Aemond X Fem!reader - Tumblr Posts

THIS IS THE BEST THING I'VE EVER READ

Playing with Fire (part 4)

Part 1 | Part 2 | Part 3 | Part 4

pairing: Aemond Targaryen x Reader x Aegon II Targaryen

summary: Your wedding approaches along with the bedding ceremony and wedding night. Your husband has a delicious surprise prepared.

warnings: 18+ nsfw, explicit spicy scenes (p in v, all the bases being covered, oral, fingering), do not interact if you don't want spice

word count: 3.7k

note: thanks for being patient, I hope this gives you all the spicy feels!

read more of my work here! 💚

“I cannot believe this day has come,” your mother says, with tears in her eyes as she smoothes the gown you wear. 

It is beautiful, a creamy ivory color made of silks that cling to every curve of your body, the skirts cascading towards the floor.

“Now, my darling,” your mother says, clasping her hands in yours, “there are responsibilities you need to attend to tonight.”

The bedding ceremony. When the lords and ladies who attend the feast tear at the bride and groom, ripping the silks from their bodies like paper from a package. Gooseflesh appears as you think about it.

“The marriage bed is nothing to be afraid of,” your mother assures you, eyes kind and warm. 

You feel conflicted with the different stories you have heard from other ladies losing their maidenheads. 

“Prince Aegon shall be kind to you,” your mother says, stroking your cheek.

Will he? Aegon is many things, but kind you are not sure is one of them. In fact, Aemond had told you as much. 

The wedding ceremony itself is a blur, a whirlwind of silks and smiles as you are carted to the castle sept and presented before Aegon. You feel as though you are in a dream as he places the cloak of House Targaryen on your back. 

Now you suppose you are a dragon as well.

Aegon smiles at you and kisses you sweetly as a prince should when your vows are spoken. His eyes are lustful, his smile predatory. Now he has you in his jaws, your neck stuck between his teeth. The feeling both terrifies and excites you. 

“Congratulations, my lady,” Aemond says, giving you a soft smile later at the feast. 

Your heart flutters hearing his voice. Aemond was rather stoic during the ceremony, keeping off to the side alongside his sister Helaena. You had tried speaking to him after your engagement was announced, but there never seemed to be time. Aemond was an evasive creature, hard to catch like one of Helaena’s butterflies. 

“Aemond,” you breathe him in, “many thanks, my prince.”

You stand beside him in silence for a moment as the feast continues around you. Aemond places his hands behind his back as you take a sip from your cup.

“I must admit, I did not expect to be chosen,” you tell him, warm from the wine. 

“You are an excellent choice,” Aemond insists, causing you to blush. 

“You are too kind, my prince,” you tell him, “your flattery shall go to my head.”

“I should hope so,” Aemond says, causing you to look at him. 

He notices your empty cup, before wrapping his fingers around it, expelling it from your grip. His fingers leave a tingling sensation behind on your own. 

“You are a delightful woman, you should be understanding of that,” he continues, giving the cup to a servant who passes by. 

You bashfully glance toward the floor. Aemond was a kind man, something you felt ashamed to admit you never thought of before meeting him. The tales of the cold prince fluttered throughout the ladies of court just as much as Aegon’s lecherous reputation.

“Are you nervous about your wedding night?” Aemond asks, and you feel yourself blush. 

“Would you believe me if I said no?” you ask and he chuckles.

“You needn’t be afraid, my lady,” Aemond assures you. 

There is a look in his violet eye, as though he is sure of the words he speaks. Without a shadow of a doubt in his mind that he speaks the truth. You wet your lips, looking toward the head table. Aegon is seated, a goblet of wine dangling from his fingers. He has just finished speaking with his mother when his gaze falls on you and Aemond.

Aegon’s eyes are half-lidded, and a lazy smile appears on his face revealing his teeth. A dragon lapping its jaws. His eyes flicker from you to Aemond, before he raises his goblet, as though toasting you both. You can feel your face drain of color. 

You do hope you have not upset him. 

“I suppose I should attend to my husband,” you tell Aemond, who nods in agreement. His gaze flickers about your face, as though attempting to read your thoughts. 

Aegon stands when you reach him, arm lacing around your waist.

“What says, my brother?” Aegon murmurs, placing a kiss below your ear causing you to shiver.

“He wished to share his congratulations,” you inform him, as his hand reaches to stroke your cheek, maneuvering himself so he can continue to kiss your neck.

Something you’ve begun to learn about Aegon is that it is never just one kiss, a trail of them follows. 

“Mhmm,” Aegon seems pleased by your answer, continuing his adoration of your neck, down to your collarbone. 

You feel the color returning to your face, and spot Aemond watching from across the room. So very strange, you think to yourself, to always be passed between the stares of the dragon princes. 

Later that night, the door closes behind Aegon, clicking shut.

Aegon circles you; he is a predator finally cornering his prey. His eyes hungrily indulge in your form that shows through your sheer shift. Your gown had been removed long ago, as lords prepared you for the bedding. 

A chaotic moment it was, to feel tens of hands on you, pulling and tearing at the fabrics of your gowns, pulling the ornaments from your hair. Aegon was stripped as well, Cassandra Baratheon had pushed herself to the front helping herself to tear at the laces of his breeches. 

Your skin feels hot under Aegon’s gaze now as you stand so bare before him, as though his eyes produce dragonfire searing your flesh. 

You wonder if you’ll ever stop feeling this burning for him. 

Aegon walks over to you, only wearing a loose white shirt. He reaches for a cup that lies on the table, taking a quick sip, before holding it out to you. 

You take it from him, mirroring his actions. 

“Are you nervous?” he asks, voice rough with desire. He is clearly holding himself back from ravishing you on the stone floor. 

You feel your cheeks grow warm. This is it, this is truly happening. You find yourself nodding, eyes cast toward the floor. You wish you were not so shy, so embarrassed under his gaze. You know his experience, and you wonder what he expects of you. 

Aegon clicks his tongue, placing a finger underneath your chin, forcing you to meet his gaze. 

“There is no need to be,” he assures you, giving you a comforting grin. 

You cannot help but smile back, there is something about Aegon that does that. He melts the fear from your body like freshly fallen snow. He cups your cheek with his hand, bringing your mouth to his. 

The kiss is passionate, he slices your lips open with his tongue before plunging it into your mouth. The feeling of his tongue in your mouth sends a sharp feeling of desire trickling down your navel to the place beneath your small clothes. Aegon’s hands are very busy, the one that guides your face trails down to hold your waist, pressing you against him while the other cups your bottom. 

All the while he is walking you backward, toward the bed. He is very skilled; you cannot help but notice how easy it is for him to guide you, to touch and squeeze you in places that have you gasping against his mouth. 

“Do not be afraid,” Aegon murmurs, “I prepared this evening with only your utmost pleasure in mind.”

As he says this, his fingers find their way underneath your shift, touching you through your small clothes. He lets out a moan at the wetness he finds there, before pushing his fingers past the barrier, stroking them through your silky folds.

You let out a dramatic whine, cheeks flushing with embarrassment at the lewd sound. Aegon merely takes this as encouragement, teasing at your entrance with his finger. 

“I have to get you ready,” he tells you, through his kisses, before pushing a finger into your constricting, wet heat. 

He curls the digit within you, pressing his thumb against the sensitive bud that lies at the top of your folds, causing you to writhe against him at the newfound bliss.

“That’s it,” he says, drinking in your mewls and moans, before slipping a second finger inside of you. 

“Aegon, oh,” you moan against his mouth as he continues to fuck you with his fingers, slowly working you open. He sinks his teeth into your lower lip and something peaks inside of you, causing pleasure to roll across your skin, down your spine, all the way to your toes. 

Your legs wobble, as Aegon leads you toward the bed, tearing your shift over your head, leaving you naked before him. His eyes trail down your figure, truly devouring you as though a man famished. A smile breaks out across his face.

“Lay back, my love,” he instructs, removing the remainder of his clothes as you obey him. 

He climbs on top of you, kissing you again, lips trailing down your neck, over the swell of your breasts. He lavishes the peaks of your breasts with attention, tongue swirling around your nipples. You can feel his cock nudging at your entrance and take a breath. 

“It’s alright,” he tells you, kissing the tip of your nose, “I’m right here with you, bite on me if you need.”

You nod as he begins to push into you, the stretch causing you to gasp. It is much more than his fingers, and you find yourself taking him up on his offer, sinking your teeth into his shoulder.

Aegon whines at this, hips slapping against you. The pain ebbs at that moment, a wave of pleasure rolling through you. 

You make love like that for quite some time, Aegon finding his release, emptying his seed deep within your womb. But he is not a man easily satisfied. Nearly moments after his release, his cock hardens, and he turns you around on your hands and knees to take you as though he is more beast than man. 

You do not mind, the new position sends moans pouring from your mouth as he plows you into the feathered pillows. 

There is a sharp knock on the door, causing your head to snap up. You turn slightly to look behind you at Aegon, panic flashing across your face. His smile is wide as he continues to drill into you so hard your arms shake trying to hold yourself up.

“Enter!” Aegon calls.

“Aegon!” you desperately call, earning a sharp slap on your backside. 

What the seven hells is he doing?

The door is heard opening, and footsteps in the antechamber. Your heart pounds in your chest, but you can’t stop whimpering as Aegon’s cock splits you in two. 

“Come in, come in,” Aegon says, fingers digging into your hips as he thrusts harder, faster. 

Your eyes are wide as you hold up your lolling head, prepared to meet the eyes of some knight who shall surely be utterly horrified at the sight of Prince Aegon ruining his new bride in this animalistic position. 

You instead see Aemond Targaryen.

Shame courses through you, and you feel as though your entire body has ignited in flames. You meet his eye but quickly look away, letting your elbows fall into the feather mattress. Aegon’s strokes slow, but do not stop. 

“Brother,” he says, rather formally, “was there something you needed?”

Aemond is staring at you, watching as you try to hide your face, your body from him. 

“My lady,” Aemond addresses you directly. Always a polite man. Seven hells. 

