#to his half-blind nephew

[muffinlance]

After reading your snippets I usually have kinda weird but upmost entertaining dreams.

Today it was Sokka as a bookshop assistant, doing deliveries. Local Tea Guy was claiming his vision is not as good as it was, so he made his half blind nephew read to him. Half of Iroh's books are self help books, and it took Sokka like, two seconds to get the picture. It helped that during readings Azula kept making dry comments on everything and Iroh was doing miniature embroidery.

Sokka made reports of those readings and gave recommendations on which book fits best to Zuko's feral tone.

Thank you for your stories! I like them very much and you helped me a lot to don't shy away from including seemingly silly/just for fun details into my own art.

All the love <3

This is a whole one shot fic right here, thank you for gifting us with Screen Reader Zuko (Does Not Realize He's Being Tricked Into Being a Self-Help Encyclopedia) on this fine morning

#Iroh moaning over his poor eye sight #to his half-blind nephew #while DOING EMBROIDERY #is peak Iroh #Zuko completely not getting it while Sokka gets it at a glance #also peak Them #Azula doesn't know how she's related to these people but at least she can be confident she got all the Good Genetics #with bonus free entertainment #avatar the last airbender #atla #gift fic

[ewanmitchellcrumbs]

Unbidden

Pairing: Daemon Targaryen x f!reader x Aemond Targaryen Warnings: Cuckolding, voyeurism, smut. Word count: ~3k

Summary: Noticing his nephew's wife appears dissatisfied in her marriage, Daemon sets out to show them both that there is pleasure to be found within the marital bed...

Author's note: No tag list. Please follow @fics-by-ewanmitchellcrumbs and turn on post notifications. Community labels are for cops.

She has scarcely been able to take her eyes off of Daemon since he first arrived at the Red Keep. He possesses the classically handsome features bestowed upon those of Valyrian blood, carries himself with self assured confidence, and embodies an air of dangerous unpredictability which both frightens and excites her in equal measure. Though it is none of these qualities that keep her gaze fixated upon him.

Her interest is piqued by how utterly devoted he is to his wife. When she stood beside her husband, Aemond, in the Great Hall, as Vaemond Velaryon challenged the succession of Driftmark, her attention was focused solely on Daemon and Rhaenyra. He had been glued to her side, his gaze always seeking hers, and when Vaemond had dared to call her a whore and her children “bastards”, he had not hesitated in unsheathing his sword and slicing the man’s head in half. She wonders if her own husband would defend her so staunchly.

She is not blind to their starkly different situations; Daemon and Rhaenyra’s union is one of love, it is plain for all to see. Her and Aemond’s is one of political necessity. Although they have grown fond of each other over the last six months of their marriage, and he has never been unkind to her, she cannot help the jealousy that swirls, ugly and acrid, within her chest at the ease of which her husband’s half sister and his uncle interact with one another.

The two children they have together already, and the one that currently grows within the swell of Rhaenyra’s belly are proof enough of their passion for one another. However, the looks they exchange at the dinner table this evening are smoldering and filled with intent. Their fingers brush against each other as they pass dishes of food between them, and Daemon’s hand seems to find its way to her stomach, caressing her lovingly, unaware he is even doing it.

Her and Aemond’s intimacy is not so effortless, though it is not from a lack of trying on her part. He beds her frequently, and she greets his advances with enthusiasm, yet his stoicism renders him incapable of ever fully losing control. He is receptive to her pleas of “harder”, “faster”, but she is always left with the dissatisfaction of feeling he is holding something back, and outside of their shared bedchamber it is rare that he ever touches her. She has attempted to broach the subject with him before, framing it as a means for them to find greater satisfaction within their marital bed, but he always waves her away dismissively, clearly uncomfortable with the topic.

She can sense something dark and urgent bubbling beneath the surface of him, and longs to draw it out, to experience the full force of the fire of the dragon that runs through his veins, but she does not know how to entice it. 

It had appeared prominent in his seeing eye as Dark Sister had cleaved the Velaryon man’s skull in twain, a potent mixture of bloodlust and desire, as his pupil had dilated ever so slightly. It had sent a shiver up her spine, heat pooling between her thighs, causing her to squeeze them together to fend off the dull, throbbing ache.

She longs for that look to be cast upon her, for her to be the recipient of whatever wrath that follows, and now she is sure that it is Daemon that holds the key to coaxing the darker side of her husband out to play.

The dinner is a tense affair. Aemond sits beside her, so tightly wound she is sure the lightest of touches would cause him to shatter like glass. When he finally loses his cool, throwing barbed words towards his nephews, resulting in an exchange of blows, the evening draws to an abrupt close, with each of them being dismissed to their respective quarters. As they depart the dining hall, her husband and his uncle lock eyes, a smirk of amusement flashing briefly across Daemon’s features as Aemond’s nostrils flare in irritation.

She can feel the heat of his anger radiating from him as he strides through the corridors of Maegor’s Holdfast, scurrying alongside him in an attempt to match his pace. That look has returned and with it her desperate feeling of lust. If she doesn’t seize the opportunity now, then she is unsure of when it will present itself again.

Reaching out for her husband, she grasps his elbow, her fingers taut against the leather sleeve of his tunic. His steps falter and he turns to look at her quizzically, chest heaving with the laboured breaths of his barely concealed rage.

“What is it?” He snaps.

Instinctively, she shrinks back, second guessing her decision as she sees the way he glares down at her, lip curled into a snarl. Despite her fear, she reminds herself that this is the side of Aemond she had been seeking, and leans into him, placing her hands upon his chest.

“I want you,” she whispers, gazing up at him pleadingly.

“Not here,” he sighs, his expression softening, as he gently grasps her hands in his, moving them back to her sides.

Though she remains outwardly calm, in spite of her disappointment, internally she feels so frustrated she could scream. The look she craves is gone, he has rebuffed her advances and she knows that once more she is destined to an evening where he will treat her as though she is made of bone china.

“I believe you were told to return to your quarters.”

The intrusion of Daemon’s voice causes Aemond to take a quick step backwards, away from her, as she turns to look. He stands before them in the corridor, posture rigid and chin raised up ever so slightly, giving the impression that he is looking down his nose at them both.

“We are on our way,” Aemond responds icily, drawing himself to his full height and staring down his uncle.

The smallest of smiles tugs at the corners of Daemon’s mouth, clearly unphased by his nephew’s hostile demeanour. “I shall escort you both, to ensure there is no further delay.”

Before either one of them has the opportunity to protest, he steps forward, one hand reaching for Aemond’s shoulder, while he places the other at the small of her back. Aemond wrenches away, huffing irritably as he continues walking. She makes no such effort to struggle away from Daemon’s touch, his fingers feeling like a brand against her flesh through the fabric of her dress. 

The three of them walk in uncomfortable silence, the only sound is the echo of their footsteps against the flagstone floor. Her eyes widen in surprise when they reach her and Aemond’s shared chambers and, instead of bidding them goodnight, Daemon follows them inside, closing the doors behind them.

Aemond stares at him quizzically, eye narrowed. “What are you doing, Uncle? If you are here to reprimand me for what was said at dinner then–”

“I am here for your wife, actually,” he interrupts, turning his head towards her as his eyes move from her head to her feet and back up again.

She feels her skin grow hot under the intensity of his gaze, swallowing thickly as he regards her as a cat would a mouse.

“What do you want with my wife?” Aemond asks, his voice lowering in quiet threat.

It is the first time she has ever heard her husband speak of her so possessively and it makes her pulse race. She wants more of this, there is an intense thrill to having the attention of two Targaryen men placed solely upon her.

“Do not think I have not noticed,” Daemon says to her, ignoring Aemond as he continues to stare at her. “You have been ogling me all day. Why?”

Embarrassment prickles at her, and she lowers her gaze. Her voice is small and pitiful sounding to her ears as she answers. “Forgive me, My Prince. I did not mean to stare.”

“Look at me when you speak to me,” he commands, “and answer the question.”

She exhales shakily, lifting her eyes to meet his. His stare is piercing, his eyes darkened and predatory in the low lighting of her and Aemond’s apartments.

“I found myself…rather taken by how you engage with Princess Rhaenyra. You are quite affectionate with one another.”

Daemon’s brow furrows slightly as he cocks his head in curiosity. “Does your own husband not show you affection?”

A wave of sadness washes over her, causing her shoulders to sag at the reminder of the lack of intimacy between her and Aemond. She spares him a glance, noticing he has not moved from where he stands. His expression could be mistaken for neutral were it not for the fury that rages tempestuously within his seeing eye as he glares at his uncle.

Drawing in a deep breath, she looks back to Daemon, answering simply, honestly: “no.” Shame shrouds her, suffocating and dense, feeling the overwhelming urge to cry, her head dipping as she focuses on the spot where the hem of her skirts meets the stone floor. She cannot bear to look at either man, knowing she has spoken out of turn about her husband, not just in front of him, but to his uncle as well.

She gasps as Daemon steps forward, crowding her space, his finger crooking beneath her chin to lift her face up towards his. The touch of him makes her knees buckle slightly and she leans back against the table behind her for support, no longer trusting her legs to keep her upright. “What a brave little thing you are,” he whispers, an edge to his voice that twists her stomach into knots.

“I–I am sorry,” she stammers, eyes flitting nervously between her husband and his uncle. “I should not have–”

“There is nothing wrong with expressing your wants, your desires,” Daemon reassures her. “Perhaps my nephew just needs a little help in learning how best to please his wife?”

She squeals in surprise as he grasps the backs of her thighs, lifting her until she is seated upon the edge of the table she had been leaning against. Lips parted and eyes wide, she turns her head towards Aemond, and though his fists are clenched at his sides, his breathing accelerated in silent fury, he makes no move to stop what is happening. That look from earlier has returned, ravenous and half crazed, she interprets it as silent consent, wanting to do all she can to keep it fixed upon her.

“What of your wife? Will she not mind you…helping us?” She asks timidly, as Daemon’s hands make quick work of rucking her skirts up around her hips.

He chuckles drily in response, dragging her smallclothes down her legs, allowing them to dangle from a single ankle. “You and Aemond have much to learn, sweet girl. Fucking is a pleasure, and Rhaenyra does not mind how or with whom we seek it, as long as our loyalties do not falter.”

The very idea seems scandalous to her, yet wetness gathers between her legs all the same. Aemond has now taken up the seat beside the fireplace, watching them both intently, his stare unblinking and fiery. 

Daemon’s fingers travel up her legs, until they reach the insides of her thighs. His fingers are thicker than Aemond’s, his touch is calloused and rough, where Aemond’s is deft, yet hesitant. His fingertips dig into her soft flesh, hard enough to bruise as he pries her legs apart, a hum of approval rumbling in his throat at the arousal he finds glistening there.

“Does your husband make you this wet?” He asks with gentle curiosity.

She nods enthusiastically, looking over at Aemond and seeing a small, prideful smile ghost quickly across his lips before disappearing.

“Good,” Daemon tells her. “No problems there then.”

His fingertips swipe through her sodden folds, his middle finger quick to locate her pearl and circle it with precision. The movement makes her tense, a jolt of pleasure causing her hips to buck as she mewls helplessly.

“Does he touch you like this?”

“N–no…” she whimpers in response.

“Hmm,” Daemon glances over his shoulder, before looking back at her. “Well, ensure he does in future. I am sure he will; he is paying close attention.”

Looking back over at Aemond, she feels herself clench around nothing, her desire building with a steady, rhythmic ache as she sees the lacings of his trousers strain against his hardness. He is enjoying watching this, lips slightly parted and eye hooded. The sight of it rids her of the last of her inhibitions as Daemon moves his focus away from her bud and dares to push his two forefingers inside of her. She tilts her head back, gripping the edge of the table tightly as she feels her muscles stretch to accommodate him.

“You must be prepared, thoroughly, before you are fucked,” he murmurs against the shell of her ear.

Her mind is foggy, struggling to comprehend Daemon’s words as he presses the pads of his fingers upwards, dragging them against a spot inside of her that causes her toes to curl and moisture to trickle down onto the tabletop. Does he really mean to fuck her? Surely that would be a step too far? Yet she finds it difficult to care when he is pushing her towards the precipice of pleasure itself with simply his fingers. Her mind reels with the possibility of what it would feel like to be stretched out around his cock.

As his fingers pump faster, she moves her hips in tandem, chasing the urgently building pressure that is growing inside of her. He pulls them from her suddenly, causing her to whine in frustration at being robbed of her peak.

Daemon grins wolfishly as his hands move to unfasten his breeches. “I think we have learned enough in that regard, and are ready to move on.”

She averts her gaze as he frees himself, her eyes finding Aemond’s, another silent check in for consent. His throat bobs as he swallows, his knuckles almost white with the force of the grip he has on the armrests of where he sits, but he makes no move to stop what is happening.

Her hands grasp at Daemon’s shoulders as he sheathes himself inside of her, knocking the air from her lungs. Aemond and his uncle are similar in many respects, but this is a matter in which the pair of them could not be more different.

It is odd to her that, despite being between her thighs, he has not tried to kiss her. Whether it is a mark of respect for hers and Aemond’s marriage, or simply because he does not want to, she is unsure, but she is grateful for his abstinence. A kiss seems too intimate a gesture, there is nothing sweet about this.

Daemon sets a brutal pace, once she has had a moment to adjust, rocking into her with a force that causes the table legs to scrape loudly against the hard floor. He is so much more self assured than her husband, utterly unafraid to violate her, and it is freeing to be handled so roughly.

She moans wantonly as he moves a hand to wrap around her throat, applying gentle pressure at the sides. “Do not be afraid to be a little unrestrained,” Daemon grits out, a statement clearly not meant for her, even though his eyes bore into hers. “I have yet to bed a woman who does not enjoy it.”

He has the right of it. The hand around her throat, coupled with the almost violent manner in which he thrusts inside of her is dizzying and, as he slips a hand between them to stroke at her pearl once more, she knows she will not last long. It has never been this intense with Aemond before; a lack of experience, coupled with a fear of hurting her means he is always gentle, hesitant where he need not be. 

The grip on her throat tightens, the ministrations against her bud grow more insistent as she feels Daemon pulsate inside of her, his jaw clenching at the telltale sign that he is close. With a final, harsh thrust of his hips, she cries out in ecstasy as the warmth of his seed spills inside of her, triggering her own release as she tightens around him in rapid, successive pulses.

“Good girl,” he mutters quietly.

He is quick to pull out of her, as she leans back against her palms, pliant and breathless from the experience. She barely registers Daemon tucking himself away and slipping out of the chamber doors, as Aemond moves into view, standing before her.

Under ordinary circumstances, the wrathful insanity she sees reflected in his blue eye would frighten her, but tonight it has butterflies fluttering ceaselessly in her lower belly. His hand moves to the back of her head, gripping her hair tightly by the roots, tugging her head forcefully backwards. Her yelp of pain is stifled by him pressing his lips firmly against hers, his tongue licking against her own in a kiss that is more a desperate display of possession than a loving embrace.

“You are mine,” he breathes, letting go of her momentarily to tug at the lacings of his trousers.

“Yours,” she whispers back, satisfied excitement causing her pulse to thrum at the knowledge she has unleashed the side of Aemond she has always longed for.

Daemon’s spend has begun to dribble out of her, and as she watches the head of her husband’s cock push it forcefully back inside of her, she knows he will remind her every night from now on exactly which Targaryen Prince it is that she belongs to.

#aemond x reader #daemon x reader #aemond targaryen x reader #daemon targaryen x reader #aemond x you #daemon x you #aemond targaryen x you #daemon targaryen x you #aemond x y/n #daemon x y/n #aemond targaryen x y/n #daemon targaryen x y/n #aemond #daemon #aemond smut #daemon smut #aemond targaryen #daemon targaryen #aemond targaryen smut #daemon targaryen smut #aemond targaryen imagine #daemon targaryen imagine #aemond imagine #daemon imagine #aemond targaryen fan fiction #daemon targaryen fan fiction #aemond targaryen fanfiction #daemon targaryen fanfiction #aemond targaryen fan fic #daemon targaryen fan fic

[absurduty]

SAINTLIKE | AEMOND TARGARYEN X READER

a b r i d g e m e n t : when you, now a Lannister, return to King’s Landing, Aemond ensures you won’t leave.

TW: smut, groping, mentions of anal, penetration, oral (fem receiving), degradation mixed with praise???, creampie, breeding, slight cum eating

CREDITS FOR THE AEMOND PICTURE TO ultravi0l3t on Pinterest!

TAGLIST: @toodlesxcuddles , @imsoshygirl

“Gods, Helaena,” you sigh softly, spraying your perfume on your dress. your slender fingers continue to spray it on your neck, behind your ears and the inside of your wrists. “It feels strangely comforting to get away from all that gold up in Casterly Rock.”

“I’ve missed you, sister.” she said in response, sitting on your bed with her eyes focused on her sewing. "But Aemond missed you more.”

“I'm sure he did,” you say softly, biting your cheek to prevent a smile from spreading. your eyes flickered to the bed Helaena was sitting on. the chambers Aemond had snuck a thousand times in to get some comfort to sleep. “Do you have any-"

“The dragon eats the lion,” your little sister suddenly interrupted you, looking up from her sewings. “The lion is blinded by pride, but the dragon is blinded by rage.”

you dropped the perfume on the floor, dumbfounded by Helaena's interruption.

“Come again?” you asked softly, careful as to not undermine her. you knew better than to undermine her sayings after the time she proclaimed Aemond had to close an eye. “What are you talking about, sweet sister?”

she only hummed, and sprayed some perfume to the back of your knees as you lifted up your dress.

