour!” You interrupt, determined to persuade him to this. Taking you in various parts of the Keep was not new to him, both of you had plenty of memories from your courtship and first year of marriage of rutting together in all sorts of nooks and crannies of the old castle. 

Aemond gazes at you for a long moment, an unreadable expression on his face, though his eye remains dark with desire. After a second, he nods to himself almost imperceptibly, seeming to come to some decision you weren’t privy to. Finally, finally his lips descend upon yours as he sweeps you into an all-consuming kiss, his arms tightening around your waist as he pulls you to him, groaning lowly in his throat as he licks into your mouth. You shiver in his grasp, finally tasting him properly after so long as you whimper and whine into his mouth.

“Aemond,” you gasp as you finally part from him, mewling as he immediately trails kisses down your jaw, “What–”

“Seems I can never deny you for very long, sweetling,” he huffs, halfway laughing as he guides you over to the large table, pulling you up by the waist until you’re sitting on the cool stone table, your legs bracketing his trim waist, “I’ve missed you too, my love.” He confesses, sweeping a lock of hair from your shoulder before trailing kisses up across your neck and jaw, one hand already desperately pulling up the bottom of your gown.

You huff out small moans and whimpers, relishing his warm touch. His nimble fingers finally manage to undo the knot at the front of your smallclothes and he tugs them down quickly, leaving you bare for him under your skirts as they fall to a pile on the floor just beside his chair at the table. 

“Husband,” you pant, tugging at the drawstrings at the top of his trousers, “Please, please do not make me beg today, I–” Your train of thought is cut off as a moan, louder than it should be given the location, tears itself from your throat when you feel his long fingers ghost over your center.

“Shh, darling,” Aemond grins as he feels your arousal immediately coat his fingers, a pleased hum emanating from deep in his chest as he feels it already coating the insides of your thighs as well, “I don’t have the patience to restrain myself today, sweet one,” he mutters, watching your face carefully as he spreads your folds and teases your entrance with a finger before carefully sliding it in, groaning with satisfaction at the feel of your walls already tightly clamping down on it, “Nor the time.” He adds with a slight smirk, pale hair cascading like a curtain down his shoulders as he leans his forehead against yours. 

“Oh, Gods,” you whimper, eyes fluttering shut as your hands white knuckle the dark leather of his tunic, too uncoordinated with lust to manage the ties on his pants, “M-My love, more please!” You whisper, angling your hips to try and catch another of his fingers. 

You hear him chuckle above you before he pulls his finger from you, smirking as you whine pitifully at the loss. Before you have a chance to protest, he quickly undoes his trousers, not bothering to pull them down at all and opting to merely loosen the laces at the front enough to free his cock. Your eyes widen as you watch his hand stroke over his length momentarily, taking in the way it already throbs in his grasp, the head flushed and leaking from merely having you in his hands once more.

“Ready, sweetling?” He asks, gently tilting your chin up as he captures your lips in a sweet kiss, his other hand positioning his length at your entrance. 

You part from him and nod eagerly, widening your legs and angling your hips, “I’ve been ready for you for weeks, Aemond.” 

He smiles softly, pressing one more kiss against your neck before finally pressing into you, growling as he sinks into your slick heat. “Seven,” he grunts, cradling the back of your head with one hand as his other slinks down to grab at your hip, “You feel better every time, sweetling.”

You moan hotly against his shoulder, sinking your teeth into the thick leather of the shoulder of his tunic in an attempt to quiet yourself. Your eyes squeeze shut at the feel of him sliding into you, filling you to the brim perfectly. You’ve been without him for so long that he feels enormous, your walls aching as he stretches you out, pressing in and in until he’s finally seated fully within you. 

Without another word, Aemond started thrusting into you, slow at first but quickly picking up the pace with every firm roll of his hips into you. After only a moment, he’s already grunting like a madman into your ear, holding you to him even as you cling tightly to his shoulders yourself, your legs wrapped loosely around his waist. 

You feel a fire building in your belly at a breakneck pace as he ruts into you, the hand on your hip no doubt leaving fingerprint bruises across your skin, even through the fabric of your gown. If the low groans from your husband are any indication, he isn’t doing much better. He threads his fingers through your hair, pulling you into a desperate kiss, teeth and tongues clashing together frantically as if the two of you are trying to fall into each other, to become one. 

“My love, I—,” he pants against your lips, jerking your head back by the grip he has on your locks. His eye meets yours, the light lilac almost entirely eclipsed by his pupil as he stares at you hungrily, “It’s been so long, I don’t know how long I can last.” 

His breath is warm as it fans over your lips and you nod dazedly, zings of pleasure radiating up your spine from Aemond’s grip in your hair only adding to the warmth quickly threatening to overtake you. “It’s okay,” you swallow thickly, eyes already rolling back with pleasure, “I can’t either.” 

Nodding in return, he picks up the pace, the head of his cock rutting against the most sensitive spot within you hard enough to make you see stars. He hasn’t even needed to tease your pearl and you’re already nearly unraveling as Aemond mumbles nearly incoherent praises, the hand on your hip traveling lower, nearly cupping your ass. 

Just as you’re about to warn him of your inevitable release, muffled voices sound from behind the thick wooden doors that lead into the Small Council chambers. Aemond slows within you as both of your heads swivel to the doors — just in time to hear the guards stationed outside begin to tug them open. 

You freeze, eyes widening as the doors open, seemingly in slow motion. Thankfully, your husband moves quickly enough for the both of you, nimbly scooping you into his arms before hastily dropping down into his chair, hurriedly scooching it forward until both of your laps are hidden under the stone surface of the table, before kicking your smallclothes under the table at the last second. 

Your head whips around to face Aemond and you give him a panicked, wide-eyed look just as people start filing into the room, unaware that you’re still being split open by your husband’s length. One hand, still on your hip, tightens, silently commanding you to be still as his lilac eye pleads the same; his other hand is already poised on the table, relaxed against the cool surface as if he doesn’t have a care in the world. 

“Yes, yes, we must certainly ask him once he’s back in King’s Landing,” Lord Tyland’s voice fills the chamber as he walks in, engaged in a conversation about something or other with Lord Corlys, the two sharing a laugh before finally taking notice of you and Aemond, “Prince, princess.” Tyland bows his head at the two of you with Corlys following soon after. 

You sit frozen atop your husband, gazing blankly at the two men without a word. Thankfully, Aemond has the presence of mind to bow his head politely, though he stays quiet. As they walk further into the room, you can only see Tyland and Corlys from the corner of your eye but you don’t miss the odd look they share, silently asking each other why you were present and certainly why you were sitting on Aemond’s lap. Blood rushes to your head so quickly you feel lightheaded, your cheeks stinging as a harsh blush quickly appears on your face from their attention. 

Maester Orwyle files through the doorway next, doing a double take at you and Aemond before bowing his head, a gesture that you thankfully remember to return this time as you stiffly nod your head. Thankfully, the older man simply takes a seat at his place at the table without any comment, though you can hear the two other men speaking quietly in the corner of the room, throwing glances your way as they do. 

Your walls tighten around Aemond’s length as the rest of you tenses up when Larys creeps in, leaning against his cane as he moves; Aemond thighs tense underneath you as you hear him suck in a breath, only slightly more hasty than normal — the hand in your hip tightens, warning you to keep it together. 

“Prince Aemond, princess,” Larys nods as he approaches the table, “To what do we owe the pleasure of such… intriguing company?” He questions, tilting his head as he narrows his eyes ever so slightly, his eyes bouncing between you and Aemond. 

Your head spins as you stare straight ahead, willing yourself to respond, to say anything, to appear somehow normal. Yet, nothing comes out as your center throbs uselessly around Aemond, your head cloudy with need as your eyes stare ahead blankly, though registering just enough to pick up on the small smirk playing at the corners of Larys’s lips. 

“My wife appears to have taken ill this morning,” Aemond drawls from over your shoulder while affectionately petting your waist, a gesture entirely for show, a lie to placate the men in the room, but it comforts you nonetheless. He clears his throat before continuing, the only tell thus far that your warmth around him is affecting him at all, “My presence brings her great comfort, I see no reason why she should be without it.” 

