domainedewinter

[domainedewinter]

New King Aegon II Targaryen

[domainedewinter]

“Don’t run away from me again. If you do, I’ll flip the world upside down to find you. You’re mine now, baby.”

—Nikolai Sokolov- God of fury by Rina Kent

[domainedewinter]

The price of fire - chapter 3

Summary: Aemond meets a mysterious silver-haired girl on the beach while facing Vhagar. But the more he tries to know her, the deeper her secrets seem.

Warnings: DUBCON, TYPICAL TARGARYEN INCEST, profanity, innuendo, he/him pronouns, she/her pronouns, fingering, oral m receiving, oral f receiving, misogyny, toxic behaviour, Dom!Aemond, begging, underage hotd style, nsfw. 

(coming soon, I will indicate the chapters containing smut with a 🔥) 

Rating: 18+, MDNI

English is not my first language.

Chapter 3.

⤞⟢⨳⟣⤝ Roxaene ⤞⟢⨳⟣⤝

The night had been more restless than Roxaene would have wished; her dreams were filled with dragons, the sound of their wings, and the fiery color of the fire ready to devastate everything in their path. But it wasn't just the reptilian eyes of the dragons she had dreamed of. 

A lilac eye, cold and masculine, had haunted her night—a piercing gaze that demanded the world to be offered to him, and if the world refused, he was ready to take it by force. 

She woke up in a sweat, short of breath, with the echo of the prince's voice in her head. 

As the hours of the day passed, Roxaene felt a kind of anxiety growing in the pit of her stomach; why had she agreed? 

Because she had no choice. 

Because otherwise, the prince would not have let her go. 

Because if she had not given her word, perhaps she would never have left that beach. By what right did he show himself threatening and demand her presence?

By royal right.

Aemond was a prince, a Targaryen, a being chosen by the gods and envied by the men. He could demand whatever he wished and be obeyed instantly, a thought that touched the nerves of the young girl. Trying not to let this anxiety overwhelm her, she spent the day helping her host, her thoughts flying too quickly during every small talk, but her innocent and apologetic smile prevented anyone from blaming her. In their eyes, she was just a reserved and new girl in town, probably shy and a bit naive; that's what was expected of her age and gender.

When the meal was finished and the sun began to redden, she excused herself and went to bed. The fabric on her head covered her hair, braided along her shoulder so that no silver strand would betray her secret—a secret she herself was unaware of.

It didn't take her long to leave the house and reach the beach, her mind memorizing every cobblestone, every street to take as if her steps were destined to go there. Vhagar was the first thing she saw; lying on the ground, her warm breath swelling her body with each expiration.

And again, that numbness against her palm. Roxaene nervously rubbed it against the loose pants she was wearing—having only worn clothes from Dorne until now—before instinctively raising her head, her heart and mind commanding her to do so. 

So that her gaze met the prince's.

⤞⟢⨳⟣⤝ Aemond ⤞⟢⨳⟣⤝

When she emerged from the path, the young prince noticed her instantly; the blue and orange fabric covering her head, braided down to the small of her back, and the strange clothes she wore; loose pants, split on one thigh, with a belt made of thick, embroidered fabric a few centimeters below her navel. A long-sleeved top revealing her shoulders, on which an orange and yellow cape was hung.

The prince's single eye lingered on the young girl before looking into her eyes and approaching her. Once in front of her, he tilted his head to the side, as if evaluating or assessing her.

"You came. I appreciate that you kept your word."

At the slight pout on the girl's face, he guessed that she didn't like her word being doubted, but without adding anything, it was he who continued.

"I have questions to ask you. And I expect answers, Roxaene."

Roxaene's thin, silver eyebrows furrowed, and it amused him; something in her calmed him and made him want to know more, to push her to her limits and see how far he could go.

"Follow me."

He nodded and reached out to her, almost surprised by his own gesture. The girl's lilac eyes landed on his hand, but she didn't resist, taking it and shivering when they touched. He led her near Vhagar and sat in the sand, facing the sea, motioning for her to do the same.

"Where are you from?"

"Dorne."

"Hm." Aemond's only response as he leaned towards her, his hand reaching for her face. As she was about to pull away, he grabbed the fabric in her hair to remove it. Instantly, her small, pale hands, so small compared to his, grabbed his wrist, shaking her head from side to side in a silent "no."

"Yes. Remove your hands, now."

The tone of his voice was cold, like the blade of a dagger ready to pierce flesh, and Roxaene felt her heart race—something he probably felt too, as he slightly furrowed his silver brows in turn.

"What do you fear? I've already seen you without it. There's no need to hide from me. You have nothing to conceal if I want to see it, understood?"

This boldness, this arrogance, made the girl's blood boil. She clenched her jaws, trying to regulate her increasingly difficult breath, but let go of the prince's wrist, offering him her best black and murderous look.

Kneeling in front of her on the sand, he gently and meticulously removed the fabric, unrolling it and releasing her long moon hair that cascaded down to the small of her back and around her delicate face. He saw her lower her eyes and grabbed her chin, their gaze meeting again.

"In my memories, no one in Dorne is known to have such features. Let me rephrase my question; where are you originally from? Because obviously, your parents are not from the south."

It was a question Roxaene would have liked to have the answer to, to know the identity of her parents, to know where she was born, the house she belonged to.

"Unfortunately, my prince, I'm afraid I will disappoint you because I don't know. I was given to my father on the day of my birth, and I never had the chance to know those who conceived me, before abandoning me.”

A sigh escaped her, and he released her chin, deciding that she should continue to look at him even if he didn't force her, which she did, her gaze as audacious as the day before, even though it was clear she was drawing on her patience to answer him and stay still.

"You must know something, a detail, a place, a date?" Inquisitive and relentless, he would not let her leave that beach without something to reflect on her origins. 

Just as he began to consider the idea of keeping her locked in the Keep until he found a solution, Roxaene's sweet voice echoed again, capturing his attention and diverting him from his kidnapping plans.

"I was born in the year 111, the day the bells rang for the first nameday of one of the princes."

Aemond's gaze seemed to cloud, as if he were witnessing a scene playing out before his eyes, a memory he was trying to understand. But quickly, he snapped back, nodding with satisfaction.

"Can I go now?" Roxaene asked, trying not to appear too impatient or insolent, but it failed when Aemond raised his eyebrows.

"By all the gods, I don't know who raised you, nor where the blood flowing in your veins comes from, but you should learn to stay in your place."

The girl's cheeks flushed, and she turned on her knees in the hope of standing up and leaving, but the prince's hand grabbed her shoulder, forcing her to sit back down.

"I don't remember saying I was done with you."

"Well, I'm sorry, Your Grace, but I am done with you." She spat at him, her patience just surpassed. She stood up and turned away, starting to walk in the sand to reach the path, but soon he was behind her, making her turn around, grabbing her wrist tightly, wide-eyed.

"I could have your tongue cut out for daring to address me like that. I could do whatever I want with you since you seem to be nobody, and nobody will claim you." He began, leaning over her, his free hand putting a long silver strand behind her ear. 

"So don't show yourself so ungrateful. It wouldn't please me much to have to hurt you."

"As your reputation says, allow me to doubt that!"

If she could, Roxaene would have slapped her hand over her mouth to prevent other words as foolish as they were true from escaping. How could she say that, especially when they were alone and he had just threatened her? 

Expecting to be reprimanded, she opened her mouth again to apologize, to try to make him forget the words she had just spoken, but he spoke first, advancing towards her with such aplomb that she had no choice but to step back, again and again, letting him take her where he wanted without being able to escape.

"My reputation? I would be curious to hear it. What do they say about me behind the city walls? I don't mingle with the common folks and, therefore, am unaware, but you seem to know, Roxaene, enlighten my ignorance."

"Oh, you want to know what they say about you? A penchant for ferocity, bold but quarrelsome and capricious. Impetuous and insulting, and from what I've seen since I came across you, I wouldn't risk contradicting these rumors! You command me as if I owe you something, even though I told you I never wanted to harm your dragon or even you. For a reason I ignore, you take pleasure in trying to scare me!"

It was the first time someone had spoken to the prince like that, and he was so surprised that he was initially motionless before a slight and strange smile appeared on his too thin lips. It was at that moment that Roxaene's back collided with a warm and rumbling surface: Vhagar.

Like a predator on the hunt, he leaned his face towards hers, brushing her cheek with his nose, as if he were smelling her, as if he were trying to sense her fear but found none. It was anger, perhaps, but mostly audacity and a lack of fear that he felt, his lips brushing her delicate neck.

"You burn with a fiery flame, Roxaene, but believe me, there is no creature on this earth that I cannot tame."

#aemond smut #house targaryen #aemond fanfiction #aemond one eye #aemond targaryen #hotd #aemond x oc #vhagar

[domainedewinter]

~ the golden king ~

[domainedewinter]

the sun and the moon

original post: here

[domainedewinter]

The Price of fire - chapter 2

Summary: Aemond meets a mysterious silver-haired girl on the beach while facing Vhagar. But the more he tries to know her, the deeper her secrets seem.

Warnings: DUBCON, TYPICAL TARGARYEN INCEST, profanity, innuendo, he/him pronouns, she/her pronouns, fingering, oral m receiving, oral f receiving, misogyny, toxic behaviour, Dom!Aemond, begging, underage hotd style, nsfw. 

(coming soon, I will indicate the chapters containing smut with a 🔥) 

Rating: 18+, MDNI

English is not my first language.

Chapter two ⤞⟢⨳⟣⤝ Roxaene ⤞⟢⨳⟣⤝

She saw the danger coming as the heat rose from the mouth of the impressive dragon in front of her, and a voice next to her that resonated. Vhagar. She didn't need to hear her name to recognize the creature; the only dragon that could be so impressive was Vhagar, the one once ridden by Visenya Targaryen. 