You do not answer, fingers clutching the sheets of the bed. Perhaps Aegon can fuck you so hard into the mattress you shall disappear altogether. Aegon has different plans. He tangles a hand in your hair, lifting your head, and forcing you to look at Aemond. 

“My brother addressed you, dearest,” Aegon says, “do not be rude.”

A whimper leaves your lips.

“My prince,” you someone managed to say, as Aegon has begun to increase the rhythm of his strokes. 

Aemond nods, slowly walking closer to the bed. You do not know where to look, you wish he would not approach you. Surely whatever he needed could be attained at a different time. 

“Tell me, my lady,” Aegon asks, “do you think me unobservant?”

His fingers dig into your waist, as he snaps forward. Your head is spinning from the pleasure, the embarrassment, the excitement, and the confusion. Surely you are dreaming. 

“What?” you ask, voice a strangled moan. 

“I see the way you look at him,” Aegon says, a matter of factly, “much like how you look at me.”

Aemond is right in front of you now, watching as Aegon plunges himself into you. Your breath comes in pants, sure that Aegon is displeased, that he means to punish you in some way.

“Do you like how my brother fucks you?” Aemond asks, bringing a hand under your chin, forcing you to look at him.

The question stuns you. Tears spring from the corner of your eyes.

“Yes!” you cry out and Aemond hums at your response. 

“I told you Aegon was not usually kind,” Aemond said, letting his thumb stroke over your bottom lip; a shiver rolls through you.  

“She likes it, brother,” Aegon says, snapping his hips against you. 

“I do,” you moan in agreement, as Aegon’s cock massages a spot within you that makes your vision blur and your thighs tremble. 

“That’s it,” Aegon says, bringing his hand towards the apex of your thighs, using your slick arousal to fondle the precious pearl that lies hidden there. 

You release a moan, a tangled mess of both their names. 

“Hear that brother?” Aemond teases, “even with you inside of her she calls for me.”

Aegon yanks you up by your hair, a deliciously painful sensation on your scalp as he drags you flush against him. He remains nestled inside of you, as his lips find your ear. 

“Do you like him better?” Aegon taunts, placing a wet kiss on your neck. You can feel his smile; he is teasing you, taunting you. 

“No..” you moan, “I want…I-”

How can you possibly tell them what you want? What you desire?

“What dear wife?” Aegon says, lazily thrusting up into you, “tell me what you desire and I shall make it so.”

You whimper against him, as he holds your hips guiding them up and down on his thick shaft. 

“I want you both,” you murmur, an embarrassed whisper. 

The brothers are silent for a moment, the sound of soft, wet slapping the only noise in the room despite the small whimpers that leave your mouth. 

“You heard her,” Aegon says, causing your eyes to snap open.

“Say it again,” Aemond demands, still standing at the foot of the bed, watching you intently. 

“I want you both,” you repeat, more confidently this time.  

“Greedy, greedy wife,” Aegon purrs, as his hand curls around your breast. 

He lifts you from his cock, twisting you onto your back before re-entering you, placing one of your legs on his shoulder so he can thrust into you deeper. Your head hangs from the side of the bed, as he pounds into you. 

“What am I to do with such a greedy, lustful wife?” he taunts, placing a kiss on your breast, and stretching your hamstring until the burn is almost unbearable. 

You wonder if this is what it shall be like to be married to a Targaryen, always a constant state of burning. 

“Brother?” he calls, never relenting his strokes, “help me with my wife, will you?”

Aemond moves to the side of the bed, and within an instance, his breeches fall revealing his cock. It is not as thick as Aegon’s though it still has a girth that makes your eyes widen. 

“Get him ready,” Aegon tells you when you do nothing but gawk at Aemond’s cock that stands erect in front of you.

“How?” you ask, unsure of the next steps. 

“With your mouth,” Aegon directs, “get him nice and ready and I’ll let him fuck you kindly.”

A thrill runs through you at the thought and Aemond steps forward. You unhook your jaw and let him slide his hot length through your parted lips. 

Aemond’s pace is different than Aegon’s, as though he is holding back from fucking your throat relentlessly. The tip of his cock hits the back of your throat causing you to gag. 

Aegon moans at that. 

“Do that again,” he says, lifting your leg off his shoulder to hold it in the air. 

Aemond rolls his hips forward gently, causing you to gag again. Aegon groans at the noise. 

“Fuck that’s a pretty sound,” Aegon moans, rolling his hips in such a way that makes your toes curl with pleasure.

“Seven hells,” Aemond hisses when you hollow your cheeks, and experiment with moving your tongue. 

Aemond brings his hands to your breasts, tweaking and pinching your pebbled nipples.

“Isn’t she beautiful?” Aegon says, “I knew the moment I saw her I had to have her.”

“As did I,” Aemond says, causing you to whimper around his cock. 

You feel so unbelievably full from both ends, unaware that it was possible to feel this amount of pleasure. Tears leak from the corners of your eyes, as you feel Aegon’s thumb begin to circle the sensitive pearl at the apex of your thighs. 

You feel your thighs begin to tremble, as Aegon continues his attention. Your moans and gags grow louder around Aemond’s cock, the room filling with wet sounds. The pleasure builds and you find your release, cunt clenching around Aegon’s cock. He makes a breathless noise as he feels you tighten around him.

“Seven hells,” Aegon moans, before unsheathing himself from you, “what a good girl you are.”

You cannot answer, due to Aemond’s cock in your mouth and your hazy brain coming down from your orgasm. Aegon chuckles. 

“Go on then,” he says to Aemond, “be sweet to her.”

Aegon climbs off the bed, positioning himself in a chair, and fisting his still-hard cock. Aemond removes his cock from your mouth, a trail of spit connecting you to the tip. Aegon bites his lip at the sight. 

Aemond maneuvers you on the bed, gently cradling your head until it rests on a pillow. His touch is different from Aegon’s, not as rough, not as hasty. You look at your husband, his eyes are dark with lust. 

“What about you?” you ask, voice shaky. He grins at your words, head tilting backward.

“I know,” he purrs, “I’m being awfully generous, and on my wedding night as well.”

He pumps his cock again using the slick from your cunt, his flushed tip weeping precum. 

“You are my wife,” Aegon says, as though reminding you.

You turn your head toward Aemond, who now hovers above you. 

“May I kiss you?” he asks, eye flickering to your lips.

What an odd question to ask when his cock has already been in your mouth. 

“Yes,” you breathe, and Aemond leans down, capturing your lips in a kiss. 

You can feel his thighs brush against yours, his heavy cock nudging your legs apart. He reaches a hand down, barely having to try with how wet you are, sliding inside your tight warm heat with ease. 

You moan against his mouth, wrapping your arms around his neck, holding him close to you. Aemond is different, he feels different inside of you. He slowly rolls his hips against you, a gentle, even pace that has you clutching the hair at the nape of his neck. 

Aemond moves his mouth to your neck, kissing the hot flesh. Your head turns to the side, watching Aegon tug himself at the sight of Aemond fucking you. His mouth hangs open, lips curling into a smirk. Aemond’s head is buried in the other side of your neck, his pants music to your ears. 

You drop a hand from Aemond’s shoulders, reaching toward Aegon. He rises from the chair almost instantly and you wrap your hand around his neck. He covers your mouth in a hot kiss, laying beside you. Aemond lifts himself up, before unsheathing himself from you, laying on the other side. 

You turn to face Aegon, as Aemond lifts your leg, to continue to fuck you as you lay on your side. Your mouth falls open at a new angle, the tightness allows your cunt to swallow Aemond’s cock. 

Aegon kisses you, his hand reaching between your legs. A desperate moan is swallowed by your husband, and you reach your hand to stroke him as well. 

“That's it,” he says against your mouth. Aemond bites into your shoulder.

“Gods,” you breathe a pathetic whine that causes both men to chuckle.

“Close,” Aegon murmurs, “this is how a queen should be treated. Do you agree?”

You nod desperately.

“You are a dream,” Aegon purrs, “a delectable dream.” 

You cry out as your second orgasm washes over you, you feel Aemond find his release as well, spilling his hot seed inside of you. 

Aegon continues rubbing you until you’re pushing against him, pleading with him to release you. He does not, only rolls you off Aemond’s softening cock and onto his, having you straddle him. Aegon pulls you down, not allowing you to ride him (that shall be for another occasion). Instead, he holds you flat against his chest, beginning to jackhammer up into you, chasing his release.

You become a babbling mess, clenched so tightly when Aegon finds his release, your cunt milking him for all he is worth. You droop off of Aegon, falling in the space between the brothers, shaking from the pleasure you received, their mingled releases spilling from your entrance. 

You feel Aemond place a gentle kiss on your shoulder, as Aegon moves a strand of hair from your brow.

“I am afraid some of my reputation, holds water,” Aegon admits, fingers trailing down your chest. 

You hum, unable to form words.

“But I am not a selfish lover,” Aegon continues, “you are my wife, and I shan’t deny what brings you pleasure.”

You can feel Aemond growing hard again, as his cock presses against your backside. Aegon’s hand cups your breast, squeezing it softly. 

“Is that alright?” Aegon asks, though his amused expression seems to already know the answer.

You flutter your lashes at him, leaning into Aemond, before answering with a tired smile and a nod. 

It was to be a long night, shared between the dragon princes. 

note: I couldn't pick and I wanted both SUE ME 😤😩🥵

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She's Ours

Aemond & Aegon Targaryen x Targaryen!Reader

Warnings: cursing,yk the typical Targaryen incest,she/her pronouns, breeding kink, 18+, MDNI

Requested by @themotherofhorses :ok so here’s my idea !!Im obsessed with the idea of aemond & aegon being in love with their niece, and back on Drift mark, aegon and aemond propose a marriage between them and their younger niece (who’s either the trueborn daughter of daemon or laenor bc her pure valyrian is what pulls them in). aemond claims vhagar essentially as a wedding gift while aegon promises to talk to their mother to instead betroth helaena to jace and them two to their niece. however, the entire drama ensues, and the brothers “lose” their niece before anything can be done. cue the time jump, they’re older, aegon is about to wed helaena against his will, when he suggests to aemond that they sneak off to dragonstone and “claim” their niece as their own.

