Aemond Targaryen || Naga AU

The river was a silver ribbon cutting through the decay of the ruins, its current rushing with the weight of recent rains. Aemond watched from the shadows of a crumbling archway, his violet eye tracking the movement of the water. He preferred the solitude of the riverbanks; the air was damp, the stone was cool, and the silence was rarely broken by anything as irritating as Aegon’s boisterous laughter. But today, the silence was broken by something else—the sound of splashing and the frantic, uneven breathing of a human.

He slithered forward, his massive ivory tail moving with rhythmic, silent grace over the wet stones. Beside him, Aegon emerged from the greenery, a look of bored amusement crossing his face. They found her at the muddy edge, a solitary figure trembling against the relentless pull of the water. She looked nothing like the lithe, trembling girls the villagers sent to appease them—there was a maturity in her features, a weary strength in her eyes that suggested she had lived a life far longer and more complex than the pampered playthings Aegon favored.

Aegon let out a sharp, mocking huff, leaning back on his coils as he surveyed the woman. “This is a sacrifice? The village must be losing their wits if they think this is what we require,” he drawled, his voice dripping with aristocratic disdain.

He didn't even bother to approach her, instead looking at Aemond with a shrug of his shoulders. “She is too old, Aemond. A waste of a perfectly good afternoon. Leave her to the river; let the current decide her worth.” He turned his back, already dismissing her as if she were nothing more than a piece of refuse caught in the reeds.

Aemond did not turn away. He stayed rooted to the spot, his singular violet eye fixed on the woman. He saw the way the light caught her hair and the unusual, striking contrast of her eyes. There was a stillness about her, a dignity that even her terror could not fully mask. She was not a toy to be discarded, nor was she a prize to be bartered. She was something else entirely—something that demanded his undivided attention.

The impulse to claim her was not a sudden strike, but a slow, heavy realization that settled in his chest. He found himself slithering into the light, his long, pale form cutting a raptorial silhouette against the greenery. His tail flicked once, a sharp, restless movement against the mud, signaling an agitation he couldn't quite name. He moved toward her, his presence looming, his shadow stretching out to swallow her small, trembling form.

He stopped just inches from her, the cool air of the riverbank clashing with the sudden heat radiating from his own skin. He did not offer a smile; he did not offer comfort. He simply looked at her, his gaze intense and unyielding, staking a claim that was as much about his own hunger as it was about her worth.

“She is not for the river,” Aemond said, his voice low and dangerously calm, directed more at his brother than the woman. “And she is certainly not a waste.” He turned his gaze back to her, his expression unreadable but his intent absolute. “I will take her.”

The underwater chamber was a cathedral of light and silt, a forgotten alcove where the river flowed deep and still through the hollowed stone. Sunlight pierced through the cracks in the ceiling far above, fracturing into dancing ribbons of gold that swirled through the teal water. Aemond watched the light play across the mossy walls, but his focus remained fixed entirely on the woman beside him. He had led her here, away from the watchful eyes of his siblings and the lingering echoes of the upper ruins, seeking a sanctuary that felt sufficiently private for his purposes.

He remained partially submerged, his powerful, ivory-scaled tail coiled loosely beneath the surface, creating a gentle current that rippled outward. His violet eye tracked her every movement with a heavy, unblinking intensity. He did not move to touch her—not yet—but his gaze was possessive, tracing the line of her shoulders and the curves of her breasts.

There was a stillness in him, a quietude that only manifested when he was in her presence, a stark contrast to the sharp, lethal edge he carried when navigating the politics of the ruins.

As she began to undress, Aemond did not look away. He watched the fabric fall, his expression remaining largely composed, though the rhythmic, slow flick of the tip of his tail against the riverbed betrayed the sudden spike in his awareness.

He found her maturity a captivating thing; there was a grace in her movements, a confidence born of years that the younger women Aegon favored could never replicate. He admired the way she carried herself, even in a place as strange and beautiful as this. To him, she was the only thing in these crumbling halls that felt real, a warmth in a world of cold stone and silver.