Roxaene knew all this because she had learned the history of every great house in the kingdom, and the history of the Targaryens had fascinated her from a young age. Dorian had tried to get her interested in other stories and other families, but the little girl she was at the time was already fascinated by the dragons that populated her dreams, and her interest had never waned.

She didn't have time to turn around before the sand already cushioned her fall, a gasp of surprise and pain escaping her lips as she found herself pinned to the beach by a man who materialized in front of her as if by magic. Or maybe it was the strange trance she had been in that had made her ignore her surroundings to the point of not seeing the danger coming in the form of a man.

However, she wasn't afraid and responded with courage, her thin eyebrows furrowed and her gaze attempting to be threatening, even though the man questioning her didn't seem frightened at all. 

And since Roxaene had been well educated, she instantly recognized the one holding her down.

"Prince Aemond..." She murmured, her voice losing its courage.

Out of all the people living in this great city, Roxaene had to stumble upon a prince, alone on a beach. And not just any prince; one of the king's sons, the one whose dark rumors made their way to Dorne. 

Being terribly too close to him, she couldn't ignore his hair of the same color as hers, and his eye, his only eye, which stared at her with the same violet gleam as hers.

Dorian would be terribly furious and disappointed if he learned about this. It shouldn't happen; she needed to leave and disappear as quickly as possible, return to her chamber and not come out until his return. 

Her features tensed up a bit, her eyebrows rising, scared that someone saw her, recognized her, as Dorian often told her. Not wanting to disappoint him by learning that his cherished daughter had wandered alone at dusk to fall into the arms of the cruel prince. 

Just for a moment, she thought she might be scared - not of Aemond Targaryen, but of the consequences of their encounter. Not for long, just enough time to regain her composure as he tightened his grip on her wrists and slammed her against the ground again. 

"You seem to know who I am but refuse to tell me who you are." The prince growled, frowning, the coldness of his fine features turning darker. He obviously wasn't used to being refused, let alone by a young girl lost on the beach daring to resist him.

"Answer me, it's an order!"

Roxaene didn't know what she risked by refusing to obey a prince, but the mere idea of the reactionof her father or being recognized filled her with more fear. Trying to sit up, she growled in frustration.

"Get off me! I swear I wasn't going to do anything to your dragon, so let me go!"

Wanting to tip the odds in her favor and taking advantage of the element of surprise, Roxaene quickly brought up her knee, managing to strike him, probably not hard enough to hurt him but enough to surprise him. If he thought he was going to intimidate her, he didn't know her well because when Aemond's eye widened, she quickly turned her head and bit him as hard as she could, tasting the warm metallic flavor against her lips.

Vhagar growled in concert with his rider, who released Roxaene's face with a cry of pain, as if he had just put his hand in molten lava. 

Surprise was written on his features, and it was the moment she chose to act; she turned around, quickly, then used her elbows to crawl away from his physical grasp to have a chance to stand on her feet and run.

Run as fast as possible, as far as possible. 

Do not look back. 

Forget this evening, the dragon. 

Forget the prince and the fear.

She hadn't received any close combat training and would quickly be overpowered if she didn't act swiftly. But realizing that her legs were still half blocked by the prince's body, she decided to act differently; even bolder and more reckless, but the only idea that sprang to her mind.

.⤞⟢⨳⟣⤝ Aemond ⤞⟢⨳⟣⤝.

Few sane men dared to look at the one-eyed prince, and even fewer dared to provoke him. Despite having recognized him, this young girl seemed not to fear him. Either she was completely unaware, or she feared something much worse than Aemond.

And this simple thought further fueled the prince's curiosity, if that was possible. 

Pain blossomed against his hip where she had struck him - by doing this, she had dared to raise her hand against a member of royal blood - and just when he thought it was the stupidest of her decisions, another pain erupted on his hand, forcing him to release her.

But this time, she wouldn’t win. He will not let her win. 

He pounced on her as she crawled on her stomach in the hope of escaping him and grabbed her by the hair, pulling her back so hard that she groaned between her clenched teeth - apparently too proud to let out a real cry - ending up on her knees in front of him, her back hitting Aemond's chest.

"Enough! First, you stand fearlessly in front of the maw of the most dangerous dragon, then you shed the blood of a prince? I swear the Stranger is calling for you."

He tightened his grip, but she managed to pivot and do something unexpected; she struck him with the palms of her hands on the chest, unbalancing him so quickly that he fell on his back. She could have fled; she could have tried to save her life, but there she was, the young silver-haired girl straddling him in a vain attempt to immobilize him.

Her chest rose rapidly with her strained breath, her small and delicate hands trembling against his chest. She had tried her luck too many times for a single evening and couldn't retreat anymore. Lifting her chin and making a slight pout—quickly, but just enough for Aemond to furrow his brows, convinced he had seen that expression on someone close to him—Roxaene took a breath. 

For courage.

"I was so fascinated by your dragon that I didn't realize what I was doing. But Gods bear witness, I had no ill intentions, nor did I wish to shed your blood. I... I had no choice but to defend myself."

A sigh of relief escaped her as he let her stay on him, not pushing her away or attacking. Aemond was a trained, dangerous, and efficient young man; if he had wanted to throw her to the ground and slash her throat, Roxaene's lilac eyes would have already lost their sparkle.

Instead, he placed his hands on her hips, keeping her where she was, on him. 

The simple contact made Roxaene shiver, looking down at him, her hands still firmly anchored on his chest. She wasn't sure if it was to maintain her balance or to have the illusion of keeping him against the ground. But she needed this contact not to be frightened.

His hands on her hips, however, gave her a completely different impression. He didn't grip tightly, didn't hurt her, but it was a hold he exerted, fully aware that he could do whatever he wanted with her and proved it.

"Forgive me, my Prince, for the injury. I defended myself without thinking. Let me go, you will never see me again, I give you my word, I will pretend none of this happened."

A murmur rumbled in the prince's throat, not crossing the barrier of his lips; he seemed to be thinking, giving Roxaene enough time to observe the prince further; he was handsome, no more a child and not yet completely a man, even though he already had all the physical attributes. Their hair was the same shade, that particular color of the moon on a stormy evening. Even their skin was of the same paleness. Until now, Roxaene had not met anyone who resembled her, and it left a strange feeling in her chest.

"But that's not what I want." He eventually said with a sure voice.

"The last thing I want is to see you disappear without answering my question—and the ones to come." He didn't release her gaze, tightening his grip on her hips. "Let's find a compromise; I'll let you go tonight on two conditions only, and—"

"Please, I don't ask f—" the young girl began, cutting him off for fear of hearing what he was going to ask her, but the prince's voice overpowered hers, bossy and authoritative, his icy gaze fixing her with such intensity that she felt her cheeks warm and probably blush.

"Don't interrupt me." His voice was calm but firm as he tilted his head slightly to the side, as if trying to understand how such a young woman could have so much courage or recklessness and so little manners in front of a member of the royal family.

"I'll let you go if-and only if- you give me your name and your promise to come back tomorrow night."

The prince saw her shiver and felt a certain pride in being the cause of this reaction. 

With a movement as fluid as it was rapid, he turned her over under his body, just for an instant - a brief instant, like the beating of a wing before lifting her up with him. 

His hand had gripped one of hers while the other was in the middle of her back to maintain her balance. 

"And don't try to lie, because I'll know how to find you and if that happens, you'll regret that I didn't let Vhagar end your life. Do we have a deal, girl?”

She didn't take her eyes off him, swallowing but no longer daring to lower her gaze, either out of pride or determination.

"Roxaene."

"What?" He asked, as if he hadn't understood what she said, to which she replied.

"My name is Roxaene. And I give you my word to be there tomorrow night, no need to threaten me, I keep my promises."

#aemond smut #house targaryen #aemond one eye #aemond targaryen #hotd #house of the dragon #aemond x oc #hotd fanfic #aemond fanfiction

[domainedewinter]

The price of fire

Summary: Aemond meets a mysterious silver-haired girl on the beach while facing Vhagar. But the more he tries to know her, the deeper her secrets seem.

Warnings: DUBCON, TYPICAL TARGARYEN INCEST, profanity, innuendo, he/him pronouns, she/her pronouns, fingering, oral m receiving, oral f receiving, misogyny, toxic behaviour, Dom!Aemond, begging, underage hotd style, nsfw. 

(coming soon, I will indicate the chapters containing smut with a 🔥) 

Rating: 18+, MDNI

English is not my first language. 

Chapter one ⤞⟢⨳⟣⤝ Roxaene ⤞⟢⨳⟣⤝

When Roxaene heard her father, Dorian, talk about an upcoming long journey to the continent - for diplomatic and political reasons - she couldn't help but bring it up to him during dinner that evening. It was a bit challenging to convince him, as he was always apprehensive about bringing her too close to King's Landing, especially the royal family. 

She had to promise him not to go out without him and not to be seen without covering her hair. Dorian had never wanted to explain exactly what had happened when she was just a kid, only vaguely mentioning that he had been entrusted with a baby with silver hair and lilac eyes, and he had accepted this gift, having lost his wife and their son a few months prior. 

He came from a good family and had always taken care of her properly, even teaching her how to read, write, and a great deal about the Kingdom. Roxaene quickly realized she was very different from the ebony-haired children she used to play with; she didn't blend in. 

This was her secret, one of her secrets. Roxaene had spent countless days on the beach, dreaming of discovering what lay on the other side of the ocean, who her parents were, and why they had abandoned her. 

Was it because of her silver hair?  Her pale skin and violet eyes? 

Thinking she might finally find answers to all her questions, she embarked with Dorian - persuading him with her big lilac eyes, begging him not to leave her alone for so long - and after weeks of travel, they arrived in King's Landing. 