“I see,” Larys hums in response, his dark eyes sweeping over your form, sparkling ominously as if he knows the truth, “What shame, let us hope the Gods grant you reprieve from this…illness soon, princess.” 

“Yes!” You finally squeak, snapping back to attention as Aemond just barely squeezes your side, “Yes, let’s hope so. Thank you, Lord Larys.” You breathe, managing a smile small. 

You shift on your husband’s lap and immediately you know you’ve made a mistake as the head of his cock prods directly into that overly sensitive patch within you, nearly making you topple over on the spot as a small groan escapes you. Blessedly, you have enough presence of mind to cover it up with a cough, sparks jolting down your back as Aemond presses a soft kiss to your cheek, one of his hands coming up to rub soothing circles against the back of your shoulder. 

“There, there, sweetling,” he says softly, again, entirely for show as you put on your best performance, “Once the meeting is over, we will have the servants make some tea for you, that will help with that cough.” Even if it was for show, you couldn’t help but shiver at Aemond’s low voice, at how he’s being so soft and caring with you. That, combined with the incessant prodding to your sweet spot, has you throbbing around him, your heart hammering in your chest. You can hear Aemond suck in another barely there gasp behind you, a groan low enough to remain silent rumbling against your back while at the same time his hand almost imperceptibly twitches on the table; his composure makes you feel all the more lightheaded, blushing somehow deeper at the fact that he’s taking you apart this easily without so much as moving a muscle. Your thighs trembled atop his lap, the insides already sticky with your arousal as you struggled to stay still, silently thanking the Gods that at least your laps were hidden. 

“I’m sorry,” Corlys began, striding over from his spot in the corner with a sheepish look, “I really feel I must speak up, this is really most unusual.” He finishes through an awkward laugh, Tyland following closely behind him as they saddle up to the table. 

“What is most unusual?” Alicent asks, entering the Small Council chambers with Otto, followed closely after by Aegon and Ser Criston. Her eyes sweep over the room, pausing when she sees you, though she quickly corrects herself with a soft smile. “Ah, my dear,” she nods hello to the various men in the room before sitting at the table, “May I ask why your wife joins us, Aemond?” She peers at him curiously, throwing a nervous glance at Aegon who is smirking far too much for her liking as he slinks up to the table. 

“It seems the princess has fallen ill, your grace,” Larys answers quickly, slyly smiling as he turns to face the dowager queen, “Prince Aemond insisted she stay so that she may be…comforted.” You quickly look away from him as his eyes meet yours once again, piercing through you as though he can see directly through your gown. 

“Yes, which is most odd,” Tyland butted in, throwing glances between you, Aemond, Alicent, and Aegon, “She is not a member of the council, she should not be present. Surely there is some way the princess could be comforted that does not involve being privy to government matters.”

Aemond stays silent behind you, glaring daggers at Aegon over your shoulder, watching carefully as he traipses over to the table and stands at its head, his eyes never straying from his brother’s as they stare one another down. The other members, some reluctantly, take their places at the table as well, each of them standing so long as Aegon does, though you and Aemond remain seated; your eyes never stray from the marbled surface of the table.

“Aemond, please,” Otto sighs from his place next to you, “The least you and the princess could do is stand for–”

“I see him everyday,” Aegon interjects, breaking eye contact with your husband as he rolls his eyes, “I don’t give a shit if the fool stands.”

Your eyes dart up at that, shocked that Aegon isn’t taking the chance to thoroughly humiliate Aemond by putting him on the spot. The king’s violet eyes meet yours, sparkling with a mischief that makes your center flutter around your husband’s length – Aegon’s smirk grows as if he knows exactly what just happened. A thin sheen of sweat makes you feel clammy as Aemond’s cock twitches inside of you, pushing him against your sweet spot all the more. 

“Very well,” Alicent swiftly cuts in, determined to keep the peace, “Shall we get st–”

“Are we really going to allow for the presence of–” Corlys starts, only to be viciously cut off.

“She stays,” Aegon says flatly, shooting a bored look at the man, “If anyone has an issue with the princess’s presence they may take their leave.” His violet eyes pass over the room, almost daring anyone to move. Everyone remains still, though you can feel Tyland and Corlys glaring at the side of your head, and after a moment, Aegon takes his seat followed by everyone else; blessedly, the meeting finally begins. 

The Small Council meeting drones on and on, with various conversations of coin and ships, concerns abroad in Essos, and other diplomatic matters that mean nothing to you. In the back of your mind, you know it’s hardly been any time at all but it feels like an eternity has passed with Aemond’s hard length still piercing into you, twitching against your pulsing walls every so often. A part of you wonders if he does it on purpose, gives you just enough stimulation to cruelly tease you before going stock still once more. 

The small, unnoticeable to everyone but you, hitches of his breath tell you otherwise and deep down, you know he’s just as affected as you, no doubt steadily leaking into you, though you dare not consider the thought for very long. 

“Aemond,” your breath catches in your throat as Otto directs his attention to your husband, everyone else's gaze quickly following, “Any further communications from Dorne?”

Behind you, your husband clears his throat and you feel him shift beneath you, sitting up slightly straighter in his seat, both hands now clasping your waist to keep you steady on top of him. “Negotiations with the Dornish remain stagnant,” he begins as you practically wilt on his lap, the added attention from the council members making the knot in your belly tighten in a way you shudder to consider, “We received a raven from Prince Qoren some days ago rejecting any dealings with the crown, no matter the amount of coin we have to offer.” He finishes, pointedly looking at Tyland, who proceeds to butt in.

As soon as the attention shifts off of the two of you, it’s like the air around Aemond changes, becoming charged all of a sudden as you feel his chest heave against your back. At the other end of the table, Tyland begins to raise his voice, debating hotly with Corlys and Otto, drawing the attention of everyone else to them. 

“Do you think you can be still?” Aemond whispers, his breath hot against your ear although his voice is barely audible even to you. He must sense you freeze on his lap as the hand on your hip begins to move slowly, dragging your skirts up your legs until his hand can slip underneath them, making you tremble as he grips the soft skin of your thigh, “Tighten around my cock if you can be still.”

Against your better judgment, you do as he says, tensing as you clench your walls around him; his only reply is a low growl against your back. He stays still for a moment, trying with all of his might to appear as if he’s taking great interest in the ongoing argument taking place. 

Finally, once he’s positive everyone is too preoccupied arguing over coin to pay attention to either of you, his deft fingers slip through your folds before finally twirling against your aching pearl. 

You have to bite harshly at the inside of your cheek to keep quiet, trying to keep your breathing steady as you focus on not moving even though you so badly want to rut your hips against his fingers as they rub against you. 

Aemond swallows thickly behind you as he slowly circles his fingers, careful to keep his pace light and steady to not stir up any slick sounds from your wet cunt, though he longs to hear them. 

Your elbows rest against the top of the table, your hands clasped tightly in front of you. The conversation around you seems to shift as Otto begins prattling on about some Tyrell woman finally being with child. Aemond’s fingers suddenly pinch at your sensitive bud and a gasp tumbles past your lips before you can stop it, drawing everyone’s attention. 

“Is everything alright, princess?” Alicent questions from across the table, her dark eyes narrowed with concern. 

You nod quickly, coughing to conceal a moan as you open your mouth to answer her, “Y-Yes, I’m sorry,” you apologize with a weak smile, “I’m just so pleased for the Tyrells, what a j-joyous time this must be for them.” You say quickly, stumbling over the words as your core clenches tightly around your husband’s cock, his small touches driving you steadily to your peak despite the circumstances. 

Alicent gives you a curious look before quickly collecting herself, “Yes, I’m sure the family is quite thankful, children are always such a blessing,” she smiles politely before turning back to her father, “Please, continue.” 

Otto’s voice hardly reaches your ears as he picks up where he left off, though you don’t miss the horribly put out looks you garner from Tyland and Corlys. 

Aemond’s fingers just barely speed up as they swirl over your bud, though the small change is enough to drive you wild and you can feel the way his chest heaves against your back as your walls twitch around his length, threatening to milk his cock dry without him having to move an inch. 