"I will see you at supper, sister." she dismissed your question with a gentle tone, standing up.

you bid her goodbye, your confusion present to what it meant. However, you shook it off. Your boys were with the Septa, Aemond was practicing his swordsmanship, Aegon was doing god knows what...

you readied your hair again, making certain the curls at the bottom were luscious enough. you then headed out to the halls, your flat flootwear tapping against the ground with each step you take.

“Aunt y/n!” you heard a masculine voice call out, causing you to turn your head at the voice. you recognised the two brown-haired princes instantly.

“Nephews,” you smile warmly, embracing Lucerys first. you rubbed his back and asked him how he was doing, to which he delightfully replied that he’s officially betrothed to Rhaena.

you rise up again and turn to the eldest, Jacaerys. you could have sworn you saw him blush, but you knew better than to act as if you know the truth. you engulfed him into a hug, your scent rubbing off on him. “How have you been?”

he blinked twice, his mouth slightly parted at seeing you again. “Good, auntie.” he said softly, attempting to stand tall and noble.

“Good.” you nodded respectfully, trying to brush them off politely. “If you’ll excuse me, I have some urgent business with your mother.”

they both nodded, and scurried off to the courtyard, you knew that if you mentioned you’d be visiting your dear brother’s chamber, all you’d hear are subtle sighs of annoyance and whines disguised as uncertainty.

you treated down the grand halls again, finally reaching his chambers. there were no guards, strangely enough, and you took the liberty of opening the door, entering, and shutting it behind you.

“Sister.” his voice startles you, causing you to turn around. “What brings you here?”

“Aemond,” you smiled, trying not to let your eyes flicker to his tunic less form, stepping a few steps closer to look him up in the eyes. “You are attending supper, are you not?”

“Why wouldn’t I be?” he asked gravelly, his hands sliding down to the small of your back. you tried to avoid it, but you felt a small sense of arousal affecting your thoughts. “After all, nothing more than a supper with… family.”

“Aemond,” you whisper, as if he had just said a sentence condemning the gods. “No matter how you think about it they are still Rhaenyra’s. Half Targaryen.”

“Is that what she told you after you confronted her?” he asked huskily, his hands sliding down to your hips. “That her fucking a strong was just, and that they’re still half-fucking-Valyrian?”

“Aemond, stop,” you say in a hushed tone, feeling his other hand run across your stomach area, covered by the dress, unable to feel your full breasts due to the material of your dress. “We shouldn’t. My lord husband-”

he broke off your sentence by pressing his lips upon yours, his tall figure looking over you as if it was a shadow, your face in his hands as if it were a precious gem needing to be cradled.

“Your craven of a husband is out fucking whores, not seeing the absolute fucking beauty he has in front of him,” he murmured between kisses, his slender hands working to unbutton your dress. “But it’s fine, I suppose. You were meant to be mine anyways. Meant to be carrying my children.”

you tried not to kiss back, you really did, but his hand crept up the second your dress was dropped, and kneaded your breasts. then he took advantage of your little gasp as to slip his tongue inside. you let out soft moans, your hand flying to his hair.

“Perfect, rōva mandia,” he coos, his hand once again switching positions to rub at your asscheeks and hips. “After 4 sons, you've remained sensitive. That cunt of a Lannister must have not pleased you enough, has he?”

the only thing you could do was shake your head, placing little kisses on his neck and face which in all honesty, were adorable to him. your eyes looked at him so purely, yet he couldn’t see you as anything other than a vixen born to seduce him.

“Be a dear and show your little brother what he has missed,” he whispered in your ear, and you obliged rather quickly, crawling onto the bed, your tight little back-hole showing for him.

“Hm,” was all he said as he took his time stepping, coming to rub one of your ass cheeks as he took a look at your tight asshole. “We'll have countless nights to do that.”

you were about to open your mouth, before he tenderly turned your body over, leaning in to lick the corners of your lips, purposely drooling some of his saliva into your mouth.

“The gods have made us be together, for they know how we belong.” he murmured in between planting kisses on your jaw and throat. “You belong in black and red. I’ll give you the gold anytime you desire it.”

you grow even wetter at his words, pushing your hips up to rub yourself against his already rock-hard cock prominent through his breeches. the feeling did not last long, as one of his hands moved from gripping the sheet next to your head, to pinning your hips down.

“Oh, do you desire me now, rōva mandia?” he whispered, brushing your nose against his. “I’ve grown, sister. I am a man now. A man worthy of you.”

his lips kissed the top of your breasts, before latching onto your nipple, swirling his tongue around it while he kneaded and pinched the other with his hand.

“Ae-aemond,” you whine, your eyes trained on his bulge. you looked up at him and you couldn’t look more possibly beautiful than now. “Fuck me, please.”

“Patience, sister,” he rubbed your stomach, his other kneading your tits. you whined but quickly stopped once he brushed some hair out of your face. “You’ll be given my cock, but beforehand I'll have to taste your sweet essence I’ve been thinking about for years.”

“Aemond, I need it,” you begged him, rubbing your foot all over his crotch to rile him up. “I need you.”

he only let out a satisfied hum, kissing each toe and trailing up to your calves, knees, thighs up until his big hands spread them apart.

you remained too aroused to properly function, letting out a deep breath when his tongue only took one lick of your folds. what followed after was his thumb rubbing your sensitive pussy, having you let out fast breaths.

“Are you not used to having anything other than your husband’s cock touching your cunny?” he asked mockingly, placing a kiss on your wet folds. “Of course not, my sweet sister deserves to get fucked like a whore, and treated like a princess.”

you let out a whine at his words, practically thrusting your hips into his face. he licked at your folds and used the muscles of his tongue to fuck into you pleasurably. he let out a few grunts himself as if he was tasting the sweetest essence ever known. his hand rubbed up and down your thigh as you wrapped them around his head.

he continued tongue-fucking you, occasionally stopping to suck on your sensitive bud, his big hand continued to caress and massage your thighs, slurping up your sweet taste. you let out the most melodious moans he has ever known.

“Valonqar,” you moaned out, thrusting your hips against his face. he sucked and swirled his tongue against your clit. your muscles clench around him tighter and tighter, feeling something build up in your stomach. your body tensed up as his tongue gave his final thrusts.

“Come for me, rōva mandia, come hard for your brother,” he murmured, his tongue making his final trust on your stimulated clit. “Scream my name.”

you finally bursted, your orgasm washing over your. half of the juice shot down Aemond's throat and the other half drooled down his chin. he eagerly slurped up your juices, before rubbing his cum-covered chin against your breasts, rubbing the cum off on your breasts.

“My sister, my love,” he coos, kissing the shell of your ear. “The best woman to give my cock to.”

he got rid of his breeches and pulled out his hardened member, throbbing with pre-cum. he let out a soft hiss as it rubbed against your entrance, teasing you endlessly.

“We should stop,” you say softly. “Anyone could come i- ah!”

you let out a gasp as he began to began to circle your sensitive button with the tip of his erection. his hands were placed on your waist, pinning you down.

“Let them,” he murmured close to your lips, his unoccupied hand coming up to trace his thumb over your bottom lip. “Let them see how a dragon has claimed another dragon. As it should be.”

you moan loudly, feeling him push his fat head into your throbbing pussy. his cock was much better than your lord husband’s, thrusting slowly into your tight heat. his face cane close again to plant suck and kiss on your jawline, holding your face to the side.

“My sister is too beautiful,” he murmured in between occasional quiet grunts, feeling you deeper with each trust. “The only cunt that’s perfect for me.”

he could feel you tightening around him, your sweet eyes looking up at him. his one eye met yours, locking eyes intensely. your gasps and moans, accompanied by clapping sounds lingered around the room. his hand creeped down to knead your breasts, brushing a thumb over your hard nipple. his hips went upwards to thrust deeper. he could hear those telltale cries of ecstasy, and basked in it.

“You wish for me to put a babe inside of you?” he asks mockingly, rubbing your cheek against his hand. “Of course you do. You’re mine, and once that husband of yours knows his place, we will be wed.”

you clenched around him, juices already wetting his cock inside of you. your eyes roll to the back of your head as his hand rubbed your clit. you looked up at him once again, and he looked majestic and vulgarly gorgeous. his hair sticking to his forehead, not as straight anymore now that it’s wet. you were a sight for sore eyes to him as well, your dark hair messy and disheveled, your cheeks red and your neck scattered in hickeys.

after a few moments, you came undone, spilling against his cock. not soon after, he slowed his thrust and shot his load inside of you, a part of him forever embedded within your womb.

“Too beautiful,” he murmured, planting kisses all over your breasts and collarbone. “You have been mine since we were children. You were meant to be my betrothed. Tis I who has always loved you.”

you only smiled, but even that made his heart flutter and his cock twitch. he slowly engulfed you into a kiss, slipping his cock outside of you.

“My children have taken a liking to you,” you smile, rubbing your nose against his. “I’d love for you to stay by our side.”

“Which I will do,” he replied, his big hand rubbing your stomach. “After all, they ought to meet one of their own.”

you were about to attempt to stand up on shaky legs, but his veined hands cupped your face and slowly pinned you back down.

“Do not clean yourself up, rōva mandia,” his melodic voice ringed. “Let us depart to supper with my seed, deep inside of you. The bastard might realise how little chance he makes with you.”

#aemond targaryen #aemond x fem!reader #fanfiction #house of the dragon #jacaerys velaryon #aegon targaryen #aemond one eye #aemond smut #aemond x reader #asoiaf #targaryen #aemond x you #dorne #jacaerys x you #hotd jacaerys #hotd smut #hotd x reader #hotd x you #hotd x y/n #hotd x oc

[sofasoap]

Teddy Bear

Pairing: John Price x F! Reader

Summary: You bump into a handsome stranger while shopping. meet cute.

Warning: M Theme. VERY slight mention of Innuendoes. Alcohol use. assumptions.

A/N: for @a-small-writer-in-a-big-world, hope this will give you a tiny etsy warm fuzzy feeling with our dear Johnathan Price.

not beta'ed or proof read.

Master list

“Aunty Bear! Come on!!”

Letting out a sigh, half regretting letting your adorable niece and nephew have the free rein to choose any present they want as they drag you by the pants through aisle after aisle at the local department store. 

You haven’t seen your sister’s family for over a year. You were astonished how big they have grown in the time between, especially your little niece. Seems only yesterday you were cradling her in your arm as a newborn, and now her little feet can zoom around faster than a sports car, even her six year old brother is having hard time keeping up. 

 “Alright alright, steady there, I can’t keep up with you when I can’t see where I am going!” you warned the little girl as you adjusted the oversized teddy bear in your arms, at the same time trying to navigate blindly. At the end you just give up and let her pull whichever direction she leads you. 

Suddenly you collide with an obstacle, sending you reeling. A strong muscular arm caught you in time before you fell onto the shelves.  

“Apologies, are you alright there?” A deep husky voice above your head asks as they try to steady your footing, and only to let go after they are sure both of your feet are firmly back on the ground again. 

Your face heats up as soon as you lift your head up to take a good peek at your saviour ( or victim of your blind walking ), gezez he is tall, you thought. Very handsome too. Nicely groomed beard, piercing blue eyes, slight wrinkles around his eyes and between brows. He must frown pretty often. 

“Ohh, aunty look, he’s got a furry face!” your two year old niece pointed at the stranger, as she stared at him with wonder. 

“That’s called a beard Lizzy, not fur.” your nephew corrected his sister, rolling his eyes. 

“Actually that is a mutton chop.. “ you blurted out without thinking. Seconds later  your eyes grew wide, realising what you just said.  

‘Shit um, sorry, uh, I apologise.. Sorry to run into you. And Um, commenting on your…” you dropped the large teddy bear on the floor, while one hand covering your mouth, waving around towards his beard, horrified. 

The handsome stranger chuckled. “It’s ok. It’s always been a talking point. I am used to it.” 

Embarrassed beyond words, you shake your head. You swallowed hard before you squeezed more words of apology out of your mouth.

“Really it’s Ok. I know it’s hard to chase around the kids when your hands are full.” he commented.

“From experience?” you asked, eyebrows raised, and feeling that slight ping of disappointment in your heart. He must be married. You thought. You took a quick glance at his left hand. No rings. Your heart soars again.

“ I guess chasing and yelling after three adults that behave like kids you can count as that.” He replied as he let out a short laugh. “Especially ones that don't follow your command when they are off duty.” 

Seeing your brows knitted together with confusion at his comment, “ My subordinate. Those three are like my sons.” he smiled softly. 

You swear the room spun a bit after seeing his smile. Or are you swooning? 

Get your brain straight! You mentally slap yourself. You are here shopping for presents, not ogling on eligible or dateable people!

You felt your nephew tugging at your clothes, snapping you out of your internal dialogue. “Aunty Bear, I am hungry, can we go home and have lunch please?” he pouted. 

“Ah um, ok, let’s go and pay for this and we can go home, ya?” you replied, ready to bend down to pick up the teddy bear from the floor. A shadow loomed over you. The stranger had bent over, arms out. 

“I’ll carry that for you, if you don’t mind. Also be easier to hold onto your niece as well.” he gestured. 

Gosh how nice can this man be? You ran into him, and now he is offering to help you to carry your purchase? 

You nodded your head, whispered a thanks, before you turned and picked your niece up into your arms. 

The stranger picks the teddy bear up under his arm with ease, while your nephew carries the rest of the items, as four of you walk towards the register. 

“Aunty … he’s like a real giant teddy bear..” your niece whispered into your ear. “And his arms are furry too, just like his face.” 

The stranger turned around, “My chest is quite furry too. And legs. Just like a real bear.” he added with a mischievous smile.

Your face burnt with embarrassment. Is he trying to flirt with you? There is no way. NOPE. 

You speed up your pace to get to the register, even more embarrassed.   

“Daddy and mummy buying presents for you two?” the old lady at the register asked the children with a smile as she ring up the items. 

“Oh no no no we are not… “ “she’s not…I am just helping her..“ both of you shake your head, denying. Your face heated up again at the thought.  How much more embarrassment can you take today? But part of your heart is actually amused at the situation.

“Oh sorry.. Just four of you look so lovely together..” the lady apologised. “Sorry to make the assumption.” 

You took a peek at the stranger as he accepted the apology and gracefully redirected the conversation with the lady with little chit-chat.  

He was even nice enough to help you to carry everything to the car, “Need help to put it into the boot, wife?”  he joked as he flashes you a smile. 

“Ah, thanks, um uh,  you shouldn’t have.” you stuttered slightly hearing his joke. You pop the boot open, letting him stuff the large teddy bear in. “I ran into you and here you are helping me, I feel very bad. So um, Can I buy you a coffee or something as an apology and as a thanks for the help?” 

A sad apologetic smile appeared on his face. Looking at his watch he replied, “It’s Ok. I have to leave soon. Plus,” he pointed at the two children standing beside you, pouting. “I think they are getting bit.. What is the word, hangry? So I think it’s time to feed them.” 

Disappointment hits you. The one time you raise your courage to ask someone, you get turned down. 

“Maybe next time?” he suddenly asked. 

“Oh. Um. I .. I am not from around here. I am only here to visit my sister and family..” 

Now is that a look of disappointment on his face? 

“Oh. That’s fine. Well, nice to meet you. Have a safe drive home.” Giving you a final wave as you double check the children are buckled into their seats, you drive out from the car park, while the stranger is still standing at the same spot, seeing you off. 

Oh well. Not meant to be. You convinced yourself. Suppressing that sadness that is bubbling up within you. 

Your sister was ecstatic when you told her you found a new job nearby. She often complaints about how the children misses you, how she misses you, and the job opportunity around the city is better than the one you are currently living in, plus she has a granny flat in her backyard, you save a bit on rent, get to stay with your family while still have your own private space. Tonight a group of you decided to go out and celebrate one of your workmate’s birthday. And you always wanted to check out this particular bar that always seems to be full of people. Everyone you asked raved about the good selection of drink and food. “And maybe you might meet that handsome stranger again!” your friend joked.

You rolled your eyes. You knew you shouldn’t have let that story out. It’s been nearly over a year. They might have moved on. They might have forgotten about you. Surely in such a big city, the chance of bumping into the same person is quite slim. 

“It’s your birthday! I’ll get your next drink!” you wave at your friend, declining her offer of money as you jump off the stool, ready to get your second pint of beer.  As soon as you turned around, you bumped into a wall of broad chest. The stranger caught you just in time, and pulled you into his chest to prevent you from falling. You felt his chest rumble as he chuckled. You recognise that laugh. 

“Hello teddy bear lady, we really should stop meeting like this.”

Oh deary me. Maybe luck is on your side. 

tag list :

@a-small-writer-in-a-big-world @homicidal-slvt

@floral-force @okayyadriana @cumikering @siilvan

@random-thot-generator @random0lover @devcica @jynxmirage @nrdmssgs @glitterypirateduck @rileyslibrarian

@mistydeyes, @groguspicklejar,

@whydoilikewhump @captainpriceslover, @tapioca-marzipan

#call of duty #captain john price #john price x you #john price x reader #john price imagine #john price #john price x y/n #captain price x reader #captain price #captain price x y/n #captain john price x reader #captain john price x you #captain john price x female reader #sofasoap writes

[alchemistc]

Wayne teaching a pleading Eddie about baseball in the heat of the summer because Steve has spent months investing in all of Eddie's special interests and Eddie has come to the terrible realization that he's mostly shit on Steve's music and hobbies for most of their friendship so he buys tickets to a baseball game on a whim as a "surprise sorry I'm a shitty friend" gift except like, he doesn't have a fucking clue about sports in general and he doesn't want to look STUPID.

Wayne, with a put upon sigh, sitting in his recliner and declining to comment on the tiny green shorts Eddie is wearing because the last time he brought up Steve's propensity for leaving his goddamn clothes in Eddie's room all the time Eddie had iced him out for three whole days. The trailer doesn't have AC and it's hot as hell so whatever, if Eddie wants to continue to deny that Harrington is clearly leaving bits of himself behind to test out the waters then Wayne isn't going to push it.