The city was immense, so different from what she knew and saw back in Dorne. 

Of course, she wasn't allowed to roam the streets like she did at home, but it was already more than she had hoped for. After two evenings spent in the establishment where they were staying for their visit - a grand residence of a wealthy merchant and a friend of Dorian's - her adoptive father entered her room, finding her lost in thought on the balcony.

“Dear child, don't linger at the window for too long, someone might see you. I know you’d like to go out, and I’ll take you to see the city soon, but for now, you have to promise to stay here.”

His voice was soft and caring, as always. He was a tall man with a dark complexion and ebony hair, richly dressed and rather untouched by the years. Money had given him this luxury; being one of the main wine importers of Dorne, he had quickly made his fortune by trading with the capital and, subsequently, several other estates of great families. 

His hand rested on Roxaene's shoulder, who continued to look outside, smiling, listening to the sounds of the city, imagining the lives of the people who lived there. 

She had always been like that; dreamy and curious, two traits that could prove dangerous if one did not take care of where dreams and thoughts wandered. 

Dorian knew it all too well and wanted to spare his daughter from falling into the wrong hands. 

It was risky enough to have brought her with him.

"Don't worry, father, I'm already gratified to be here." She replied, finally turning to him. A richly decorated silk held her hair tied and concealed, but it didn't take away from her natural beauty, radiant and vivid.

"I have to go negotiate a few days' ride from here, with merchants from the city, and it's not a place for you. Behave while I'm gone. Until then, don't show yourself, don't go out and obey Lady Loyd."

Dorian's hand had quickly moved from her shoulder to her chin, lifting her gentle face. "And promise me not to unveil your face in front of Lady Lloyd. I made sure they take care of you without asking questions, but I could never answer the ones they might ask if it happens."

Roxaene nodded, placing her so pale hand on her father's tanned one.

"I know, father, I'll be careful. You can leave with a light heart."

He leaned in and kissed her on the forehead, holding her face between his hands, almost possessively; since the day he was entrusted with this small, silent, and calm baby with large violet eyes fixed on him, full of tears, he had made it his life's mission to protect her.

But staying alone in Dorne was not an option when her head could be so easily put on the line.

People could be such greedy monsters when money jingled, and promises were kept. Stealing babies and killing children didn't faze anyone when it came to being richly rewarded. Dorian refused to take that risk, to return to Dorne to find his house empty and his maids sorrowful and confused if Roxaene were to be abducted.

He left the room as he had entered; without a sound and with a heavy heart, the guilt of leaving her for days darkening his thoughts without him having any control over the situation.

⤞⟢⨳⟣⤝

That evening, Roxaene didn't have the heart to argue, and she watched him depart on horseback. She managed to obey him the first night, but her impulsive and curious nature quickly took over. 

When everyone seemed busy elsewhere after dinner, she put on a dress and a cape to hide herself as best as she could from prying eyes, then slipped out through the window, heading as far away as possible. 

At first, she didn’t know where she was running, letting her steps guide her, trusting her instincts. It felt so good to be outside, freely, to watch the sun begin its descent into the sea. 

She headed toward the beach, perhaps because it reminded her a bit of home, unconsciously, until a towering silhouette caught her attention. Roxaene thought it was some kind of enormous rock, but as her hands started tingling, she realized it wasn’t made of stone. The more she approached, the more she could make out its contours until her breath caught in her throat in surprise; a dragon. 

An immense dragon lying on the beach. 

Any sane person with a shred of survival instinct would be turning and putting as much distance between themselves and the creature as possible, but Roxaene, unfortunately, didn’t seem very sensible in that particular moment. 

Without hesitation, she slowly advanced toward the dragon, her steps determined nonetheless.

Throughout her life, she had dreamed of dragons, strange dreams from which she woke up sweaty, hands burning, and breathless. She could swear she heard their roar on certain mornings upon waking up and smelling the scent of sulfur, feeling the heat of the fire. She had never spoken of this, already being so different from the other children in Dorne, the young girl with moon-colored hair had preferred to keep a low profile, not drawing attention to her dreams in addition to her appearance.

But this time, it wasn't a dream, nor a hallucination or an invisible sensation; a huge dragon stood right in front of her, just a few meters away, lying on the warm sand of the beach on this falling night. Without thinking, Roxaene advanced, again and again, reaching out towards the enormous creature, and her biggest secret began to glow, brighter than ever. Inside her hand, glowing arabesques, similar to the color of fire, had drawn themselves, like molten lava, moving on her palm, becoming brighter as she approached the dragon, which, sensing her presence, began to raise her massive head.

Although her heart pounded in her chest, Roxaene listened only to her courage and instinct, dangerously approaching the fierce mouth that was starting to open in front of her.

⤞⟢⨳⟣⤝ Aemond ⤞⟢⨳⟣⤝

To escape the strange pressure that never left him when he was at the Keep, Aemond Targaryen had done what he did all too often; after the meal, when he wished his mother a good night, he slipped outside, mounting Vhagar to fly over the sky, the sea, the surrounding forests until the cold stiffened his fingers, and he decided to descend to go where no one would find him.

His elder brother, Aegon, had his own ways of escaping their family and the Keep, joining the city's shady neighborhoods as soon as the lanterns began to shine, forgetting his duties, responsibilities, and the expectations of those he could never satisfy, between glasses of alcohol and the arms of whores.

Aemond preferred the calm of the beach, the tranquility of the sea, and solitude. 

A solitude that no one had dared to disturb for years, five years precisely, since he had lost his eye - violently torn out by the little bastard.

Until now.

Because as he was lost in his thoughts, the young man had felt a change, tiny and almost imperceptible in Vhagar, but his bond was so strong with the creature that he couldn't be wrong. 

Standing up, he had walked cautiously, slightly hunched as he circled the dragon, a dagger in hand until he reached the spot that seemed to attract the monster's attention, to witness a very strange vision; a girl, his age or perhaps younger - he couldn't determine it - hooded, stood in front of Vhagar, reaching out as if to touch the beast. Except that her hand, as pale as it was, glowed in a supernatural, magical way.

A strange fear ran through the prince's veins, imagining that the girl wanted to harm his dragon; Aemond rushed at her, throwing her to the ground as he fell with her.

"Vhagar! No!"

What the girl hadn't seen - or maybe she had seen it but hadn't moved - was the fire building up in Vhagar's throat, the heat rising crescendo, ready to explode like a lava torrent and reduce her to ashes. But at the words of his rider, the monster's maw had closed gently, leaving the animal to rest its head without caring further about the two small humans quarreling in front of it.

Perhaps Aemond had just protected Vhagar; perhaps he had just saved the stranger struggling under his body, her wrists pinned above her face, held in the prince's one hand, her eyes looking at him with a mix of anger and fear. The fall had knocked her hood off her head, revealing her silver hair, braided to the side, with a few strands escaping around her face.

Aemond couldn't ignore the girl's physical characteristics that caught his eye, frowning as he carefully placed his dagger near her to grab her face with his free hand, looking her straight in the eyes, his inquisitive gaze seeking answers.

"Who are you?!" He asked breathlessly, trying to be firm as he struggled to hold her in place. The prince was not used to being denied anything, but the stubborn look the girl shot him almost distracted him. He tightened his grip on her face, being more directive and threatening.

"Answer me, who are you and why were you trying to attack my dragon? Do you seek death? Because Vhagar was about to grant your prayers!"

He almost seemed angry that she had been so reckless, but the girl only struggled more, apparently unimpressed by him.

"I wasn't trying to hurt your dragon, and I don't want to die, so let me go!" She replied with rage, kicking and wriggling her hips to free herself, but Aemond held on and had a clear physical superiority over her; the rigorous training he engaged in daily since the accident had sculpted his body fiercely and effectively. 

However, despite all his hours of training with Cole and all the fighters he now beat, nothing had prepared him for such audacity from a woman, let alone one so young and in a definitely delicate position.

#house targaryen #aemond one eye #aemond fanfiction #aemond targaryen #prince aemond #aemond x oc #aemond x fem!oc #hotd aemond #hotd #hotd fanfic #aemond smut #magic #house of the dragon #dragon

[domainedewinter]

Im reading a book at the moment and it mentioned something that I want to share here:

“Society’s perception of normal is a learned concept. It’s an opinion that was passed down through generations until it eventually became a tradition. It’s rooted in people’s minds because it’s been taught for a long time, but fundamentally, it’s just an opinion. It means nothing just because people conform to it. You being different is fucking fantastic, son. You’ve risen above their sheep mentality and you can choose to be proud of your difference instead of hating it. It might take time to shake off society’s perceptions, but that’s okay.”

Excerpt From God of Fury: A Dark MM College Romance (Legacy of Gods Book 5) Rina Kent

[domainedewinter]

Fingers crossed for a part 2, my oh my, another magnificent text !!!

— teach me how to break you

Sugar Daddy Aemond x Fem!Reader

Summary: Exhausted, trying to balance college student life with multiple shifts working at the small bookstore to make ends meet, you find yourself completely turned upside down when a platinum-haired CEO turns his attention to you.

Anne's note: this story is based on this request from a dear anon. Thanks for this and I hope you like it ;)

Dividers: @v6que

Visual inspiration for Aemond - @catb0yfriend

Rating: Explicit +18

PROCEED WITH CAUTION.

English is not my first language.

Some days, you feel like you're living through pivotal days and never paying enough attention to notice. The days came and went, a constant grind of collegework and double shifts that are so monotonous you would have believed someone had just copied and pasted it into your life. A repetition of more of the same. There were certainly some variations in the faces that passed through the little bookstore you work at, but for every memorable customer there was at least one regular to remind you that your life is subject to an endless routine.