The heat that has slowly been building within you finally begins to bubble over and your husband’s fingers show no signs of stopping as he pushes you closer and closer to your breaking point. The hand of his that has been resting idly on the table top comes over to casually rest against your clenched hands and rubs soothingly up and down your forearm, Aemond’s silent way of telling you he knows you’re close. 

Your eyes flick around the room as you feel your peak threatening to spill over you, frantically checking for any onlookers at the last possible second. You nearly jump out of your skin as your eyes finally land on Aegon, only to find him already staring at you, an amused smirk plastered across his face as he studies you. 

Aemond chooses that exact second to pinch at your pearl again and the small touch is your undoing. Your teeth bite down firmly on your tongue as your walls pulse rhythmically around your husband’s leaking cock, your eyes still locked on Aegon’s violet ones, now darkened with lust. 

Your muscles tense up as you peak helplessly, waves of pleasure lighting up every nerve ending within you. Somehow, you find it within yourself to remain quiet and still on Aemond’s lap as your eyes finally flick away from his older brother’s and you gaze, apparently absentmindedly, at some point on the wall on the opposite side of the room as your high subsides. 

Thankfully, Aemond takes pity on you and slips his hand away, his wet fingers resting gently in your bare thigh, still underneath your gown. 

You slowly come down from your high as the Small Council winds down, Aegon and Otto quickly discussing a few final points before the king formally adjourns the meeting. Tyland and Corlys practically bolt from their chairs, quickly bowing before they exit as they mumble between themselves, no doubt about the displeasure of your presence. 

Otto and Maester Orwyle take their leave soon after, each bowing politely. Aegon busies himself at the head of the table, leaning back in his chair as he lazily sips from his wine cup, the gleam in his eyes making you shiver. 

Across the room, Alicent and Larys whisper between themselves. Strangely, your mother-in-law blushes, shaking her head suddenly and mumbling a quiet, “Not here,” before glancing around the room.

Larys merely shrugs, turning to you as he shuffles from the room, “Do get better soon, princess.” He says with a feeble bow, although the look on his face makes you blush heavily. 

At that, Alicent turns to Aegon, “Would you care to come see the children with me?”

“Go on,” he dismisses her before nodding toward you and Aemond, “I wish to have a word with my brother.” He catches your eye with a quick wink. 

“Of course,” Alicent mutters, glancing curiously between the three of you, “I’ll ask the maids to bring some tea to your chambers this evening, princess. They make a wonderful lemon one that always seems to lift my spirits.” She says with a kind smile, coming around to place a comforting hand on your shoulder before she too heads to the door. 

“Thank you!” You breathily call after her, voice squeaking at the end as Aemond shuffles impatiently beneath you, his cock still prodding against your sensitive walls. 

Aegon chuckles darkly as soon as the doors close once more, standing from his chair with a wide smirk. “I must say, I’m impressed,” he taunts, eyes glinting as he looks between you and his brother, “I didn’t think either of you had that much gaul in you.” 

“What exactly are you tittering about now?” Aemond asks lowly behind you, his voice rough and choppy as his patience clearly wears thin. 

Sniggering, Aegon saunters around to stand beside you, violet eyes scanning over your laps still concealed under the table, “You’ve had your cock in her the whole time, have you not?” He teases, laughing harder still as Aemond merely hums in response, “Come brother, you should be proud of yourself,” he clasps a hand over your husband's shoulder, “She was nearly falling apart when she peaked.” He comments with a final wink as he ambles to the door, stopping to throw one last amused look over his shoulder, “You might want to do something about that bite mark on your shoulder.” He says casually before slamming the doors closed behind him. 

At his comment, you whirl around and your eyes grow wide as you spy a clear impression of your teeth marks in the leather of Aemond’s tunic, on his shoulder where you’d bitten down earlier. Your cheeks heat up at the thought of it being there throughout the entire meeting. 

You don’t have long to dwell on the thought though as your husband roughly pushes you from his lap until you’re bent over the table, cheek pressed to the cool stone surface. “Seven!” You sequel as he unceremoniously shoves his cock back inside you, his hips pumping wildly as his hands grasp at your waist harshly, no doubt leaving bruises. 

“Fucking finally,” he grunts, eyeing the way his cock disappears into your slick heat as he bunches your gown up over your ass, “‘M not gonna last.” He warns lowly, already panting with the speed of his thrusts. 

Your head spins once again as his cock moves within you, his pace nearly bruising. Your teeth sink into the skin of your forearm as you desperately try to keep quiet, another peak already welling up within you. 

Aemond growls and quickly threads the fingers of one hand through your hair, making you whine loudly as he pulls your head back until his chest is once again pressed against you, his other hand coming to rub against your abused pearl once more. 

“Aemond!” You moan, shaking your head in his grasp, one hand braced against the table as the other grabs at his forearm, feeling his muscles twitch as his fingers swirl against your center, “P-Please, I cannot keep myself quiet, I know I can’t—“ You start babbling. 

“Let them fucking hear,” he growls, eye squeezing shut as he feels his stones tightening up, “The whole keep can listen for all I fucking care, I won’t be stopping this time.” 

Your eyes roll back in your head at his words, never having heard him sound this possessed and overcome with pleasure before. After only a few more thrusts, you feel your walls twitch once more, a loud gasp rattling through your chest, “H-Husband, I’m—!”

“That’s it,” Aemond groans, redoubling his efforts against your pearl as he continues to rut into you at a nearly inhuman pace. “Peak, sweetling,” he commands, his voice low and raspy in your ear, “Peak while I breed your precious cunt.” 

His words nearly take your breath away and you whine loudly as another high washes over you, your walls milking your husband’s cock as they clench and pulse against it. 

Behind you, Aemond groans lowly, grunting as his cock twitches strongly inside you, his thick seed flooding into your heat as he finally, finally peaks, the pleasure of it making him dizzy as he leans against your back, forehead pressed between your shoulder blades. 

The two of you are quiet for a moment, your tired pants the only sounds in the chambers. Finally, Aemond untangles his fingers from your hair, both of his hands coming to rest against the cool table as he finally pulls his cock from your center, soothing you with soft shushes when you whine, the emptiness in your core such a foreign feeling after being filled for so long. 

He sinks into his chair once more and pulls you with him, wrapping a protective arm around your waist as you rest your head on his shoulder. Once your breathing is steady, you pick your head up, a displeased groan tumbling from your throat as you see your bite mark more clearly up close, a finger coming up to trace over the intents in the black leather. 

“I’ll need to send this to the seamstress for repairs,” you whisper with an apologetic sigh, “I believe this is beyond my ability to fix.” 

Aemond chuckles beneath you, lilac eye gleaming with pride as he clasps a hand over yours as it still rests on his shoulder, “Don’t trouble yourself with it, my love.” 

“What?” You question, smiling despite the way you tilt your head in confusion, “Aemond, I cannot fix it myself and I’m afraid the mark will not simply go away—,” 

“You misunderstand me, sweetling,” he says, smiling as he looks down at you, “I intend to keep it as a mark of great pride. I shall wear it as a trophy for all to see.” He explains with a teasing laugh. 

You playfully smack a hand against his chest, which only makes him laugh harder, “You can’t be serious!” You admonish with a wide smile.

“Why? I simply wish to remember this day,” he chuckles, “The day I made my sweet wife peak in front of the Gods and everyone.” 

“Aemond!” You cannot help the surprised laugh that leaves you, “You’re as disgusting as your brother!”

tagged lovelies: @helloworldiamnotarobot @drakonflames @marysucks-blog @watercolorskyy @valeskafics @iamaegontargaryenwife0 @aemshaircare @1997babyyyy @lovellies @little-moonbeam-666 @blackswxnn @demirunner @eponaartemisa @trshngyn

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#* #aemond

[daemonsversion]

I'm A Fire, And I'll Keep Your Brittle Heart Warm [ONESHOT]

Summary: Flowers come to Aemond Targaryen in many different shapes and sizes throughout his marriage. Based on this ask by @wonderbias

Pairing: Aemond Targaryen x Wife!Reader

Warnings: 18+; Mild Smut.

Note From The Author: Much much love and my entire heart for @humanpurposes for proofreading this, and to @oneeyedvisenya for being my trusty test reader!