Wayne, trying to explain infield and outfield and pitchers and catchers ("Okay I know that one," Eddie says with a wiggle of his eyebrows and Wayne scowls.) and runners and scoring and innings.

Harrington's Beemer pulling up on a Friday afternoon and Wayne greeting him at the door while Steve asks Wayne if he knows what Eddie has planned and Wayne shrugs because he still doesn't understand why they need a day and a half to make it to the game, and Eddie's excited for this surprise.

Wayne waking up on Sunday afternoon to the sound of the trailer door slamming open, laying in bed listening to hushed voices and the sounds of bacon frying on the stove, rolling out of bed to find his nephew still wearing his damn sunglasses inside, so clearly they'd had themselves a good time, and then Wayne blinks and his eyes focus and -

"What the hell are you wearing, kid?" he asks and Eddie yelps, bangs his head on the open cabinet door, hisses when the movement knocks the glasses off his nose and the light hits his eyes and Wayne very carefully does not mention the way Harrington presses in close to examine Eddie's head, fingers pressing into Eddie's hair and it's a familiar closeness but there's definitely still something more there than there was two days ago.

His nephew is wearing a goddamned Cubs jersey in his goddamn house and Steve's eyes flit to the Cardinals hat hung on the wall with growing comprehension and possibly a little terror.

"Everyone knows the merch is half the experience, Wayne," Eddie tells him and Wayne contemplates snacking him upside the head because his goddamn nephew has had the audacity to fall in love with a goddamn Cubbie fan. Right under his roof.

Over breakfast Steve explains the rivalry and has to stop himself from talking shit about the Cards more than once. Wayne admires his restraint but nearly shoves his own head right in the oven when it turns out Steve had likened everything Eddie didn't understand about the game to DnD scenarios and managed to make a fan out of Eddie.

Wayne doesn't have the heart to threaten to burn the jersey. Not when Eddie is making connections between the Curse and one of his old campaigns and Steve is staring at his nephew with such a helplessly fond look that Wayne feels like he's interrupting something.

Not when they suddenly have a standing appointment to sit around their small TV, Eddie in his Cubs jersey and Wayne with his Cards hat firmly pulled over his head and Steve in between them quietly drinking his beer while Eddie yells at the ump through the TV about a called strike that is "Clearly off the plate, man, are you BLIND?"

Not when Eddie comes in late one morning and leans against the door with two fingers absentmindedly pressed to his lips and suddenly Steve's over most nights, hooking his ankle over Eddie's and curling his fingers into Eddie's and stumbling over sudden sirs again even though Wayne thought he'd curbed that months ago.

He does, however, draw the line when Eddie tries to give him a Cubs hat for his birthday.

#waynes from missouri because i say so and its fucking hilarious to think of him finally finding something to bond with eddie over #only for him to be a goddamn cubs fan #when the cubbies finally win the ws eddie calls to crow about it and threatens to buy him a replica ring #steddie headcanon #wayne munson #eddie munson #steve harrington #30+40 yr old eddie munson collecting bobble heads of cubs players and dropping by waynes to leave them around like a taunt

[cdragons]

Warmth & Stories - Aemond Targaryen x Wildling!Reader

Next Part

Summary: Love can bloom in the most unusual ways. The love between a stoic prince from the South and a wildling storyteller will be written in history as one of the strangest but truest of loves.

Author's Notes: To my very lovely and wonderful friend and beta reader Bel, aka @valeskafics, I hope you had a wonderful Christmas and New Year's! This is the first part of this fic gift I wanted to give you, and I promise the next part will have smut! I hope you like this fic and can feel my love and appreciation for you. Bel, you are one of my favorite writers of all time and a huge reason I began posting fanfics and writing in the first place. I am so grateful that you opened a whole new world for me, and I hope this year gives you lots of happiness.

Warning(s): Slight cursing, Reader's parents were killed, Daemon's an ass, Viserys is a negligent father, Westeros is Westeros, dysfunctional family shenanigans

Prince Aemond Targaryen was known to be many things. Proud. Serious. Studious. All things one should be proud of in a young man’s position. Every single one of his teachers and wet nurses sung praises of the young prince since he began to toddle. And although it might seem cruel to admit it, the second prince was the apple of the Queen’s eye and the clear favorite of her four children.

Her sweet Aemond was a mild, studious young boy who practiced his faith in the Seven despite his blood lineage belonging to the Old Gods of Valryia. Besides Aegon, he had always been respectful to his siblings–especially to his elder sister, Helaena. Aemond would often humor his sister’s strange ramblings and gift her with little creatures he found as he wandered the ancient walls of the Red Keep. Helanea, despite all her reclusiveness, only seemed comfortable enough to be touched with her younger brother and often offered comfort whenever he complained about how unfair it was that he still had no dragon. His sister was as fond of her younger brother as he was of her and would usually humor his requests.

Except now.

“Please?” Aemond had been pleading for over an hour, reaching a point where most would pity him.

“No,” replied his sister sternly, “I’ve already told you my answer won’t change.”

“But why?” he pathetically asked as his voice cracked. It was good that Aegon was still in his room, too drunk to start the day. Aemond would never have lived it down without allowing his brother to see him like this. “I won’t ask for anything else from you, I swear it.”

“No, absolutely not.”

“But why?” demanded Aemond. “I would never harm (Y/N). Name one person in the Seven Kingdoms who would treat her better than I?”

Too upset by his sister’s refusal, the prince stormed out of the room in a near-blind rage.

(Y/N) (Y/L/N) was no noblewoman or someone with any particularly wealthy connections or background. You weren’t even someone born within the Walls in the North.

No, you were from a tribe of wildings that hailed outside the Wall and were brought within the borders after your parents were caught stealing. The Starks decided to spare when they realized their daughter was just a tiny child with an incredible talent for storytelling. Within a year, the tales that Y/N wove with her tongue had reached the ears of Aemond’s father, King Viserys of House Targaryen. The King was fascinated by the young girl beyond the Wall, who spun tales of giants and spirits from the Land of Always Winter. He spared no expense in bringing you to King’s Landing.

Aemond could remember the day so clearly, as you arrived very shortly after his bastard nephew took his eye in Driftmark, and his father did nothing but protect his whore of a half-sister. When brought into the keep, you could hardly present yourself to a room full of nobles, let alone the King. You stood before his father and family barefoot and filthy. Your clothes looked closer to rags and torn cloth, and your (h/c) mane was wild with a few braids and feathers. But that hardly mattered. As soon as you opened your mouth, it was as if everyone in the Great Hall had been transported to another world.

The story you told started with a young princess given a toy soldier named the “Nussknacker.” The young princess loved her little toy soldier so much that her sweet Nussknacker came to life one night. He told the princess a prince to a winter wonderland full of fairies, sugar plums, and magic. His home had been overtaken by a maniacal Rattenkönig, and he turned the prince into his current form. The soldier and princess had to face many trials, but they were successful in defeating the evil Rattenkönig and saving the prince’s kingdom. The Nussknacker turned back into the handsome prince he had always been, and he and the princess married to lead his kingdom into prosperity.

By the time you finished telling your story, the Royal court went ablaze with applause. Your pretty words and skillful tongue enraptured every noble. They longed to hear more of your stories and were starved for entertainment. His father was in an especially jolly mood after hearing your tale. He immediately appointed you as the troubadour of the Royal Court held in protection under the Royal Targaryen House. A proclamation that horrified both the king’s Hand and the Queen, to say the least. It was no secret that Aemond’s mother and grandfather did not look favorably on you. More than once, he heard his mother seethe in anger at the attention her husband gave to you as you sat beside him during his father’s pain flares. In her eyes, you were a savage hellion who likely spread her legs up from the Wall in the North to the Great Hall of the Red Keep in the South.

But in Aemond’s eyes, you were an angel. It was not only his father’s pain you soothed with your stories, but also his own. He tried his best to keep his distance from you, but it wasn’t long until you gained his sister’s favor. From then on, whenever he spotted Helaena, you were by her side. The tall and icy walls he tried to maintain around you came crashing down before he knew it. His mother so loved him because he always did as she instructed, including to remain far away from the new child from beyond the North.

But one night, the scar on his eye had been so painful that he gained a fever that lasted for nearly a week. The maesters weren’t sure if he would survive the sickness, as it was a result of his lost eye being inflamed. His mother had resigned herself to crying by his bedside while his sister would sit with him and talk about her day. But one night, when he was delirious with pain, you somehow managed to sneak in from one of the secret tunnels within the keep’s walls. He couldn’t see you, but he recognized your voice. He wanted to scream for you to leave his room, threatening that he would call over the guards standing outside. But then you spoke, and it seemed as if his world of pain had just washed away. You spoke to him about the history of Old Valyria and the beautiful tales of dragons and knights that were lost in time. This continued on every night during his ailment.

“Do you miss your parents?” Aemond asked you one night. But he immediately regretted his question when he saw how your shoulders tensed.

“Sometimes,” you replied after a few moments of silence, “I understand that they are in a better place, wherever they are. But sometimes I wish they were here so I wouldn’t be alone.”

“But you have Helaena to be with you. Even my father adores your company.”

You only scoffed in response.

“Helaena is wonderful,” you bitterly continued, “I am glad to have a friend as sweet and kind as her in this poisonous hellhole you call home. But your father-” you paused a moment to lick your lips to figure out how to phrase your thoughts – “all he sees me as is a toy. A commodity. A funny little object that he bought to entertain him. He never mistreated me but does not respect me as a person, let alone as a subject.”

The tears in your eyes welled to the point where they almost spilled, and you immediately stopped talking to prevent further incriminating yourself.

“You have no idea what it’s like-” you let out a bitter laugh before continuing to cry – “to have your family taken away from you. To watch your parents be executed before your eyes when you were only a small child. And for what? Stealing a loaf of stale bread? What should that matter to the Starks? They have their pretty castle with warm fires and fur blankets. My mother and father worked for everything they had in order to care for me. Now here I am, away from the silver winter I called home and stuck in the shit-odor that covers precious South.”

“However much you hate your family, at least you still have them. I have no one. No one to share my culture and past with, no one to understand your customs and way of life. Call my parents whatever you want. Savages. Thieves. Scum. But they loved me. However little it was, they taught me to be proud of myself. They were my whole life, and now they’re gone.”

You ran out of his chambers and back into the wall. Aemond didn’t see you for several days, even after his fever broke and the maesters told his mother he would live. Two weeks passed, and Aemond felt as if he were going mad. When he finally spotted you in one of the more secluded areas of the library, he grabbed your arm before you could scurry off.

“Tell me,” he told you. “Tell me everything about your parents, your home. Tell me about how the air was clean and clear. Tell me about how everywhere you looked, you saw white snow and clear ice. Tell me how much you loved your family, pets, friends – if you had any. I don’t care what it is. Tell me everything.”

At first, you only stared. He couldn’t tell if you were furious or in shock. But soon, your eyes lit up as if you had been given five hundred gold dragons.

“Where do you want me to start?” you asked him, eyes wide with joy and a heart finally learning to trust.

Lo and behold, he found his heart beginning to feel the same.

“Wherever you want.”

The smile you gave him was worth more than all the money locked within the Royal Treasury.

So many nights since that day, you would sit by his bedside, speaking so prettily that even the most brutal of their acts and customs fascinated Aemond. You would burn the midnight oil, telling him about the adventures and raids of the Free People beyond the Wall. That’s how you referred to yourself as a “free woman.” While you despised the title “savage,” you did not mind being labeled as “wilding.” You claimed that since you were born outside the Wall, the laws of Westeros did not apply to you. You have been seen as wild, but you knew in your heart that you were born free. And what was more impressive to Aemond was how you honestly and sincerely believed that you were born as a free woman.

He saw it in the way you would make little shadow puppets shows to bring a smile from Daeron after it was announced that he would leave for Oldtown.

He heard it in how you got the cooks to spit on your name after stealing bread from kitchens and then giving it to the small folk children living in impoverished areas of Flea Bottom.

He smelt it in how your hair would always smell like the wind in the Godswood to ride his horse when you were supposed to be learning your letters with the Head Septa.

He tasted it when you let him take a sip of that rotten ale you made in secret when you went through one of your horrible bouts of homesickness.

He felt it in how you raced to his chambers to hug him after he woke up from another nightmare of the memory of that night when he lost his right eye.

You were the strangest mystery Aemond had ever and will ever know. No matter how long he spent searching for answers in his favorite corner of the library, Aemond could never understand how someone with a heart as warm as (Y/N) could come from the frozen wasteland she loved to call home.

With a single but powerful stroke of his blade, Lord Vaemond Velaryon’s upper jaw fell as the rest of his body dropped to the floor. Visenya’s Dark Sister had once more bathed in its victim’s blood. Gasps and shrieks filled the Great Hall at the sight of dark blood oozing from his corpse. The members of the Royal members all had varying reactions. From his mother’s side, Helaena immediately covered her eyes and turned away – utterly horrified by the swift mutilation. Aegon grimaced but was otherwise unaffected. Not surprising. He’d seen similar carnage from the illegal fight rings run in Flea Bottom. Aemond took a slight step back in shock as he gaped at the now-deceased lord in mild admiration.

He had no idea tongues were so long.

Prince Daemon Targaryen stood before his ailing brother, tall and proud. There was not a twinge of remorse or regret on his youthful visage as he towered over the spilled blood soaking his boots. Undoubtedly, this man carried the blood and fire of the proud dragons that graced their house.

“He can keep his tongue.”

Brutish as Daemon was known to be, Aemond respected his uncle’s instinct to remove objects that voiced slander against his wife. However much of a whore his half-sister may be, she was still of royal blood and their father’s firstborn.

However, he wasn’t sure how much that last fact mattered, considering how she spread her legs to swill only to produce bastards as her heirs.

His grandfather ordered the Kingsguards to disarm his uncle, but Daemon only scoffed as he wiped the blood off his ancient blade with an old rag. Moments later, Aemond’s decaying father collapsed on the Iron Throne in exhaustion after over-exerting himself. His mother immediately rushed over to aid him when she heard his pained groans.

“Call the Maesters!” she shouted before reaching him. And when his father fell into her arms, that was the first time Aemond saw you throughout this entire proceeding.

You stood close to the walls, remaining present but unseen. It was not until his father called for you by his side that he removed you from your hiding place. You and an apprentice Maester took Viserys to his chambers, leaving behind his wife, children, grandchildren, and every member of the Royal Court. As Aemond watched you carry his hobbling sire to his chambers – likely to recite to him a passage of the History of Old Valyria or one of the many tales surrounding Queen Visenya’s practice of the dark arts – his blood froze as he noticed Daemon’s gaze was focused not on his brother, but on you.

An hour had passed since Lord Vaemond Velaryon’s unfortunate passing, and Aemond was still no closer to finding you. He felt as if he was going mad in desperation. He checked everywhere. The kitchens, catching you sneak bites of freshly baked honey cakes. The stables, to find you feeding the mares and stallions carrots and apples. Your chambers, spying through the keyhole as you sat at your desk writing new stories. He even went so far as to ride to the dragonpit, hoping that you were reading to Vhagar again. He was close to announcing an order to search for you to the closest Kingsguard when he spotted you standing underneath the Heartstree. When another figure approached you, the one-eyed prince was about to call out your name.

Daemon. And judging by the way his violet eyes leered at your womanly form, it was clear to Aemond that this meeting was no coincidence. Aemond stepped out of view and pressed himself close to the garden’s entrance. The silver-tressed prince cursed himself for not publicly claiming you so everyone knew you were his and his alone. Differences in stations mattered little when you grew up so beautifully.

A fact he was sure that did not go unnoticed by his uncle despite meeting you for the first time.

Not for the first time did Aemond find himself cursing the gods for creating perfection in a single woman. Time had been unkind to many but seemed to spare you of any misfortune. While you were far from the polished and perfect image of a proper lady, you slowly but surely assimilated yourself to life in the South of the Wall. You traded your hides and furs for dresses and trousers. Your wild (h/c) mane became untangled by his sister’s ladies-in-waiting frequent brushings. Regular meals and proper care took a starving child with sharp, bony jabs to a woman with soft, feminine curves and beauty rivaling the Maiden herself.

“How have you found your time so far from the wall, little wilding?”

“I spent every waking second soaked and flushed from sweat and heat. To make it worse, I can’t escape the shit and piss that stains and bathes your pretty keep. Tell me, does that answer your question, my prince?”

Daemon barked a short laugh, amused that his brother took in someone so clearly different from the court’s usual vultures.

“When I heard my brother had taken in a little girl from outside the wall as his little entertainer, I was expecting a hobbled cripple caked in dirt with no sign of grooming. But here you stand, appearing more like a proper lady than a savage wildling.”

“You can take the girl from the North, but you can never take the North from the girl.”

No truer words had ever been spoken.

Aemond smiled at your quick wit and tongue. You were still every bit of the girl dragged before his father when he was only ten name-days old, even if you changed a little bit.

You still styled your hair with the little braids commonly worn in the North, but sometimes, he would catch Helaena tucking feathers in your locks.

You still carried your father’s old hunting knife on your person, but you also kept the Valyrian steel dagger Aemond gave you on Yuletide Eve from three years past.

You still made frequent trips to pass the bread to the small folk in Flea Bottom; you always made sure to help lead Aegon back to his bed after he drank himself stupidly.

It was a challenge, but you’ve adapted and made a life here with the Royal Family, whether you liked it or not.

“Do you ever plan on coming out from behind the wall, my prince? Or do you plan on renouncing your title and becoming Master of Whispers on your father’s small council?”

Realizing that his cover has been blown, Aemond brought himself in view to face the wildling girl who had stolen his heart almost eight years ago. He was relieved that his uncle had left the gardens, probably to inseminate his half-sister once more. It was as if she needed more children to convince all of King’s Landing that her claim on his brother’s throne was legitimate and valid. It did not matter that the evidence of her whorish nature was growing before their eyes.