There was only one face that broke the monotonous cycle of your life: a customer with white hair, wearing an eye patch and a gaze so blue that it almost looks purple under the store's warm lights.

Unlike most regular customers, who religiously stop by on their breaks from college and work, his appearance didn't seem to be planned. Sometimes you held your breath and twisted your fingers around each other wondering when he would arrive – because he always appeared at some point. Not every day of couse, after all, no one reads a book a day. But at least once a week.

That your break from the monotony depended on the arrival of an unpredictable customer is not lost on you, but there is something about him that always makes your heart stop. He's unfairly handsome, so much so that you almost forgot how the gift of speech worked the first time he appeared. You never exchanged words other than book requests and recommendations, and that's okay. Judging by the suits and clothes he always wore, it's obvious that he is stupidly rich and way out of your league.

But that didn't stop your heart from stuttering every time he walked through the door, practically exuding wealth and power just by his gait, someone clearly used to commanding an entire room. He always asked your opinion on what he should read this time, so you usually already had your lines planned for when he showed up.

“Good morning, sir”, you used to greet him, already with a book in your hands, ready to start your little, rehearsed speech about why he should really read it.

To which he usually curls his lips into something that looks more like a smirk than a real smile, but is dazzling nonetheless. He would take the book from your smaller hands, not even bothering to leaf through it to see if it was really worth buying (his confidence in your recommendation always made your breathing quicken) and say: “Thank you for this, princess.”

That had always been the extent of the conversation between the two of you, and maybe you were imagining things, but with each passing day it seemed like the heat in his blue eye seemed to grow, the quirk of his lips getting closer to something more genuine.

Breaking the sameness of your days depended on this man. But when he left, you went back to drowning in that sea of repetition and boredom.

But just when you thought you were really going to succumb to the drudgery and exhausting work your life has become, something happens to finally break your routine. A phone call, coming right after your lunch break, where the customer flow is low enough to leave your manager running the store alone, who smiles permissibly.

You enter the back room, frowning when you see the call is from your landlord.

"Hello?"

“Hello, Miss Y/N. This phone call will be accompanied by an email and a letter so you have everything in writing, but I am calling to let you know in advance that we will be increasing the rent on all rentals next month.”

You sigh and close your eyes tightly. "How much will this increase be?"

“For your rent, there will be a monthly increase of 30% of the current value.”

God. You could barely survive on rent, uni bills and daily expenses, and that amount would be almost an entire extra week of work.

“I know times are tough right now, Miss Y/N, that’s why I wanted to give you as much notice as possible. I'm very sorry."

“Thanks for letting me know,” you mumble, not feeling the least bit grateful. You hang up the phone, trying to take a deep breath to regain your composure before getting back to work.

You were doing your best not to panic, wondering how you could afford the rent increase. You were living paycheck to paycheck and didn't have enough saved for a deposit to move somewhere more affordable.

Your head was going crazy, and even though you had tried to get back into customer service, your manager, Catelyn, seemed to understand everything.

“You got some bad news back there, I presume?”

You bit your lip. “Would it be possible to increase my shifts at the store?”

“Increase your shifts?” Catelyn repeated in disbelief. “Honey, you already work twice as hard almost every day. You’re working yourself to the bone as it is.”

“Maybe I could take sundays?”

The older woman narrows her green eyes. “This is your only day off a week, Y/N. When will you have time for uni?”

“I know, I know...but they just raised my rent, Catelyn,” you said calmly, willing your voice not to crack. “I won’t be able to pay uni and rent any other way.”

Your manager pursed her lips. “Let me check the books, maybe we can give you a pay raise. I’ll try everything I can to help, girl.”

You almost lose your grip on your knees at the wave of relief that rushes through your body. “Thank you, Catelyn, really.”

The older woman clicks her tongue, offering you a motherly pinch on your cheek before she slips behind the store, leaving the customer management to you.

You look down the aisles of books, cheeks burning when you realize that he is standing near one of the shelves, blue gaze boring into you intensely. You blush from the roots of your hair to your toes, plastering an apologetic smile on your face.

"My apologies for the wait, sir, I'll show you what I've set aside for you today."

You take on the task of showing him a book you think would interest him, grateful for the distraction and the excuse to duck your head out of his sight, praying he hasn't heard too much of your conversation with Catelyn. The most embarrassing situation of your life.

When you slide behind the counter to collect payment, the real value of the book is replaced by one brilliant Benjamin Franklin. At first, you don't mind, taking the bill from his fingers as you politely ask, "How would you like your change back, sir?"

“Keep it,” he said with a shrug, like it was no big deal.

You paused, blinking your eyes wide. Astonished. “You don’t have to do that, sir. It’s very generous, but there’s no need.”

He just smiles, a subtle stretch of his lips, but this one is much more genuine than the others. "I insist. See you next week, princess."

Completely stunned, you split the $100 into the correct change, adding it to the tip jar. “Okay,” you murmur, touched by a stranger’s generosity.

That was until he tried it again the following week.

“Sir, I really can’t accept this,” you say firmly. “It’s very generous.”

He raises a perfectly groomed blond brow. “From what I heard last week, it sounds like you need some extra help.”

“I’m not looking for a benefactor,” you say immediately, cheeks flushing at the assurance that he had heard everything. “I don’t feel comfortable accepting that kind of money from a stranger.”

He just smiles and extends his hand. A large hand, with long fingers adorned with rings that were probably worth more than your apartment, veins high on his pale skin. “Aemond.”

"Sorry?"

“Aemond Targaryen. My name. So now we’re not strangers, right?”

You couldn't help your small laugh of disbelief, reaching out your own smaller hand to shake his. “I'm afraid that knowing your name does little to change the fact that you are a stranger to me.”

It takes him a moment to let go of your hand, and you cough a little to cover it up, shaking your head and handing the change back to him, but you can do little about the fact that he immediately puts the change in the tip jar and continues on his way to the door without saying anything else. Leaving behind only a gentle sway of his long silver ponytail down his back.

The next time he walks in, you point your finger at him threateningly, which he seems to find very amusing, if the raise of his brows and the small smile on his lips said anything. “I won’t recommend any book to you until you promise me you won’t leave me a tip, sir.”

He just tilts his head to the side. “That’s unconventional, I must say.”

You look at him with a heavy gaze, and with a sigh, he relents, raising his palms peacefully. “I promise I won’t tip you, princess. Better that way?"

You huff and turn your face so your hair covers your cheeks, to hide how red you get every damn time he calls you that way. But as you turn towards one of the shelves, you could swear you hear him laughing.

When it was time to get paid, to your relief, he actually didn't tip you. He just squints at you and says, “See you next week, princess.”

In fact, next week, Aemond returns to pay the actual value of the product, much to your peace of mind and his seemingly endless fun. And while you can control the overly generous customer – who at least now has a name – there's still the dilemma of being able to pay your rent and uni bills.

Honestly, sometimes it feels like you're going crazy.

“Would you still say we are complete strangers to each other?” he asks you on a wednesday afternoon.

“Yes, I still consider you one,” you state, raising an brow, your heart slightly racing as it always does in this man’s intense presence.

“What can I do to change this?” Aemond asks, leaning forward. That voice was like sex and sin and made the salivary glands in the back of your mouth yearn for more. He still hadn't paid for the new book – even though there was no one in row of payment, it makes you nervous, as you don't have any excuse to avoid the conversation. “Can I take you to dinner, maybe?”

You would be lying to yourself if you said you weren't tempted. But… “Honestly, Aemond, my schedule is crazy. I barely have time to eat a cereal bar, let alone go out to dinner.”

His lips twitched, as if trying not to smile. You can't even imagine what could have been amusing about what you said, but at least he finally handed you the money.

“I think I like it better when you call me sir.”

Something about the implication of those words made you feel like you'd swallowed a hummingbird, and it was still fluttering in your chest. Once again, you pray your blush isn't obvious when you hand him back his change, barely paying attention as he drops it into the tip jar and leaves.

You sigh shakily, allowing yourself to look from beneath your lashes at the man's broad back as he walks away. An arm with defined muscles is raised as his cell phone rings, straining gently against the thin, immaculately pressed white button-down shirt, the sleeves rolled up just below the elbow as the man begins talking on the phone. Silver hair swinging down the length of his back in its loose style today. Your eyes trail down his other arm which is buried deep in a dark blue pocket of expensive looking pants, pulling the material over the prettiest ass you had ever seen in your life. The man walked with a purposeful swagger that exuded so much confidence that it always left you weak in the knees.

Aemond Targaryen is an unattainable dream.

Totally out of your league.

"What are you reading?"

Your heart skips a beat as you close the book cover with a loud snap, struggling to push it under your chest as you turn to look into your customer's blue eye. Aemond's smile is damning on the best of days, but directed at you now, in this specific situation, as he eclipses the soft light of the hallway entrance behind him - it makes your stomach tighten.

You're still at work, but the book you wanted finally arrived at the store and you couldn't resist reading a little, taking advantage of the slow moving hours...

"No!" You widen your eyes and try to hold the thing in your fingers. But it's too late. Your breath catches against your chest as Aemond pulls the book up and towards him.

“A Court Of Silver Flames, hmm? Princess, I must say I didn’t know you enjoyed this kind of reading.”

You squirm in embarrassment, wanting to disappear off the face of the earth when he effortlessly opens the page you marked and were reading before he caught you in the act. Your face burns, your lips open and then close in abject horror as Aemond's single eye scans the filthy words of the book. His smile is particularly mischievous as he mutters: 'Cassian pounded into her, a hand moving from her hip to her hair, tugging her head back, baring her throat. She gave herself over to it, to him, and the lack of control was so heady, so pleasurable that she could barely stand it. He thrust harder, so deep with this angle that she might have been screaming again, she might have been crying.' - Y/N, darling...I'm blushing."