A/n: I loved this idea and sorry it took a while to figure out how I should do it!

~Young Aemonds Pov~

“You’re staring at her.” Aemond jumps at the sound of his brothers voice and turns to look at him. “ she is beautiful,maybe mother would let us marry her.” Aegon says while looking at his brother. “Mother hates any of our sisters children I don’t think she would.” Aemond thought about it, he always had. Him and Aegon have been thinking about this idea for months now but they have to play it safe or else mother will definitely not allow it. “If you want to prove to y/n that you love her then claim a dragon, a perfect wedding gift and I will talk to mother.” Aegon did really think his brother was going to go through with it.

-3 days later-

~Your Pov~

Waking up from the sound of your chamber doors opening, you turn to see your sisters Rhaena and Baela running in with panicked looks on their faces. “What’s wrong?” You rub your eyes trying to wake up. “Someone took Vhagar!” Baela replies. “Shit!” Getting up and putting something over your nightgown to cover you. Opening your door, you run outside with your sisters trailing behind.

Once you’re outside you see Vhagar landing and Aemond getting off. Shocked and confused on how he got her to trust him. ”Uncle what are you doing?” “Claiming my dragon dear neice.” Before you could reply Rhaena beats you too it. “You have no right! She was mine to claim!”

“Then you should’ve claimed her, maybe your cousins can find you a pig to ride, it would suit you.” Aemond snakily replied. It’s like everything flashed before your eyes. Seeing the others punch Aemond while he’s on the ground. “stop it! Right now!” Rushing over to Aemond. “Get off him.” Pushing them away. Finally getting them to separate. You thought that was the end of it,but nothing could have predicted what was about to happen as you see the blade reach aemonds face. Screaming he falls to the ground. You rush over trying to help him stop the bleeding but nothing was helping. “What did you do!? Leave and go to mother.” You watch the guards take Aemond to the maesters. Leaving you to follow.

~

A week later Rhaenyra, Daemon and the kids where all packed up and headed to Dragonstone. You on the other hand didn’t want to leave your uncles, you were close with them, and your mother didn’t like it one bit. Making you come along you watch as your uncles begged their mom to let you stay. They were heartbroken, they didn’t get to ask their mother about the hopes in marrying you. You hug them one last time before following your mother.

~ Years later~

You get down from Vermithor to see your mother waiting for you. Running your hand across his scales soothing him. He may be a grumpy old man but he’s a beauty and a stubborn one at that. It took a while to get him to trust you but in the end it was worth it. Having no dragon as a babe was tough, your father Daemon didn’t like the fact his daughter didn’t have one. He even questioned if you where his at one point. Shaking those thoughts away, you walk up to your mother. “You have another letter” Rhaenyra says looking at you, questioning if she should be looking at these letters you get almost every day.

Taking the letter from her hands, you thank her before walking to your chambers. It's a daily thing your uncles do, send you a letter every time they get a chance to.

~ Aemond's Pov~

Watching Aegon beg for something was weird for Aemond, especially begging his mother to wed him to their niece instead of Helaena but she was adamant refusing to change her mind. "You will be wed to your sister in four days." Alicent says as they watched their mother walk off after stating her decision is final.

"We need to go to Dragonstone." Aegon turns towards Aemond thinking of an idea. "And what would we do that for?" Aegon looks at him and replies "to take our niece as ours. Mother will have no say when we take our nieces maidenhood." Aemond raises a brow at his brother for such a thought, but he ponders it thinking how tight her pussy would be around his cock as he fucks his seed deep into her. Groaning at the thought he feels his cock harden and agrees.

As they head over to the Dragon Pit they both can’t help but let their mind wander with disgusting thoughts about their niece making them speed up to the pit feeling the need to claim her.

~ Your Pov~

You say your final good nights to your mother before heading to your chambers. As you walk in you see your maidens already have a bath ready for you. Stripping bare, you settle in,closing your eyes. They start with washing your hair, then onto your body after not hearing the door open. Suddenly you don’t feel their hands anymore. But no longer than a minute later their hands are back on you. The sound of the door shutting, makes you jump and open your eyes to only be met with the two princes. You gasp not expecting their intrusion before realizing they kicked your maidens out and seeing the rags are now in their hands. Sitting up, you hug them both ignoring the fact that you are bare under the bubbles.” How on earth did you guys get in here?,does my mother know? She will kill you guys!” You panic looking around before feeling a hand on your shoulder. “Your mother does not know we are here, now let’s keep it that way dear niece.” Aemond pushes your hair out of your face while leaning down to press a soft kiss to your lips. “Marry us” you could have sworn you hard your neck snap with how fast you turned your head to Aegon. Not knowing what to say, you sit there in shock.”you keep your mouth open like that I might just want to shove my cock into it.” Much to Aegons surprise you reply back, “what if I want your cock in my mouth?” “Such a dirty girl, have you been thinking about your uncles? Fucking yourself to our letters hm?” Suddenly you feel a wave of pleasure making you take your eyes off Aegon over to Aemond. Whimpering feeling him rub your already sensitive clit before slipping a finger into you. You grip his arm at the sudden intrusion. Aemond feels you buck your hips against his hand trying to catch your release but right before you break, he pulls his hand away. He hears a small whine before reassuring you that you’ll get to cum but only on their cocks. Getting out of the cold tub, you grip their pants unbuttoning their bottoms one by one but before you could finish Aegon grips your hands and pulls you towards him and slams his lips on yours. You feel Aemond pressed up behind you already naked. Tilting your head back feeling the light kisses he places on your neck before picking you up and laying you on your bed. Aegon gets undressed as Aemond hovers over you. He grips his cock and rubs it up and down your lips before slowly pushing into you. Groaning he leans his head into your neck and pushes all the way in. He looks down at you after lifting his head before asking if you are okay. With a quick nod, you wrap your legs around him in hopes he will start to move, which he takes as a hint and slowly starts moving. “So fucking tight.” He groans quickening his pace. You look over at Aegon seeing him fuck his cock with his hand making you clench around Aemond, pulling a few curses from the one eyed man above you.” You want my brothers cock in your mouth?hm? need to have your uncles cocks to feel fucked out like a whore.” You nod but that wasn’t enough for Aemond “beg for it” “please uncle I need you in my mouth,please I’ll be a good girl.” Whining feeling Aemond quicken his pace at your begging. Aegon walks up to you with his cock in his hand and taps it on your lips making you open your mouth. You feel hands grip your long platinum white hair that matches theirs. Aegon thrusts roughly not giving you a chance to get used to his size in your mouth. “Fuck your mouth feels heavenly” Aegon curses as you moan around his cock. “Yeah you like that huh such a little cock slut, I’m gonna stuff you so full of my seed, gonna make you a muña, you would like that, give us our heirs, keep you full of our seed every year, round with our children.” Whimpering you clench around Aemond. “Fuck I’m gonna cum.” Aegon thrusts harder before looking down at you asking if your close.Pulling away for a second you mumble a quick yes before reaching up and jerking off the rest of aegon that you can’t fit in your mouth. Freezing you climax clenching down cumming.You feel Aemond gripping your hips, knowing there will be bruising in the morning.

Aemond lays against you coming down from his high before kissing your forehead and lying next to you. Wiping your lips free of Aegons release you suck your finger into your mouth while making eye contact with him. Moving away he settles between your legs pumping his length already hard again. “Did you really think I was finished darling?” He chuckles before thrusting into you for round two.

A/n: Sorry if some things were messed up didn't fully proofread. This was my first House of Dragon smut so bear with me. Also, I didn't want to use High Valyrian really in this story until I'm more comfortable with writing the characters. Hope you guys liked it!

Requests are open!

Aemond Targaryen

- she’s Ours

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The Taming of the Dragon, 1 ✷ 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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         Aemond Targaryen was on the verge of going mad. Everyone around him, from his mother to his grandfather and even his failing father, had only one word on their lips: Rhaenyra. His half-sister, who lived in Dragonstone, haunted the Red Keep. Her ghost wandered the corridors and manifested itself on their lips. He no longer wanted to hear that cursed name, which brought with it bad omens and curses.

“She'll do anything to usurp the throne! Even if she knows Aegon is the rightful heir!’ Alicent Hightower shouted.

Her brown curls bounced with every step she took. Her incessant to-ing and fro-ing along the Small Council’s table was making his head spin.

His mother had summoned him—as if Aegon wasn't the first son—to this secret meeting where her, his grandfather Otto, Criston Cole and Larys Strong would discuss stratagems, politics, and manipulations: three things he had started to loath. His love for his mother and his sense of duty had kept him from leaving the minute she made that request.

His expression revealed his true opinion of this ridiculous spectacle which he was watching with a distracted eye. He had stopped listening a long time ago and was waiting patiently—as was expected of him—to be dismissed. These discussions had a way of boring him. They went round in circles, nothing more than paraphrases of a previous meeting. A constant déjà-vu fuelled by obsession and a thirst for power.

“Viserys will come round,” her father reassured her.

The Queen laughed, a mundane, almost inelegant, gesture that was incongruous with her status. Rhaenyra had the gift of unearthing his mother’s inner ugliness. She could turn the most important woman in Westeros into the common little girl full of rage she had once been.

“She has his favour. She is the favourite child! He won't change his mind, not even about his first son!”

And what a son! Unsurprisingly, Aegon was nowhere to be seen today. His brother had never taken to politics. He was probably busy fucking some whore in the Silk Alley or some maid in his rooms, happy to let Aemond take over the responsibilities he left vacant.

Although it pained him to admit it, Aegon was the first son and he belonged on the Iron Throne. Aemond would much rather see his brother sit there than his whore of a half-sister. Aegon wasn't evil, just a misguided soul that his mother and grandfather would set straight. He was sure of that. Leaving the kingdom in Rhaenyra's palms, on the other hand, was tantamount to condemning the inhabitants of the Seven Kingdoms. Her reign would only bring calamity.

He tilted his head back and looked up at the ornate ceiling. His fingernails beat against the wooden table as the minutes ticked by. Slowly. Much too slowly. He held back a yawn.

