crazyworldofsiani - Tumblr blog

crazyworldofsiani · 8 days ago

Text

Mercy

Pairing: Poe Dameron x f!Reader (she/her pronouns used a handful of times) Warnings/Tags: enemies to lovers (vibes at least), hurt/comfort, angst, descriptions of injuries, name calling (nothing too serious), mentions of death and killing, fluff at the end if you squint Word Count: 4.6k Summary: Poe should kill you. You're his enemy. Yet when he sees you, weak and injured, he struggles with his decision. A/N: Writing this instead of starting another series rn because I have self control...

"Eyes on target," Poe speaks into the comms, his eyes locked on the TIE fighter in front of him. In the vast emptiness of space, there are few obstacles it can hide behind as Poe chases behind, loading the weapon system of his trusty X-wing.

Poe and a few other rebels from the black squadron were surveilling Jakku after getting intel about a first order weapons trade taking place on the planet. Safe to say that the intel was legit. The place is swarming with first order fighters. Luckily, they were met by a small TIE fighter squad in the sky. The real goal is to get rid of them without letting them warn the bigger first order fleet that's surely on standby, ready to send backup if needed.

"Fire away. We're right behind you, Black One," Wexley responds to Poe, reassuring that they've got everything under control for now.

Poe's thumb brushes against the button that's the only thing between him and the enemy ship getting blasted into stardust. His heart is racing from the adrenaline of battle, no matter how big or small. This should be the last target in the sky.

He presses the button.

A flash of light fills his cockpit for a second. Pew. Then, the enemy is gone. It happens so fast that Poe can't even see the TIE fighter blow up before it's gone. The only evidence left of the enemy is scrap floating around in space. Poe's X-wing passes the debris by so fast that it's quickly left far behind. A memory, if even that.

"Target cleared," Poe tells his squadron. Now he can relax. He smiles a bit as his comrades cheer, most likely more relieved to have survived rather than actually being happy and cheerful. They managed to wipe out a bunch of TIE fighters without losing any of their own.

BB-8 beeps from the back of the ship, the droid joining in on the excitement of the rest of the squadron. Usually, Poe would be amongst the first to make a comment about getting rid of first order scum one by one - but he's tired.

Ever since Poe joined the Resistance, he's been dedicated, climbing up the ladder, worked on becoming the best pilot he can be, focused on defeating the enemy. People jokingly call him the Resistance poster boy... yet lately he's just been feeling guilty, as if he's betraying the cause he's dedicated his life to. Poe struggles to see himself as the leader people want him to be when he can be affected by someone who is supposed to be his enemy.

"What's the plan?" Wexley asks, noticing that Poe has been quiet for a while. It's unlike the pilot who usually always finds something witty to say. Hell, Poe has put on more shows than one can count, even on the battlefield.

"Start the descent to Jakku," Poe clears his throat, slowing down a bit. His gaze lazily zoomed across the stars that are scattered all around them. "Let's make sure the first order never receives those weapons."

"Roger that."

"Aye."

Poe watches as his squadron turns to the sand planet. Poe stays behind, wanting to watch their backs and take a change from leading. However, Poe doesn't get the chance to start his descent to Jakku before his radar beeps. His dark eyes are glued to the screen in a split second. One dot. One ship has joined them, arriving from somewhere in light speed.

"We've got company!" Poe warns the others but they're already too far gone to catch that. Poe is on his own.

As Poe skillfully flips his ship around to point the nose of the X-wing toward the enemy, he recognizes the ship. It's not just another TIE fighter. It's you.

Kylo Ren's little spy. Poe hates your guts, or at least he's convinced himself of that. He's called you every name in the book but prefers scrampweasel, sneaky little spy-worm or the simplest of all - shadow rat. Very creative. He's trying them out to see if any names will stick.

Poe hates how you're doing your own thing, no squadron, no rules. You appear whenever and wherever, usually at the worst of times, only to wreak havoc and piss him off. He hates how you slip away from situations that you should never get away from, how you spy on people and run back to Kylo Ren to tell him your intel. He hates how damn smart and resourceful you are and you're his enemy. He wishes your skills could be used for the good of the Resistance instead.

"You're late to the party, scrampweasel," Poe connects his comms to your ship. Staring you down from afar. He can imagine how you look in that ship, probably pissed that the first order squadron has been wiped out.

"Nah," You simply reply, your voice slightly distorted due to the comms system. "Also you've done better than scrampweasel, poster boy."

"Ouch, you're breaking my heart, sweetheart," Poe mutters sarcastically, "unfortunately I'm not taking constructive criticism right now." A few buttons are pressed. His ship buzzes to life as he loads his weapons again. Loading...