“You – this, this is none of your business.” you grumble with a frown, trying to reach for the book as he stifles a laugh at the sight of your futile effort. "Besides, I can read whatever I want. I'm an adult."

The smile slowly diminishes on his pretty lips until there is only a slightly mischievous line left, something that is hardly comforting. Dangerous. Even hungry.

"You're absolutely right." He hums slowly, closing the book and holding it out for you to take with a raise of his brow. "You're a big girl, right?" You lift your head to look at him, meeting his warm gaze. The way he asked that question, God. Low and almost animalistic, like a predator that is just stalking its prey. Playing before attacking.

You swallow hard and for a moment both just look at each other. His blue glow is dark as he studies your face with interest, searching for something you can't even begin to guess what it is. Finally, you shyly look away from him and turn to face your collection of books.

“Are you looking for anything in particular tonight, sir?” you ask, deliberately trying to change the subject, not supporting the tense atmosphere that had formed between the two of you.

He hums contently and you feel his gaze finally move away, allowing you to breathe once more. You smooth your hands over the folds of your skirt in an effort to stop the trembling in your fingers.

"Yes, actually yes. There. Pride and Prejudice, the first edition," Aemond states, bending down a little to point to one of the novels stacked among the others. “I'm looking to complete my collection of Austen's works. 'I'll be unhappy if I don't have an excellent library.'”

Oh.

“Huh, I didn’t take you as a Jane Austen type of guy,” you joke, lightly bumping your hip against the side of the bookshelf. “Although I think you can identify with some of the characters. ‘A single man possessing a good fortune’ and all that.”

He laughs softly, standing up straight and looking back at you. “What can I say? I have a bit of a weakness for classic romance.”

"You? A romantic?" You scoff playfully, rolling your eyes at him. “I would really like to see that.” your comment is provocative and amusing, spoken only to lighten the mood. But Aemond doesn't see it that way, apparently.

He stays quiet. Something undeniably shifts in the air as he slowly takes a step towards you to close the distance between the two of you. You look up at him with a shaky sigh and lean against the shelf with an awkward, unsure step as he lowers his head slightly towards you. He looks at you intently. Closely.

"You could?"

You find yourself backing further and further into the shelf behind, your breathing quickening. His arm slides to your side, pinning you against the stacks of books, the long black coat held in the crook of his other arm. You feel his all-masculine weight pressed against you. A delicious and unmistakable aroma of fresh mint, as well as something woody and earthy, envelops your senses like a soft blanket.

“M-Maybe,” you murmur, your slightly wide eyes sweeping over every inch of his inhumanly perfect face, his mysterious eye patch. His soft lips come so close to yours that you can feel him exhale. You close your eyes, preparing to feel his mouth on yours, but instead you feel his face brush against your cheek and you feel his warm breath brush past your ear.

“I could show you,” he purrs as you melt against him - like he’s not a stranger and like you’re not on your fucking work schedule. “I could take care of you, princess. In many, many ways. I would like to do that. I just do things a little...differently than the traditional way,” the last sentence leaving it like a whisper, like a secret. Every inch of your skin tingles as all of your body's feelings seem to focus on the spot between your legs. Your back arches and your nipples ache, straining where his broad chest crushes against yours. You tilt your head back, resting it on the shelf behind, exposing your neck to him. You shudder as you feel his warm bottom lip barely touching the sensitive skin there, a gentle whisper from a caring lover - or a cruel tease from a wicked man. The smallest of moans escape your lips.

And then, he stops.

Aemond straightens his posture and removes his arm from your side. The black turtleneck sweater perfectly hugs his upper body as he straightens up, the dark pants emphasizing the generous length of his legs. He runs his hand through the smooth, silver length of his hair once and takes a deep breath. As if he was seeking some sense of calm. You shiver and swallow hard, your eyes traveling over the pale expanse of his forearms exposed by the rolled-up sleeves of his sweater, the veins beneath his skin, the chain around his neck, the expensive watch on his wrist, the long fingers studded with rings...

He's so 'man' it makes your legs weak. If that made any sense.

“But don’t worry, I promise I won’t touch you until I have your legal permission. After all, we need to talk before that,” he states slowly. "Right?" his intense blue gaze refocusing on yours.

You fidget nervously against the bookshelf, playing with the hem of your skirt, your heart beating fast like the wings of a hummingbird.

"Talk about what?" You manage to ask, even though your mind is spinning at the man's unexpected proximity.

He seems to think a little.

"How have you been?" He asks genuinely after a few seconds of silence, looking at you with some concern. “Is college going well? Are you getting enough sleep?"

"Sleep? What is that?" you joke to lighten the mood, though the stern expression doesn’t leave Aemond’s face. You continue: “College is fine. I took two tests this week, but I'm satisfied with my performance. I studied a lot over the weekend.”

“Between the few breaks between working several shifts in a row, you mean,” he says, leaving no room for argument. “You really need to take care of yourself, Y/N. I'm worried about you."

You feel a small tug in your chest as you smile softly. He's worried about you. He, this man oozing wealth and experience from his pores, is thinking of you.

“I could help, you know,” he continues, staring at you and all you can see on his face is sincerity.

What is he looking for, anyway?

"Like what?" you ask, almost shaking with anticipation. You look up to meet his gaze, the air between the two of you becoming almost thick with anticipation.

“As you've probably guessed, I have an abundance of wealth,” he states matter-of-factly, as if asserting that the sky is blue, “but not much to spend it on. So I met you a few months ago." You swallow hard as Aemond continues, “The truth is, I'd like to make sure you're being taken care of, Y/N. It would mean a lot to me if you allowed me to do that."

“What do you mean,” you ask anxiously, “by 'taken care of’?”

“I want to ensure that your college expenses will be taken care of in full,” he replies confidently when you almost choke on your saliva, “both the remaining tuition and loan balance, as well as rent and any other bills you may owe. You would also receive a weekly allowance, which would allow you to just focus on finishing your course without having to work. Although I believe you enjoy working here and don't want to give up all your shifts. Anyway, that should start to cover the bases, right?"

"To start? What else could you want to say?!” you exclaim breathlessly, looking at him in disbelief.

He laughs softly, “Well, princess, there are gifts I would like to give you from time to time. I would really like to provide anything you want or need. Clothes, shoes, books,” he smiles along with the last word. “Anything that makes you happy. I want you to feel comfortable.”

You notice that your mouth has been dry, open easily for a good full minute. You urgently need a glass of water.

Why you? What does he gain from this? What does he want in return?

“And all of this would be in exchange for…?” you question, waiting for the decisive follow-up.

“Your company.” He responds, slowly and seriously. You raise an eyebrow at his response, your stomach sinking with a sensation that is both warm and cold.

The talk comes to a pause when your cell phone screams, startling you and indicating the store's closing time. You shake your head.

"I-I need to close the store. Do you mind...could you...?" Even the words are jumbled in your mind.

"Don't worry. I'll wait." Aemond smiles understandably, stepping aside so you could begin the closing routine.

The gaze is on you every step of the way, from the moment you check the cash register, to when you pick up the keys to lock the door.

“Allow me...” He whispers when you finish and grab your coat, the chilly breeze outside sending goose bumps across your skin. You nod shyly, letting him help you put on your coat, his fingers lingering a little longer than they should on your skin. "How do you plan to get home?"

Nervousness churns in your stomach as the two of you walk down the sidewalk, your hand just inches from his. The breeze hits the sensitive skin of your ears, though you can't do anything but focus on the strange wall of heat between the two of you, arms close enough to accidentally brush every now and then. Or is it on purpose?

"Uber." You answer.

"I think so. Come on, my driver will drop you off at home." He doesn't really give you time to respond, but you still gasp when you suddenly feel the gentle presence of his sizable hand on the small of your back, guiding you towards a stupidly modern black car. He nods to the driver, who politely opens the back door for the two of you to get in.

The interior of the car is cozy and as sophisticated as the outside, with a partition that separates the place where you are and the driver.

You mumble your address and Aemond repeats it to the driver, using an internal type of communication.

Aemond Targaryen is like Bruce freaking Wayne.

Not wanting to drop the previous topic, you whisper hesitantly, “So…exactly what does ‘my company’ entail in this case?”

“Of course,” he continues, chuckling lightly at you for returning to the subject of your own free will. “I would like to see you three times a week at least. Our time together will be treated with the utmost privacy. My priority is to keep you protected from the public eye. All power in this arrangement begins and ends with you, Y/N. You can choose to break the contract at any time. At that point, you can keep anything given to you, and all canceled debts will remain that way, without any refund.”

“And during the time we spent together?” you question, catching your bottom lip between your teeth.

“Any activity of a sexual nature,” he responds, his blue gaze suddenly a little darker, “will be confidential and, most importantly, consensual. I've already asked my lawyer to email you the paperwork."

How the hell did he know your email?!

His head is spinning. Paperwork? Activity of a sexual nature? This all seems intimidating, yet somehow you remain intrigued. Curious.

“Don’t worry,” he states calmly, his hand resting on top of yours. Your panic must have been noticeable. You look up and see him looking at you gently. He resumes: “Paperwork it's like a protection for both of us. It's a basic confidentiality agreement, along with some negotiation about what you would feel most comfortable with. As I said before, if you choose this, I want you to be able to leave at any time without any losses. I've seen too many relationships destroyed by fame and notoriety. I don’t want this to hurt you too.”

You can already feel like you're going to say yes.