So I kinda put my own spin on this request lmfao. Hope it flies. :)

Word Count: 9.6k

Text Divider by @saradika

THEIR UNION HAD BEGUN AS A FRAGILE AND DELICATE ONE.

By all accounts, Aemond Targaryen was a fine man that any maiden in the Seven Kingdoms would be proud to be with, should he– a skilled dragonrider, a scholar, a respectful man of honor, a prince worthy of his name and blood– choose to take her to wife. 

If only he was not so stoic and dull, they said. The very jovial little lady of Highgarden will be bored of him in moments!

‘Twas the first of many whispers he heard of his apparent inadequacy with regards to his impending nuptials and marriage, and even though it killed him, he could not bring himself to disagree. The woman that he was to marry– the beautiful, kind, ladylike wisp of a girl that was to be entrusted to him– was a fair maiden who lit up any chamber she graced with her presence, a stark contrast to how he seemed to darken those that he stalked into.

Charming girl like that, she will hate him, they said. The poor thing is probably scared.

Every lady dreamed of chivalrous knights and charming princes, and Aemond knew very well that he was far from being either. They dreamed of charming men who would immortalize them in song, whose looks could thaw the hearts of the coldest women in an instant. Aemond knew very well that the Gods had refused him the chance to even try with her– what with their allowance of his mutilation at a tender, young age. 

Even with just one eye, he saw many possibilities but to his dismay, he did not imagine any outcome would be favorable to him. With the scar he carried on his face and the weight of the world on his shoulders, Aemond was never meant to be the man that his intended deserved. 

And so, he decided that he would keep her at arm's length and in consequence, save his pride. He'd reject her before she rejected him. He may not know it now, but matters of the heart are fickle– and to the utter disappointment of his pride, his little lady rose was very easy to love. 

He would not be caught dead pathetically pining after a woman who would soon be his. He would not.

And so, their courtship remained devoid of romance and scandal. His family was made privy to each of their highly appropriate conversations, with them taking turns in chaperoning their walks through the gardens. 

There was nothing that he wished to share, for he did not want to lose too much. He did what was expected of him, and she did the very same. Soon, there was respect, admiration, and a whole host of burgeoning feelings that Aemond tried hard to suppress - feelings that he clearly did not see in her eyes as she dared to look into his.

How could she feel anything for a stoic, dull, one-eyed man like him?

As he draped the red and black cloak over her shoulder and pledged to be her man of liege and limb, he told himself that he would not try. He would not give into fantasies, only to be met with rejection from a woman who was too good for him; one that may realize it soon enough as well.

After all, Aemond Targaryen had his pride. He would feed himself to the dragons before admitting to someone else being better than him, let alone be rejected by that same person. He was certainly not going to woo her, not when he knew that he would only be met with contempt and disgust.

It did not matter how badly he wanted to. He would not allow himself to succumb to such idyllic daydreams. He would not.

When night fell and the wedding feast was in full swing, his new good-father was the only one who could give his brother a run for his money with how deep he was in his cups. It was obvious how the wine-induced stupor affected the fat lord Tyrell as he bellowed for his daughter and his new good son to take the lead and join in the dancing and merriment.

Aemond was ready to retch at the thought, but what stopped him from making his irritation  clear was the possibility that she may want to dance. His wife. He had seen her dance before– as graceful as an otherworldly swan. She had a better grasp at frivolous courtly affairs than he did. 

His wife may want to dance. His wife, his wife, his wife. A little rose, his.

He shuffled his feet under the cloth-covered long table and allowed his one eye to train over his clothed boots. In spite of all the dancing lessons he had taken with Helaena, Aemond had never indulged before– and now, he was expected to entertain his bride each time a song played. The thought made him want to press his feet into the ground further than he already has, in hopes that perhaps the ground would swallow him whole.

His view of the dancing crowd had been taken from him by half along with his eye. Without the luxury of complete vision, he could not dance without bumping into everyone that was on his blind side. Now, he would have to– if she wanted to. 

He thought he could say no, but he feared that if he were to look her in the eyes, he'd never be able to. Perhaps that was why he had refused to even look at her throughout the ceremony, despite her many admirable– yet failed– attempts to catch his line of sight and share a smile.

It was her meek, mouse-like voice that brought him out of his nervous trance. “We do not have to," she said, the words falling out of her lips like a song.

“You like to dance, my lady,” he said.

“But you do not, my prince. It takes two.” Her surprisingly understanding words were followed by a timid smile, one that threatened to rip through his defenses and get to him.

In the crowded throne room, as his new bride sets aside her happiness to accommodate his preferences, Aemond worried that his self-imposed distance from her may not last too long if she kept offering him kind glances and sweet smiles– no matter how forced and dutiful he knew them to be.

He had much to lose; his pride, his heart. He would not risk it, even if she was seemingly easy to love. He would not. He would not. He would not.

After all, Aemond Targaryen had his pride. 

Soon after, her drunk nuisance of a father had called for the bedding. Aemond did nothing as his trembling bride was ushered away by the handmaidens and ladies, each of them wriggling her jewelry off as she stumbled in her steps before they carried her off.

Should he have asked for a private bedding? In hindsight, he believed he wronged her by throwing her to the mercies of the court in her vulnerability. Equally, he did not want to attempt a show of compassion– not when she may not even welcome it from the one-eyed fiend of a husband that she was stuck with.

When he walked into the chambers in his loose linen shirt and breeches, his breath hitched in his throat. Helaena had once told him that the Septas refer to women’s maidenheads as flowers. “Beautiful, ripe and ready for the plucking,” she had said, keeping her nose pointed upward in her imitations. He'd never given the words much thought. 

Until now.

There she was. His wife, his flower, his rose, ready for plucking, in her translucent white shift and now untamed hair, like a fae in a dream. How could she possibly be his? How could she possibly be happy with a man as monstrous as him for a husband? 

Her eyes, wide and fearful, flittered about his face, in his mind an expression of her repulsion. It pained him to think she did not even give him a chance.

But she was accommodating about my not wanting to dance… 

Perhaps she did like to dance; just not with him. 

These unsaid words and subsequent misunderstandings plagued their wedding night. Both believed the other did not desire them. 

That night, she offered her flower to him– as is her duty– and he took great care in taking it from her. He made sure she was pliant, so that when he took it, she would be as glad and thrilled as he was, regardless of how well-hidden his happiness was. 

He may have grimaced in disgust at Aegon's vulgar demonstrations and lessons about the pleasures of the marital bed, but he was thankful as he heard her moan out his name in a silent scream while she convulsed around his fingers. The silent sounds of her choked out moans and the heat engulfing his fingers may have very well been enough for Aemond to find release, and he reminded himself quickly that she will not want him when they're done. How could she, deformed as he was?

And so, he stopped wanting to be good for her, and simply endeavored to get it done with.

She was only more than willing to allow him to take her flower. If he was not so preoccupied with his own insecurities, he may have seen that it had gone past duty for her. Her loud moans proved the fact, and left little room for dispute (or doubt, in the minds of the prying ears that stayed close to the doors of their chambers, and the sharp eyes of the council who were now shuffling out of their seats).

He inched into her, and her tears and turned face only seemed to make it harder for him. Was he so beyond hope that she could not even look? What was it? Had he hurt her? He did not ask, lest he risk finding out that he was a disappointment. So he lost himself, drowned in his own head as he mechanically moved in and out, in and out, in and out. 

Duty. Duty. Duty.

If he had not been so preoccupied with tearing his own being to shreds in his mind, he may have heard her moans as the bright pink tip of his cock hit a rough spot in her, allowing her pleasures and experiences she did not believe she would ever know. He may have known that she desired him, just as he did her.

His self-deprecating thoughts couldn't have been farther from the truth– he may not have realized it that night, but he would soon enough.

Flowers came to Aemond in multiple shapes and forms throughout his marriage, and the first ever flower she gave him– whether she chose to see it that way or not– came to him on their wedding night, in the form of her maidenhead.

TOURNEYS WERE A TIME OF CELEBRATION FOR HER. 

There was something to be said about the romance of watching men ask women for favors and fight with all the might and grace that they possess. She had often dreamed that a dashing knight or a courteous prince would perhaps approach her for her favor, and then perhaps crown her Queen of Love and Beauty. If she was lucky, the man would court her too.