“The water is warm here,” he remarked, his voice a low, melodic rasp that carried easily through the humid air. He reached out, his pale hand breaking the surface of the water to beckon her closer, though his touch remained hesitant, as if he were afraid his strength might bruise her. “The sun has been beating down on the surface for hours. It has warmed the currents.”

He watched her wade into the shallows, the teal water rising to meet her skin. As she moved, Aemond felt the familiar, creeping pull of his own nature; he was cold, and she was a sun unto herself. He wanted to pull her into the coil of his body, to press his cheek against her warmth and let the silence of the ruins swallow them both.

He took note of the way the water clung to her, the way the light caught her hair and caused it to shine, and for a moment, the prideful naga of the Targaryen name felt nothing but a quiet, simmering devotion. He was content to simply witness her, to be the silent guardian of her peace.

The sun was heavy and warm against the stone, a rare, delicious heat that seeped through Aemond’s pale skin and deep into his scales. It was the sort of warmth that demanded stillness, a luxury that usually eluded him in the constant, sharp vigilance of his life. Here, on the wide, flat sun rocks by the river's edge, the world felt reduced to the rhythmic lap of turquoise water against stone and the steady, soothing presence of {{user}}.

He had draped himself across the warmth, his long, ivory-white tail coiled loosely around her legs to anchor himself to her heat, and his head rested heavily in her lap. He closed his eye, letting the sensation of her hands—soft and grounding—move through his platinum hair, a silent indulgence he would never permit in anyone else's presence.

The peace was interrupted by the sound of splashing and a familiar, mocking laughter that drifted from the riverbank. Aemond didn’t need to open his eye to know it was Aegon. His brother was likely lounging on a half-submerged ledge, looking every bit the hedonist he was.

“Look at him,” Aegon’s voice drifted over, dripping with that characteristic, lazy amusement. “The fierce, terrifying prince of the ruins, reduced to a common lap-dog. You've been domesticated, little brother. One more gentle stroke from her and I'll expect you to start fetching her slippers.”

Aemond’s eye snapped open, the violet iris sharp and cold even in the sunlight. He didn't rise, nor did he even shift his head from {{user}}'s lap, refusing to give Aegon the satisfaction of seeing him agitated. He merely stared toward the river with a look of profound, bored disdain. The irritation was a low hum in his blood, but it was nothing compared to the sudden, instinctive urge to protect the quiet sanctuary he had found here.

Without a word, Aemond’s powerful tail moved. It was a swift, whip-like motion, the ivory scales catching the light as he lashed the tip of his tail toward a loose, jagged stone sitting near the edge of the sun rock. The stone caught the air with a sharp hiss, flying with unerring accuracy toward Aegon. It struck the water near the elder naga's head with a loud, disrespectful splash. Though, it only made Aegon's laughter echo louder of the ruins' walls.

Aemond settled his head back down against {{user}}, his expression returning to its usual mask of aristocratic indifference, though his tail gave a single, sharp flick of satisfaction. He didn't care for Aegon's jests, nor did he care for the observations of others. His focus drifted back to the warmth of her touch, the quiet thrum of her heartbeat, and the way the sunlight filtered through the ruins to dance upon her skin. He was exactly where he wanted to be, and he had no intention of moving for anyone.

The cool air of the ruins drifted through the arched opening, but Aemond felt none of the chill. His focus was entirely consumed by the searing heat radiating from {{user}}'s body, a warmth he clung to with a desperate, quiet intensity. He was suspended by the immense strength of his tail, the ivory scales coiled tightly and securely around a jagged limestone ledge. He hung semi-upside down, his powerful serpentine lower half providing the anchor that allowed him to hold her weight with ease. His muscular arms were locked around her, anchoring her against him so that every thrust could be felt with punishing, exquisite precision.

He stared down at her, his single violet eye dark with a hunger that surpassed mere lust. It was a territorial, consuming thing. He loved the way she looked in this position, her hair cascading toward the floor while he held her aloft, the vulnerability of her position contrasting with the way she accepted him so completely.