“Careful, my lady,” replied Aemond, “one might think your words as treason towards the prince.”

“Please,” you scoffed, “the only people who continue to insist on taming my tongue are your mother and grandfather. And we both know my opinions of both parties.” Your cheeks began to flush, and your demeanor grew shy as you whispered your following words. “Besides, why would I need to be afraid of anything when I have you?”

Oh, how his cold, bitter heart grew ten times warmer with your sweet words. He removed his black riding gloves, reached for your hands, and was taken aback by how cold your skin felt against his own.

As if afraid of his voice, he cradled your hands softly as if he were the hunter and you were a little snow rabbit on the edge of running away. Your unblinking observation persisted as you silently watched your silver-haired prince raised both of your hands to his pink lips. He took in a deep breath before exhaling out. The heat of his breath against your fingers sent chills down your back. His mouth was opened just enough for you to see his tongue, bringing a deep sense of shame to wash over you as you dreamed of how good it would feel to have his tongue feast on your cunt.

“What possessed you to come outside without a cloak?” The low timbres of his voice broke you from your lust as you just now realized that you brought yourself into his trap. “It is already winter (Y/n). You could grow sick if you are not careful.”

“You forget yourself, Aemond,” you replied, tearing your hands from his grip. You almost wept at how profoundly you felt the loss of his warmth. When did his hands become so rough and big? “I have the true North in my veins. Such meek and pitiful clouds and winds could never get me ill.”

“Why were you outside at all?” Aemond had hoped to find you in one of the rooms with a fire roaring inside. Even if you were not alone, you would have been warm.

“Thinking about home, I suppose. I was tiny, but I would help gather whatever wood was available and put it in a big pile. We would put on our ceremonial furs and robes, along with masks we painted from the skulls of our kills. After that, the adults would drink themselves stupid on ale and heated yak’s milk as they and the children would gather around the wood pile and then burn it. I remember dancing with my parents around the fire as we sang praises for the old gods and yelled out prayers for the sun. A few boys would probably try to sneak some kisses from the girls with mistletoe.”

The silence that followed only added to the tension.

“I think I would have been stolen by now.”

“Stolen?”

“Your Southerners version of ‘marriage,’ I suppose,” you stated as you lightly shrugged, “at my age, if you weren’t stolen, it meant that something was wrong with you. If I remained with my tribe, some man would have stolen me by now and pumped me full of his babies.”

Aemond saw red. He clenched his fists so hard that his knuckles further paled to an almost translucent view of his veins as he imagined some savage, wildling man forcing himself on you. He wanted to ride Vhaghar beyond the North, if only reaching beyond the Wall and burning it all to the ground. No man other than him was allowed to touch you. He had only touched your hand and already decided that the rest of you belonged to him and him alone.

Taking a few steps closer to you, he removed his leather patch and lifted your chin between his fingers to force your focus on him. His ears caught a slight intake of breath when you saw his sapphire eye as he was so close that he could practically feel your heart racing in anticipation. He preened in satisfaction when he caught your perfect (e/c) irises dart down to his lips before resting his face again. Aemond didn’t need to look down to know that you were clenching your thighs in an attempt to stop your arousal from leaking.

His sister’s approval be damned.

If your traditions dictated that you must be ‘stolen’ to be a wife, then he would be the one to steal you.

“Sweet (Y/n), you’ve grown so cold.”

Do you wish to go back?

His face was so close to yours that you could feel breaths mix with your own. You could smell the fine leather of his tunic, and the fragrance of spices from his silvery locks wrapped you in a blanket of comfort. His violet eye’s gaze showed a vulnerability lost since that night in Driftmark. The night when he gained a dragon at the cost of becoming a cripple. If Aemond was to risk everything he’s worked for, he had to know.

Would you, a Free Woman, let yourself be called as his?

“No, my Aemond” - you took his hands in yours to tenderly kiss his knuckles- “not anymore.”

I am right where I belong.

And he believed you.

Tagging: @valeskafics, @dreaming-for-an-escape, @arcielee, @asa-do-your-thing, @lady-ashfade , @faesspace, @its-actually-minicika, @aphroditesmoon, @bellamys-girl1, @immyowndefender, @xxlovingfandomsxx, @elinedjarin, @meg-egg-blog, @marvelescape, @mandiiblanche, @lokiofasgard12, @boxedpandas, @anewpersonthatexists, @toodlesxcuddles, @leavemeoutofitlay

#aemond targaryen x you #aemond targaryen x reader #aemond x reader #aemond x you #aemond targaryen #hotd x reader #got x reader #ewan mitchell #ewan nation #aemond targaryen fanfic #aemond targaryen fluff #hotd fanfic #hotd fandom

[dotster001]

Hello dear writer. I really enjoy reading your twisted wonderland stories. Can you please write a funny fanfic for me?The plot is as follows: the headmaster summons Grimm to his office to appoint him as the photographer for a "beauty pageant" to be held at the college. Grimm agrees to a can of tuna, but since he is very mischievous, he takes pictures of everyone unexpectedly and funny. For example, he can photograph Riddle sitting on the toilet and reading a newspaper. Ace when he secretly ate the "not birthday" cake. Leon with Cheka. Epel in the bath with foam.In general, all of our favorite students, whom Grimm caught on camera at the most inopportune moment. Please🥺

Look at This Photograph

A/N: an anon gave me an idea for a sequel, so just let me know if you want it, hee hee

3k followers Masterlist

"God no," you groaned. 

"Well, you don't have a choice. In my generosity, I can overlook the recent incident, but only if you do what I ask of you."

You gave a pointed glare at Grim, who looked up from licking his paw, and sighed heavily.

"Y/N and I have a deal, where the next time I caused a disaster, I had to do the accompanying task myself."

"A-alone?" Crowley stuttered.

"Yup."

"Like, no Y/N?"

"Yeah."

You leaned forward, the threat clear in your voice. "Grim is the one who blew up the lab, so he should do your little task. Something wrong with that?"

"No! You-you've been so generous up to this point, Y/N."

"Good," you said simply, standing up and giving Grim a final glare.

"Behave, or so help me God-"

"I'll behave! Who do you think I am?"

You gave an unconvinced look, before turning on your heel, and leaving the office.

Crowley handed Grim a camera.

"Get to it, before I change my mind."

….

Riddle had few moments of peace in his life. Especially since the newest batch of freshmen had arrived this year. As much as he was certain the mirror wasn't wrong, and they would grow to fit the ideals of the queen, it was hard to believe it. Ace in particular…

He flipped the page of his newspaper from home. It's not like his mother would fill him in, so he had to fill himself in. 

He was done with his business by now, he just needed a break!

*SNAP*

Startled, he looked up, momentarily blinded by the flash. As his vision cleared, he saw Grim look at a camera, nod, and scamper off. In his shock, he couldn't even utter an "off with your head".

….

Leona hated babysitting.

Well…

That's what he always told himself.

But "princess tea party" wasn't half bad.

As long as he pretended to sip tea every once in a while, Cheka didn't mind if he took naps.

*SNAP*

Momentarily blinded, he heard his nephew giggle, and mutter something about a "silly kitty". But when his vision cleared, it was just the two of them.

….

"Jade, no, if people knew…"

"They won't even suspect."

This was followed by the sounds of heavy making out.

Azul threaded his fingers through Jade's hair, momentarily playing with the long black strand, before closing his eyes again, and just being in the moment.

"Would it really be so bad if people knew?"

He knew Jade made jokes like that, because, in the moment, he liked the way a stiff Azul would cling to him just a miniscule amount tighter.

He didn't truly mean it. He knew Azul was terrified about people calling him soft, and if people assumed Jade had gotten his position solely for being Azul's boyfriend-

*SNAP*

Both mers had miniscule panic attacks. While they had grown accustomed to land, they were used to living in near solid darkness. Whatever just flashed in their faces, felt truly unnatural.

"This is a surprise," Jade heard a well known voice mutter.

If it weren't for his poor boyfriend, he could have taken care of the problem right there.

….

As much as Epel hated Vil's nagging, his skin had never been better.

A cold cream on his face, cucumber on his eyes, a bubble bath with foam specifically designed to make him sparkle?

Sevens, his nighttime routine was the part that was worth putting up with Vil's nag sessions for. 

He took the cucumbers off his eyes, looked around to make sure no one was watching, and made himself a bath foam beard.

"Oh ho ho, Sir Humphreys, are you jealous of my excessive manliness?" Epel boomed in a comically deep voice.

*SNAP*

You get the idea by now. Epel inhaled some of his foam beard, choked a bit, and completely missed whoever took the photo.

….

"Oh! Prefect, I didn't see you there!" Malleus gasped, bowing deeply before a stone gargoyle in a set of ruins he was exploring.

"What? Run away with you?" He covered his mouth in shock, before sidling into the "lap" of the gargoyle/prefect .

"I'm not saying no," he gently caressed where you collarbone would be, his facing moving closer to "your" face. "This is all just," he breathed heavily against "your" mouth, "so sudden."

*SNAP*

….

"As you all remember, we are having a beauty pageant at NRC."

Everyone nodded.

"Well, in my generosity, I remembered that candid shots allow the photo to look more natural, which in turn accentuates your natural beauty. So I have had Grim taking photos of you-"

"That's what those are for?" Ace shouted. "He snapped a picture of me eat-" he trailed off as he side eyed Riddle, "doing some stuff."

The Heartslaybul vice housewarden gave him a suspicious glare, but luckily Riddle himself was distracted.

"It is not okay to take photos of people on the toilet! Candid or not!" Riddle shouted, face turning a crimson it hadn't even been during his overblot.

"My nephew is not legally allowed to be photographed!"

"I have an image to uphold! An expensive image to uphold."

"MY LIEGE WILL SMITE YOU BEFORE ANYONE SEES HIS SHAME!"

Malleus was greatly regretting actually being invited to a meeting.

"Monsieur fuzzball, shall we have a chat about the photos you took of me?" Rook asked with a smile, his eyes flickering venomously.

"I deleted yours," Grim whispered with a shiver.

"Tres Bien," Rook smiled, rustling the top of Grim's head.

"Well let's see what all this is about," Trein moved to grab the camera, but every single student in the area started yelling and grabbing at it.

"Bad boys! Sit!" Crewel shouted with a smack of his pointer. But it seemed to no avail, as a crowd of angry mages chased a tiny gray cat out of the room.

Trein, meanwhile, was laughing uproariously as he scrolled through the photos.

#3k followers #twisted wonderland #twisted wonderland x reader #malleus x reader #if you don't blink 😁

[2rats1gogh]

I have sent something similar (Same topic) to someone else already but I love hearing peoples different takes and opinions.

Aemond and Daemon was not a fair fight. Daemon has more experience in battles and is older than Aemond. Vhagar is an old dragon, she’s not in her prime fighting age whereas caraxes is so why TB think they can use Aemond’s death as a little gotcha moment for Aemond not being a formidable opponent is baffling. Also didn’t they both die? Daemon and Caraxes were up against a young adult who is half blind and an old lady dragon and both ended up dying anyways? It’s not as much as a slay as TB thinks it is. Also Yes Aemond was cocky in the trailer but who wouldn’t be when they ride the BIGGEST WAR DRAGON?

NAH CAUSE LITERALLY!!! That fight is super funny if you think about it because no matter how you look at it, it still paints Daemon as weak and silly, and Aemond, along with team green stays the superior Chad.

If you consider them fair opponents, it only makes it fair if they both die, so nothing special about that.

If you consider Daemon being stronger than Aemond, because of his experience in battle and yada yada, he still looks silly because he actually has to DIE in order to finally kill Aemond. Like alright, Daemon killed him I guess, but at the cost of HIS OWN LIFE? Not a flex. And Aemond is the Chad because he managed to not be the only one dying in that fight.

And finally, if you consider Aemond being stronger than Daemon, you are kinda giving him a compliment, since he was already on the same level as his uncle when he was in his early 20s and Daemon was already in his late 50s and with years of experience in battle.

Like Daemon literally embarrassed himself whatever the case actually was. He, an agile, strong and experienced warrior had to literally fight real hard to kill his 20 year old nephew and eventually died himself. Like, again, this is literally not a flex in any way.

Like people are laughing at Aemond in the trailer but if the show keeps the book’s version of events, Aemond does die during that battle, like alright, sure, BUT he also quite literally single-handedly took the life one of the most feared warriors of his time. Team Green might’ve lost a prince, but they also got rid of a very strong enemy.

Also, doesn’t matter if you say “they both lost” or “they both technically won” because Aemond stays cooler either way.

#house of the dragon #hotd #aemond targaryen #pro team green #team green #anti team black #anti team black stans #asoiaf #anti daemon stans #anti daemon targaryen

[darkestspring]

Aemond inlove with his Older!Sister and trying to spend the most time with her

okay okay okay but hear me out..... you are rhaenyra’s younger twin sister. you take more after your mother than rhaenyra does in terms of softness. you’ve always been so kind and you always looked after others. When Aemma dies, Viserys and Rhaenyra cling to you and that kindness. You never shunned or judged Alicent for marrying your father, you felt a little bad for her, to be honest. Your father will never truly love anyone who isn’t your mother.

Despite Rhaenyra’s pleas, you stood by Alicent’s side, helping her and supporting her. You love both your sister and your friend, now queen. You had attached yourself to your half-siblings as well. Rjhaenyra didn’t like them, you knew that, but you couldn’t blame innocent children for things they had no blame in.

You spoiled Aegon and Helaena greatly and was there when your father wasn’t. He was sick now but even a blind man could pick up on his favoritism. So, when Aemond was born, you spoiled him as well. When his dragon egg didn’t hatch, you assured him that he would get a dragon, comforting him when Aegon and your nephews teased him.

You would sit by his side and brush your hands through his hair. “You will have a dragon, I know it. You’ll be the best dragonrider in all of targaryen history,” You had kissed his forehead and allowed him to fall asleep on your shoulder.

You had never considered that for a child that was teased, bullied and ignored that those moments would make him fall in love with you. You also never thought it would last for years. After the incident between your nephews and your brother, you had been caught between them, refusing to take a side. You had drifted between dragonstone and king’s landing.

When Rhaenyra and Daemon had wed, you had given them your blessings and congratulations. You had calmed Viserys down from his rage at the news. You had watched over Aemond’s lessons with Ser Criston Cole and his Valyrian lessons with the maesters, not to mention his dragonriding lessons in the dragonpit, where your own dragon resided.

Aemond had been in love with you since he was a child, you were so warm. You never teased or taunted him, never ignored or brushed him off. You always made time for him and assured him that he was a targaryen. You had gifted him a sapphire when he was a young boy, which he had fashioned to fit in his eye, so that he might always carry you with him.

He couldn’t help his thoughts of marrying you as he got earlier, he had proposed the idea to his mother and grandfather.

His mother hadn’t liked the idea, she feared what might become of it. Would her friend grow to hate her for forcing her into a marriage she might not want but Otto insisted it might help bring her to their side, she would be loyal to her husband.

His sister was a loyal and caring person, she would never carry bastards, only white haired children that would belong to him as well.

It had been official and though conflicted, his sister had agreed softly, smiling at him with care and promising to do her best, as his wife.

It’s said that when the news of the betrothal between her win sister and her half-brother, Rhaenyra had broken everything in her path in a fit of rage.

#aemond targaryen x reader #LITERALLY IM IN LOVE WITH THIS IDEA #VERY SUBTLE YANDERE VIBES HERE

[kckt88]

Drowning Inside You II

Summary:

Aemond and Valaera settle into life as married couple and Valaera's heat arrives earlier than expected.

-Features an Aemond POV.

MINORS DO NOT INTERACT!!

Warning(s): Mini Time Skip, Inner thoughts, Language, Kissing, Smut, Heat/Rut Cycle, P in V, Breeding Kink, Knotting, Mild Angst, Possessive Behaviour.

Word Count: 4620

Author Note: An Alpha/Omega Story.

Inspired by the song Call My Name by EMO + Yolo.

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

Comments, likes, and reblogs are very much appreciated.

Ever since Valaera had taken his eye that night on Driftmark, Aemond had envisioned the various ways in which he would exact his revenge against Valaera Velaryon.

Maimed, half blind and now the rider of the largest dragon in the world.

For years he’d hated her, even thinking about Valaera would send Aemond into a rage of epic proportions.

He would spend hours in the training yard, sparring with Ser Criston or deliberately starting fights with other Alpha’s.

His only reprieve from it all was Vhagar.

She was far too large to be housed inside the dragon pit, so she had taken to resting in an outcropping of caves beyond the Red Keep.

His old girl didn’t fit in anywhere and neither did he.

Even before he lost his eye, he never felt part of anything, his older brother was a massive twat, and his sweet sister was far too invested in her bugs too notice anything else. Even his younger brother Daeron was a stranger to him.

His older brother was rather fond of making Aemond suffer through his awful practical jokes, and relentless teasing. Even more so when their ‘strong’ nephew would join in.

Behold the Pink Dread.

Valaera was the only one to apologise for the pig, offering her uncle some lemon cakes she’d managed to steal from the kitchens.

After Driftmark, Aemond devoted himself to his studies and training. Becoming the perfect second son, even as Aegon would squander every opportunity that was given to him.

Before his presentation as an Omega, Aegon would spend his days drunk and cock deep in some whore on the streets of silk.

Yet all that stopped when he was given in marriage to Jacaerys Velaryon. Aemond had to admit he thoroughly enjoyed the look of horror on Aegon’s face when their father announced their union.

Yet his brother for all his desire to flee Kings Landing on the back of Sunfyre remained and married his strong bastard, with the pair of them becoming so happy it would make Aemond’s stomach turn.