The man she married was the antithesis of all that she hoped a tourney would bring.

Her husband was not a bad man by any means– no. He was a good and respectful husband, slightly removed and isolated for her outward nature, but she did not mind. There were worse men to be married to, and even if he never went out of his way to be there for her, he certainly treated her well when they were in each other’s presence.

She tried with him, Gods bless her. 

She would try to catch his eye at the supper table, or watch him train in hopes that he would meet her watchful gaze once or twice. She would watch in a sleepy haze as he woke early in the morn, long before she had the strength or consciousness to wish him a good day, hoping he would turn to do the same. He never did.

More often than not, a curt nod and a wavering glance was all she’d get.  Still there were brief, hopeful moments that kept her active in her pursuit to build a friendship with her husband.

She would have done something absolutely obnoxious— acts that would have him sneering if it was someone else– and she’d see it. That little hint of a smile, waiting to bubble through the surface, just by the corner of his pink lips, that she would have missed if she blinked. Each time there was a tenuous beginning of a hesitant smile, she felt a tiny sliver of hope.

He was not so intimidating to her now as he was in the initial days of their union– no. In a little corner of her mind, she acknowledged that fact– that is what helped her find his hand and hold it tight in nervousness, before she could even comprehend the intimacy of the act.

The knight who had just taken a harsh tumble from his horse was carried away by servants, with his head beaten bloody and hands hanging limp by his side. If she did not know better, she would have thought him dead.

The champion then raised his hands up in victory. Thunderous clapping sounds overshadowed all else around her, but she could not bring herself to join. She was still stunned by how the other knight had fallen, and was yet to let go of Aemond’s hand.

She felt the bile rise in her throat, so she brought her other hand to her chest and bowed her head down, a feeble attempt at keeping the vomit at bay. It was awhile until she managed to catch her breath again, and by then the celebrations had moved on from celebrating the champion to the crowning of his Queen of Love and Beauty.

The eldest Lady Baratheon smiled coyly as she received the wreath of winter roses, followed by a chaste kiss to her cheek. The crowd gasped at how brazen the act was, with neither of them being married, but the high of winning makes men do the most peculiar things, she supposed. In the back of her mind, regardless of how uneasy she felt, she wished– desperately. 

How she wished it was her. 

A childish fantasy really. What was a publicly gifted crown of flowers worth in the face of what she had? She was a Princess of the realm now, married to a skilled dragonrider from a family of illustrious history and blood. Any children they may have will be immortalized in the annals.  Nothing. A crown of flowers was worth nothing when compared to what she had– or at least, that is what she would tell herself.

And yet, she craved the romance. She had always enjoyed the idea of being loved and cherished. Her husband respected her, and if she was feeling bold, she’d say he liked her– but he certainly did not love her. That much she was certain of. When she naively wished that he’d crown her, she asked if he was going to enter the lists. He had sharply turned so quickly that she feared she had angered him.

“I don’t give a sh…” He had sighed before speaking again, as though he felt tested. “I do not care for tourneys.” The sharpness in his voice had hurt her, and she did not speak of it again.

Their marriage was a decent one– but it held none of the love she hoped to have, despite all her attempts.

Did he find her so disagreeable?

All of a sudden, his hand felt cold to the touch and she let go of him like he burned her. The heat came back to her hand just as it showed on her cheeks, and his had turned cold from having lost her touch so abruptly.

“I’d like to get some fresh air, husband,” she said, and rose before he could even ask if she needed him to accompany her.

Her quick walk took her to the tent where the court ladies had been sitting, and she had stepped in right in time to hear them gossip– about her husband.

“Well he must keep it on while they… you know! It can be jarring to look at, I’m sure it is!”

“It must be terrible to see it up close all the time. I can hardly look at him from across the chamber!”

He is certainly unnerving. It does make you wonder though, do you think they actually…” the woman lowered her voice to match the vulgarity that was to follow. “Do you think they actually fuck? She cannot possibly want to, and she is not with child either…”

“Well, does it really matter if she wants to? He’s a Prince, and her husband. He’ll take his pleasure regardless.”

Regardless of where she and her husband stood, she would not stand for their marriage to become fodder for court gossip. If she stayed quiet for any longer while these empty-headed women berated her husband, she would be insulting him herself.

“Might I ask what is so amusing?”  she said with sharp eyes and a tilted head. The sweat on their faces upon her arrival was apparent, and so was their nervousness.

“My Lady, we were just–”

“Princess,” she corrected.

“Yes of course, Princess. We were just–”

“Making presumptions about my marriage?” 

“No… we just…”

“Don’t deny it,” she seethed, anger looking completely foreign on a soft, comely face like hers. Her nostrils flared and her nose went red in her current state, but there was no way she could stop now. 

“The next time you feel the need to comment on such matters , perhaps you will all learn to remind yourself that he is a Prince of the realm and I am his wife! There will be suitable punishment, and you will all be dismissed from court at my pleasure, disgraced and husbandless. Now, we wouldn’t want that, would we?” Her words were cutting and sharp, and they had the younger ladies bowing their heads in fear almost immediately.

“I’ll have you all know that unlike the other men of the court, Prince Aemond’s scar came to him along with the largest dragon in the world. His bravery only makes him more handsome to me.”

She then fixed her attention onto the married lady of the bunch and delivered a questionable blow that she would certainly feel bad about later. “If you’ve been led to believe that the man takes his pleasure from his wife even if she does not want to, then perhaps your marriage is a lot worse than I thought. Your husband must have no regard for your wants, unlike mine. And for that, I am truly sorry.”

She did not wait for them to respond as she gathered her skirts and walked out of the tent, feeling largely annoyed and satisfied to an extent. But as she began her walk back, the fear of news of her anger reaching her husband hit her like a harsh and heavy wave.

Would he call her insolent and disgraceful? Has she damaged her marriage more than it already has been?

She did not have to wait long for her answer, for Aemond had been just a few steps behind her, watching the entire scene unfold. The angry flush on her face left her as quickly as it had come, replaced by a skittish nervousness that led to her shuffling her feet as she stood before him, at a complete loss for words.

She swallowed the spit gathering in her mouth, throat bobbing as her head remained facing down to the floor, awaiting a scolding from him for her absolutely inexcusable behavior; her husband was a man who knew his courtesies, after all. He could not possibly be happy with how she carried herself and disappointed him.

“You do not look well. Let me walk you to our chambers,” was all he said before he led her away with a hand on the small of her back.

She remained worried that he was perhaps leading them to privacy and silence so he could punish her while being undisturbed. She could not have been farther from the truth.

She expected him to scream at her, forget all the courtesy that he had shown her and throw his words at her without care. What she was not prepared for, was for him to hold her chin between his thumb and index fingers, pulling her face up to meet his.

He curiously inspected her, almost as though her little show of anger thoroughly amused him. She would not be surprised if it did– she had never been so outward in her anger in the two months that they had been married; this was a completely new side to her that he was now privy to.

“What was that, wife?” His words were measured and cut. 

“They…” She was stunned to find that, despite her tongue becoming loose in moments of anger,  it was hard for her to speak right now. So, she chose to gulp once more and tried to look someplace else. The uncertainty in his sharp, one-eyed violet gaze was becoming too much for her to bear– but Aemond did not give up easily. He kept her head held in place as she desperately waited for the words to come to her.

“They were being crude, and insulting you.”

He looked at her for a moment, his sharp gaze refusing to waver as the sunlight pierced through the glass windows of their chamber. He then let go of her, and handed her a goblet of wine to calm her clearly unsteady senses. He watched as she took little sips from the chalice, the restless turning of the wheels in his mind apparent on his face. 

Soon after, he made up a sham of a reason about having to leave when the cheering crowds became louder and louder. She nodded and continued to sip, completely oblivious to the change of heart that her husband was having as she wondered why he brought her back to their bed.

She did not know the thoughts that now ran fast and surely in his mind. She did not know that he thought his eye had cost him a chance at a happy marriage with her. She had no idea of knowing how conflicted he felt at the new realization, for his sculpted face gave nothing away.

He turned to face her with a hand on the door.  “Thank you,” he mumbled.