BB-8 beeps nervously as he recognizes your voice and ship. You and Poe have been head to head many times before, in the sky, on land, probably underwater. It always gets out of hand, it's always chaotic and especially when flying, the poor droid will get a good scare when Poe flies like a maniac after you.

"Where are your friends, Dameron?" You ask, noticing that he's alone.

Seems like the rest of the Black Squadron descended on Jakku, or at the very least entered the planet's atmosphere before you got here. Unless Poe tells them what's going on by turning the long distance comms on, they won't know until they notice that he never followed them to Jakku. Perhaps it's better that way.

"It's just you and me," Poe mutters and feels his pulse quicken. His weapons are almost fully loaded now yet a small part of him knows that you're too quick and smart to just wait for him to blast your ship to pieces. This is a standoff that's just the start of your usual dance that you always, always, find a way out of.

BB-8 beeps at Poe, reminding him that he's there too.

"I know, buddy," Poe reassures the droid, turning off the comms while speaking to him. As he listens to the intense beeping, he smirks because he can tell BB-8 knows what's coming.

"Too bad. No one will be around to see you get your ass dragged," You sigh into the comms, riling him up. It's your specialty.

Poe shakes his head and rests his thumb on the buttons again, one click away from blasting you into Jakku's atmosphere. He hesitates.

"Why aren't you doing anything?" Poe asks, suspecting that something is off. You haven't tried to blast him, not even once. Are you... stalling? "Performance issues?"

PEW

Poe saw it coming from a mile away, the first red blast from your ship. He laughs as adrenaline courses through his veins, ducking from the rain of blasts coming his way. This little tug of war you've got going on is fun for him.

"Now we're talking, baby!"

"You're so weird," You groan and set off into a compelling chase.

Poe speeds up, avoiding your blasts like second nature. BB-8 screeches as it begins. Then at top speed, Poe lowers his ship and slows down. You fly right past him, surprised by his dropping speed. Now he's behind you. He clicks down on the blast button as green light flickers across his face with each beam.

Of course, none of them hit you. Poe has convinced himself that you're just a good enough pilot to avoid getting blasted too easily. It's a lot for him to even think that a first order spy is a good pilot. He thinks it's just an unfortunate truth. He'd never consider the thought that he avoids vital parts of your ship on purpose, because then he'd be taking mercy on an enemy. Poe can't do that.

You're leading him away from Jakku. Taking your sweet time.

Poe is stalling because he wants to give his squadron enough time to stop the weapons trade on Jakku. You're stalling because you think Poe is alone and you want to give the team on Jakku enough time to finish the trade. Poe feels like he has the upper hand. He just needs to keep you distracted for just a little longer...

"Have you thought about my offer?" Poe wonders curiously, speeding up behind you. Every time you meet like this, he asks you to switch sides. Or at least to consider it. However, the way he delivers his offer makes it hard to tell just how serious he is.

"How's this for an answer?" You reply angrily and make a 180. Poe takes a sharp right as you blast back at him, your beams meeting his and creating a bright firework effect. You both have to fly away from each other to regain composure.

Every time the answer is the same.

"Is that a maybe?" He teases and tries to lock the automatic target tracking system on you again. The box tries to lock around the dot that represents your ship on the screen but you're expertly flying side to side to avoid detection. Poe has to take aim manually.

"The thought of seeing you every day and taking orders from you makes me a bit sick, actually," You insist harshly.

"But you have no issue taking orders from Kylo Ren?" Poe raises his brow although you can't see him.

Silence.

Poe is surprised that you didn't have a lively remark up your sleeve at that. He finds it odd, considering your reputation as Kylo Ren's pet spy. Thought you'd be quicker to defend him.

"Don't question my alliances."

"Maybe I should? Maybe you should?" Poe pushes a bit more, giving you so many opportunities to surrender and switch sides. He's giving you more mercy than most others. Poe tells himself it's only because you have skills that the Resistance could use. That's all.

BB-8 beeps suddenly, warning Poe of company. Another dot appears on the radar, far away. It's not one of his own. Poe thinks you've got backup, so he says nothing. Just prepares to fight you and some other first order scumbag.

What happens next completely takes him by surprise.

The first order ship that appeared takes a shot at you.

"Kriff me!" Poe curses, shocked at the events that unfold before his eyes. He has to back off to avoid getting blasted as well. The other ship comes closer and Poe recognizes it.

That's Kylo Ren.