The tone had been raised, words had been shouted, orders, given, and in the midst of all this racket, Aemond felt like screaming. He couldn't care less about Rhaenyra, his uncle, and her brown-haired bastards.

Aemond didn't want to suffer what his birth had spared him—responsibility. The second son was merely the replacement, the forgotten one. He would only appear on stage if Death came too early.

He wanted to be left in peace until then.

A futile desire for someone bearing the Targaryen name. No ancestor of the blood of the Dragon had known peace and he certainly wouldn't be the first.

The sun had been down for at least three hours when Aemond finally escaped from the clutches of his mother and grandfather. He mourned a wasted day and headed for his rooms.

On the way, he came across Aegon, his eyes reddened, and his eyelashes still stuck with sleep. His fist itched. He felt a visceral need to bring it down on his brother’s face. Why wouldn’t he grow up? What would become of Westeros if his grandfather and mother succeeded in making him king? Aegon was an immature fool and Aemond was expected to pick up the pieces. What did he gain by doing so? No recognition, no respect, and certainly not power. He was asked to do it because it was expected of him. An unspoken rule he learned to obey from an early age.

Aemond Targaryen would forever remain the second son, obscured by the shadow of Aegon’s unworthy glory.

“Brother.”

Aegon nodded, but the sly smile on his lips threw off any semblance of politeness. Aemond remained unmoved. He would not play his game, not tonight, although a few insults came to the tip of his tongue. He clenched his jaw.

“I assume the council was as interesting as usual. I'm sorry I couldn't be there but, you understand... A pretty servant was waiting for me. Couldn’t disappoint her, you know?”

Aemond didn't reply. He had not even deigned to leave the castle, not even his rooms. His hands began to shake, and a stabbing pain seized his sapphire eye, as it did every time he was upset. Lazy bastard.

When Aemond was mastering the art of sword fighting, Aegon was swilling whole jugs of wine. When Aegon was thrusting his cock between the thighs of a whore, Aemond was immersing himself in the histories of Old Valyria.

They couldn't have been more different.

Aemond continued towards his chambers, his face tense. Behind him, his brother burst out laughing and tried to talk to him, but he quickened his pace. Tonight, he had no patience for conversation.

Soon, the large wooden doors of his rooms appeared at the end of the corridor. The relief he felt was dulled by a weight in his chest.

At the last moment, Aemond turned around and hurried back. He felt as if he were suffocating within the gigantic walls of the Red Keep. The vast corridors were no longer so. They closed in on him and whispered hissing words. They slipped into his ear and snaked into his mind to unearth his worries. Stories of legitimacy, inheritance, the throne and responsibility—everywhere he went, his duty followed and plagued him.

Aemond needed to see Vhagar. He usually avoided disturbing her in the evening. His dragon was no longer in her prime and slept more than the others. Tonight, he would allow himself to be selfish. The need was too great. He had to clear his head, or he would go mad like many Targaryens before him.

He continued walking until he came to a darkened alcove. Aemond slid his hand over the cold stones. Eyes closed, he savoured the sensation. Click. He pushed open the wall, revealing a long and abandoned corridor.

The secrets of the Red Keep were no longer unknown for him. Aemond had spent his youth wandering up and down the corridors of the building in search of them. The stories said that Maegor the Cruel had beheaded the architects, the masons, the carpenters... all the brains and hands that built this fortress. They took these secrets to their graves, secrets that only the blood of the Dragon could recognise.

After the loss of his eye—thinking of Lucerys Strong made him cringe—Aemond had redoubled his efforts to find them all. These passages had offered him the ideal refuge to escape from the gaze of others during the most difficult period of his life. This tradition had survived.

Aemond didn't even stop in front of Balerion's skull—not when his own dragon, alive on top of it, was waiting for him—and he rushed through the corridors, down some stairs, up others, turned left and then right, down some stairs again until he finally reached a door which he pushed open.

The fresh air whipped across his face. Immediately, all his worries evaporated, although his hands continued to tremble—a vestige of his wrath. He inhaled the smell of the shore, a delicious mixture of salt and air.

Aemond made his way down the stairs and onto the beach. He relished the sensation of walking on the white sand. It crumbled under his leather boots. Aemond found this instability reassuring. Nature could be unstable too. The wind had picked up and was blowing thousands of grains around. These whirlwinds, small storms of matter, calmed him and the proximity of Vhagar finished off the hurricane rising in his heart.

With a slight smile on his lips, he walked over to the dunes where his dragon had taken refuge since he brought her back from Driftmark, eight years ago. A mountain of green scales stood among the other mounds of sand. It moved with every breath. Aemond could almost feel the warmth of her breath, the hardness of her scales, and could already imagine himself riding her, hair blowing in the wind, free in his mind.

His joy was short-lived. The gods did not like to see him happy.

Aemond stopped dead in his tracks. Next to the gigantic figure of Vhagar, a small silhouette stood out. It was fidgeting and tormenting the dragon’s sleep. The short distance between the two made him clench his fists. They were close, far too close. Aemond had forbidden anyone to approach his mount. He had never had to repeat his request before. Who would be foolish enough to approach a sleeping dragon? Those who had risked it were no longer around to tell the tale. They had been burnt to a crisp and their loved ones had had to mourn an unrecognisable pile of ashes.

The stranger must have been unconscious or just mad.

Aemond stomped over to them.

“Who are you and what are you doing here?” he growled rather than asked.

He knew he was protective of Vhagar. Everyone around him had noticed. He had exchanged her for an eye, and this suffering had only redoubled his murderous impulses: Vhagar was his. Anyone who dared touch her would face his rage.

The latter rose in his chest and accelerated his heartbeat. It coursed through his entire being, leaving no part of his body untouched. His nails dug into the palms of his hands. His muscles quivered, waiting for just one thing—for him to attack.

He stepped forward, ready to confront the stranger, who jumped and turned but did not reply. This silence made him even more furious. Who dared ignore their prince?

Moving a little closer, Aemond recognised the gleaming black armour and scaled helmet of the Dragonkeepers.

A breeze of relief blew over his heart, but it didn't completely calm the agitation that had been building up inside. At least this person knew what they were doing.

Worry and anger gave way to curiosity: what were they doing here? Aemond had never come across a Dragonkeeper outside the pit. They lived there to ensure the well-being of the creatures. Like monks, the pit was their sanctuary, and nothing could keep them from their duties.    

Normally, at least.

He couldn't see their face. Vhagar's massive form cast an equally colossal shadow over their body, which was further darkened by the night. It was only when he was close enough to smell the smoke coming from their uniform that he realised it was a girl and, worse still, that he didn't know her.

The last time he had ventured into the dragonpit, he had been only ten years old and had two eyes. Back when he was still Dragonless-Aemond, the place had seemed unreachable yet idyllic—the embodiment of impossible dreams. Eight years ago, he would have easily been able to name the seventy-seven keepers with the time he spent there. He came every day, waiting for the moment when a dragon would accept him as a rider.

The Dragonkeepers’ faces had clouded over with time, reduced to vague memories that the satisfaction of having claimed Vhagar had swept away. Far too large to fit in the pit, his dragon had made her home on the dunes of King's Landing and, in doing so, had made the dragonpit a bygone era of his childhood.

“State your name. Now.”

She dipped into a clumsy curtsy, perhaps the worst he had ever seen. She almost tripped on air and fell face-first into the sand. He winced. This girl was cruelly lacking in grace. No doubt the keeper’s profession had damaged her manners, which already left a lot to be desired.

"Lucella Snow, yer ‘ighness.”

His eye twitched.

A bastard from the North.

The shamelessness made perfect sense now.

These people were nothing but barbarians, made savages by the cold and their proximity with the Wildlings. They prayed to their strange, faceless gods, remnants of a primitive past, and still clung to superstitions dating back thousands of years which bore witness to their backwardness. Too limited for the political intrigues of the South, they retreated into their icy fortresses and only left them to defend themselves.

Northerners were strange and even the Starks, although not the worst of their species, were no exception to the rule.

Add to that the absence of a father to beat her and train her like a lady, which she could have become with a little effort, and you had the bastard in front of him. She was not unpleasant to look at, Aemond decided. Her pale skin, hidden under the ashes smeared on her cheeks, and the few strands of black hair sticking out of her helmet leaped out at him. If she had been born in wedlock, many suitors would have fought for her hand in marriage.

“And what on earth is a Winterfell bastard doing here?”

“I’m sorry, yer ‘ighness, but I’m afraid ‘am just a bastard frum White ‘arbah.”

Her accent struck Aemond's ears and made him wince. Syllables here and there disappeared as the vowels struggled to make themselves heard properly in this gibberish. Her voice was deep, deeper than his mother's or his sister's—the only women of his life—, and dragonfire smoke had taken the evenness out of her tone, leaving it hoarse.

He didn't like the way she avoided his question or her undeniable lack of politeness. She looked at him with jaded eyes as if he were the one who shouldn't be there. He thought he saw a flame dancing in her amber irises. A strange colour for someone from a Northerner. In these lands, eyes were only blue, grey, or black: bland colours for a land saddened by the blizzard.

“Winterfell... White Harbor... Northern towns all look alike.”

“I suppose yeh won't mind if I call you Velaryon, then? Yeh understand... Valyrians… They’re all th’same.”

His indecency irritated her. A mouth like hers belonged in a dilapidated tavern, not in a place like the Red Keep.

Northerners didn't belong here. They weren't like them.

“What is your concern here?” he asked her again.

Why isn’t Vhagar killing you? he thought.

Next to Snow, the Queen of Dragons looked peaceful. His companion was used to the presence of the keeper of the North, Aemond realised. The thought worried him. How long had this stranger been roaming around his dragon without him knowing?

The bastard pointed her gloved fingertips at a sheep carcass, no doubt ready to be charred by Vhagar, judging by the hungry look on her face. Aemond had not seen it until now.

The presence of this woman was upsetting his plans and troubling his senses.

“I’m bringing her food.”

Her 'r's rolled off her tongue.

“I already feed her.”

“Not enough. Obviously,” Snow retorted without hesitation, pointing to Vhagar's visible ribs. “Age tends t’work up their appetite. Ain’t tha’ right, sweetheart?”