She nodded and smiled meekly while he stalked back to the festivities.

He held his hands tightly behind him as he tried to make sense of how light his heart felt in comparison to the rest of him. 

Back in the chamber, she blushed. For all her worry that he may have been disappointed, she had been completely floored by how he had responded– he was thankful. She berated herself for not considering the possibility– and smiled at the realization that for all her husband’s prowess as a warrior, in times like these,  he needed a champion too. 

That night, Aemond burned the midnight oil while reading in the library, trying to still his racing heart and make sense of how it leapt at newfound thoughts of his little wife. 

Across the Holdfast, in the soft candlelight of their shared chambers, she sat on her husband’s dear chair, looking at her handiwork– an embroidered silk tourney favor, with a little rose.

Her husband may not care for tourneys, but making the favor allowed her the luxury of thinking that should the possibility of him willingly entering the lists come around, he would do so with her gift on his lance. Mayhaps he would crown her Queen of Love and Beauty too– the thought makes her blush.

She would give it to him should he ever choose to partake someday. Until then, it would be safely hidden away in her shelves, amidst her gowns and other possessions.

Flowers have came to Aemond in multiple shapes and forms throughout his marriage, and the second flower that was intended for him– despite the fact that she was yet to give it to him– came to him on the day of the the twins’ name day tourney, in the form of a rose, embroidered onto a tourney favor. 

THEY HAVE COME TO ENJOY EACH OTHER’S COMPANY.

Her coming to his defense while expecting nothing in return had lit a fire in Aemond that he could not seem to quell. What he believed she had rejected him over, she had actually taken to being proud of. What he had believed was his one big, obvious and visible fatal flaw, was something that she had taken to holding in high regard.

I’ll have you lot know that unlike the other men of the court, his scar came to him along with the largest dragon in the world. And his bravery only makes him more handsome to me.

Her words rang in his mind like the definite tolling of the Great Bell at the Royal Sept. With each chime, her assertiveness on the matter came back to linger in his thoughts, he had fallen for her– bit by bit.

Feelings had always been a conundrum to Aemond, one that he did not entirely understand or even want to. But now, with a wife who warmed him and his heart slowly but surely, with her lovely smiles and nervous face, he found that he would like some certainty in the face of all that was uncertain in his heart.

He did not know if he loved her just yet. But what he did know was that, at the pace that she had set for them, it may be a very short while before he does. His wife. His wife, his wife, his wife.

His, his, his.

Coming to terms with having a wife that actually desired his company– and him, surprisingly enough– had spurned his attempts to bring some sort of intimacy to their marriage. Gods knew that she had tried, only to be rebuffed rudely by him in the initial days of their marriage. It was a time that he now felt deep regret and shame for, one that he would not rest until he had made right.

He needed her to see that he wanted to try.

He did not know how to be the charming prince from a bard’s songs. He did not know how to make women laugh like Aegon; be as sweet and kind as Helaena; or as chivalrous and perfect as Daeron.

But what he did know was respect. Aemond understood respect as something that was earned by everyone around him, but to his wife, it should have been unconditional. It should have come to her the day he had cloaked her and made her his– but it did not. Now, he intended to make it right.

He needed her to see that he wanted to try– which is how he found himself with her on his arm, as they walked hand in hand through the corridors of Maegor’s Holdfast towards their chambers. Ah yes, hand in hand. Another one of the little joys that he savored like it was his last day alive.

Their initially cold marriage had also been fueled by his blatant refusal to simply be near her, much less touch her. Why would she have wanted to be touched by a one-eyed monster, such as the likes of him?

But the moment he realized that she did not consider him so– not in the least– led to a warmth seeping through his blood, making him crave her so much that his heart hurt. If she did not mind it, why must he not exercise his liberties? And if there was some joy to be derived from it, why would they not want to indulge?

And so he had begun. A stolen touch here, a featherlight graze there.

His huge, calloused hand, seemed to be always holding her dainty one as he accompanied her throughout their time in the castle; on the small of her back as they maneuvered through feasts and dances; around her waist as they closed the distance between each other in their sleep, with her back to his chest; clutching onto her thigh to keep her in place for when she turned around and draped her tiny leg upon his waist.

His hands, all over her.

It was not just these fleeting, quick touches that Aemond had grown to enjoy. With their bond growing stronger with each passing moment, he had realized that their marital duties were simply not duties anymore. They had gone from believing that the other had tolerated their presence, to trying their level best so that the other would know how much they desired them. The growth of their marriage was evident in how their carnal indulgences had evolved.

Where he had held himself to hover over her so as to not facilitate any unnecessary touches, he had now taken to covering her entire being with his own. His hands around her hip as he pounded into her; her hands on his chest as the tip of her fingers grazed and pinched at his nipples. His hands in her hair as he mouthed at her heaving breast; her hands around him as she held onto him as tightly as she could, never wanting to let him go. His hands on her cunt as he drew peak after peak from her before thrusting himself into her; her hands around his cock as she pumped him before impaling herself by straddling him, just the way he liked.

Their sounds of pleasure had been held back and muffled in the beginning, but now they were uninhibited sounds taken by the wind, made with the intent of being heard and making desires known.

Oh yes, their marriage had grown.

This is what Aemond had been pondering as he led her through, with servants making their way for the young prince and princess as she held onto her husband with one hand, and a piece of rolled parchment and some charcoal on the other. He enjoyed their touches now, and it made his heart soar that he did not have to doubt her want for him either.

Yes, they could make something out of this.

“How was your time in the gardens, wife?” It made him happy that with the growth of their marriage, she had taken to exercising her liberties. So, when she had come to him requesting charcoal and bound parchment so she could begin drawing again, he was only happy to oblige.

“Good. I managed to sit and watch the flowers flit about in the wind for a time, and I drew a bit as well. Then the court ladies came to join me as they…”

Aemond listened to his wife as he sat himself on his chair by the hearth, most intently, and with the utmost concentration that he could muster. He could not bring himself to make selfless romantic declarations of love, or speak to her more than he was able. But he could listen, and that is what he would do.

Not a word unheard, not a moment missed. He needed her to see that he wanted to try.

She prattled on and on about her day, and how the court ladies had gossiped about each other when they thought the other wasn’t listening. He listened to the way her voice heightened when her recollections were happy, and he noted the way she frowned when she was in disapproval. He observed how her eyes widened at shocking narrations, and how her hands seemed to move like they had a life of their own.

He kept observing, losing himself in his newfound knowledge of her, her, her… and it was not until she stood close to him, her body slotted between his legs as she held her hands behind her back that he realized she had stopped speaking.

“Go on.”

He did not expect to be given something, not when his name day had just passed. But that is exactly what happened.

“For you,” she said. With her raised eyebrows and coy smile, she managed to place a parchment roll into his hand. Aemond made note of how her head faced down and her feet shuffled as she stood in wait for his approval.

He unrolled the parchment, careful to not cause even a stray tear at the edges. His eyes raked over the drawing, one of clear skill and years of training of the highest level– one befitting a lady.

“I shall treasure it, thank you.”

She smiled at his acceptance, and he nodded. He was not a smiling man, but he hoped that she knew how much he appreciated these gestures. He hoped that their marriage had grown enough for her to notice his quirks, just as he had made note of hers.

Flowers came to Aemond in multiple shapes and forms throughout his marriage, and the third flower that she had given him was a charcoal sketch of a rose, into which she had poured her heart and soul.

THEIR MORNINGS WERE A LOT BRIGHTER NOW.

While she had hoped that the initial days of their marriage would have some semblance of love, and if not, at least affection to some extent, her hopes had been quickly dashed with the closed off and curt behavior that her husband seemed to have made his own. Neither did he ever wish her a good morrow upon sunrise, nor did he kiss her goodnight like in the songs.

But now, there was more.

Where there was coldness, there was now warmth. It was not heat, not like wildfire, no– it was warmth, like from the calm blaze of their hearth. She might not have awoken to a smile, no– her husband was not a smiling man– but she always woke to an arm snaked over her breasts, pressing into her. Where there was distance, oceans between them, there was now a shared intimacy, one that they had both been quietly happy about. She was not put to sleep with a kiss, but whenever she slept on the chaise waiting for him to arrive, he now ensured that she was put into comfortable clothes and carried to their bed with care.