You look at him shyly as he removes his hand and settles next to you on the bench. You remember when you felt his warm breath on your neck in the back of the bookstore. His smell. Of the silver hair. You want that if it means being with him. If it means you can prove what he can offer. And on top of all that, you would still be taken care of, your debts would be paid off, and the weight of possibly being homeless would finally be lifted from your mind and shoulders. You can feel your body practically taking advantage of the opportunity, but you hold back for one more question.

"Have you done this before?" You ask, feeling some strange kind of jealousy bubbling in your stomach. “Were there others?”

You can see some concern behind his one eye as he hesitates, but then he blinks and replies, “Yes. There were two others. The first only lasted a few months. She only agreed to the deal to get “to the top,” so to speak. As soon as I realized that she had tried to leak confidential information to the press about our relationship, I immediately terminated our agreement.”

"And the other?" You press, brow furrowed in concern.

“The second one lasted about a year,” Aemond responds. “She chose to end the arrangement out of love, after meeting her now husband. We respectfully agreed to end things so she could move forward with this connection. It’s been a few years since we split up.”

This raises another important question.

“Huh, how old are you?” you ask, tilting your head.

Aemond snorts in amusement.

"Thirty-two."

Okay, ten years apart. It is not a big deal.

“I…” you mutter thoughtfully, tucking a strand of hair behind your ear.

“I’d like to give you some time to think about this,” Aemond suggests, as you stare at your hands. “How about 48 hours? You can review the paperwork and contact me with any questions you may have.”

You turn your head to look at him, lip between your teeth as you assess his countenance. After all, he could just be messing with you, and you could die of embarrassment if you agreed only to find out he was making fun at your expense. The heat in his gaze is unmistakable, however. It's enough to warm you deeply as you watch him watch you, his desire so palpable it leaves you breathless. Your tongue comes out to wet your lips and his eye go to your mouth.

This is the exact moment you abandon all reason and nod, a silent response to his offer of help.

“Yes,” you declare, quickly, hastily. “I mean, my answer. Yes. I'm in."

“Y/N,” he raises a blonde brow at you charmingly, something seductive behind his gaze. “I insist that you use the full 48 hours. I want to know that if you agree to this, when I have you, I will have all of you. No hesitation. Undoubtedly."

When I have you. Heat rises up the sides of your neck at the implication of those words. No hesitation.

“But -” you almost whimper, fingers tightening on the hem of your skirt.

“Y/N,” he utters in a low, deep tone, leaning toward your ear and placing a firm, warm hand on your knee. You feel goosebumps rising on the skin of your arms. "Think about it calmly. Be a good girl for me, huh?"

You freeze and a small moan leaves your lips. He smiles at you seductively, his finger brushes the soft skin of your cheek and your breath catches. His smile is almost imperceptible, but it's there. Like a feline cornering a prey.

So close you can smell his cologne again. Mint and sandalwood. You think it suits him, like a dark forest, but fresh and refined. You swallow hard, wishing that blue/violet gaze, so austere, would look anywhere else. You feel completely overwhelmed by his intensity, and he was making it impossible to think straight.

“I think you’re doing this on purpose.” You whisper into the tiny space between the two of you.

“Doing what on purpose?” He practically purrs the words.

Maybe it was the adrenaline of the situation that was coursing through your veins, but you find yourself blurting out, “Trying to make me regret your promise to keep your hands to yourself.”

His predatory expression doesn't change. "And do you regret my promise?"

It's a step too far for you to actually admit, but your silence is, in fact, admission enough. The smile that appears on his face makes you blush, especially when he leans in so close you can feel his breath, his mouth hovering right next to your ear.

“I take my promises very seriously, princess.” His voice is low, with a scratch so sensual it almost made you whimper. “So, I will keep my hands to myself until such time as our contract is properly signed. But that doesn’t mean you have to.”

You what?

He walks away with a wink, leaving you stunned as you contemplates his offer.

Would it be inappropriate to pursue something with him? It's too early? But to deny that you've wanted him from the moment he walked into the bookstore, when he seemed like a fantasy far out of your reach - would be a blatant lie. It's obvious he has money. A stupid amount of it, more than you'd see in your entire life, probably. It's also obvious that he likes you. It's not that bad to accept his stupidly luxurious gestures if you like him too, right? In a list of immoral things, don't you think this is the worst. You would not be compromising your core values.

You bite your bottom lip.

“You’re driving me crazy doing this,” he murmurs, breaking you out of your thoughts to see his gaze fixed on the way you’re biting your lip. He closes his eye for a few seconds and then looks at you again. “I have no expectations or demands for you, dear. I just want to help and enjoy the company of a beautiful woman I've admired for a long time, so I can get to know you a little better."

"How much time?" you find yourself asking.

“From the moment I walked into that bookstore and looked into those beautiful bright eyes. For your cute skirts and funny colored sweaters. You are stunning, princess.”

No one has ever described her that way.

“Tell me something about how you feel about me,” he asked; in his honeyed and serious tone. "Just one thing."

You take a deep breath to prepare yourself for the truth you've never spoken out loud before, to anyone. “I-I wait for you to come in almost every day. I know it's silly because we barely talked before, but...every time the store bell rings I look up hoping it's you, and I'm disappointed when it's not."

He digests your words calmly.

“It’s not just me then,” he breathes after a few seconds.

“No,” you whisper, barely believing it. "It is not."

You barely notice that the car is stopping, having probably already arrived at your apartment building, what has settled between the two of you is something dense and heavy, too heavy to allow you to pay attention to your surroundings. It almost feels suffocating. Your eyes meet and you almost read the challenge that shines in his. The look that seems to say: 'are you bold enough, darling?'

Really, how many times have you made the safer choice because it was convenient? Because it was less scary? You could probably count on one hand how many risks you've taken in your life and none of them had as much to gain as the risk that was currently in front of you, smiling as if he had read your decision before you even made it.

Because all it took was a single movement of his tall body to adjust himself better on the expensive upholstery of the car, and you were in his lap. "I should be worried about you putting your hands on me, apparently." He breathes a laugh.

You playfully touch the long chain resting on his chest, sliding your fingers along it until touch the fabric of the sweater collar around his neck. "Are you saying you want me to take my hands off, sir?"

He hums, slowly and low.

“Far from it, darling. I want those hands and that pretty mouth anywhere you want to put them.”

At this point, you hardly need more encouragement than that. The fabric is pulled down, revealing the pale skin of his collarbone that you immediately trace with your mouth, leaving soft stains of your strawberry lipbalm that you're sure he'd wear as badges of honor. Aemond grunts in approval, tilting his head to offer you better access to his neck, so that's where your lips meet next. Then your teeth. Then your tongue.

You can taste a slightly salty taste on his skin, almost as addictive as his cologne, which is strongest where your face presses against his pulse. Your hands search the broad expanse of his chest, feeling the hard muscles beneath his sweater. You pull away from his neck, smiling shyly at the love bite you left behind before meeting Aemond's intoxicating gaze. His hands are fisted tightly in the upholstery of the bench.

“I may have promised to behave, baby,” he reflects slowly. “But I will remember every little bruise you leave for me. Just in case I have the opportunity to pay it forward for them. So be careful right now."

You wonder, suddenly, if his fists are clenched as a form of self-control. Anticipation flows like an earthquake throughout your body.

He watches you very carefully as your smile evolves into something more teasing, something more sly and decidedly cheeky, but when you bend down to continue your bites, he clicks his tongue in the same way an adult would scold a child. A warning. A sound that begs not to be ignored. Part of you is tempted to press on, just to see what he would do, but the other...the other wants to hear him call you a good girl again. Then you blink your eyes apologetically and gently kiss the small bruise on his smooth alabaster skin.

“Good decision, baby, being a such good girl for me. I'll remember that too."

You couldn’t help but love the implication that there would be more, that Aemond was already planning what he would do to you when that happened. You have a sneaking suspicion that he won't have that much control then, a sneaking suspicion that this man definitely wouldn't take on any submissive role - in any aspect of his life.

You lean forward, fingers on the soft fabric of his sweater once again as you press open-mouthed kisses down his neck, moving up to his ear, breathing hotly against his skin until you feel him goose bumps.

You pinch his lobe. “And what do I get for being a good girl?”

His lips twitch into a teasing smile. “A bold question for someone who is supposed to be a good girl, don't you think? But you’re still learning what I like, I suppose.”

You hum something sweet and soothing, submissive. “And what exactly do you like, daddy?”

Aemond immediately goes rigid beneath you, and for a moment you panic. Were you wrong when you said that? It felt so natural that the word slipped out completely before you could think more clearly. But then Aemond practically growls as he spreads his knees beneath you, forcing you to move until you're straddling a single leg of his.

“Good girls can ride daddy’s thigh.”

He pushes his leg up until you shudder, applying pressure to your clit that almost makes you cry.

He continues, as if he isn't just rubbing the defined muscle of his thigh against your pussy. “Forgive me,” he says, his face lowering to the side of your neck, “but I have to…”

Your eyes close as he approaches. You expect to feel his lips finally meet your skin, but once again, he stops short of reaching. Instead, he inhales deeply, right under your ear.

“Vanilla,” he murmurs against your skin. You lean your head back even further, your skin begging for his touch. “And cinnamon.”

You whimper, rubbing gently against his thigh, breathless.

“You,” you whisper, pulling the hem of your skirt up, "aren't you going to kiss me?"

You watch his jaw tighten and his expression turn hard as he stares out the window for a second. “Fuck, girl. I already said that I prefer to wait until everything is resolved. I want you to be fully aware of everything this entails, everything you are getting yourself into, before you get any further involved with me.”

You can't think of anything you'd like more than to be involved in every position with him.

“But I said yes,” you lament. Driven purely by desire, you rest your hands just above both of his shoulders, lips tracing the outside of his ear. “I want you, daddy. You do not want me?"