She tenderly stroked the dragon’s muzzle, who let herself be petted under Aemond's hallucinated gaze.

His mount, reduced to a common pet.

His nostrils flared. He abruptly grabbed her hand and pulled her away from Vhagar, ignoring the grimace of pain on the Dragonkeeper’s face. Good. Perhaps she would understand that lurking around his dragon was not without consequences.

Vhagar, the Queen of all dragons, ridden by Visenya, had fought and survived Aegon's Conquest. She embodied the glory of House Targaryen and would not be touched by a commoner. A Northern bastard even less so.

Without a glance at her, he climbed the rope ladder and settled into the saddle.

"Sōvēs," he commanded.

Vhagar, lethargic, took her time shaking her wings before flapping them and taking flight. She sent grains of sand and stones flying. Soon, the beach was nothing more than a pale speck drowned in the thick clouds bathing in the twilight’s silver light. The icy air invigorated him, but he couldn't find the comfort he had come for. His thoughts remained stuck on the Dragonkeeper.

When Vhagar lost altitude for a moment, when the two of them broke through the cloud barrier and the beach was visible once again, Aemond saw that she had not moved and that her eyes were riveted on him.

Aemond didn't understand her expression but decided he didn't give a fuck.

The Taming of the Dragon, 2 ✷ 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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            Lucella Snow had done her utmost to avoid the beach in the last days, for fear of finding Vhagar and her rider there. It had only taken one encounter. One encounter to remind Lucella why she had gone to such lengths to avoid Aemond Targaryen for two years.

The rumours that one’s ears picked up on the fly in taverns were true—the man was nothing but condescension and cruelty.

Lucella had taken care to establish a precise and safe routine, only approaching Vhagar when night had fallen and the dragon was enjoying a well-earned rest. Apart from a few rare occasions, the prince only took her flying during daytime. Her age forced him to control his whims. Dragons like Sunfyre or Dreamfyre were bursting with energy and could fly fast and long without tiring but the golden age of Aegon I's conquest was long gone. Centuries had passed and Vhagar had felt the effects.

It took nothing away from her greatness, but this reality—which many preferred to deny—showed that no matter how beautiful and majestic they might be, dragons too had to obey the harsh laws of nature—nothing could last forever.

Knowing this had prompted Lucella to don her armour and boots this morning. Duty had won out over fear. She hadn't even lasted two days and cursed against her lack of backbone.

Vhagar needed her and that outweighed everything else.

The sun blinded Lucella. It had already warmed the sand by the time she reached the yellow dunes. Now that the prince had caught her, Lucella saw no reason to come at night. She just hoped it wouldn't upset Vhagar. An old lady like her didn't react well to big changes.

Mealtimes would remain fixed for the same reason—three hours after sunset. The more thankless tasks, however, would no longer be hidden by the night’s thick and dark cloak but warmed by the gentle rays of the sun. This would be just as pleasant for Vhagar as it would be for Lucella, who, if she was honest, was beginning to feel the chill of the midnight wind. It didn’t take long to grow accustomed to the warm sun of the South, even for someone named Snow.

She finally caught sight of Vhagar. A smile lit up her face. Lucella would never tire of seeing her. The dragon was the last vestige of their history, a relic of war and a living reminder of a past that was no more. As majestic as she was frightening, her roars gave Lucella goosebumps.

The girl was relieved to see that the beast was alone. No princely rider to nag in her ears and complicate her already intense work.

Aemond Targaryen lacked a good education. It was obvious in the way he treated others and the way he held himself—straight, chin up, eyes fixed. Everything about him reeked of smugness. Coming out of a royal vagina—only by marriage, mind you—didn't give him the right to be so detestable.

“Rytsas, Vhagar.”

The greeting rolled naturally off her tongue. The dragon blew a puff of air in response, sending a few strands of Lucella’s hair flying with the hot gust.

Like all the other Dragonkeepers, Lucella had had to learn High Valyrian to communicate with the beasts. While her colleagues were content with only learning the commands needed to control the dragons, Lucella fell in love with the sounds, so different from their Common Tongue, and set out to learn more. The story of Old Valyria was simply fascinating. She understood why, even after its disappearance, families like the Targaryens and the Velaryons prided themselves so much in their origins. They were the heirs to a civilisation whose destruction had only strengthened the mystery surrounding it.

Lucella couldn't read complex books in the language yet, but one day she would, she was sure of it. The girl was nothing if not stubborn.

She let her bag crash to the ground. Vhagar lifted her neck to sniff at it, probably looking for her meal. She had come to associate Lucella with “food”, which worried the keeper, who had no particular desire to end up as dragon food.

Although she and Vhagar had developed a rather symbiotic relationship, the latter was still a wild animal, dictated by her instincts and desires. If she ever decided that Lucella was her enemy, the keeper would end up in her mouth or burnt to a crisp with no remorse.

“Be patient. You'll get to eat tonight.”

Instead of a carcass—which would never have fit in her bag anyway—Lucella pulled a dagger from her bag and advanced towards the dragon, who had gone back to sleep, having found nothing of interest among the leather.

Lucella brushed her fingertips across Vhagar's scales until she was close to her ribs. She brought the dagger close to the hard skin and began to scratch between the scales. All sorts of things piled up there, from crustaceans to piles of dry earth. They soiled her coat and ruined the magnificent green that characterised it—an abominable sight for Lucella, who couldn't imagine the Queen of Dragons being tarnished in any way.

The keepers back in the Dragonpit didn't bother with such elaborate tasks. They had never understood her love for Vhagar. Too weird. Too dangerous. They kept their judgment to themselves, but Lucella wasn't stupid. She could see it in their eyes, that damned scepticism. It was easy enough for her to perceive the question that adorned all their thoughts: why? Why bother when other dragons, much more docile, much calmer, lived and breathed?

Lucella didn't even know if her companions tolerated the dragons they bred and raised. It was not unusual to overhear conversations in which they railed against the Targaryens and their mounts. While she understood the hostility towards the royal family, nothing could explain their animosity towards these beasts.

According to Lucella, this hatred was totally unjustified. Yes, many had fallen victim to the dance of flames spurting from their breath. Yes, their fangs could devour anything, even a human, in just one bite. But dragons were still animals, a fact her colleagues tended to forget.

There existed no justification in the world for cruelty towards them, no matter what they looked like. Every animal deserved to be treated with respect and love, especially a dragon.

Lucella scratched another scale. A hermit crab had taken refuge in the joint of her wing. With the tip of her blade, she dislodged it and placed it on the ground. It fled and disappeared behind the dunes.

Seeing this reminded her why Lucella bent over backwards to make the dragon as comfortable as possible. She couldn't possibly leave Vhagar like that. Just the thought of crustaceans and other small animals with too many legs crawling over her own body made her shiver. Lucella had no scales to protect her, but she thought that even with this natural armour, the sensation must not have been pleasant at all.

Vhagar suddenly tensed. Lucella was trying to scrape off a particularly tough clump of dirt, but the place— between her protruding ribs, right on a fading scar—made it a delicate operation. She rested her hand and cheek against the dragon’s side.

“'s all right,” she said. “Shh... Lykirī... Calm down.”

The dragon didn't do so until Lucella had scratched the last barnacle. Filthy little beasts. They always found a way to cling on. She had lost count of the number she removed each week. Lucella went round the gigantic body, taking care not to turn her back on the beast, and started to scrap the right side. Throughout the operation, she kept reassuring Vhagar, either in High Valyrian or in the Common Tongue. The language didn't really matter. Dragons focused on one’s intentions, not one’s words.

“Are you the only one to come here? Were no others available?”

Lucella gasped when she heard the curt voice. It cracked in the air like a whip.

So preoccupied with her task, she hadn't even heard him arrive. He was staring at her with a blasé eye, his arms crossed, and his leather coat pulled tight. 

Lucella cursed under her breath for paying so little attention to her surroundings. Vhagar had this terrible habit of hypnotising her. The dragon captured all her attention and made her fall into an infinite well of admiration and affection.

“Vhagar killed a keepah three months ago.”

The prince raised an eyebrow, clearly surprised by this information. Lucella was as surprised by his reaction. He must have heard about it. He should have. She was his dragon, after all. A rider must know such things.

Lucella knew Vhagar to be dangerous and impulsive, but she did not know her to be cruel. There had been no motive for the keeper’s death. Vhagar had been fed, washed, and hydrated earlier in the day. Nothing could have predicted the attack. The dragon had burnt flesh and bone, leaving nothing but a mountain of black ashes for the sheer pleasure of it. There was no question of instinct or nature. Vhagar had revelled in his screams and would no doubt have feasted on his flesh had other guards not interfered.

Lucella remembered the screams, Vhagar deaf to their orders, the smell of burning flesh, Elder Norbert's face twisted in the ordeal of the flames. She remembered rushing between the dragon and him, standing as a barrier, ready to sacrifice herself to give him a chance to live. She remembered Vhagar sniffing at her curiously, she remembered closing her eyes, her legs wobbling, ready to face death. She remembered the wind whipping her face as the dragon flew away, leaving the guardian for dead but Astrisse intact.

She'd had nightmares about it for months. The human mind was a curious invention. It replayed the worst moments of your life to make you realise how lucky you were. Finding comfort in horror.

But terror had not been able to overcome her fascination for the dragon that had almost killed her. She had gone in search of her in a fit of stupidity and found her in the middle of these very dunes. Hypnotised by her beauty, Lucella had forgotten that she could have devoured her whole.

Beside her, the prince smiled. Lucella thought that perhaps he and Vhagar were meant for each other—two unstable beings who liked to play a bit too much with fire.

The keeper let her gaze drift to his leather eye patch, but quickly turned back to Vhagar, who growled in greeting. She scratched at yet another crustacean, perhaps a little harder than necessary when she felt him approach, but who would know? No one. In any case, Vhagar didn't seem to mind.

Lucella felt his gaze on the side of her face. Her cheek began to itch.

“'m the only one who can get close,” she finally admitted in a weak voice.

Lucella cleared her throat. There was no way she was going to look shy and fragile in front of Aemond Targaryen. He would enjoy seeing her doubt very much. She wouldn't give him any satisfaction.