Since she cost him his eye, Valaera would avoid Aemond like the plague. Always fleeing the room whenever Aemond entered or hiding behind her mother’s skirts.

Which suited Aemond just fine, the less time he spent in the company of Valaera the better. Yet as he got older, he realised it wasn’t just hate that he felt for Valaera. It was something far deeper. Rooted in his very core.

At first, he was unsure what it was.

But as Valaera got older and presented as an Omega, one sniff of Valaera’s sweet scent and that was it.

Aemond knew it was no longer hate that was driving him. It was desire.

As his niece grew from a plain faced pup into a stunningly beautiful pearl. Aemond knew he was done for.

Countless nights he would imagine the pretty noises his niece would make as he took her to bed and ravished her with his tongue, his fingers, and his cock.

Valaera always had this way of looking at him and it would drive him to the brink of insanity.

Those beautiful brown doe eyes, so innocent. So perfect.

Aemond would strip his cock raw every night as he fucked his fist, to the thought of Valaera.

Of course, the girl was still terrified of him and while part of him still rather enjoyed it, another was so desperate to have the Omega that he would do anything.

Aemond knew that suitors would soon come to Kings Landing in their droves to beg for the hand of Driftmark's heir.

The pearl of the realm, given in marriage to some unworthy dog.

No, he wouldn’t allow it. Valaera had left her mark on him when she'd carved out his eye and Aemond would ensure that the Omega would belong to him and no other.

It was easy enough to convince his father. After all, Aegon’s marriage to Jacaerys had been successful. The two of them had already been blessed with one pup and Aegon was currently expecting their next.

His mother however was more resistant to the match and Aemond prayed every night to the seven that his father would remain steadfast in his decision.

Luckily the gods answered his prayers and now Valaera Velaryon belonged to him.

Bound for life.

Aemond thought nothing could top the sight of Valaera at their wedding.

Oh, how wrong he was.

The sight of his sweet Omega laid bare before him, begging to be bred would remain with Aemond far beyond his death.

He could feel his cock going stiff at the thought of fucking Valaera again.

But that would have to wait, as Criston’s morningstar came flying towards him. The shield in his hand shattered upon impact. Discarding the splinted wood, Aemond expertly dodged the repeated attacks and soon his sword was pointed at the Kings guard’s throat.

“Well done my Prince. You’ll be winning tourneys in no time”.

“I don’t give a shit about tourney’s” replied Aemond as he spun the long sword in his hand and cast his eyes to the sky, watching two dragons race each other.

Aemond smiled when he heard his Omega’s gleeful laughter, as her dragon Arrax nimbly darted around Vermax and shot off into the clouds.

In the weeks since her wedding to Aemond, Valaera had come to realise that being married to him wasn't as bad as she thought it would be.

In public he was stoic and quiet, always standing with his arms folded behind his back, his posture rigid and firm yet in private he was passionate and unyielding. He was a giving lover in the marriage bed and he would often seek her touch during the night, ensconcing her in his arms, making her feel safe.

On this particular day, Aemond was training as usual so Valaera decided to visit the library, there were so many books that she wished to read before her next name day.

Aegon of course had previously made fun of her calling her a 'bookworm' and then stated that her and Aemond were perfect for one another as he loved books too, what Aegon didn't know was that sometimes Aemond would join Valaera in the library and he would fuck her against one of the bookcases and not much reading would be done on those occasions.

During her reverie Valaera began to notice that the walk back to her chambers felt peculiar. The latent arousal swirling inside her as she thought of her Alpha felt different, but in a really familiar way strangely enough. Her breath suddenly became more laboured, and a tingling sensation appeared inside her.

The empty feeling in the pit of her stomach becoming more pronounced.

Surely this couldn’t be her. Oh no. The Maesters had always been accurate about her heats. She wasn’t expecting it for another few weeks.

But something was off, extremely off, because soon she felt her legs start to shake with every step she took, and she was practically hyperventilating.

The closer she got to the chambers she shared with Aemond, everything started to blur, even the light, it was so bright that she had to shut her eyes, it made her stop in her tracks and lean against the wall.

The arousal she previously felt in her abdomen had now turned into excruciating pain. Valaera could smell almost every single Alpha in the Red Keep, but the scent of HER Alpha overpowered them all, she needed him.

Oh, gods she needed him so much, she felt so empty, she needed his knot, she needed his seed, she needed to be filled with her Alpha.

Slick started running down her legs, she was so wet, and her clothes felt so constricting, she needed to get them off before she was suffocated.

“Princess. Are you alright, shall I alert your mother?” asked a guard, he was sweating profusely, his scent was making Valaera feel sick, his voice was too loud, and he was too close to her. She wanted to run away, she wanted to run to Aemond, but her legs were completely useless.

The tears began running down her cheeks, she was getting desperate.

Alpha. Please. I need you. I’m frightened. Where are You?

Then she heard a loud growl. Her Alpha’s growl.

Yes! Yes! Her Alpha had come for her! Her Alpha had come to finally breed her!

Valaera’s inner Omega let out a loud cry, practically a scream as she heard the growl, eager to reunite with her Alpha.

“Get. Away. From MY OMEGA” snarled Aemond his voice was deep, low, and dangerous, his scent dark and violent.

He sized up the guard with his remaining eye, growling once again. The guard growled back at first but quickly retreated once the full force of Aemond’s Alpha pheromones permeated through the air.

Aemond turned his attention to Valaera, throwing himself at his whimpering Omega. He put his arms under Valaera’s legs and back, lifted her up and began to carry her toward their chambers.

Valaera swung her arms around Aemond and buried her face in his neck. She began to desperately kiss and suck on Aemond’s throat, she couldn’t help himself, she needed to get closer to her Alpha’s fucking intoxicating scent.

Both of them were a sweaty mess by the time they reached their chambers. Valaera couldn’t keep her hands off of Aemond, nor could she stop scenting and sucking on the mating mark on his neck.

Aemond nuzzled her neck affectionately, then he reached down and grabbed Valaera’s behind, squeezing it hard. His Omega responded by moaning loudly before unlacing his breeches and shoving her hand inside to fondle his cock, which had grown rock hard. Valaera needed it deep inside her now or she would explode.

Aemond grabbed her jaw and turned her face upwards so he could reach her mouth. The Alpha’s tongue felt so good in her mouth, she had to moan once again, this time into Aemond’s mouth, making him grunt loudly in response while still kissing her. 

They fell backwards together, landing on the bed, never once breaking their kiss.

Aemond was a grunting mess, almost whimpering every time Valaera’s tongue swirled around his. Their clothes were a hinderance, and they needed to get them off.

So that they could feel each other properly. Aemond hooked his fingers into the seams of Valaera’s dress and ripped it from her body, buttons and fabric flew everywhere.

Aemond’s breeches were the next victim, shredded to pieces as he clawed at them, his tunic was also ripped from his body, the tattered threads landing somewhere on the floor after he discarded them.

Valaera’s eyes rolled back into her head as she felt her Alpha’s naked body against her own.

Aemond’s pheromones burned brighter as his mouth dove into her scent gland, sucking eagerly while scraping his teeth against the mark he’d previously left on her skin. Valaera was absolutely crazed by the movement.

“My Omega. your scent. It’s so fucking amazing” whispered Aemond, whilst inhaling his wife’s unique scent.

“Take me Alpha, breed me, your Omega needs your seed” begged Valaera.

Tears of joy were rolling down her face, so fucking happy that her Alpha would finally fill the aching emptiness in her abdomen.

Aemond grunted loudly in response and reached down to align his huge cock with Valaera’s dripping wet hole, instantly pushing inside, making them both moan in sync as his hard and pulsing cock found Valaera’s warm, wet heat.

The Alpha thrust his cock into Valaera at a relentless pace almost immediately, giving Valaera no time to adjust to his size. 

Valaera wrapped her legs around Aemond’s waist and squeezed as tightly as she could, she needed to be fucked again and again, she needed her Alpha to pump her full of his seed and put a pup inside of her. 

Her Alpha fucked her hard and fast, his hips pounding against hers. The sound of skin slapping together echoed around the chambers.

Aemond gave a loud grunt and stilled, throwing his head back while squeezing his eye shut, giving Valaera exactly what she wanted.

Rope after roped of his seed spilled inside his Omega, which made Valaera scream in joy and throw her own head back, as she reached her peak, clenching around her Alpha’s pulsating cock.

 It didn’t stop there, Aemond only needed a few moments of rest before growing hard inside of his Omega again.

As Valaera’s legs relaxed and let go of her hold on Aemond, he moved backwards and raised himself to his knees between Valaera’s legs.

The loss of her Alpha inside her made Valaera whimper as the ache quickly returned. 

 Please. Alpha. I need you. Don’t stop. Don’t leave me.

“Roll over” ordered Aemond. It was a command, an Alpha command, and Valaera whimpered as she felt it take control of her body, she had to obey, she had to please her Alpha.

She was now on all fours in front of him, ready to be mounted again. Her heat sent out new waves of scent and slick, which made Aemond almost stagger. He pushed his cock into the whimpering Omega once more with shaky hands and proceeded to pound her even harder and quicker than before, snapping his hips against her while grunting loudly, driving needy moans out of Valaera. 

Aemond was gripping her hips so hard that his nails were digging into her skin, leaving marks everywhere, the pain drove Valaera wild with need and she needed to feel more of it.

Almost as if he could sense what she needed, Aemond reached forward and grabbed Valaera’s hair, making her head shoot back. Valaera cried out to her Alpha in pleasure, making Aemond growl.

His knot started to slowly push inside Valaera, and she let out a feral cry as the knot made its way deeper and deeper inside of her. It swelled up so much, it hurt, it hurt so good.

“I will have you dripping with my seed my sweet Omega. I can’t wait to see you swell with my pup, everyone will know your mine-“ moaned Aemond.

Aemond thrust one, two, three more times before growling once again, shooting his seed deep inside Valaera, filling her up. He grunted out Valaera’s name chasing the pleasure of his own peak. He then let out a deep, satisfied breath before collapsing onto his Omega.

Aemond moved his face to Valaera’s neck again, and lovingly nuzzled her.

Valaera was trembling next to him, trying to catch her own breath. The throes of her heat satisfied for now.

But soon it would take hold of her again, her body constantly craving the touch of her Alpha.

For the next three days, she was fucked senseless by Aemond. Everything falling by the wayside as the Alpha took care of his Omega.

After her heat had ended, it took a solid day for both of them to fully recover. They were completely exhausted yet completely satisfied beyond all comprehension.

If Aemond clenched his jaw any harder, his teeth would shatter.

His Omega was stood talking to Alyn of Hull and Aemond hated every single second of it.

I swear if he leans any closer to Valaera. I’ll slit his throat. I’ll tear him limb from limb.

The Alpha inside him was growling, the desire to protect Valaera was overwhelming his senses.

“Brother, you need to relax”.

“I will relax when I remove that Beta cunts fucking head from his shoulders” snarled Aemond.

“He’s only talking to Valaera” sighed Aegon as he gently rocked his newborn pup in his arms.

“I don’t like him leaning close to Valaera like that” muttered Aemond awkwardly.

I don’t like how he looks at Valaera. I don’t like how he smiles at her.

His Alpha was screaming inside his head. Protect. Protect. Protect.

“Alpha instinct, I get it. But in all seriousness, you need to stop lurking in the corner and join the celebration” replied Aegon.

“I need to…Keep an eye on Valaera”.

“No. You need to hold your niece whilst I get some wine” retorted Aegon as he placed his daughter in Aemond’s arms and reached for the nearest pitcher of some ghastly coloured wine that Aemond had always thought looked a little bit like piss.

Probably tastes like it too.

Whilst Aegon was busying himself with the wine. Aemond looked down at his sleeping niece and smiled. She was such a perfect little thing. Whilst her features bore a strong resemblance to Jacaerys, her head was graced with a tiny tuft of silver hair. Yet her older brother Jaehaerys was dark haired and looked more like Aegon.

Aemond wondered what his children would look like. Would they have his silver hair or would they have his Omega’s dark curly locks.

He had thought he would like to have a son first, but as he held his niece, Aemond knew he wouldn’t mind a daughter. A little girl who would sleep on his chest as he read to her, a little girl who would cling to him as he took her on flights with Vhagar. A little girl who he would hold in his heart forever.

Suddenly Aemond was snapped out of his reverie by Maela shrieking loudly.

“She can’t be hungry again” groused Aegon.

“Well, whatever she needs. Only her mother can provide” replied Aemond as he handed Maela to Aegon and returned his attention to Valaera who was still talking to Alyn.

“You’re going to burn a hole in Alyn’s head if you carry on looking at him like that” muttered Jace as he wrapped an arm around Aegon who was busy trying to sooth their daughter.

“I will look however I please” snarled Aemond.

“Oh, for the love of-“ groaned Jace as he spotted Alyn gently placing a hand on Valaera’s arm.

“Aemond. Don’t even think about it” warned Aegon as Jace quickly manoeuvred him and Maela away from Aemond.

HE DARES TO TOUCH WHAT IS MINE!!

Aegon’s warning fell on deaf ears, as Aemond charged across the throne room and viciously shoved Alyn away from Valaera.

“Aemond-What” squeaked Valaera in surprise.

“Don’t ever presume to touch my Omega again” snapped Aemond.

“I-I wasn’t. I-I didn’t mean too” stuttered Alyn.

“Alpha please. You’re making a scene” whispered Valaera.

“I think you need to go and cool off brother” urged Aegon.

“Fuck off Aegon”

“Hey. Don’t speak to my mate like that. We are supposed to be celebrating my daughter’s birth and your ruining it” snapped Jace.

“Fine” retorted Aemond as he turned on his heel and stormed out of the throne room, completely ignoring his mother’s concerned calls.

“I better go after him” muttered Valaera sheepishly.

Stupid Beta thinking he can touch my Omega. Who does he think he is. I should go back in there and…

“Aemond. Wait”.

“What’s with the touching. Why was he touching you?” growled Aemond as he abruptly stopped in the middle of the corridor.

“I felt a little faint and Alyn was just helping me” muttered Valaera as she collided with Aemond.

“Why what’s happened. Do you need a maester?” asked Aemond his anger over Alyn overridden by his concern for Valaera.

“No, I don’t need a maester” replied Valaera.

“Are you sure. If you’re sick, then mayhaps we should get you checked over just to be sure”.

Oh, I knew something was wrong. Valaera’s scent has been different these last few days.

“I’m not sick. Well, I am but…”

I knew it. Something’s wrong. We’ve only been married a few months. I know can’t live without her. I need her to be ok.

“Tell me please Issa dōna omega” murmured Aemond (My sweet omega).

“Alpha. Nyke rūsīr riñnykeā” (I am with child).

“T-Truly” gasped Aemond.

“It might have happened during my heat, but yes, my love. Nyke carry mirrī zaldrīzes iemnȳ hen issa” (I carry a little dragon inside of me).

“My Valaera. My sweet” whispered Aemond as he cupped Valaera’s face in his hands and placed a gentle kiss upon his Omega’s lips.

“A little piece of you and me. Together” mouthed Valaera as she took one of Aemond’s hands and lowered it to her stomach.

She was with child. His Omega was carrying his pup. He was going to be a father.

“Thank you, Issa prūmia” (My heart).

“I guess your possessiveness makes sense now” said Valaera as she wrapped her arms around Aemond and held him close.

 Yes, it did. The need to protect Valaera. The urge to be close. It all made sense now. His Alpha was roaring his delight at impregnating his beautiful Omega.

“I was merely acting on instinct”.

I cannot wait until Valaera’s belly starts swelling. Everyone will see. They will all know who’s babe dwells within. His sweet Valaera all round and soft. Breasts swollen with milk. The thought was very pleasing.

So, pleasing in fact that Aemond could feel himself growing hard in his breeches.

“Please. Alpha” whined Valaera sensing his arousal as she stood on her tip toes and pressed a series of desperate kisses to Aemond’s lips.

“Hm” growled Aemond.

“T-Take me. Please. I need you” begged Valaera.

Aemond didn’t need telling twice. He took his Omega’s hand, and they made their way back to their chambers with every intention of having their own celebration that would end up lasting well into the hours of the night.

As dawn broke, Valaera was far to satisfied and exhausted to even think of leaving the bed. Sharing their good news with the rest of the family would have to wait, until Valaera was sure she could actually walk.

“Drakari pykiros, Tīkummo jemiros, Yn lantyz bartossa, Saelot vāedis” (Fire breather, winged leader, but two heads, to a third sing).

Valaera closed his eyes at the sound of Aemond’s voice.

“Perzyro udrȳssi, Ezīmptos laehossi, Hārossa letagon, Aōt vāedan” (With words of flame, with clear eyes, to bind the three, to you I sing).

Valaera smiled as he felt Aemond rest his head on the round swell of his stomach.

“Hae mērot gierūli:, Se hāros bartossi, Prūmȳsa sōvīli, Gevī dāerī” (As one we gather, and with three heads, we shall fly as we were destined, beautifully, freely).

Ever since Valaera revealed she was carrying his child, Aemond had devoted himself to pouring over countless books in the library to gain as much information as he could about pregnancy and how to raise a pup. Apparently, he also found a book that said babes can hear sounds from the womb after the sixth moon of pregnancy. So, Aemond never missed a chance to spend time talking or singing to his stomach.

Valaera of course didn’t think too much of it at first, but as her stomach began to swell, and the babe began to kick, she noticed that he or she would always move around more whenever Aemond spoke.

Aemond of course was delighted when Valaera told him. She knew her Alpha was worried about becoming a father, given the fact his own wasn’t a very good one and it terrified Aemond most days, that he would turn out like Viserys.

But Valaera new deep down that Aemond would be a fantastic father, he was utterly devoted to their unborn pup.

“What do you think of the name Rhaegar” muttered Aemond.