He may not have cared for her in the beginning, but she knew he did now. Her husband was not a romantic man, but his small gestures were enough to make her feel happy and content.

The shift in their dynamic was not just visible in their daytime activities, but in the passions of their marriage bed as well. On the first night that they had coupled, he had been careful, experimental, doubtful. But as the days went by, he had become surer, rougher… insatiable.

She enjoyed this new side to him. She enjoyed being the woman that belonged to a fierce prince, the one that he so clearly desired. She enjoyed being held by him as he moved her up and down his cock, his head buried in her breasts as he breathed in the heady smell of sweat and sex. She enjoyed being impaled by him, her small body being split into two, all while having him whisper words of appreciation in her ears.

My little wife, my little flower. Made for me… only for me, he would say. Tell me who this cunt belongs to, he would growl, hands slapping her little nub over and over until she caught her breath, found her voice again and appeased him.

You! Gods… to you, my prince husband, she would whine, holding his hand in place, hoping he would fuck her with his fingers once more, just the way she liked.

It came as no surprise to her that ever since they had become welcome to each other’s affections, they had been a lot more active in their marriage bed– so much so that the lewd moans and loud curses had become court gossip.

When she had addressed the matter with him once soon after they had fucked, Aemond had smiled, albeit darkly– the only kind of smile that suited him. Dragons do not concern themselves with the opinions of sheep, he had said. His insinuation that she was now a dragon too, all while his warm breath fanned her neck and his large hands squeezed her backside, was all she needed to quell her worries.

And of course, as was the natural order of these things, she was now with child.

She had been overjoyed when she had found out, and a tad relieved too. The court ladies whispering about her womb was not something she appreciated– their assumptions about her being barren, even less. So when she found out, she insisted that she be the one to break the news to her husband– her time as an expectant mother would never completely be her own, given the station she had now married into.

But this, this moment could be hers and his. It would be theirs alone.

And so, she sat in wait at the training grounds, watching him as he expertly maneuvered his sword and slashed at his mentor, Ser Cole. Dodge, lunge, slash. Dodge, lunge, slash. Dodge, lunge–

Ser Cole had bested him, having noticed the predictability in his movements. Aemond of course, being the headstrong man that he was, refused to give up. The anger in his face at being won over in a fight did not escape her, and she would be lying if she said it did not awaken desire in her once more. Before she could think further however, one of the lords in the audience had piped up.

“Perhaps the Prince would benefit from a token of luck from his dear lady wife!” He said, and the watching crowd around them seemed to agree as they cheered and whistled. Aemond was flummoxed, not knowing how to cope with being faced with the topic of his wife while in the middle of a fight. It was only then that he noticed her, red-faced and smiling as she was– before he could say anything, she had taken the lead.

“I’m afraid I’ve come empty handed, my lord. I’ve nothing to offer him right now!” She quipped with a smile. It had warmed him to know that she was jovial enough for the two of them, allowing him the luxury of staying quiet as she became his champion during situations like these.

“Ah well, he knows you’re here now, Princess! If that does not add to his fire, I do not know what will!”

Perhaps it was her presence, or it was his own prowess as a swordsman. But Aemond was quick to come through this time around. The crowds cheered for their Prince, and so did the man who had taught him to be all that he was.

“Well met, my prince,” Ser Cole said. He patted her dragon prince on his shoulder and walked over to where the swords were arranged. Aemond quickly followed in reverence to his teacher, one that he did not freely give to most. Soon after, the crowds had dispersed, and she watched as his slender, tall form stalk towards her.

“Since when do you frequent the training grounds, wife?”

“Can a wife not seek her husband out when she wants to?”

She could not have imagined rhetorics like these tumbling out of her mouth in the initial days of their union. But they were now closer than they had ever been, and she had discovered that it would not hurt to take initiative, especially given how quiet of a man her husband could be.

He was not the charming prince from the books or the songs, but she certainly loved who he was– inquisitive, considerate and respectful.

“Hm. Perhaps.”

Their walk back to their apartments was a slow and quiet one, with her knowing that he preferred his moments of quiet soon after his training. They soon settled into the solar, with the food spread out for them to break their fast.

As was his habit, Aemond stripped himself of his clothes as she checked the water in the tub with the tips of her fingers, water rippling as her hands moved. He was quick to step in and let his hands rest on either side of the tub, his legs ramrod straight but slowly loosening up as she ran a washcloth over him with a gentle softness that is most unlike him.

Her hands glided over his chest, arms and he caught hold of her when her hands moved to clean his neck, beckoning her to come closer. “My dutiful little flower, hm? Come to assist her husband and answer his every beck and call.”

“I am nothing, if not dutiful.” She said, playful smile teasing him as her breasts threatened to spill out of the neckline of her dress– causing his cock to half-harden at the sight. She kissed his cheek and set the washcloth down, hands traveling to his alabaster hair as she ran her fingers through it, allowing her wet hands to trudge through. When she was done, he was quick to pull at her hand from his side, causing her to bend to meet him, eyes to eye.

“You have a council meeting to get to, husband. Now is not the time.”

She knew very well what he wanted. It was what she wanted too– which is precisely why her own protests meant absolutely nothing to her as she gave in, dress riding up to her thighs and billowing wet in the water as she straddled him. Her cunt was already soaked for him, and he was hot and ready from all the energies that training seemed to have put into him. She rocked her hips forward and backward, adjusting to his girth, while sighing and breathing at the feeling of having him in her. It did not matter how many times he’d taken her, she would never get used to feeling so full.

Soon enough, he had her held harshly by her waist in a bruising grip, his teeth nibbling at her sensitive nipples as he moved her up and down, up and down, up and down. The water crashed out of the tub like waves crashing onto shore and she was quick to fall apart in a mix of pain and pleasure, moaning his name in her broken voice, followed by a silent scream. His release followed soon after, cock twitching in her as he drew her closer, closer and closer still. When she felt his cock soften after a time, she got up and he let her, following close behind.

“You fought well today, husband.” She said, in a feeble attempt to coerce a conversation from him as they sat at the table. He was a man of silence, and she was not. He did not prefer it, but she would try anyway - because there were times when he indulged her.

“Hm. Thank you.”

The smell of cut fruit was intoxicating to her, more so than usual. She had heard of women craving peculiar kinds of food during their time as expectant mothers, so she supposed that this may have to do with the little dragon that she now grew in her belly. The rest of their time eating moved in a swift silence– a comfortable one. The only sounds they heard were of the servants in the corridors and the birds chirping from out the window.

When they finished, the trays were taken away and he got up, ready to leave to sit in on the council meeting that his grandfather had called him for. He was halfway out the door after nodding to her when she took his hand, and he stopped.

Her hands held onto his as tightly as they could, and she was skittish as she continued to look down at the floor. By now, he knew her quirks well enough to know that she did that only when she wanted to say something.

“Go on.” He urged her as his other hand reached for her too.

She drew in a sharp breath as she bit her lip. “I… I am with child, husband.”

She did not know what to expect from him of her news– but his silent sigh and slight smile as his hands reached down to cover her belly in his hold is enough of a reaction. “Thank you,” he said, his gratitude and happiness made obvious– to her, even if not to anyone else. She did nothing but smile as his forehead met hers in a soft touch– their touches were always passionate and rough while in the privacy of their chambers, so it was peculiar for her to be treated this way. She found that she enjoyed it, just as much as she enjoyed being roughly handled by him.

She then stretched the fingers of one hand, revealing a little silk patch, a little tourney favor with a rose stitched on it. A flower, from his little flower.

“I know you do not prefer tourneys, but… it is my hope that you would at least keep it with you while you train.”

His hands ran over the soft silk, fingers tracing the intricate patterns that she had clearly taken her time with. He was quick to smoothen it out and pocket it, following it with a kiss to her lips.

“Thank you, for everything.”

The favor was only meant for the training grounds. But a week later, when she found it peeking out of his pocket while they walked around the gardens, she smiled. Soon, she found out that he kept it with him all day.