“A sort o’ appointed guardian, if yeh like,” she continued more confidently.

“If you're her so-called guardian, why haven't I seen you before?”

“’cause Dragonkeepers are taught t’ be as discreet as possible.”

He laughed.

“That doesn't make any sense.”

“And yet that's wha’ we've been taught since t’ order was created.”

“King Jaehaerys I founded the order to prevent dragons from being stolen.”

“Maybe in t’ beginning,” she shrugged, “but things ’ave changed. Kings ’ave died. Others took their place. Dragons ’ave multiplied ’nd they became uncontrollable. T’ order had to adapt ’nd maintain t’illusion.”

“What illusion?”

“That yeh control yer dragons.”

The prince glared at her, but Lucella wouldn't take her words back. It was easy to “tame a dragon,” a feat the Targaryens took great pride in, when seventy-seven other people were literally burning to teach them to obey. Dohaerās. Obey me. The word made them proud. But where was the merit in riding a dragon when some lost flesh and limb to make them docile? Obedience was born in suffering and fire, two things the Targaryens delighted in handing out, godlike, without experiencing them first-hand.

The ‘blood of the dragon’, they called themselves. Lucella had almost laughed when she had heard it. The Targaryens were as much dragons as she was noble.  Their 'gift' was just an illusion. The first riders of the lineage may once have had this talent, but it disappeared when the order of Dragonkeepers was created by Jaehaerys I.

Dragons had grown stronger over the years, their riders, weaker. Imbalance. Dragonkeepers were the ones to keep the harmony from falling altogether.

“How dare you spread such nonsense? In front of your prince!”

“’nd yet ‘am right, yer ‘ighness. D’ yeh honestly think yeh could tame a wild dragon?”

“Of course I can. I claimed the largest one when I was ten.”

And it had cost him an eye. Everyone knew the sob story. Surely a fair price from his point of view. Lucella shook her head, exasperated by the prince's obstinacy. 

“Except tha’ Vhagar is ovah two ’undred years old ’nd ’as four riders already. Yeh really think you could’ve tamed ’er when she was just a babe?”

“If her egg had been placed in my cradle, yes.”

“It helps t’ create a bond ’tween t’ future ridah ’nd their mount, true,” she conceded. “But ’t’s not enough. A dragon might recognise yeh and not burn yeh because o’ it, but there’s no guarantee tha’ it will let yeh ride it, let alone listen to yeh. There's this dragon we're raising right now. Very young. Only six months old. We started training it three months ago. Six keepers wounded. Two others burned to death. It ’as known High Valyrian for ’alf ’ts life 'nd yet refuses t’ listen.”

“Perhaps because you are not a Targaryen.”

She sighed. It was like trying to talk to a deaf man.

“Go on then. In tha’ pit, I mean. T’ last time yeh went in there everythin’ went accordin’ t’ plan, ain’t tha’ right?”

Lucella immediately regretted her words. Elder Galladon, perhaps the oldest keeper, had told her many stories about the royal children. Dragonkeeper passed the time like that and soothed their burns with laughter. The sordid tale of sibling quarrelling, a winged pig and a little prince almost burnt alive had stuck with her.

The prince glared at her. Suddenly, she understood why so many people would talk about him with trembling voices. Lucella felt the colour drain from her face. She gripped her dagger so tightly that her knuckles turned white.

“Careful now, girl. I could have your tongue for that.”

“Wha’ I mean,” she continued, undeterred, “’s tha’ any dragonkeeper could ride a dragon.”

They wouldn't. Of course. The crumpled ego of a Targaryen burned hotter than the fire of the dragons they rode.

“That's not true and you know it.”

“O’ course, ’cause I dunno wha’ ’am talking a’bout, right?”

Her words were laced with sarcasm.

“Exactly.”

She nodded. A forced smile tugged painfully at her cheeks.

“Keep believing tha’. I don't giv’ a fuck what yeh think.”

Lucella turned back to Vhagar and continued to scrape her scales. The back of her neck grew hot under the prince's piercing gaze. For a while, she managed to ignore him. She cracked on the fifth barnacle. Her hand slipped and the dagger fell to the ground. Her shoulders dropped. Lucella sighed.

“Why did yeh come here, anyway? Except to keep me from me work, tha’ is.”

Aemond Targaryen raised his only visible eyebrow and replied that he had nothing to answer for, least of all when it concerned his dragon. He insisted on the ‘his’, anxious to remind Lucella that she had no place here. She rolled her eyes.

If Lucella were honest with herself, she would find his undeniable love for Vhagar almost touching. But the prince annoyed her, and she would never dare to associate anything positive with this awful character. She preferred to let herself fall into a pit of hatred and annoyance. These emotions were familiar to her, far from the beat her heart missed when she let her eyes linger on his harmonious—no, royal—features. 

She looked away with warm cheeks and scraped away the few remaining marine intruders.

Lucella caressed Vhagar's green flank one last time. The dragon shook her head in response. The girl walked over to her leather bag and slung it over her shoulder. Dagger in hand, Lucella left without a glance for the prince.

Her work was done here and he couldn't make her stay, Targaryen or not. Returning to Dragonpit was more important than entertaining a prince who was as mad as he was lonely.

“I did not say you could leave.”

“Well I am. Good’day, yer ’ighness.”

Lucella walked past him and they found themselves side by side. She pulled the thick leather of her trousers as best she could and bowed low in a mocking curtsy. When she straightened up, Aemond was still staring at her. Head held high, she turned and left without a glance for this prince who was seriously starting to piss her off.

✷ THE TAMING OF THE DRAGON ⸺ an Aemond Targaryen fanfiction

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.

⸻ WORKS / IN PROGRESS:

1. A Bastard from the North

2. Barnacles and Dragons

3. A Matter of Water, Snow and Fire

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.

MASTERLIST

hey, i’m sav. i write for the asoiaf universe.

be wary, most of these are smut! i write for...

aemond

aegon

daemon

helaena

rhaenyra

alicent

Aemond Targaryen

One bed?

there is only one bed, and three of them.

Withheld Desire

aemond x best friend reader bang at a party

I’ve got my eye on you

Aegon drags reader to a party and she catches Aemonds eye.

That girl

aemond and aegon meet their childhood friend for the first time in a while, and she’s grown.

Knight in shining armour

aemond catches reader when she falls.

Wicked Game

aemond has an infatuation with aegons wife, and she returns his affections.

Forget Honor | 2 |

aegon and aemond both forget their honour when it comes to their girl.

Sweet Thing | 2 |

aemond delves into his deepest desire, to be needed, thus, he find a sugar baby.

Compensation

Your husbands brother takes over.

Aegon Targaryen

Fantasies

jace doesn’t meet readers needs, but Aegon does.

Caught

reader knew aegon was risky, but not this risky.

One bed

there is only one bed, and three of them.

That girl

aemond and aegon meet their childhood friend for the first time in a while, and she’s grown.

Best Friends Brother

in which aegon teaches innocent Helaenas best friend how to kiss.

Forget Honor | 2 |

aegon and aemond both forget their honour when it comes to their girl.

Daemon Targaryen

You in my helm

daemon sure does love seeing the reader in his helm.

forget honour | aemond and aegon

masterlist

Summary: The two silver haired princes claim you, from the moment they saw you.

Warnings: Smut, fingering, making out, drunk, no PIV but it’s implied. throuple vibes. no y/n used, we ain’t do this here

Pairings: Aegon x f!reader, Aemond x f!teader

You don’t know how you got here, with these boys.

One night, you were helping Aegon return to his room after he had stumbled into the courtyards late at night, drunken and ill.

And one day, you had stumbled into Aemond yourself while trying to use a sword all too heavy, and he had helped you find one more suited to your tastes.

Now, you were seeing both of them everywhere.

Aemond routinely accompanied you in the library whenever you went, would train you while getting a little too close and walking you through the gardens.

Aegon, he didn’t find excuses for his attachment. Simply barging into your chambers at an unbecoming time of night, taking his place near your side. He would often dismiss your handmaidens in the mornings, insisting he help dress you instead.

You did not mind the attention one bit. And eventually, it got more heated. You remember it well.

Sitting in the library, Aemond was by your side. He held a book in his hand, but he much preferred to read you, your body language, your words. He didn’t bother to hide it, his hand landed on your thigh.

The two of you had the library to yourselves at such a time at night. Asides from the guards at the door, who dare not interrupt the one eyed prince. His thumb stroked the fabric of your dress, applying the perfect amount of pressure to send teasing strikes of euphoria through your veins.

Aemond enjoyed the look you spared him from the very side of your eye. Though this was not enough for him to falter. He moved his hand to your knee, where he clutches the fabric of your dress, looking into your eyes with his one, asking for approval.

Your mind screams ‘No.’ but your body takes the lead, and you nod. His hand quickly disappeared under your skirt, pushing your small clothes out of the way just a little bit. You gasp, muffling it with your hand. He parts your moist folds, feeling around for the little bud. Every movement of his agile finger makes you squirm, swearing under your breath.

Your hands holding your book quiver, and you struggle to hold it, even with both hands. His thumb moves to circle your clitoris with just the perfect amount of force, meanwhile his index parts your folds once more. You sharply intake your breath as it pushes into your hole.

You almost cry out as he finds the rough patch within your walls, you buck against his finger, and he learns you like it when he makes a come hither motion. He’s learning you, and it might just be his favourite thing ever.

It’s not long before your orgasm builds up, and Aemond can feel it. His thumb using your juices to smoothen his attack on your clit, while his index still worked expertly inside you. Letting out smaller little whimpers, whispering for him to never stop as if he is all of the gods at once.

You come undone with a crash, gripping your book to the point where it’s indented into your palms, and knuckles have paled. Your chest rises and falls with heavy breaths.

Just the memory leaves you reeling, breath picking up. And then there’s Aegon, who had surprisingly enough made little to no attempt at laying with you, though close enough.

Aegon’s tongue tastes of wine as it mixes with yours. The two of you had indulged while in the gardens, leaving both sides feeling risky as Aegon had you cornered against the wall of a secluded seating area deep within the gardens.