“I like it” whispered Valaera.

“But…”

“I l-love you and if we have a son, I wish to honour you in some way, so I was thinking about Vhalarr” asked Valaera nervously twisting the bedsheets between her fingers.

“In honour of my dragon?”

Oh, he hates it. Such a stupid idea. Why did I have to say that? I’m such a fool.

Suddenly Valaera burst into tears.

“Hey, what’s wrong? Valaera. Laera, Talk to me my sweet” whispered Aemond as he moved up the bed and took the sobbing Omega into his arms.

“Y-You hate the name I chose and I-I j-just thought it would b-be nice to h-have an o-original name,” cried Valaera.

“I don’t hate it. I’m truly honoured that you wish to name our pup after my old girl”.

“I-I know how much Vhagar means to you and I just-“ squeaked Valaera as she buried her face into Aemond’s chest.

“Issa jorrāelagon, kostilus ȳdra daor cry” muttered Aemond as he ran his fingers through Valaera’s long dark curls (My love, please don’t cry).

“I-I’m s-sorry. I-I c-can’t help it” sniffed Valaera as she wiped his nose on the sleeve of her robe.

Alpha is here. He will comfort me. He will make everything better.

“Avy jorrāelan sīr olvie Aemond” (I love you so much).

“I love you too Issa dōna” (my sweet).

“S-So you like the name?” asked Valaera, her voice still slightly muffled.

“I do and if we have a son, I will stand proud as he’s given the name his Muña chose” whispered Aemond as he gently lifts Valaera’s face from his chest and places a gentle kiss on her forehead (Mother).

“I-I’m sorry for crying. I just feel so emotional lately”.

“It’s fine. Your carrying our pup” replied Aemond as he rubbed Valaera’s stomach.

“T-Thank you for being so understanding” sniffed Valaera.

Aemond simply smiled and held Valaera tighter. He knew Valaera had been feeling overwhelmed lately with all of the changes her body was going through and as an Alpha he had a duty to soothe and protect his mate, during her delicate time.

After Valaera had fallen asleep, Aemond took the time to admire his Omega’s features. The long dark silky curls, the pale Targaryen skin, her perfectly shaped plump lips. The dark eyes. He once scorned Valaera for her ‘strong’ yet entirely coincidental resemblance to the former commander of the city watch, yet in truth she was wholly unique, in the sea of silver and amethyst.

As he closed his eye, Aemond knew with absolute certainty that he was where he was meant to be.

“A-Aemond. Valzȳrys” whispered Valaera as she gently shook his sleeping Alpha (Husband).

“Hm”

“Aemond. Wake up” urged Valaera.

“Valaera” grumbled Aemond as he began to rouse from his slumber.

“I can’t sleep”.

“Is everything ok? Is it the pup?” exclaimed Aemond as he shot up in alarm.

“The pup is fine. I-I need…Honey cakes”.

“Cake? You’ve woke me up because of cake?” asked Aemond rubbing his eye.

“I can’t stop thinking about it” muttered Valaera.

“Can’t you just wait until morning?” grumbled Aemond.

“No. I can’t sleep because I’m hungry and I keep thinking about cake”.

“Is this like the time you couldn’t stop thinking about pears” mused Aemond.

“That was weeks ago. But yes, it’s exactly the same. I-I can’t help it”.

Aemond sighed and got out of bed. Praying to the seven that the kitchens had some honey cakes left over.

“Avy jorrāelan issa zaldrīzes” (I love you my dragon).

“I’m sure you do Issa prūmia” replied Aemond as he quickly pulled on his breeches and a loose tunic. (My heart).

“Kirimvose” (Thank you).

“Hm” muttered Aemond as he gave Valaera a quick kiss and left their shared chambers.

The Red Keep was eerily silent as Aemond wandered through the corridors towards the kitchens. No doubt the nighttime appearance of a Prince in the kitchens would give the maids something to gossip about for the next few days.

I should be asleep. Yet here I am trawling through the Red Keep in search of Honey Cakes for my Omega.

Aemond Targaryen rider of the mighty Vhagar the last living remnant of Aegon's conquest, reduced to a simple errand boy.

Last time it was pears, this time it’s honey cakes. Whatever next?

This is the last time. I’m being serious. If she wants pears or cakes then next time- Oh, who am I kidding, I will get my sweet Omega anything she wants, whatever it takes to make her happy, anything to see that sweet smile.

Luckily Aemond’s journey to the kitchens was rather uneventful, even if the cook did give him a strange look as she handed over a basket of honey cakes.

Back in his chambers, Aemond quickly decided that it had all been worth it. To see Valaera happily eating her beloved honey cakes made his Alpha pleased that he was taking care of his mate and their unborn pup.

“Right. Now that you’ve got your cakes. I’m going back to bed” exclaimed Aemond as he tugged off his tunic and breeches.

“Well, actually there was something else-“ whispered Valaera as she wiped cake crumbs from around her mouth.

“Oh no what” huffed Aemond momentarily horrified.

However, his horror was rather short lived as his Omega began pulling off her shift.

“I-I desire the touch of my husband”. 

“Is-Is that right?” growled Aemond.

“Please Alpha, I want your knot” begged Valaera as she wrapped her arms around her Alpha’s neck and kissed him. Letting out a small moan as she slid her tongue into Aemond’s mouth.

Aemond smirked as he backed his Omega towards the bed.

A good Alpha should always take care of their Omega.

#house of the dragon #aemond targaryen #hotd aemond #aemond x oc #hotd fanfic #aemond fanfiction #aemond fic #aemond x original female character #aegon ii targaryen #jacaerys velaryon #prince aemond #aemond #aemond smut #aemond one eye #hotd fic #hotd smut #alpha omega

[agentrouka-blog]

"What is honor compared to a woman's love? What is duty against the feel of a newborn son in your arms? Or the memory of a brother's smile?"

I love how this applies word to word to Ned and Lyanna, but in a way that subverts expectations. Woman's love: yes but platonic not romantic. Newborn son in arms: yes but he is actually a nephew. Brother's smile: no sister's.

Hi there!

I love the way you think. The quote expands far beyond the moment and echoes across past and future, for many characters.

You can paste it straight onto Ned, trace it painfully over Catelyn and Robb, sprinkle it among the Lannister siblings, lace it through Dany's braids, and return it wholesale to Jon and his own choices and longings.

Another thing that I love about this quote is how wrong Aemon is, and how you can turn this quote around on itself. He indicts love as the enemy of duty and honor, as a destroyer of these pure motivations, am inhibitor of effective necessary action.

But, say, what motivation is empty honor, compared to love? What motivation is cold duty compared to love?

I will kill him if I must. The prospect gave Jon no joy; there would be no honor in such a killing, and it would mean his own death as well. Yet he could not let the wildlings breach the Wall, to threaten Winterfell and the north, the barrowlands and the Rills, White Harbor and the Stony Shore, even the Neck. For eight thousand years the men of House Stark had lived and died to protect their people against such ravagers and reavers . . . and bastard-born or no, the same blood ran in his veins. Bran and Rickon are still at Winterfell besides. Maester Luwin, Ser Rodrik, Old Nan, Farlen the kennelmaster, Mikken at his forge and Gage by his ovens . . . everyone I ever knew, everyone I ever loved. If Jon must slay a man he half admired and almost liked to save them from the mercies of Rattleshirt and Harma Dogshead and the earless Magnar of Thenn, that was what he meant to do. (ASOS, Jon II)

Honor and duty are empty by themselves. And Jon shows us that you do not need them. His most powerful motivation is love, and it leaves him flexible, too, because it allows him to adjust to the necessities of the moment. Look at Ned, all his best decisions are always motivated by love, where blind adherence to honor or duty lead him astray.

#duty #honor #love #jon snow #eddard stark #rouka ask

[perfinn]

the heat that drives the light

aemond targaryen x tyrell!oc

wc: 1.3k

summary: when aemond is betrothed to the elusive heir to highgarden, he finds that no one will tell him anything about her. he sets out to change that

cw: this is sort of a prologue. NOT x reader so dont bother me about it, blind oc, hints of period typical ableism, period typical sexism, aemond is an ass but we'll work at it

masterlist, read on ao3, divider by saradika

It doesn't surprise Aemond that he would be the one in his family saddled with a political marriage. In his own family, there are no women left for him. With Helaena married to Aegon, and Daemon’s daughters betrothed to his nephews, there is little other option. It only makes sense. However, that does not mean he has to like it. Hatred is born of the illogical.

When he was told he would wed the daughter of the Lord of Highgarden, he tried to say no. His mother would not hear it.

“You have denied three suitors already,” Alicent had said to her second son. “Your options are running out. You will marry the Tyrell girl, and that is the end of it.”

“I will not,” Aemond had grumbled. But his mother had not budged, and the engagement was sealed between himself and the only child of the Lord of Highgarden.

No one had told Aemond much about her, except that she was comely and that he would like her. He refused to go into a marriage with a girl he did not know, and the little he had been told was making him suspicious. Why hide her from him? The amount of times he’s heard comely makes him think she is some sort of beast to look upon.

He knows that in marrying her, he’ll be marrying the future Lady of Highgarden. It would be a position most powerful, as he assumes that a Lady’s husband would bear the brunt of the lordship. It makes perfect sense. Part of him is satisfied with the possibility of an ugly wife for the promise of power, but most of him is still just a man. How can anyone expect him to produce an heir with a twisted and ugly wife? He’d need to be blind in the other eye as well.

Cecily Tyrell arrives on a warm day, when the wind turns right so that the Red Keep smells of the flowers in the gardens rather than the stink of the city. He knows that their families mean for them to be kept apart until the ceremony, but he also knows this castle and its secrets better than most. Being forced out of the Keep and into stinking brothels by Aegon was not completely without merit.

He hears from a passing servant which room Lady Cecily will be staying in until the wedding, and pauses a moment to hear them whisper.

“Overlooking the Godswood,” says the young maidservant. Aemond has half a mind to admonish them for gossiping, before he remembers that it may be their job to know where she’s staying. “I hear it is so she can smell it all.”

Smell it all?

Aemond fails to decipher the meaning before he stops listening and leaves to find the girl. Once in the right hallway, he leans close to the doors as he passes them by. He suspects she will not be alone, undoubtedly accompanied by her ladies or a septa, if she's so young– he has not been told of her age either. Is he to be wed to a child? Or, Gods forbid, a wretched old spinster good only for her family's fortune?

He stops when he hears conversation behind one of the doors, hushed by the wood and carried by soft tones. Women, young ones.

The prince does not waste time in knocking. If there is unseemly behaviour, he will catch it, and if not, he does not care to look polite. He opens the heavy door as fluidly as he can manage, some part of him annoyed that his future wife is without the watch of a kingsguard.

The first woman he sees is facing away from him, sitting on an armchair. He can't see much of her but the long chestnut hair that flows down her back, strands pulled back and braided with budding flowers, and her hand which feels along the intricately carved arm of the chair. The second woman he sees is facing him, and she’s standing up in her shock.

It's clear from the look on her face she recognises Aemond, or at least has connected the dots from the way he may have been described to her. The woman facing away from him stiffens, and slowly reaches out to take the other woman’s hand as she too stands from her seat.

Why does she not face me? He wonders. Does she care not for the intruder in her chamber?

“Who is it?” asks the first woman who he assumes is Cecily, voice soft and melodic.

Aemond steps a few paces closer, a frown pulling down his lips.

“You smell of flame and ash, stranger,” says the first woman. Holding the other’s hand tight, she turns. Aemond catches sight of her other hand, now tracing over the embroidered patterns on her dress.

It is a fair reading of his smell, perhaps he ought to have bathed between the dragonpit and here.

“Cecily,” murmurs the second woman, confirming Aemond’s suspicions. “It is him.”

Cecily has turned, and for a moment Aemond cannot understand why she has been kept from him. As he was so heavily promised, she is comely and delicate as they come, a rose made woman. The moment of ignorance passes, and Aemond sees. He sees that she does not.

Though she faces him, Cecily’s eyes look past him– they do not look at all. His betrothed is blind.

Aemond suddenly feels the victim of a cruel folly.

“Him,” Cecily echoes, hand stilling against her dress. A small smile spreads on her lips, and Aemond thinks that no amount of good looks or pretty smiles can make up for the humiliation he has been afforded in their betrothal. “A stranger smelling of smoke and fire, who makes my companion’s voice quiver. I can draw no conclusion but my betrothed.”

Aemond’s eye flickers to the other lady, who looks petrified by his presence whereas Cecily does not seem particularly moved by it. “You’ll forgive my intrusion,” he says after a moment too long. It is rare he finds himself lost for words.

“I may,” she said, pulling the other woman closer. “Flora, help me.”

The other girl, Flora, carefully takes hold of Cecily’s arm, leading her forward with as much confidence as Aemond supposes she can muster.

“I cannot say I expected to meet you like this, my prince,” Cecily says. As she draws nearer, Aemond can see the greyish film over her irises. If he had not known it the moment she faced him, he would see it in her eyes now. “Without an appropriate chaperone. My dear cousin is responsible and will ensure there is no impropriety between us, though.”

Aemond looks to Flora, another Tyrell if Cecily’s words and the roses on her dress are to be believed. Could it not have been her? She is pretty enough, he cares not that she is a mere cousin to the heir. It would be less of a humiliation than being paired with an invalid simply because his own vision is halved.

Cecily and Flora curtsey to him, and he does not hide his displeasure.

“I had no improper intentions, Lady Cecily,” he says, voice clipped. “I only meant to look upon my betrothed before she approaches me at the altar. Our families mean to keep us apart, and I wished to see why.”

Cecily’s smile is still playing at her lips. It would look smug on anyone else, but she manages only to look coy and gentle. “I can imagine you’ve reached a conclusion?”

“Mmm,” hums Aemond, thankful she cannot see his scowl. If Flora tells her of it later, so be it. “Several.”

“‘Tis not a birth defect,” she says after a moment. “If that is your worry.”

Aemond feels his jaw tense, his eye turning to the ground so he is not forced to look at her eyes any longer. He doesn’t know how to articulate what his worry is. He only knows he hates it, and he is trying his hardest not to hate her. It is not working.

Without another word, Aemond turns and leaves the room, not caring that Flora can see the upset rush in his hurried footsteps.

As he goes, he hears Cecily say to her companion, “He has gone? Did he look upset?”

He does not care to hear Flora’s answer.

part ii

#aemond targaryen x oc #aemond #my work #im not even going to tag this as x reader cause its simply noty #aemond targaryen fanfic #ableism tw #NEED U GUYS TO SUPPORT ME THROUGH THSI PHASE! #aemond targaryen fanfiction #aemond x oc #aemond fanfiction #aemond fanfic #thtdtl

[moris-auri]

Lend themselves to your sweet eyes of gold

Warning: NSFW 18+ for smut. Teasing, p in v, oral sex (female receiving), mature, (she/her)

Pairing: Aegon Targaryen x unnamed

Word count: 2k

A/N: Enjoy!

The melancholy strains of a lute drifted his way as he entered, haunting and beautiful and familiar. His shoulders slumping almost immediately after the door latched behind him. He dragged his fingers through his hair irritably, sending the already messy strands further askew. 

Crossing the room in several strides, he reached for the jug, pouring wine into a gilded golden cup, lifting it to his mouth, the familiar sourness sitting heavily on the back of his tongue. The room had grown cold in his absence, the only source of light in the otherwise dark room coming from the sunlight that streamed past the curtains. 

“Your brother was here earlier. The Queen too.'' 

The words came from behind him, spoken so quietly that he almost didn’t hear her speak. It was one of the things that drew him to her, her preference for the quiet peace of his chambers when she was not playing in the main hall or in another room. 

Caught off guard, he turned, dragging the back of his hand across his mouth, “What did they want?” he croaked, wincing as the wine burned a path down his throat as it settled in his stomach. 

He knew what they wanted. What they always wanted, day after day after day; a never ending cycle of disappointment and reddened, still stinging skin. 

“They didn’t say, though I assume they were searching for you," she murmured, lifting one shoulder in a delicate half shrug, head lowered as she continued to pick determinedly at the strings. 

Her gown, some nearly sheer thing from Volantis or Tyrosh or Lys, he didn't know or care really, pretty as it was, hung loosely from her shoulders as she sat with her legs folded underneath her, the thin fabric a rich shade of blue. Further adornments decorated her limbs, little trinkets he had brought her decorated her wrists and her fingers. Rings of silver and gold embedded with emeralds and rubies and pearls, costly enough that she had protested, all but demanding he give them to Helaena. 

He’d refused of course, knowing his sister-wife had no true interest in anything past the insects she had carefully pinned in her box. A plate of delicacies, the same one he'd left her with earlier, laden with pomegranates and other rich fruits and pastries, sat on the bed by her hip, more half eaten than it had been when he’d left her, steadily picked at over the course of the morning. 

His answering smile was a rueful one that did not quite reach his eyes, his gaze lingering for a second longer before he grumbled under his breath, wrinkling his nose as the stench of the city wafted in on the breeze. 

The weight of his beloved eldest sister's arrival hung sourly over everyone’s heads, his uncle and her children coming with her to see his nephew reaffirmed as the Sea Snake’s heir. A part of him viciously hoped it was two days, or even three. That her ship hit some delay, loathing the thought of having to leave his chambers, where no one looked at her like she was the dirt beneath their boots, someone cursed to remain nameless, doomed to be forgotten in the pages of history.

Where no one looked at him. 

Not his mother, with despair in her eyes, not Aemond, who gritted his teeth and looked down at him every chance he could, cursed as the second son to want everything that came to him so effortlessly. 

He wasn’t blind, using the fact that they chose to overlook him to his advantage. As covetous as Aemond was, he was still his brother, and that familial loyalty and shared blood mattered far more than any trivial crown. Or so he hoped. 