Flowers came to Aemond in multiple shapes and forms throughout his marriage, and the fourth flower that she gave to him, came to him in the form of a favor with an embroidered rose, one that he kept on his person at all times.

THERE WAS SOMETHING TO BE SAID ABOUT THE COMFORTS OF SILENCE.

Her husband was not a smiling man, nor was he an ardent conversationalist. Being a woman who leaned towards being both, she had begun their marriage with the intent of treading lightly, lest she annoy him or risk having him dismiss her halfway through. And she did try; Gods knew that she did.

Royal marriages were a sacred duty– those held in its sanctity would have to hold themselves to a higher standard, no matter how much it hurt them. With that being said, she was eternally thankful for Aemond understanding her preferences and trying to meet her halfway. She had been prepared for a man who would coldly dismiss her and her wants, but she had not been prepared for one that would actually want her.

One of the greatest pains of being born a noblewoman, she supposed, was that happiness in itself, was a privilege– one that she wished was not as such. She wished for it to be an easy thing to have, and as such, understood that she had been blessed with a quiet and peaceful marriage - one that did not take from her more than she was willing to give. It did not matter how many times she thought it over– she never failed to be as grateful as she was at the first realization, many moons ago.

These were her thoughts as she accompanied her husband in the library. Aemond sat opposite her, on the other side of the table with his finger running over the texts of the Summer and Winter Annals, deeply engaged in the knowledge that the book had to offer on the now lost Kingdom of Sarnor, once a famed trade partner of Valyria.

The fresh assortment of flowers lay haphazardly on her side of the bench, while she worked towards entwining them all onto the coir to make a crown. She often stole a glance at her husband as she repeatedly adjusted herself on her seat, one that was bigger than her usual one - to accommodate her, and the babe that she now carries.

An heir, a royal heir. There is dragon blood in you now, he had said.

She felt it, what with her babe’s constant reminders - boy or girl, the kicks were hard and swift, and it never failed to take her by surprise.

Aemond was a very fast reader, she gathered. His pages turned a lot faster than hers did, and his eyes never stuck to one part of the parchment for long - they flitted about and were restless, aiding him in his desire to learn as much as he can in the least amount of time. They have been married for half a year by now, and yet she manages to learn something new about him every day.

Her deft fingers worked through the stems of the flowers, piercing the sharp ends of the coir through them. In and out, in and out, in and out, she went - establishing a pattern that she ended up memorizing, whether she was cognizant of it or not.

Aemond stood up as he noticed a guard waiting near the doors, summoning him on behalf of the King. Her crown was now completely done, and she admired her handiwork as she twirled it in her finger and smiled. Aemond was now speaking to the guard as she ran the tip of her fingers over the petals. She brought it closer to her nose to smell them - the flowers were not as fragrant as they were once before, but there was a faint scent that she adored.

He nodded, and she could not help but smile again as he approached her. It struck her harder with each moment, how the Gods had blessed her with him - him with his infinite knowledge, calm disposition and otherworldly beauty. She wondered if the babe she carried would look like him - she hopes, hopes and hopes that they would.

He took the crown of flowers in his hands and handled it with the same care that she put into making it. It looked thoroughly out of place, yet so at home in his hands - much like herself.

A mildly happy lift at the edge of his lips caused a sharp dimple - one that made him look harsh, content and menacing at the same time. She may have wished for a Prince from the songs all the moons ago - but right now, she could not help but think that she had been blessed with someone greater, even if she knew that he did not believe it himself.

He placed the crown atop her head, crowning her. She remembered wishing he would crown her Queen of Love and Beauty at the twins’ name day tourney - but at this moment, as his fingers glided over her smooth hair to set the crown of white roses into place, she was happier than she could have ever been at any tourney.

“Escort the Princess safely to our chambers,” he ordered, after rubbing her growing stomach and giving her a kiss on her temple before going to meet the King. She stood slowly, and noticed that one unused and withering flower had been left behind. The air from outside the castle gushed through the windows, and it was purely by instinct that she grabbed it by the stem and placed it inside the pages of Aemond’s book before the pages flew - so it would be marked and he could begin where he left off if he so wished.

Long after her exit, Aemond came back to his bench after finishing his meeting with the King. He noticed the protruding stem, and he could not help but feel the warmth coarse through his chest as he opened the tome and found the withering flower pressed inside.

Flowers came to Aemond in multiple shapes and forms throughout his marriage, and the fifth flower that she gave to him came to him in the form of a dried rose, one that he kept tucked safely inside his favorite book.

IT WAS MOMENTS LIKE THESE THAT MADE AEMOND BELIEVE IN ANYONE APART FROM HIMSELF.

Being able to love someone blindly was not a gift that Aemond ever found himself capable of giving. Ever since the loss of his eye, he had grown to be full of spite and resentment, believing that having his dragon was enough to make the loss of company around him worthwhile. Nobody knew how to speak to him anymore– how does one comfort a boy who could only see half the world around him?

With her free smiles and open heart, she had made her way through into the center of his. He found that he preferred her there, where she belonged. She had made her home in his heart, and he marveled at how despite not matching up to her in any way that mattered, she had found it in herself to allow him to take shelter in hers.

And then, she came to him. His wife.

It brought him shame to think of how they could have fallen in love much sooner if he had been open to her affections and not been so wrapped up in his own presumed fallacies. But with time, he learned that in a world where marriages remained cold until the bitter end, a late bloom of happiness was a gift that he should learn to treasure.

It is a girl. Do not ask me why I believe so, husband. I simply do, she had said.

The tomes say a bigger belly is indicative of a boy. I read it, he had countered then.

He stood corrected. Aemond would tell the entire realm that his worldly knowledge did not stand a chance against his wife’s intuition– the little girl he held in his arms was enough support for his claim.

She slept soundly in his arms as he sat in his chair by the hearth. His wife, tired from her taxing labors, had taken to sleeping through most of the last three days, and he had not left his daughter’s side, not once.

He held her head as his mother carried her for the very first time, eyes shining in joy as she thanked them both for making her a grandmother once more. There were very few things that gave Alicent Hightower joy, and watching her children have babes of their own was one of them.

He rested the tip of his fingers over her smooth and frail silver hair as his grandfather took a good look at her, allowing himself a moment with his guard down. Aemond had not seen his grandfather look at anyone with such reverence, not unless it was Helaena, Jaehaera or his own mother. And now, Aemond suspected that his grandfather, for all his cold demeanor, did have a soft corner in his heart for the women of his life.

He had towered over the crib as the twins took turns gawking at her, after spending hours begging to see their new cousin. Aemond brought them after they promised to not make too much noise– both mother and daughter were fast asleep. Jaehaera had asked him if she could braid her hair when she grew some, and Jaehaerys poked at the new babe's nose (her mother's nose) with his thumb in curiosity. Aemond laughed, for he was intrigued by her too– only, it was better contained.

He held her tightly to his chest with his hand over her head as Aegon came to meet his newborn niece– completely sober and bathed, upon Aemond’s threats of murder if he came anywhere near his babe with his foulness. He smiled as he dropped the little dragon toy in her crib, looking over at the exhausted mother who could barely keep her eyes open. Aemond’s one eye followed his brother’s then, and visibly softened at the sight of his wife. Aegon laughed and quipped, “I never thought I’d say this brother, but I suppose you do wear the lovestruck look well.”

He had rocked her in silence as Helaena cooed at her, elated at the thought of becoming an aunt to a niece. This family is in dire need of more women, she had mumbled absentmindedly once. “She’s beautiful,” she whispered and Aemond enthusiastically agreed.

She is beautiful, and she is his. His own daughter, given to him by his own wife.

In the nights, when he was left alone with the women around whom his entire world now revolved, Aemond let tranquility take him. And it was in moments like these, that he learned to love them both with all that he had– blindly, and unconditionally.

It was in moments like these, that he learned to believe.

Flowers have come to Aemond in multiple shapes and forms throughout his marriage, and the sixth flower that she gave to him, came to him in the form of his little daughter. A little flower, from his flower.

The flowers kept coming to him throughout the many years that followed, and he valued every one of them– for they had all come from her, and they were all a part of her.

His flower. His wife. His very own.

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#* #aemond

[daemonsversion]

— George R. R. Martin; The Rogue Prince