Your hand knots in his hair, tugging, with each tug a delicious whimper escapes from those swollen lips of his. His hands ferociously grope at your bodice, cupping your ass, running up your sides to rub at your modestly covered tits. Though you attempted to keep yourself ladylike, your chest pressed against the fabric of your dress, leaving you assets well on display, even when covered.

Aegon loved it, hands going back down at yiur ass to which he lifts you, and you wrap your legs around his hips. His hardening cock eagerly pressing against you.

Though the moment was far from long lived as a guards armour alerts you both to a new presence, and you pull away.

It was beautiful, how both the princes had taken such a liking to you. You had no doubt in your bones that they wanted you just as harshly as you wanted- no- needed them.

They both had made you feel things, and those things would never be forgotten. And that was certain as you looked to your side, the comforts of your furs paling in comparison to the two bare men before you, who had just fucked you raw, their silver hairs splaying out behind them, Aemond still managed to look elegant, so beautiful. Aegon, was adorable.

You were going to keep these boys, and they were going to keep you. You are theirs and they are yours.

sweet thing | aemond targaryen

chapter two \ negotiations.

A/N: heres part two my loves, thinking about maybe bringing aegon into some of their smutty fun once we get into the real thing.

You and Aemond had parted towards the end of your shift.

He left you with his number and a racing heart. Aemond Targaryen wanted you to be his sugar baby?

You couldn’t believe it, didn’t think it was real. Until he texted you.

You couldn’t believe it, didn’t think it was real. Until he texted you.

Aemond: I have a free day tomorrow. Would you prefer to meet in private to talk more about our arrangement?

The text sends your heart out of control. Fuck. You hadn’t expected him to be so open about it, but you responded anyway.

You: Hey. I’d love to. Where should I meet you?

You send with shaky hands, rubbing them on your pyjama pants to rid of any sweat.

Aemond: I’ll have someone come and collect you tomorrow, be ready by ten am.

You: Thank you, Aemond.

You send quickly, heart calming down as a time and place was set. Your phone beeps again, and you look down with confusion, thinking the conversation was over.

Aemond: Wear what I sent you, should be in your mailbox.

Your eyebrows furrow, and you don’t move just yet.

You: And how in living hell did you get my address?

You send, and bring your phone with you as you leave your apartment, going to where the floors mailboxes were. You see a medium sized white box, and take it back to your room.

Aemond: I have my ways, nothing stalkerish, maybe a little bit desperate.

Mmm, so he is capable of humour. You think with a smile. He sends another message, and your cheeks heat up, never had one of your clients wanted to keep up an actual conversation.

Aemond: If you try it on, do send me a photo, sweet thing. :)

You grin, turning off your phone and opening the box. It’s different from what he’s seen you in previously, a lacy ivory camisole, and a pair of matching shorts. The outfit looked comfortable and not overly sexual.

You slipped into the clothing with ease, seeing how well it fit your you figured he must’ve contacted your manager for your measurements.

Lifting your phone once more, you take a picture of the outfit in your mirror and send it to him.

You: sent an attachment.

You: It’s so perfect, I feel so pretty. Thank you Aemond.

You’re grinning as he begins typing.

Aemond: It’s my job to make you feel pretty now.

It makes your heart melt.

Before you know it, it’s the next day. You awake to find you’re not late for Aemonds meeting. So you shower, make yourself smell pretty, and get dressed.

You shave every inch of your body nervously, you don’t know what he likes or prefers, and you wish to please him.

No texts are exchanged until his Chauffeur arrives, sweeping you off to his apartment. The whole ride you were exchanging small talk with his chauffeur; you learn his name is Arryk and him and his twin brother have worked with Aemonds family for years.

Once you’re at the apartment complex, Arryk leads you up into the penthouse, and you shout Aemond a text.

You: Here.

You hear a phone ping in a nearby room and can only assume it’s Aemond, and you’re proved correct as he walks out rushedly, in a dress shirt and long pants. Arryk dismissed himself, and you and Aemond look at eachother for a few seconds, unsure of what to say.

"It looks even more perfect in person," Aemond says, looking you up and down without shame. He gently takes you hand, leading you to his living room, which is extremely spacious and clean. So Simplistic, must be a rich people thing. You think, taking a seat on the couch.

He follows your lead, sitting on the sofa facing you. "I believe we have much to talk about," Aemond smirks at you, and slides over a document. "Oh, an NDA. Alright." You realise, smiling softly as you take a pen and sign it. Aemond cocks his head curiously, but decides its a bit too early to ask.

"So, Aemond, what would this agreement entail?" You ask, gesturing between the two of you, and he takes a breath.

"I'd basically like you to be my arm candy. Business dinners and trips, most public appearances. Ill pay for everything, dresses, plane tickets, living expenses, whatever you need." He speaks gently, without any mistakes, reiterating what he told you last night, but in more detail

On the inside, you're doing a little happy dance. But on the outside, you give him a honeyed smile and nod.

"That sounds perfect, and I must tell you something before we continue," You speak, gulping down your fear as your knee bobs nervously.

"Go on, we are to be partners, you can trust me." Aemond keeps his face mostly stoic, but his voice is twinged with warmth.

"I don't have sex for money, if it happens naturally, it happens." You manage to get out, your face goes entirely red. You're so nervous for his response your blood pulses so much that you can hear it in your ears.

"I agree. I was just about to mention that. You will not be pressured for photos nor anything of that sort." He agrees, eyes going over you once again in a way that made you beg yourself not to get horny.

Though he was showing you the bare minimum, part of you wanted to jump his bones just because of it. "Though... I'm not saying I'd be against it." You smile playfully as you speak. Aemond clears his throat,

"Oh trust me, I'm the furthest thing from against it aswell." Aemond speaks. He looks at you, trying to remain respectful, but seeing you dressed in an outfit he chose and bought, awoke something primal in him.

The tension between the two of you grew, until it was sliced open by another silver haired man walking through the door. Oh gods. You thought, mentally face palming as you notice just who it is.

Aegon Targaryen. Aemond plasters another smile on his face, one much more forced.

"Oh beloved brother, weren't going to introduce me to your new girl?" Aegon pouts at the two of you, leaning against the wall of the living room as he tosses his keys on the coffee table.

"Didn't exactly plan on it, no." Aemond rolls his eyes. "I'm sure you know Aegon," He speaks again, and you nod. "N-Nice to meet you." You stutter, which was uncharacteristic of you.

"Awh, she's a shy one." Aegon coos, his devilish smirk littering his angelic features. What is with this family and its super genes? You think again.

"Aegon, leave us alone," Aemond groans, shooing him off to which he raises his hands in a false surrender and retreats to a seperate room.

So they live together.

You're doomed, arent you?

sleeping beauty | aemond targaryen

warnings: somno, intense breath play, piv, pet names (bunny), aem superiority complex, non con, degredation, ooc,

pairing: Aemond Targaryen x female!reader

summary: Aemond decides he wants to experience you while you sleep.

a/n: need sum1 to call me bunny irl

————

Aemond knows it’s wrong to take you while you sleep. But he knows you wouldn’t put up a fight if he were to decide to violate that boundary. He knows you’d play the dutiful wife, your body his to indulge in whenever he so pleased.

Aemond considered asking while you were awake, to have sex with him. But he wanted to try something new.

As you slept, he watched. His eyes attending to your breathing, waiting for it to slow. He’d deem when you were just deep enough into your slumber. That’s when he’d make his move, luckily, in his favour, you were wearing a lightweight shift to bed. He thanked the gods for making the night warn, otherwise you’d not have been vulnerable to his advances.

Aemond’s eyes settled on your chest, your breath had evened out, and your mouth lightly agape. His hand makes his way from under the furs to your thigh, sliding it up until the fabric of your shift bunches under his tentative hands, hiking it above your hips, nothing hiding your cunt from him.

Goosebumps rose on your flesh even as you slept, your body unable to resist him even in sleep. His cock is already hard from the feel of your soft skin, and the inviting warmth between your legs. While moving as little as possible, he frees his cock from constraint, his hand snaking its way to your clitoris, making careful and calculated circles around it.

“Mmnnh.” The first noise from you, a muffled sound of pleasure, stirring gently. He continued with the movement of his hand, but drifts it lower towards your vagina. His finger is covered in your slick, ready to take him.

His length is thin, but long, making it all the easier to push into your plush, velvet walls. A groan escapes his throat and he bottoms out. You stir again, and he moves a hair from your face to behind your ear. He wants to watch your sleeping face as he defiles you.

Aemonds thrusts start carefully, he puts his face against your head, breathing in your scent while muffling any noise he emits. “My bunnies little cunt takes me so well, even while she’s asleep.” He mumbles, his thrusts quickening to a safe pace while not completely restraining himself. He wanted to enjoy this a little longer before you woke.

Your pussy quivers around him from time to time, causing him to grunt. Hes mumbling incoherently, scanning over the details of your face as he takes you. “Good bunny,” he coos, soothing your sleeping form, thrusts becoming rougher, more sharp. “Such- such a little whore.” He stutters, his hand going to wrap around your throat, his hand fitting so perfectly around it.

He squeezed, resting just how far he could go. He used your throat as leverage to fuck you harder. You open your eyes groggily, panting and confused. “Aemond?”

“Shut up and take it, bunny.” Aemond hisses into your ear, his grip on your throat tightening. You have no choice but to listen to him. His tip roughly meets your spot, causing you to grip the blankets.

His hand leaves your throat to push your head down into the pillow, flipping you onto your stomach, he angles his cock back to your entrance and pushes in once more, his thrusts mad, looking at your sleepy, confused, cock drunk face.

“Gonna fill you up,” he pants, forcing your head further against the pillow, “Cum for me bunny,” his breathy voice comes again. You squirm, letting out a yelp of sorts, and he begins to pound faster, sending you over the edge, tears from the sheer force of his thrusts rise to your eyes, letting out a strangled cry as you come apart, pussy pulsing and acting as a vice around him.