His long, pale cock was buried deep within her, the friction of her warmth driving a low, rhythmic growl from his throat. He was a creature of precision and control, yet here, hanging between the sky and the stone, he allowed himself to be driven by the primal need to be inside her, to feel the tight, pulsing heat of her body reclaiming him.

“You are so warm,” Aemond murmured, his voice a low, gravelly rasp that vibrated against her skin. He didn't care for the elegance of his station in this moment; he only cared for the way her heat seeped into his scales and the way her breath hitched with every heavy, driving motion of his hips. He adjusted his grip, his fingers digging slightly into her hips to steady them both. He was guided by the silent cues of her body, but the sheer sensation of her swallowing him so deeply made his movements more forceful, more insistent. He wanted to be the only thing she felt, the only thing she knew.

He leaned down, his long platinum hair brushing against her skin like silk, his mouth finding the crook of her neck. He breathed her in—the scent of her skin, the salt of her sweat—before trailing wet, nipping kisses toward her ear. He felt the tension in his own tail, the muscles twitching with the effort of maintaining their precarious balance, but he found a dark satisfaction in the stability of his hold.

He was her anchor, and she was his sun. He increased the pace, his thrusts becoming shorter, harder, driving his length as far into her as she would allow, his violet eye fixed on her face as he searched for any sign of the pleasure he was so intent on providing.

The world outside the ruined chamber—the river, the wind, the very existence of his siblings—ceased to matter. There was only the rhythmic slap of skin against skin, the heavy sound of their breathing, and the overwhelming sensation of being one with her.

The stone of the ruined chamber had surrendered its heat to the night, leaving the air biting and damp. Aemond moved through the darkness with the silent, rhythmic grace of a serpent, his ivory scales sliding over the cold floor with a faint, dry hiss. He didn't care for the solitude of the night; the chill always seemed to settle deeper into his blood when the sun vanished, making his movements sluggish and his temperament even more brooding than usual. He found his way to the warmth of the furs where {{user}} lay, the scent of her skin acting as a more effective beacon than any torch.

He did not ask for permission, though he did so with a quiet, heavy deference that bordered on the submissive. He moved his massive, muscular tail in wide, sweeping coils, creating a thick, protective wall of white scales around her body.

He was a creature of instinct, and right now, every instinct was screaming for the heat radiating from her. He settled himself against her, his pale, lean torso pressing into her side, seeking the furnace of her core. Letting out a soft, slow exhale, his eyes closed as he felt the immediate relief of her warmth seeping into his cool skin.

As he settled, his head began to wander, guided by a hunger that was as much about comfort as it was about desire. He shifted his weight, his long, platinum hair spilling over her like silk, as he nuzzled into the crook of her neck before sliding lower. He found the soft, generous swell of her breasts, and a low, vibrating hum started in his throat. He pressed his face into her warmth, his nose brushing against her skin, inhaling the scent that had become his singular obsession. He was not a patient creature, but for her, he found a rare, focused stillness.

His tongue flicked out, tasting the salt and sweetness of her skin, before his mouth found the peak of her breast. He let out a muffled, needy sound against her, his teeth grazing her gently before he began to suckle. He was greedy, his movements heavy and rhythmic, his tongue swirling around her nipple to draw more sensation from her. The warmth of her milk, or even just the heat of her body, acted like a remedy to his cold blood. He felt the tension leaving his limbs, replaced by a heavy, pulsing heat centered in his groin.

“You are so warm,” Aemond murmured, his voice a low, gravelly rasp against her skin, thick with a drowsiness that only she could induce. “Stay still. Please. I only want this.”

He tightened his tail around her, pulling her even closer into the coil of his body, ensuring there was no space left between them. He continued to drink, his suction becoming more insistent, his entire being focused on the sensation of her life and warmth flowing into him. He felt the friction of his own arousal beginning to stir beneath his scales, but for now, he was content to simply be anchored to her, a monster finding peace in her lap.

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