At the sight of the approaching vessel, Poe gets ready to get out of there and fast. He's on his own and even if he'd like to blast Kylo Ren into bits and pieces, he can't do it on his own. The smart move is to go to Jakku and rejoin the rest of the Black Squadron, who by now have probably sabotaged the weapons trade and that's why Kylo Ren is here.

Poe speeds up his ship, heading toward Jakku. Things just got real.

As he flies away, and his heart beats like crazy, Poe thinks about what just happened.

Kylo Ren blasted you down.

"Kriff," He curses again, slamming his hand at the cockpit dashboard. Maybe it's shock. Poe certainly didn't see that coming. The one person you've been loyal to just discarded of you like it was nothing. Poe just knows your ship crashed on Jakku. He shouldn't care. He should just keep moving, find his squad.

But a thought forms in the back of his mind. Poe should be responsible and make sure that you're dead. Yeah, so he can know for sure that you won't cause any more problems. That this chapter is over.

Poe changes his course and programs the systems to track your ship. BB-8 makes a concerned noise, worried about Poe.

"Just tying up loose ends," Poe explains to the droid. "She could be alive. She... could be..." He trails off. Poe can't believe what he saw.

Why would Kylo do that?! Why would he dispose of the best spy the first order has? Sure, you didn't spy in the traditional sense by being a mole or anything like that - you actually stalked your targets and stayed in the shadows most of the time, dug up information that most people would never find. Surely, a valuable asset for someone like Kylo Ren.

As Poe enters the atmosphere, beginning his descent on the dark side of Jakku, he locates the crash site. Then he flies toward it, his gut wrenching oddly as he thinks about what he might find. Poe tells himself he only feels this way because he's so shocked by Kylo's unexpected actions.

"He must be losing it," Poe mutters to BB-8, questioning Kylo's grip on reality and his sanity as the war gets worse with time - as does the pressure on both sides.

No matter how many times Poe checks the radar, he can't see any signs of Kylo following him. It's incredibly suspicious but Poe keeps going.

He lands behind a sand dune and instructs BB-8 to stay put.

Then he starts making his way to the crash site. He can smell it, the bitter smoke lingering in the air. Your ship is in pieces, halfway covered in sand and flames. Too remote and desolate that Jakku's infamous scavengers haven't come to collect parts yet. This looks bad.

Poe puts his hand on his blaster as he gets close, unsure if he can trust you if you're alive. It's dark outside, night having fallen upon this side of Jakku. A sand desert with no life in sight. Just your wrecked ship and a sky full of stars. The flames on the debris create a dim, orange glow.

Then he sees you.

You've managed to crawl out of the cockpit but you've slumped down only a few feet away from the ship. Bloody, bruised, helmet broken. It's a miracle your skull didn't take a bigger hit when you crashed. Poe doesn't even think about it, he runs up to you.

"You're alive," He says in shock. Then Poe freezes, unsure what to do.

You're his enemy. You've spied for the first order for the longest time. Even though Kylo Ren shot you down now, it doesn't erase your past.

You lift your head weakly to look him in the eye. Poe notices how tears mix with the blood on your face. Those eyes... even when you're full of anger, he hates to notice just how captivating you are. Surely an attribute that's helped you in your spying and scamming ways.

"What are you doing here?!" You ask him and groan in pain as you fail to push yourself up. It doesn't take a genius to tell that something is most certainly broken. Poe cringes as he sees how injured you are. He almost feels bad.

That's a good question.

He opens his mouth to speak. It's a rare moment of Poe Dameron feeling speechless.

A cold breeze of desert wind makes the flames dance a bit brighter, sand hitting you both in the face. Days on Jakku can be scorching hot but the nights are definitely a cold pain in the ass too.

"Too scared to finish the job?" You ask him in tears, unsure whether it's rage or the pain of betrayal that has you falling apart. Of course, you're aware that it was Kylo who shot you down. You saw him approaching the scene, thinking he was gonna back you up. Thinking he was gonna deal with the trade on Jakku. But no.

Kylo shot you down because he felt you were getting attached to the enemy, too soft-hearted to kill, therefore no longer trustworthy. Apparently, he could sense you had failed to use your full potential against Poe in battle. After everything you'd done for Kylo, he stopped trusting you because of the damn Resistance fly boy.

As you face Poe, in your weakest moment, you see your own failure reflected on his entire being. It's his fault!

"You...for maker's sake, you really should've questioned where your loyalty lies!" Poe scolds you and then covers his mouth with his hand, struggling to compose himself. He hates seeing you like this. Bloody, trembling in pain, too weak to get up. The rage in your eyes is unlike anything he's seen before.