He groans beneath you and you can feel him lift his hands, reaching out to touch you but stopping just before they come into contact with your back. Instead, he pushes them back down, one hand gripping the door handle for dear life while the other closes his fist against the seat once more.

“Yes, shit, yes” he grinds through clenched teeth. “I want you so bad, Y/N. But I can't. Not yet. I want to do this right.”

"Do you really want me?" You whimper, inches away from his mouth, pressing yourself firmly against his leg, seeking any kind of friction.

“Y/N,” he moans as you grind against him, the thin, wet cotton of your panties barely acting as a barrier between his thigh and your sex. "Can't you feel how much I want you, baby? You have no fucking idea. I want to do eviel things to your little body. I've been showing so much restraint. You can't fucking say that?"

Holy hell.

It's true, you think. You can feel him, hard and thick against his black pants, as you press into him. Your nipples harden against your breasts as you move faster, gripping the back of the seat for support as the tension builds inside you. You've never had a partner this big before and you briefly wonder if you can fit him in your mouth. You were certainly tempted to try.

"Already drooling on daddy's cock, baby?" he murmurs, noticing the look in your eyes. “My fucking God, you’re a greedy little thing, aren’t you? You barely finished riding my thigh and you already wants more."

His words make you blush. You're close, though. Especially if he keeps talking like that. The noises that escape you as you writhe against his thigh, staring at the shape of his cock and imagining what it would feel like inside you...The sounds were mortifying, to say the least, but the swirling desire in Aemond's gaze says he likes them.

Your breath begins to hitch as your pleasure gets closer and closer to that sweet pinnacle, his muscular thigh providing the perfect amount of pressure. You tilt your head back and moan, long and loud, as you snake your hand to pinch your nipple through your bra.

“Fuck, you’re so beautiful,” he murmurs softly, his breathing only slightly uneven, but his hands are clenched painfully at his sides. “Are you going to cum like this, princess? Rubbing your wet pussy against me in the back of my car? All because you can't just wait until you sign a simple piece of paper?”

“Oh my god,” you scream silently, something thrilling about someone being mere feet away from the two of you, behind the partition, as Aemond whispers the dirtiest words into your ear.

Aemond snapped his fingers as you felt yourself reaching the edge, and it drew your attention back to him as your legs shook. His blue gaze was burning. “Look at daddy when you come get me. Say my name, baby."

“Aemond,” you moan, the word barely formed as you rub desperately against his leg. You scream as the pleasure peaks, and the warm white light of the stars floods your veins.

“Daddy,” you pant, as Aemond takes over the work for you, moving his thigh to bring you to orgasm until you half collapse against him, burying your face in his shoulder as he continues moving his leg. “S-sir, please.”

“Please what, princess?”

“It’s too much,” you complain, shaking now as Aemond begins to stimulate you right after your orgasm.

“You can do it,” he encourages. "Don't you want to be a good girl for daddy?"

“I want it,” you whimper.

He hums thoughtfully. “I know you want it, Y/N. Maybe you can do something else for daddy, then. To make up for the mess you made on my thigh.”

With his thigh pressure now easing, you could have sobbed with relief. You sit up, watching with renewed interest as he runs his fingers through the wet spot on his pants and promptly brings it to his lips.

You gasp and he sucks on his fingers with a flourish that could belong to a satisfied customer at a fancy restaurant, smiling at you. “You are absolutely delicious, baby. Exactly as I expected."

You might have fainted if you didn't feel like you were already at the point of no return.

“Now,” said Aemond, sliding the full intensity of his gaze to your parted lips. “How would you feel if you tasted daddy in return, huh?”

You had been thinking about it since the moment you saw his outline through his pants. Maybe you fell to your knees on the floor of the car with great anxiety, but you smile shyly at the way he smiles at your gesture and tells you 'what a good girl you are for doing that'. You watch as he spreads his knees and leans back, giving you wide access to his lap.

In a different context, you would have thought he looked like an idiot with a huge, self-obsessed ego. But maybe that's why you adore him, after all.

With the care of someone opening a beautifully wrapped gift, you slowly unbutton his pants and free Aemond's hardened length from his boxers. Your mouth is already watering at the sight of the pre-cum that glistens on the tip of his pink head, like a drop of water on a flower petal.

Settling comfortably between his thighs, this is the first thing you decide to taste, holding it on your tongue as if it were your personal candy. Aemond grunts, his eye squinted beside his eye patch, watching you with laser focus. You decide to stick out your tongue to proudly show off the pre-cum wetness there, humming contentedly as you hear him growl (GROWL) as you swallow and return your lips to his head.

He's even bigger than you imagined.

Working up the courage to shove him down your throat, you start by first swirling your tongue along every inch you can find, covering him with what's left of your strawberry lipbalm. The guttural noise Aemond makes in his throat is worth it, and when you deem him adequately covered in saliva, you begin the process of taking him into your mouth.

Although he hasn't expressed his direct approval yet, you already know he loves it by the involuntary twitch of his hips. With the softest smile, you wrap your fists around his base, trying to move your mouth and hand in tandem as you slowly ease him down your throat.

You pause when you're halfway through, already fighting your gag reflex. Your eyes flicker to his, feeling proud when you notice that his cheeks are slightly flushed and his breathing is faster.

“You look so pretty with your lips around my cock, baby,” he murmurs, nothing but awe in his voice. “Do you think you can take more?”

You nod, the movement making him groan as you rock a little further down his length. “That’s it, baby,” he said, moving his hips slightly to encourage you to take more. “Just relax for daddy, you’re almost there.”

He thrusts his hips, with a little more force this time, and it made you choke when he scratched the back of your throat. Aemond curses vehemently. “Fuck, baby. I love watching you choke on my cock.”

Tears well up in your eyes as you fight to relax against your gag reflex, opening your mouth as wide as you can to take the rest of him. When your nose brushes against his soft strands of light hair, and he is fully seated, Aemond delivers a dirty litany of praise that has you humming with pride.

“So good for me, girl,” he grunts, starting to thrust into your mouth. "Your sweet little mouth feels amazing around daddy's cock."

You hum in agreement, because every time you do it seems to draw a string of curses from Aemond. He's fucking into your mouth with abandon now, and you've done your best to keep your jaw open and tongue relaxed. Although every time you choke, he seems to love it. And you start drooling down your chin, messing up the leather seat below - he seems to love that too.

“Fuck, I’m going to cum,” he warns, his voice rough. “Swallow for daddy like a good girl.”

You comply readily, holding his dark gaze as he spills his release down your throat. You take extra care to make sure not a drop spills, and when he withdraws, you extend your clean tongue to him, making him chuckle with something akin to affection.

“That was amazing, baby,” Aemond whispers, voice softening. He leans forward as if he's going to kiss you, but hesitates. Instead, he offers you a smile. "You did so well."

You're not sure how much time passes as he pulls you to lie against his broad, warm chest, but your post-orgasm haze is broken at some point when you mutter that you really need to go upstairs and feed your cat - the grumpy little creature already must be scratching all your furniture demanding food.

Aemond smiles softly against your hair and gently lifts you off his lap and sets you aside as he gets out of the car. You try to compose yourself to a point before he opens the door and holds out his hand to help you. As you do, you avoid his gaze, starting to feel some sort of embarrassment at your behavior in the backseat before he lifts your chin with a finger.

“Thank you,” he says gently, “for sharing this with me. I hope it happens again someday.”

You blush as he presents his arm for you to hold. He walks you down the walkway to the door of your building and looks at you again.

“Think about it, Y/N,” he states with a warm gaze on you. “48 hours, minimum. Regardless of how you decide to proceed then, know that I enjoyed every minute I spent with you.”

“I promise, I’ll think about it,” you say sincerely. You marvel at the length of his eyelashes as he looks down at you, how they almost brush his pointy cheekbone. The icy breeze swayed the long length of his silver strands around his face and shoulders.

He's beautiful.

“Thank you,” he smiles modestly, delivering you to your door. “Good night, Y/N. Get some sleep, please?"

“I’ll try,” you respond, standing on your tiptoes to press a chaste kiss to his cheek. A small expression of surprise crosses his face as you turn to open the door. “Good night, Aemond.”

He raises an brow and twists his lips sarcastically and you struggle to hold back a smile as you close the door.

Your bright, deep eyes dance across your eyelids as you try to fall asleep that night.

Like a good girl.

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

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[domainedewinter]

Ewan Mitchell reading tweets

[domainedewinter]

Dans le Domaine

Everything written and published here will contain mature content, often violent themes, proceed with caution. MDNI!

Requests are open - I write for Aemond, Aegon, Daeron.

Series

Aemond x hidden!Niece (coming soon) Chapter One Chapter Two Chapter Three

One shots "Teach you to obey" - Aegon x Daeron x Aemond

#aegon #rhaenyra #house targaryen #king aegon #prince aemond #queen rhaenyra #aegon targaryen smut #aemond smut #daeron x aegon x aemond #aemond one eye #aemond x fem!reader #hotd aemond #aemond fanfiction #aegond

[domainedewinter]

"Teach you to obey" - Aegon x Daeron x Aemond

Summary: One evening, when Aegon forbids Daeron from going to a dangerous party in a Casino, Daeron disobeys and must face the consequences that entails. *Can be read on its own but part of a complete story* Warnings: DUBCON/NONCON, TYPICAL TARGARYEN INCEST, spanking/belt spanking, profanity, innuendo, he/him pronouns, anal fingering, oral m receiving, anal sex, sub/dom, toxic behaviour, Sub!Daeron, Dom!Aemond, Dom!Aegon, begging, Daeron is 18yo.  Rating: 18+, MDNI English is not my first language.

Aegon had told him, clearly -without subtitles, without maybe- not to go to this party in a casino. He already knew that his little brother was going to play, cheat - cheat too well - and that he would have to arrive to save him before he got beaten up. 