“Good bitch,” he seethes, rolling his hips a few times more before they stutter, filling you deep with his seed. You lay there, your brain fucked dumb. Aemond leaves the bed, fetching a towel to wipe you down briefly, getting into the bed again wordlessly rolling over. He falls asleep soon thereafter, and so do you.

Depressed!Reader x Aemond Targareyn II

Part one Part three

• Reader being kept up all night thinking about her kiss with the prince, it wasn't there first kiss but was the first kiss that felt real

• Reader finally falling asleep to what they thought was thunder but is really Vagnar purring

• Prince Aemond wanting to breakfast with reader in private, him having to settle for only a few hours alone with them

"I can not in good faith leave you alone with her. She may be my blood but I have no say over her."

"Her parents sent in hopes of her to be betrothed, no? And you're telling me I can't eat alone with my wife."

"She is not your wife yet."

The lords angry statement led him into a glare off with the prince. A position one would never want to be in. 'Glaring at a prince.' The lord thought. 'I could be killed and no one would bat an eye.' Thankfully the lord saw reason and looked away from the prince. With a sigh the lord tried to articulate his own words.

"I only meant, that my niece is very important to our house. She may not seem important to her peers as I'm sure you know."

The prince hummed in agreement. He had heard the whispers and disrespectful to the lords only niece. He remebers pig nosed little girls tripping the young doe as she walked down the Red Keep. He remebers how she was mocked for not standing up for herself, and apologizing when it was unnecessary. He remembers how sweet she tasted when he had kissed her. He remembers how he couldn't sleep since he had reacquainted himself with her. He remembers how he was going to choose her the moment he saw her, for she was unforgettable.

"I know of my bride to be, and I know of her strengths."

The lord let out a sigh. He knows he can't deny his highness, but he also can't put his niece in harms way.

"I can give you a private room to breakfast with my niece. This does not mean none will seek you out. My niece is very much loved."

• It taking the prince five minutes to convince reader it was with permission that they are breaking fast together

• Aemond watching reader shyly eats the sweets he had plated for her

• Sweet was all the prince could think of as he watched her lick the sweet sugar of her lips

"Do you have a particular sweet you enjoy most?"

Aemond's betrothed slows her chew to hide her blush behind her hands. Red creeped upon her cheeks as she thought of an answer to give the prince. Aemond thought the color adorning her cheeks was very fitting considering where she will reside after the issue of who will sit on the throne passes.

• Aemond manages to talk to reader about what she is expecting from their marriage, the prince not expecting reader to talk about doing her duty and anything else he may ask of her

• Before he could assure his betrothed of her position in his life her eldest cousin came looking for her in hopes to help her ready for a warm bath

• Aemond wandering close to the living quarters as to not miss being around reader

• When reader is finally done with her bath Prince Aemond happened to be down the hall from her room when she exited her chambers

• The prince and reader freezing when they see each other

• Caught in each other's gaze, unknowing in what the other thinks (hint, hint, they are thinking about what the other could be thinking)

• The cousins were quick to talk about it

"Did you see?"

"Calm down, or she will hear you. We don't want her to retreat into herself again."

"Talking aout how our cousin is swooning the Prince are we."

"He's more receptive than I thought. Ow! Don't hit me!"

"Don't insult the Prince."

"They are across the keep neither will hear."

"Stop getting off topic! Our cousin is winning herself a Prince!"

"Are you really surprised? She's a gem compared to all. Even we don't shine in her presence."

"A shame it's the one eyed Prince who finally fell for her charms."

"Sister! Out of all the Prince's at least he is honorable."

"That is true. The one half of his face is pleasant to look at, so no doubt our cousin thinks he is Devine!"

The girls fall into a fit of giggles that can be heard down the hallway where the Prince and his betrothed were walking.

• The Lord of house invited his court together to discuss the terms sent by the Prince's brother, the now King

• Being the dutiful Prince he is Aemond stayed close to his betrothed, keeping her company and conversation

• Those in attendance did their best to pay attention, but the sound of soft murmuring and a not so terrifying smirk from the Prince and his betrothed seemed to enthrall all

Depressed!Reader x Aemond Targareyn III

Part one Part two

• Lucerys immediately thinking how his terrifying uncle could be so close to a beautiful woman, but his confusion disappears once his uncle looks up at him

• Lucerys trying his best to be respectful, but Aemond and his betrothed are making it hard to focus

• He watched as the lord was being read his mother's letter

Aemond leaned into reader's ear, on his face held a devious smirk. His eyes glowed alight as she reacted to his words. Her small smile turned wide and her face colored red. Reader tried to cover her face as a way to hide her laugh, but it was still heard.

• Lucerys watched as the beautiful woman touched his uncle, unafraid and uncaring of his reaction. He watched as Aemond smiled at her touch. He watched as his uncle's remaining eye glowed with mirth. Aemond's betrothed left her hand on the prince as he moved closer to her.

• Lucerys couldn't look away from their connection until the lord spoke to him.

"You think I'll just bend over an oath of my father? How do I benefit this? The king at least brought a betrothal to be offered, what of you?"

Lucerys tried his best but he still appeared nervous.

"I can not offer anything my lord, I am already betrothed."

"So you offer nothing." The lord stated with a sigh. He looked over to his niece as she conversed with her newly betrothed. Despite being proud she was able to catch the prince's eye, the lord couldn't help but notice she was just a showing smitten with as he her.

"At least something good has come from The House of Dragon not knowing who its ruler is. Go back to your mother boy, and tell her no oath will be kept here."

• Lucerys trying to make s quick but confident exit

• He made the mistake of looking to his uncle

"Wait, Lord Strong! You have a debt to be paid."

Lucas could hear the other ladies gasp and murmur to each other. The one thing he didn't expect to see was what he saw when he turned around. Aemond had been known in his family as having a certain fire in his eye, a fire that would ignite when violence was promised. This was the first time Lucerys saw that fire in someone else's eyes that wasn't his stepfather.

"You think I will just let you walk away from me? I intend to collect, but I will be generous. You will get to choose which eye, a privilege I did not get."

Reader took in a breath as she listened to her betrothed words. Yet her admiration did not falter, fire burned in her eyes.

• Aemond promising his nephews eye as a gift for his betrothed, Lucerys stares in shock that the woman beside his uncle did not seem bothered by his promise.

• Lucerys almost running out of the hall when Lord Borros dismissed his and Aemond's dispute

• Aemond's long legs carrying him out if the hall with his betrothed trying to follow him

• Reader noticed he left his dagger and was wanting to return it to him

The Prince marched out of Storm's End trying to catch up with his nephew. He couldn't help but hear his betrothed heels march along with him. He quickly turned around catching his love as she bumped right into him. Grasping both her wrists he found his dagger lying in her palms.

"What are you doing? Planning on following me into the storm?!"

"If I must!" The usually shy woman shouted at the Prince. Her face determined but Aemond could see the uncertainty in her eyes. He held onto her firmly but he stayed silent allow her to speak.

"You ignite something within me my Prince, a fire I hadn't known. A fire I have only felt with you and no one else." Aemond pulls his love close to him forgetting all about proprietary and reputation.

"Who thought you to speak so boldly." The Prince sounded angry but his love could see it in his eye. He was amused, happy to see her express herself. He hummed to himself as he held her close. The hands holding his dagger drift down his body, they find his waist and deposit the dagger to its home, the sheath upon his waist.

"Speak plainly to me, let me hear your desire." Their lips were touching as the Prince spoke. His betrothed was barely holding herself up.

"Don't take the boy's eye, " Her sentence was left unfinished as Aemond pushed himself away. His remaining eye gave her a scathing glare. Had she lied to him through their whole meeting? The Prince scoffed and continued his march to Vahgar.

"I am getting what I am owed, no one is stopping me from that."

"I wasn't trying to, my Prince listen." The Prince did not answer nor did he turn around for her. He had Vahgar in his grasp but was pulled away by a much smaller force. Quickly he turned around grabbing her arm that had latched onto him. He used his free hand to grasp her face, making her look at him. Aemond kept his eye determined not showing that he did not want to hurt her, but if he needed to.

"I do not want his eye my love. That night you lost what he took from you." The Prince squeezed his betrothed face. His patience was wearing thin.

"You also gained something. A dragon, my prince. You ride Vhagar! She chose you to be her rider, she listens to you, and she hears your commands. My prince, rider of the largest dragon in the world. My betrothed who I can't wait to marry and who can't wait to bed me." Aemond's stern face fell showing his love how her words were affecting him. His grip lessened from her face, he allowed his hands to drift down her body.

"An eye will not settle an already outweighed debt." The Prince pulled his betrothed close to him so that their bodies were touching.

"And what would you have me do?" His lips tickled hers.

"Bring me his dragon."

aemond targaryen x reader

this is a random snippet

He comes closer grabbing you by the arms to pull you towards him. Tucking his head into the curve of your neck, lavishing it with a hungry touch of his lips. You let out a soft moan, grabbing frantically at his shoulders as he makes his way around to your clavicle with a haste lick of his tongue.

Becoming restless you say, “My prince, I need more.”

“Perhaps— if your begging was more convincing” he says with the hints of a smirk.

You’re so desperate it doesn’t take you long to comply. You look him deep in his violet eye, “Please Aemond, I’d do anything.”

“Anything?” His eye lights up in satisfaction, you could’ve guessed what was to come next. “On your knees for me.”

You make your way down the length of his body never dropping your gaze from his, waiting for further instruction.

“Go on, don’t act like an innocent, you know what I want from you.”

Your hands come up to his hips to pull his trousers apart reaching for his member. You grasp it, admiring the size briefly wondering how you’ll fit him at all before glancing up to see him staring at you, lust beaming. He places his hand in your hair gently grasping before guiding your lips to their destination.

His head drops back with a gasp of pleasure as your tongue moves in circles around his tip before bringing his length further inside the warmth of your mouth. He begins to thrust in and out holding on to your cheeks getting more rough as he goes on. You choke as he pushes you down until the tip of your nose touches his skin.

He pulls you off with a pop and you worry that you’ve displeased him but any nerves you had drift away as you look to see clear enjoyment splayed across his features.

He grabs you off the ground and tosses you onto the bed.

“Don’t worry beauty, I’ll take care of you now.”