Downing the last of the wine, he kicked off his boots and the near stifling layers of his clothing before he laid on his back beside her, curling one hand around her knee as his head rested against her thigh. He knew she didn’t mind it; his constant seeking of her when they were alone, craving the calm that she seemed to exude effortlessly like it was air.   

“Will you sing for me, my little songbird?” he murmured, eyes glinting with mischief as he tilted his head back to look up at her, twirling a lock of her hair around the tip of his finger.

“Anything for you,” she promised, casting a delighted smile his way, eyes bright with affection as she looked down at him. 

The sight of it, given so freely and without anything expected in return still made his breath lurch in his chest, the taste of blood blossoming in his mouth as the sharp edge of his tooth nicked the inside of his cheek. 

She shifted backwards, wrapping her fingers around the neck of the lute and settling the pear shaped instrument against her chest, the quietness of the chamber filled with sound once again. He watched, an insurmountable fondness growing as her eyes closed, her pale lashes fluttering against her cheeks. 

Her thin fingers plucked at the instrument’s strings with a reverence he knew all too well, the lilting sweet tones of her voice heavensent as her voice echoed over his chamber. He leaned further back against the loosely scattered pillows, the faint sunlight glinting off the rings on his fingers. 

"Do you love me?" 

Her eyes widened, her instrument forgotten in a second as she scrambled onto his lap. His eyes closed at the feel of her hands on his cheeks and the tender softness of the kisses she pressed to the curve of his cheekbones, her quiet murmured words soft in his ear. 

He exhaled, fingers tangling in her hair as he sighed, a deep rasping sound from deep in his chest as her head lolled against his. He swore, time and time again, that he would never tire of it. Of her; the haven of her arms. 

Of this. 

The intensity of his gaze sharpened, his hand tangling itself in the fabric of her gown, pushing it up past her waist, savoring the growing desperation in her eyes. He trailed the tips of his fingers over her shoulder and down her arm as he listened to her play, watching with rapture as she shivered, not stopping despite the gooseflesh that rose on her skin. 

She shuddered, fingers faltering on the strings, her chest rising and falling with each breath. Her quiet noises spurred him on, his eyes darkening as the violet was swallowed by black. Desire swelled within him, as dark as a stormcloud and as thick as smoke, choking and stealing the breath from his lungs. 

“Keep playing,” he rasped, sliding closer, moving his fingers higher and higher before tangling them loosely in her hair, freeing the strands so they tumbled over her shoulders. 

She hummed, a slow, lazy sound that belied her content as her head tilted to the side, lips parting. Her eyes opened again, half-lidded and intoxicated, a shade of gold not unlike Sunfyre’s scales. 

"There's my love," he rasped, dragging his nose down the curve of her jaw, lips tightening at the breathy sound she let out. 

Like a man starved, he curled a hand around her jaw, leaning in to kiss her again, one arm twining around the curve of her waist as he pulled her against him, reveling in the way she sank into his touch. 

"Look at you," he murmured, ducking his head to press kisses along her throat. He dipped his hand, pressing the pads of his fingers to her bud, watching her arch above him, “I’ve barely touched you, little songbird,” his lips parted, groaning as he swiped his fingers through the slick that had gathered between her legs, “Is this all for me?” he panted, trailing a path of openmouthed kisses over her shoulder, hissing as he felt her fingers twist in his hair, yanking on the short silver gold strands. 

“Yours,” she gasped out, her breath coming out shaky and tremulous. 

She dug her fingers into the linens, gripping them tightly as her back lifted up, arching like a cat. 

"Do you wish for me to stop?” he asked in-between the kisses he pressed against the column of her throat. 

She shook her head quickly, curling her body tighter around his, her instrument forgotten once again, “Please-” 

“Listen to you,” he rasped, “Begging for me so prettily,” he added a second finger and she mewled, not bothering to make any further attempt to be quiet. 

He squeezed his eyes shut, groaning at the feeling of her clenching around his fingers, stars bursting and erupting behind his eyelids. 

“My instrument-” she protested breathlessly as the sound of the wooden instrument clattering over the side of the bed and onto the floor sounded over the sounds of her pleasure. 

“I’ll purchase you a new one,” he promised absentmindedly, a sheen of sweat covering his skin, the heat between them nearly boiling in its intensity, a gratuitous result of the steadily rising sun, “I swear it,” he said as her hands tangled in his hair, pulling him back to her mouth, “I’ll purchase anything you desire,” he mumbled as she let out another cry. 

His head lowered, the warmth of his breath fanning over her skin as he moved down to settle between her thighs, the shorn, uneven ends of his hair brushing over her stomach like a bird’s feather. 

He felt her legs trembling as she writhed under him as he buried his face between her legs, the lewd sounds of his mouth on her echoing loudly in the same breath as the other noises she made. 

Her moans were an entirely different form of music, clear and sharp and sweet like the bells that had rang in the city after the births of Jaehaera and Jaehaerys and Maelor. He lifted his head, pressing a kiss to her hip. His eyes met hers, gold on violet as he rested his chin on her stomach, one arm curving around her waist, content to just watch her. 

He rolled onto his back, hands finding home on her hips. 

“You’re not playing fair,” she grumbled breathlessly, groaning in tandem with him as she sank onto him. 

He huffed out a laugh at that, only for it to fade as he grimaced, pain flaring in his shoulders where her fingers dug into his flesh, the sharp edges of her nails sure to leave marks later. He tugged her hands away to kiss her palms as emotion after emotion raced through him, one after the other like a serpent swallowing their own tail. 

“When have I ever done that?” he said lowly, one corner of his mouth curving upwards. 

Her head fell back as she twisted her hips, hands braced on his chest, fingers hovering inches from his collarbones. The intoxication that had been in her eyes before is still there, echoed just as potently in his own now. 

“The day grows late,” she commented after her breathing had steadied and quietness swept over the chamber once more, her gaze focused on the windowpane as she curled around him, watching the sun rise higher and higher, resting her head on his shoulder as she traced shapeless patterns against his skin with the tips of her fingers lightly, “Perhaps I should go-”

He clucked his tongue, pulling her flush against him, “There is nowhere else you should be but here,” he murmured, a pleasant drowsy tiredness settling over him like ice over a river, the fear that she would leave hovering faintly in the back of his mind as it always did. 

Her sighs echoed softly in his ears as she reached for his hand, lacing her fingers with his as she traced over the lines etched deep into the flesh of his palm. 

It was the moments like this, tucked away with her flush against him, his nose buried in her hair, hidden away from the leeches and the vipers of the court, that were a balm, soothing in a way he did not know quite what to name, but craved it all the same the calm that settled over him as she nestled further into his arms, his restlessness fading slowly like ripples on the surface of a lake.

He dreamed sometimes of fleeing in the dead of night with her, going somewhere, anywhere, where no one would ever find them. To Lys or Meereen or even further. But those were but the stuff of dreams; childish and unattainable. 

She was his, and he would bathe the realm in dragonfire before he ever let her go.

#my fics #house of the dragon #aegon ii targaryen #aegon smut #aegon targaryen #hotd fics

[wordbreaker]

The Taming of the Dragon, 3 ✷ Aemond Targaryen

PAIRING: Aemond Targaryen / F!OC

SUMMARY: One evening, Aemong, in dire need of clearing his head, catches a Dragonkeeper on the beach tending to Vhagar. The Queen of Dragons doesn't seem bothered by the stranger's presence. Quite the opposite. Aemond is immediately intrigued. Even more so when he discovers that the stranger is a girl who comes from the North and bears the name Snow.

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         How ironic for the House of Fire and Blood to concern itself with Water.

Driftmark and its succession haunted everyone's thoughts. A blue thorn in the back of those who held the kingdom together.

Aemond’s last vision of Driftmark had been one of blood and pain. Crimson waves had washed away his admiration for the endless sea and the sunny horizon. The only cherished memory he held close to his heart was Vhagar. The rest, he preferred to forget. His eye, hidden under his leather patch, seemed to burst into flame. The pain, petty and merciless, reminded him that he would never be able to get rid of this evening.

Lucerys Strong deserved neither Water nor Fire, and certainly not Driftmark.

The blood fever that kept Corlys Valeryon bedridden cured Aemond’s eternal suffering. Boiling water calmed the dragon's fire which, for ten years, had never stopped dancing and burning those who got too close. He was already looking forward to seeing his nephew's shoulders slumping, his chin drooping and his brown eyes glistening. The only sea he would rule would be that of his tears. Aemond had no regard for the succession of the island—the affairs of the Valeryons had long ceased to interest him—but the prospect of seeing the sadness and disappointment painted on his bastard nephew’s childish face would bring him more joy than any present.

For Lucerys Valeryon would not win, not when Otto Hightower sat on the Iron Throne in his father’s stead.

His half-sister, armed with her usual gall, would parade her bastards around shamelessly, proclaiming loud and clear that Driftmark was rightfully theirs. He laughed, alone in his quarters.

Lucerys Valeryon was not a leader and certainly not a lord. He remembered the little boy who always hid behind his older brother, always involved in Aegon's tasteless pranks. Lucerys Valeryon—no, Strong—was just a rag doll with no backbone, given life and the desire to rule by the stupid words his whore of a mother had insisted on pounding into his head.

“Your Highness, your mother the Queen asks that you join her at the gates.”

Aemond dismissed the servant with a nod and took one last look at his mirror. His violet eye lingered on the piece of leather that crossed half his face—the continuation of the scar on his cheek. No. Lucerys Strong didn't deserve Driftmark.

He turned and stomped off towards the entrance, leaving behind him the glimmering shadow of a blade which, that evening ten years ago, had blinded him as much as the blow.

The prince left his chambers. He could already see himself in the throne room, tired of listening to the pleas of people whose blood was supposedly as pure as his own. Vaemond and Rhaenyra would strut into the Red Keep and then into the throne room, chins up, shoulders straight—the very image of pride—to fight for a bloodline that was doomed. The dynasty of Old Valyria, tainted by the vices of a woman and the obsession of a man. The blood in their veins did not bleed red; their wrongs had blackened it.

Like many other houses, the Valeryon dynasty would kill itself, leaving behind only bastards and stagnant water. Aemond would feast on their demise in silence but with a certain jubilation.

“Do you know why I have been summoned?” he asked his sworn protector.

“Your sister the princess has arrived, Your Highness.”

His only eye twitched with anger. Of course she had. He took a deep breath but continued walking. The corridors of the Red Keep flashed by with his hurried steps.

The sooner he greeted them, the sooner he could leave.

Aemond soon reached the great doors. They alone separated him from his past. The swollen skin of his eye throbbed. It seemed to boil. Water had defeated fire once. He clenched his fist. Sometimes he felt like ripping off half his face. The pain had never subsided. It lay dormant, waiting for the right moment to leap up and paralyse him.

The sapphire in his eye socket had done nothing to appease his sorrow nor his pain. It was just a way for his mother to forget her son was now just a crippled. Its colour would always remind him of Driftmark. He carried the sea in his eye and, when he dared to face his reflection in the mirror, was reminded of it daily.

At the sight of him, the soldiers posted on either side of the doors opened them. He held his breath and rushed outside. The cool wind whipped across his face, calming for a few seconds the storm that was growing inside him. A few soldiers were training here and there. Others were making their rounds.

Aemond looked around but didn't see his mother, his grandfather and certainly not his father, confined to bed by illness and old age. This impotence had brought them this far. Vaemond Valeryon would never have dared contradict the King if he could still defend his beloved child.

Viserys was the cause of many things.

A roar made him raise his head. The long body of Caraxes twisted to land in the courtyard. Its red scales reminded Aemond of the flags his mother had had removed and replaced with the symbols of the Seven. His uncle, Daemon Targaryen, as proud as ever, dismounted nonchalantly, Black Sister swinging from his belt. Aemond dreamed of touching, even brushing his fingertips against, the legendary sword.

A relic of the Conquest.

Aemond did not feel the same visceral hatred for his uncle that sometimes paralysed him. Admiration and respect for Daemon mixed with rage to create an intoxicating concoction.

He only felt that way with another person, whom he preferred to leave to the beach and the night.

Syrax's yellow scales sparkled in his field of vision and tore the thin smile that had so far tugged at Aemond's lips. Vermax and Arrax, small as they were, enraged him to no end. One by one, the dragons landed and shook the ground. A dust storm whirled around and reached Aemond at the top of the steps. He rubbed his black tunic with his hand and gloated when he saw that none of their mounts compared to Vhagar, not even the Blood Wyrm. The prince felt a deep sense of satisfaction at this. It ran through his veins and soothed him.

Aemond, in a rare childish whim, refused to pay the slightest attention to Luke. The pain in his eye seemed to intensify at the mere proximity of the boy. He resisted the urge to cup the left side of his face and straightened his shoulders. The rustle of a cloth drew him from his thoughts. His mother stopped beside him and gave him a thin smile. Worry deepened the wrinkles that, over the years, had multiplied around her eyes and her lips, which were always pursed.

Jacaerys dismounted his dragon. His nephew, though still plain-looking, had grown. His build had thickened and reminded him of a certain Harwin Strong. He chuckled. His mother placed a hand on his forearm. A warning. He didn't care. No one could deny that his sister's first three children were bastards. Even a blind man wasn't naive enough to believe the sweet lies that his whore sister's angelic face spouted.

“Embrot.”

“Inkot!”

“Jātās! Jātās I said!”

Orders in High Valyrian rang out.

A horde of dragonkeepers, covered head to toe in their black armour, surrounded the newcomers and busied themselves around the restless beasts.

Dragonstone, carved out of cold stone, was warmed only by the fire of the wild dragons that populated the island. There were no keepers in this fortress. The dragons knew only their riders and would kill anyone who dared approach them. Arrax tried to char one of the guards, completely ignoring Luke's panicked cries.

If he couldn't control his dragon, how could he hope to rule Driftmark? The Blacks’ nerve could not erase reality—they were undeserving.

Aemond's eyes feasted on this spectacle of incompetence, but his smile soon faded when he spotted a female figure, a whirl of pale skin and brown hair, among the guards.

Snow.

He frowned and watched her walk towards Vermax. She raised her arms towards the dragon, palms outstretched, to calm it down. Beside her, Jace, instead of following his family as they gradually drew closer to Aemond and his mother, began to talk to her. Their heads came closer together. Aemond watched Lucella throw her head back and laugh, all under his nephew's satisfied gaze.

The prince clenched his fists. Why was she there? Wasn't she his dragon's appointed keeper? Vhagar needed her more than that miserable Vermax.

As if she could hear his thoughts, Lucella suddenly met his gaze. She frowned and turned back to Jace, who noticed the exchange and raised an eyebrow. An unpleasant sensation lodged in Aemond's chest and made him itch.

Two bastards together. He laughed at the thought, but his hilarity painfully hit his throat. A lump had got stuck there and was choking him. Why did he feel the need to come between them, to pull Lucella away from his nephew? His hands tingled. Thousands of small needles were screaming at him to do something, not to let the snow be contaminated by water. 

The dragon's fire blazed in his chest, burning away any sense of sanity.

He wanted Jacaerys to perish in the flames of his rage.

Aemond hadn't seen her for a week. Yet her face and the contours of her lips had never left him. She haunted him. In the evenings, her accentuated voice echoed in his thoughts.

Since their eventful meeting, Lucella and Aemond had crossed paths several times on the beach. Their shared love for Vhagar prevented them from killing each other, although he often felt like doing so, for Lucella Snow couldn't keep her mouth shut. The few times they spoke, her sharp words, as sharp as a blade, cut into the cage around his chest.

This cordial understanding soothed his senses and prevented him from dreading his visits to the beach. He had given up going out alone at night, for Lucella Snow never left his side, even when she wasn't there. He couldn't ride his dragon without thinking of the keeper.

She kept looking after Vhagar. The carcasses of charred sheep and game piled up on the beach, staining the white sand with their blood. The dragonkeeper avoided him. He didn't know why. Nothing had changed in their exchanges. Their duels of words, the winner of which always varied, had retained the same tenor, the same intelligence.

What had made her run away from him?

Lucella Snow had blended into the background, disappeared into the shadows, and escaped his blind spot. Aemond should have been happy. No more northern bastard with an unpleasant accent raging in his ears and insulting him at every turn. Yet something prevented him from rejoicing at this absence. He felt he was losing control and hated it.

Across from Jacaerys, Lucella burst out laughing.

He had never made her laugh. His insults sometimes drew a smile, though it was always tinged with resentment, and, more rarely, a snort. Lucella Snow didn't laugh. She would glare and insult you.

Lucella Snow was no laughing matter. You had to decipher her Nordic gibberish, which— intermingled with the insults and stubborn retorts to always have the last word—became particularly irritating.

And yet, Lucella Snow was laughing out loud with his nephew. His plain nephew. Aemond railed against the bastard who, like his mother, stole everything that didn't belong to him. Driftmark, the Iron Throne... And now Lucella Snow and her laugh.

That melodious sound, so clear, so different from her hoarse voice, stayed with him all day. He nodded absent-mindedly to his half-sister and her bastards. Neither Vaemond's nor Rhaenyra's plea echoed in his eardrums. All he could hear was her laughter, and all he could see was her face, her pink, stretched lips revealing astonishingly white teeth. Her hair went round and round in his mind.

He closed his only eye and prayed for a moment's respite, but the Gods turned a deaf ear to his plea.

His father burst in, reaffirmed Driftmark's succession to Lucerys, Vaemond dared to say what everyone else was thinking and lost his head in the process. His sister yelped; his brother turned his head; Aemond remained motionless for that damned laughter never left his thoughts and drove him mad.

He clenched his fists as his eye stared blankly at Vaemond's decapitated head.

Lucella Snow was driving him mad, whether she was there or not.