“I swear, Daeron, can you hear me? I swear if you go, Aemond will take care of you.” 

The elder had been clear. 

And yet, Daeron had gone to that party, played a lot, cheated a lot, and won a lot. 

Out of respect for the dragons - and probably out of fear - one of the organizers had called Aegon to give him a chance to come and pick up his little brother before others did. 

Less than an hour later, Aegon had arrived with their driver, thanked the other man for calling him and took his brother, without a word, home. 

He hadn't done anything the entire trip but sent a few messages without even looking up at Daeron who was staring out the window wordlessly.  ----------------------------

When the door to Aegon's main residence closes, Daeron raises his head. “Go ahead, yell at me, say something, it’s worse when you say nothing.” He says, spreading his hands. But the eldest doesn't respond, grabbing him by the wrist and taking him upstairs, to the largest bedroom. He pushes him in and closes the door, leaning against it with a raised eyebrow. Daeron frowns, not understanding what he's hoeing and turning to. His body tenses. Aemond is in front of him. The youngest swallows and turns to Aegon, as if for help. 

“Aegon, why is he here?” He asks, his voice slightly trembling; he has not forgotten the dark promise of their eldest, he remembers it but he hopes so much that he was just saying that to scare him. Daeron loves his brothers, both of them, but he can so easily become afraid of Aemond. 

“Aegon I swear, I’m sorry I-” 

Two large hands rest on his shoulders, preventing him from finishing his sentence. Daeron shakes his head no, almost imperceptibly, looking Aegon straight in the eyes, still hoping that he will lift the sanction and, when Aegon comes towards him, putting his hand behind his neck, Daeron still has hope. 

“You don’t seem to understand when I’m the one scolding you. And if I do it you tonight, I won’t be able to stop fucking you.” He told him darkly, as if he had to hold back. “I’ve been taking care of you for too long, you don’t fear me enough and you’re putting yourself in danger.” 

Daeron opens his mouth to respond but the hands on his shoulders squeeze him; the claws of a bird of prey which prevent him from moving. 

“Take off your clothes.” 

A voice near his ear, shivers of horror run through him. “I swear, I won't go back, please, Aegon -” He turns around, facing Aemond, his eyes filling with tears. “Aemond, please, I swear I –” Aemond’s hand closes around his face, cupping it almost too tenderly, a frightening contrast to the tone of his voice. 

“Don’t make me say it twice.” 

Daeron closes his eyes briefly, just long enough to collect himself, take a breath, and nod. 

What other choice could he possibly have? He did something stupid, Aegon had warned him, he must take responsibility now. 

The youngest takes off his clothes, without meeting the gaze of his brothers who watch him do so with an inquisitive look for one and a hungry look for the other. 

As soon as he finds himself naked, Aegon grabs him by the neck and pushes him against his large, vast desk. “Put your hands on the desk, lean over.”

Maybe it's better that way, Daeron says to himself, because bending over his brother's lap, it would have been even more humiliating. He does so and places his hands flat on the wood, his breathing is short, shallow; the wait is worse than anything and when the sound of a belt is heard right behind him, he tenses. 

Aegon always uses his hands. It seems that this is not the case for Aemond, or has he really exceeded the limits given to him. 

Aegon takes a heavy and magnificent armchair, coming to sit next to him, just to the side to watch the scene, a glass of whiskey in his hand, his legs apart; the bastard already knows he's going to like the show. 

He nods at his brother and Aemond does the same, raising his arm and bringing the leather down against the tender skin of the younger boy’s ass. “Hn..” Just one painful breath and, three blows later, his alabaster skin is marked with red stripes. 

Being in a creative mood, Aemond decides to make this lesson anchored on a larger part of Daeron’s being, starting to hit harder and harder; his ass, his back, the tops of his thighs. 

Daeron is a brave boy, but when color flashes wherever Aemond coldly strikes, he lets out groans of pain, hands clenched on the wood, cheeks soaked with tears. 

Aemond can continue like this for as long as necessary but it is then that Aegon gets up; until now he hasn't moved, one hand holding the glass which he quickly finished, the other between his legs, kneading the budding erection. That's why he's not the one doing this. 

He whispers something in his brother's ear then comes closer to Daeron, caressing his cheek. “Good boy, shh.. he’s going to drop the belt.” Daeron thinks his elders are done with him but Aemond's hand on his hip does not reassure him, and as he tries to turn his head to look, Aegon grabs his face, shaking his head no. 

And this time, Aemond uses his hand. 

The pain is different, almost intimate, too intimate, Aemond’s hand stings with each blow he gives him, but he doesn't stop. 

However, something changes; between each spanking, he caresses his ass, gently. 

"I'm sorry !" Daeron says suddenly, as if the gentleness was worse than the belt, the closeness of his two brothers worse than when one struck from afar and the other watched. Without a smile, with the most serious look Aegon can muster, he leans in and kisses Daeron on the lips before pulling back just enough to speak to him. 

“Soon you’re really going to be sorry.” 

Aemond continues, the hand on his brother's hip stroking him with his thumb, as if to encourage him to hold on. “If he hadn’t come for you, do you know what they could have done to you?” Aemond asks coldly, but no logical thought can decently come to life in Daeron's mind who shakes his head. “Stop, please, I’m sorry, I’m so..sorry - Ah!” 

Aegon and Aemond only exchange a look and yet it is enough for the youngest to feel thrown to his knees on the ground. 

Aemond holds him by his hair as he comes to kneel behind him. He no longer hits him, but his other hand caresses him all over the surface of his pretty, perfect young ass, as if to admire by touch the marks he has left on him. 

"In his mouth." Orders Aegon, coming in front of the youngest who does not really understand what is going to happen, his elders seeming to communicate telepathically. 

Aemond reluctantly raises his hand - he loved to caress his baby brother and witness the art he carved on his flesh - and forces him to open his mouth, two of his fingers caressing his tongue.

Daeron licks and sucks instinctively, watching as Aegon opens his pants just enough to pull out his thick cock, the tip red with excitement, precum leaking with need. 

Aemond presses his tongue and Dearon has no choice but to open wider, his breath getting shorter and shorter as he understands; Aegon puts his cock between his lips, blowing out a “fuck” of pleasure as he begins to fuck Daeron’s mouth along with Aemond's fingers. 

“Breathe.” Aemond orders him, moving his fingers at the same time as their eldest, drenching Daeron's chin. He moans when Aegon's cock touches his throat, or Aemond's fingers - or maybe both - but Aemond whispers words to calm him or rather soft and deep little "shh". 

When Aemond withdraws his fingers, Daeron thinks he is rid of half of the torture but it is only to better feel them slip between his ass and enter roughly, stretching him from the inside. This makes him moan on Aegon's cock who bites his lips: it feels so good. “There you go, keep it up; show us how sorry you are, what a good boy you are, show us how you will be obedient next time.” 

To his utter terror, Daeron realizes that he is rock hard, shaking and choking on Aegon's cock. He should blame himself for getting hard now, but Aemond's fingers work wonders inside him, pressing just hard enough where he needs it, moaning desperately against their elder. 

Everything is painful, so painfully good that it's almost too much. Aemond's hot breath against his ear, the burning sensation when he feels his little puckered hole being abused as much as his mouth, his throat bruised. His entire body bears the burning marks of his brothers' anger. And he accepts his punishment with courage, his heart beating in his chest, so loud he can feel it in his ears.

Suddenly, Aemond speeds up, slamming his fingers into him so hard that he smacks his ass with the flat of his hand with each thrust, making him scream at Aegon who finds it even better. 

Of course, Aegon doesn't warn him, and Daeron is too stimulated to notice the warning signs when he feels warm, thick liquid filling his mouth. Aegon pulls back, finishing on his lips, dirtying his cheeks then clamping his hand over his mouth so he can't spit it out. 

Daeron almost chokes but he swallows, the tears on his cheeks joining his elder's seed as Aemond continues to pound him from the inside. Aegon releases his mouth and pulls back his hair. 

“Never go back there again, never disobey me again. Say it." A nod isn't enough but it's so hard to give more than that when Aemond thrusts into him.

“Ye- Yes.. I swear.. I won’t.. ah.. I won’t disobey again.” The words stumble out of his lips, swollen and abused by his brother, and suddenly everything stops, pleasure exploding inside him without one of them even touching his cock. 

He doesn't know how much longer Aemond continued to pump into him but it became painful, he moaned, eyes closed, wriggling his hips a little so that his tormentors would let go of him. 

Aemond removes his fingers and grabs his face, the two large lilac eyes opening before him in an expression that reminds him of Aegon. “Keep that promise, I wouldn’t want to start enjoying hurting you.” He kisses him in turn on the lips before throwing him into the arms of Aegon, who offers him a thank you with a nod. 

The door slams and Daeron jumps. “Shh, come on, I’ll give you a bath.”

Daeron begins to cry harder, his body running through shivers as he sobs. “I’m sorry, I didn’t mean to upset you.. Aeg… I.. I swear I won’t disobey you again.” 

A triumphant smile, sweet and wicked at the same time, appears on Aegon's lips; he knows that he has won, that he will no longer have to go looking for the kid there. "I know. I’m proud of you, you accepted your punishment and took responsibility like a real dragon, brother.” 

A hot bath, lots of caresses and a few words. When the moon is at its zenith and the night is darker than ever, Daeron falls asleep, curled up between Aegon and his wife, surprisingly serene, as if relieved of a weight - that of his conscience perhaps - abandoned to them, pleasantly submissive and peaceful.

#aegon #house targaryen #aemond targaryen #aegon targaryen smut #aemond smut #daeron targaryen #daeron x aegon x aemond #aegond #smut #hotd