That evening, she still hadn't left his thoughts. He kept seeing the image of her, head back, smiling. Happy. Happy to talk to Jacaerys. Jacaerys, sitting next to Aegon—who was already drowning in wine—and his betrothed, was talking as if nothing had happened. As if he had not encroached on Aemond's territory. This made him furious. He sank into his usual silence but felt flames dancing in his chest. He waited and waited.

It was Luke's sneer when the roast pork was served that made him snap. His hand came down on the table and shook the glasses. Aemond took hold of his, still full, and raised it in the direction of the only two brown-haired boys, yet another example of their difference, their defect.

“Final tribute. To the health of my nephews. Jace… Luke… and Joffrey. Each of them handsome, wise… hm… strong.”

“Aemond.”

“Come... let us drain our cups to these three… Strong boys.”

“I dare you to say that again,” said Jacaerys, whose cheeks had become flushed.

The echo of a laugh resounded in his skull. The ghost of his nephew leaned towards Lucella. Aemond’s eye twitched. His thoughts darkened.

“Why? ‘Twas only a compliment. Do you not think yourself Strong?”

The bastard dared to punch him. Aemond threw one back and was delighted to hear his jaw crack. Their mothers stepped in as Aegon grabbed Luke by the hair and slammed his head against the solid oak table. Aemond could not contain his chuckled. He was reborn in the chaos and the pain of his nephew. His nephew who had dared to speak to Lucella, his dragonkeeper. Who had dared to make her laugh.

His mother dismissed him. He happily complied. Another second in Jacaerys' presence and he would have had to deal with much more than just a punch in the cheek. The fire that was burning every inch of his flesh—and whose first spark had ignited in the remnant of his eye—was not subsiding.

The flames intensified. They would consume him if he didn't get out of here.

Once outside, Aemond automatically headed for the Dragonpit. Fight fire with fire. He would feed off the dragons’ chaos and rejoice in their hot breath.

The prince didn't dare dwell on why. Why hadn't he headed for the beach, where he was sure to find Vhagar? Aemond kept quiet about this question—the answer to which he knew but didn't want to admit—and rushed into the pit.

His heart missed a beat and seemed to speed up at the same time.

Near the stairs where the Pink Dread had appeared years before, Lucella, staff in hand, was leading the dragons of Rhaenyra's clan forward. The eminent departure of the heiress to the throne had been quickly made known. The decision had been taken in haste. Rhaenyra would return to Dragonstone, where she reigned over her vices. King's Landing would no longer be contaminated by bastardy and manipulation. His grandfather and mother had made sure of that.

“Lykirī, Caraxes,” Snow's husky voice drew him from his thoughts. “Calm down. I don't want to use that.”

She shook her long wooden stick. Aemond had never seen Lucella use one. The other guardians never parted with it. They pricked the dragons' sides shamelessly and hit them when the creatures dared to rebel. Lucella did not stoop to such barbaric techniques. Her voice alone was enough to tame the most savage beasts. She had, after all, managed to bond with Vhagar.

Dragonkeepers forgot that the creatures in their care deserved respect and admiration. Only Snow understood this.

She grazed rather than poked Caraxes' rib.

Reluctance to hurt.  

Without being able to explain it, Aemond felt a certain satisfaction in knowing that she didn't need a stick when she was looking after Vhagar. The bond between the Northwoman and his dragon was unique. The first non-Targaryen to be able to touch her without dying.

A Northern girl who could tame dragons. She would inspire the minstrels of Flea Bottom, whose songs would overflow with metaphors about snow and fire. Lucella was a conundrum that Aemond couldn't decipher.

He hated not knowing. He had prided himself on his intelligence ever since he lost his eye. Luke had taken away his beauty, he would shine with his mind. Philosophy, science, nothing held any secrets for him except Lucella Snow, who symbolised everything her native land was not. 

The first time he had seen her, he had put her relationship with Vhagar down to luck. Perhaps his dragon, just as curious as he was, had become attached to this mongrel from the North. The days had passed. They had met again and Aemond had had to admit that the keeper knew what she was doing. He even dared to use the word “gift”, for no other dragon keeper possessed such an ability to tame beasts as she did: with love and respect.

For the first time in the history of Westeros, snow resisted fire. Ever white and strong, it extinguished flames.

Aemond did not move. He remained at the entrance of the pit and watched from a distance as Lucella calmed Caraxes with great gestures. The red dragon twisted in all directions to avoid her hands, but she was not discouraged. Her voice became firmer. He stiffened as he heard her order Daemon's dragon not to move.

“Lucella!”

The woman turned her head. One of the keepers appeared on the staircase. She was reluctant to leave the Blood Wyrm in the hands of one of the Elders. He had to pull her arm away from it. The Elder grabbed her staff and struck a clean blow into Caraxes' side. The dragon roared. A few waves of smoke escaped from his snout. A warning. Lucella clenched her fist and looked as if she wanted to say something to the Elder, but the other keeper called to her again. She joined him, shoulders tense, eyebrows furrowed.

Aemond watched them talk. From here, he couldn't tell what they were saying, but it seemed serious. They whispered urgently and glanced at the staircase. The keeper pointed to it. Lucella nodded. Aemond watched the girl disappear down the stairs. Something urged him to act. He pushed against the unpleasant memories—a winged pig and a dragon ready to char him— and followed.

Aemond could not see a thing. The dragons' only source of light was their fire. The guards armed themselves with torches to navigate this labyrinth of great galleries and endless corridors. Lucella strode with disconcerting ease in the complete darkness. A few torches here and there illuminated their surroundings, but he had to squint to make out Lucella's silhouette walking at a hurried pace.

Seeing that dragons were condemned to darkness, Aemond was glad that Vhagar didn't have to live in there. His gaze remained fixed on Lucella. She walked without hesitation. The pit held no secrets for her. She knew exactly where she was going and why. His guide in the dark.

“I have not seen you on the beach for a long time. Are you not supposed to be tending to Vhagar? The dunes and the fresh air are probably more pleasant than this… rat hole,” he glanced around wearily.

Lucella flinched, as she did every time they met. A small smile stretched Aemond's mouth. She was almost cute, startled out of her wits. He instantly chastised himself. Lucella Snow was not cute: she was an angry and sarcastic woman who constantly made inappropriate remarks.

The keeper rolled her eyes.

“What are yeh doin’ ere? Don't yeh ‘ave princely duties to attend t’?”

She had quickly abandoned all politeness. Had she ever had any? Their first encounters had exuded a certain reserve that annoyance had swept aside with a wave of its hand. The North and its lack of manners had quickly caught up with her. Aemond still couldn't understand why she spoke to him as if he were a commoner and not the prince, son of her king. The North may have worshipped their Warden, the Starks, but the Targaryen monarchy and power did not stop at the Neck.

“Vhagar don’t need me all th’ time,” she finally said when she saw he wouldn't answer. “She ‘as a rider. Would be good if he remembered. ‘ave neither t’ desire or t’ patience to carry dead sheep on me shoulder every day.”

“You are a dragonkeeper. The crown houses you, feeds you and gives you money to look after dragons.”

“Aye! Dragons. Not just one. Vhagar can look aftah ‘erself for a few hours. She survived Aegon's conquest, she'll survive three hours withou’ a pat on t’ ribs. Sunfyre needs me, Dreamfyre too. ‘nd wi’ Rhaenyra... Four more dragons is nah mean feat, let me tell yeh tha’. Not tha’ it matters anymore. People say you've lightened me workload. I thank yeh for tha’. I don't s’ppose dinnah went well? Was the meat not cooked to yer liking, yer ‘ighness?”

Lucella curtsied ungracefully. Her favourite mockery. Each time, she reminded him that she didn't care about his royal title.

“It concerns you not.”

“Hm… Well,” she shrugged. “I guess wine will loosen yer brother's tongue soon enough. Th’ Street of Silk is t’ best place t’ learn royal business. Everyone says so.”

She turned left into a seemingly endless corridor. He didn't know exactly how long they had been walking or the reason for this expedition.

“Just wish I could’ve looked after Vermax a litt’ longer. Tha’ an interesting character right ther’”

He laughed. It sounded bitter.

“His rider as well, I suppose?”

She turned and stared at him but said nothing. Lucella continued to advance into the pit. Aemond followed. An unpleasant feeling weighed down his shoulders. He opened his mouth several times but could not come up with something satisfactory to say. The image of her laughing at Jacaerys flashed in his mind. How had he done it?

“Do you not miss working in the pit?” he finally asked.

“Nay. It's not healthy t’ be so immersed in the dark. Some o’ t’ guards ‘ave gone mad. Even the North ‘s more welcoming. The dark always passes. Not ’ere. I prefer t’ beach, even if it means yeh’re there,” she glanced over her shoulder at him. “Vhagar is happier than any o’ those dragons. It's awful, t’ way they're treated. If I ‘ad me way, they'd be flyin’ free over King's Landing. A dragon is no slave that can be chained up in t’ dark ‘nd taken out when its rider wants t’ get some fresh air. I've always– Look out!”

Lucella pulled him out of the path of the flames. A dragon, illuminated by the blaze, appeared in his field of vision for a few seconds and disappeared into the darkness just as quickly. His heart pounded against his chest. His hands trembled. He saw himself again, ten years earlier, in the same position. He closed his eye.  

“Fuck!”

Lucella screamed in pain. The distinctive smell of charred flesh rose to his nose. Aemond looked down. In the darkness, he could make out the keeper’s burnt arm. She yelped. The sound tore at Aemond's heart.

A rumble sounded, followed by a second. One by one, the dragons awoke. Lucella swore.

Despite her injury, she pulled the prince towards the exit. He followed her like a puppet, with no resistance in his limbs.

She was touching him.

For the first time.

They left the darkness behind them. Aemond's violet eye fell on Lucella's arm. Her armour had taken the brunt of the attack, but leather was no match for the Dracarys of an enraged dragon. Iron, dragonglass, Valyrian steel... The fire nibbled at everything, leaving nothing but ashes. The usually pale flesh of the female keeper was now nothing but a jumble of black and pink. Melted leather had mixed with the raw wound. He grimaced. It would leave a scar. Only now did Aemond notice that, unlike the other guards, Lucella's face and body had not been marred by the flames.

Before him and his careless mistake, a small, petty voice whispered to him. He did not try to quiet it. It was right. Because of his stupidity, she was suffering. A lump caught in Aemond's throat.

They went out of the pit, onto the open arena. Lucella grumbled under her breath. She berated him for having followed her and distracted her.

“Princes ‘ave no business in the pit! Yeh always want t’ play great lords… saviours… Whatevah! And yeh expect people t’ pick up the pieces yer idiocy caused! The nerve of yeh!”

Hatred took over and soothed her suffering. He let her scream. Perhaps that was the best remedy, for, no doubt, the adrenalin would soon evaporate and leave her weak and feverish.

“We must treat the wound as quickly as possible. I will summon Maestre Mullynn. He'll know what to do. He's the one who stitched up my eye, so he'll probably be able to–”

“Leave me be. Yeh’ve done enough. Go do what princes do. Fuck a whore, play knight, whatevah... I don’t give no fuck. Go.”

For once, he didn't comment on her vulgarity and simply repeated what he had just said. If she didn't see a Maester and treat her burns immediately, she risked much more than a simple scar. Aemond dared to put a hand on her shoulder.

The feel of her skin against his made him lose his train of thought. In his heart, a flame different from the others ignited. He leaned into this pleasant, softer, warmth.

Lucella jerked away from his grasp and stomped on the flame, leaving him cold as stone. She held back a cry of pain through clenched teeth and pressed her arm against her chest. One eye wasn't enough to hide the tremors that shook her arm. He clenched his fist. He would carry her all the way to Maestre Mullynn if he had to. Lucella had to treat that arm.

“I must insist... He–”

“Get lost, for fuck’s sake!”

Aemond stood still, surprised by the explosion. He was not facing a Northern bastard, but a dragon. A dragon ready to destroy everything in its path. In her amber eyes burned the flame of resentment. She had become the Stranger and promised death to anyone who dared stand in her way. Aemond had come close to Death many times. It had never looked so frightening.

He watched her walk away helplessly, her hand trembling on her fragile arm.

His eye itched. He didn't understand why.

As he passed through the gates of the Red Keep, Ser Criston Cole summoned him to the Small Council Chamber. His mother told him that his father, the King, had died and that Aegon was to be crowned.

A tear rolled down his cheek. He was not sad.

#aemond fanfic #aemond x reader #aemond targaryen #aemond fanfiction #aemond x oc #aemond x fem!reader #aemond targaryen x reader #aemond targaryen x oc #hotd fanfic #hotd aemond #house of the dragon #aemond fic #aemond x original female character #aemond x original character #aemond x female #aemond targaryen angst #aemond angst #hotd angst #hotd fanfiction #ewan mitchell fanfic #ewan mitchell

[thatswhatsushesaid]

i think it is extremely weird that parts of this fandom have just definitively decided that the principle antagonist is an irredeemably evil monster because he has his minion burn down a brothel (where said antagonist was born and abused and watched his mother suffer and die) with people still inside it, then hires a bunch of sex workers to rape his rapist dad (who raped so many women that he lost track of who his victims were, and ended up approving of a marriage between said antagonist and his own half-sister as a result) to death

when the protagonist’s chosen means of killing the people who razed the only home he’s ever known and murdered his foster parents involves 1) choking a woman to death by forcing a table leg down her throat, 2) forcing that dead woman to bite off a man’s genitals, and 3) forcing that man to eat his own legs. this plus the protagonist’s multiple day-long murder-torture bender where he kills and tortures a bunch of other wen sect disciples in front of each other, and owns doing this because it was fun and would have been too boring to kill then quickly. like jiang cheng and lan wangji find wwx by following the trail of bodies he leaves in his wake ok, that’s pretty awful

if wei wuxian can do these things and and still be considered good, then that only makes it harder for me to understand why jin guangyao is denied goodness

fun fact: when i describe both of these characters to people who are totally canon-blind and know nothing about mdzs, cql, or any of the other adaptations, the initial response from most people isn’t “hmmm but what was the protagonist’s interiority while he was making that woman’s corpse eat that man’s junk? was he very sad about it? that will surely tell me whether his corpse desecration and autocannibalism is morally defensible or not.” most of the time what they say is “ray what the fuck are you reading, both of those guys sound like evil people, i don’t care what their motivations are! also get help”

it just seems weird!! that certain corners of this fandom have decided that goodness is not only a quality that wwx intrinsically possesses (something i don’t necessarily disagree with fwiw), but that he gets to be defined by this goodness above all else. wwx gets situated at the centre of all subsequent discourse as the moral lighthouse of the whole novel—even though he has done objectively heinous shit entirely to satisfy his own desire for vengeance. doing all of those things does not detract from his fundamental goodness, in their estimation. or if it does, it doesn’t detract enough to significantly impact his role for them as the goodness barometer in the novel.

and that’s fine with me actually! if this is where the bar for what it means to be good in this novel is set, then it should logically follow that jin guangyao’s heinous actions can similarly be ‘offset’ by paying the appropriate ‘goodness tax’ through his other canon actions (e.g., loving and remaining filial to his mother, saving and protecting lan xichen, saving nie mingjue, funding the rebuilding of the cloud recesses, caring for his orphaned nephew, etc). he has done yuckydisgusting things, yes, but so has wwx! and as we all know, wwx is not evil! so jgy isn’t evil either!

…but this isn’t what happens in these conversations, because jgy seems to begin all fandom discourse at a goodness deficit that is depressingly reflective of the goodness deficit he experiences in the novel post-canon. (or, honestly, at the beginning of his life as meng yao.) and unlike wwx whose character gets to be defined principally by his goodness in spite of his genuinely horrendous acts of violence, jin guangyao’s whole character becomes defined by his horrendous acts of violence in spite of his goodness, even though the text demonstrates clearly that their capacity for both good and evil is evenly matched.

tl;dr it would be nice if the goodness goalposts would stop moving around so much in these discussions. maybe we should just get rid of them entirely.

#mdzs meta #salty peak sect 🧂 #jin guangyao #he did crimes??? good for him 😌 #i’m tired

[fatum679]

On the twenty-second day of the fifth moon of the year 130 AC

Daemon ripped off his nephew’s helm and drove the sword down into his blind eye, so hard the point came out the back of the young prince’s throat. Half a heartbeat later, the dragons struck the lake, sending up a gout of water that was said to have been as tall as Kingspyre Tower. Neither man nor dragon could have survived such an impact, the fisherfolk who saw it said. Prince Aemond had only turned twenty.

The end came when a crossbow bolt nicked one of the dragon’s eyes. Half-blind, and maddened by a dozen lesser wounds, Dreamfyre spread her wings and flew straight up at the great dome above in a last desperate attempt to break into the open sky.

Helaena Targarye threw herself from her window in Maegor’s Holdfast to die impaled upon the iron spikes that lined the dry moat below. Helaena’s end had been mercifully swift: one of the spikes took her through the throat and she died without a sound. She was but one-and-twenty.

The Blood Wyrm’s jaws closed about Vhagar’s neck, her black teeth sinking deep into the flesh of the larger dragon. Even as Vhagar’s claws raked her belly open and Vhagar’s own teeth ripped away a wing, Caraxes bit deeper, worrying at the wound as the lake rushed up below them with terrible speed.

Aemond & Helaena Dreamfyre & Vhagar

#vhagar #aemond targaryen #helaena targaryen #dreamfyre #house targaryen #house of the dragon #edit #hotd s2 #hotd #dance of the dragons #fire&blood #leo ashton #ewan mitchell #phia saban #evie allen #helaemond #aemond x helaena #helaena x aemond #helaemondedit #hotdedit #anti aemond × alys #anti alys rivers #anti alysmond #asoiaf #a song of ice and fire #targaryen #dragons #hbo max #hbo nordic #battle above the gods eye