"I was weak," You admit and hang your head in both shame and pain. There's a throbbing headache that's banging in your skull, making it hard to think. Is this it? Is Poe really the last person you'll see? Is this how it ends?

Poe grabs his blaster and takes a shaky breath. He paces a bit, kicking the scrap that's scattered across the dune as your ship fell apart. He knows what he should do.

"If you don't have the guts to finish the job, I'll die anyway," You tell him sharply, grasping onto your tough exterior. Even when facing potential death, you're hiding behind a wall of your own creation.

Poe turns to look at you with a dark look in his eyes. He just nods, indicating that he's listening to you. He hasn't felt this conflicted in a long, long time. The easy thing to do now is to kill you and no one would ever question it. You're an enemy.

"I'll either bleed out here or Kylo will send someone to finish the job," You explain, knowing the ways of the first order. No job is left unfinished or half-assed, at least not when Kylo is in charge. This was personal and he would hate to leave you living.

"You win," You whisper now, thinking about how many times you and Poe have been in battle. How many opportunities you've both had to kill or hurt the other yet you haven't, only prolonging this game of yours. It had to come to an end eventually.

"If you have mercy, you finish the damn job..."

Poe closes his eyes as he listens to you. He can't take it. His blood begins to boil the longer he stays uncharacteristically quiet and takes in your pitiful words. It's sickening that you believe what you're spewing.

"Mercy?" Poe snaps now, "You call this mercy?!"

The pain is getting worse as you use your last bits of strength to keep your head up, looking at Poe. Like tiny daggers sinking into your skin all over, white hot agony burning up your neck. There's probably scrap pieces of metal in your flesh, or at least it feels like it.

"You fool," Poe growls, but his voice cracks a bit. He pities you. "You should've...should've seen this coming..." Poe keeps lecturing, then he sinks down onto his knees. He grabs your shoulders and turns you around, making you lie on your back and stop using your strength to keep your head up.

The movement makes you wince in pain, although there's undeniable relief in being able to lie down. There's not even an attempt to fight back.

Being angry is exhausting. It's so damn tiring. Every day it's the mask you put on. Something to hide behind. The only way to make people take you seriously.

As you look up at the stars, you don't have the energy to be angry anymore. Instead, an overwhelming wave of sadness crashes over you. Like a blanket, weighing you down. It's cold and ugly, making your heart feel like is gonna tear to pieces. Maker be damned, you're crying in front of Poe Dameron.

"Well I didn't see it coming," The words leave your mouth in a whimper, lips forming a small pout. The lump in your throat is too hard to swallow or ignore. The emotions you've bottled for so long are finally spilling over.

Poe is surprised by the change in demeanour, sensing raw vulnerability. He looks at your injuries, trying to find the worst ones. Trying to help. He's hesitant, almost nervous as he brushes his fingers over your bloody shirt. He's never touched you this gently.

"Are you happy?"

Poe freezes for a second. You can see that his jaw is clenched and the vein on his forehead stands out. He looks so tense.

"No," Poe is honest, "I'm not. I don't think you were meant for this."

"You don't even know me."

"You're not meant to waste your skills on an useless organization like the first order and die while being loyal to an unpredictable maniacal hothead like Kylo Ren," Poe insists harshly, looking you directly in the eye. "I'm not happy. I made it clear long ago that I wanted you to switch sides and realize your potential. You still have that potential but you need to open your damn eyes!"

Taken aback by his rant, you just blink at him. To think this is the man you've been bantering with for a while now, always thinking it was out of pure spite. He actually saw good in you.

"I'm not like Finn."

Poe hates how stubborn you are. He clenches his jaw as he carefully lifts your shirt, revealing a nasty wound. He threads a thin line as he tries to remain respectful while also having to reveal your skin in order to assess the wounds. A piece of metal is lodged under your skin, bleeding crimson all over your skin, your shirt and now his hand. Poe doesn't try to remove the metal, knowing it's hindering even worse bleeding. He has no bacta spray on him but if he could get you to his ship, he could treat you.

"No, but he did the right thing and saw through all that first order nonsense. Others can do that too," Poe insists as he rips his shirt and uses the fabric to compress the wound. It's not clean but it'll have to do until he gets actual first aid supplies.

"Aaah!" You cry out sharply, squirming as he pushes the fabric into the biggest wound in your abdomen. It hurts like hell but it slows down the bleeding for now.

Poe hates hearing you cry out in pain.

"What are you doing?"

Poe can't believe what he's about to say;

"I'm saving your life."

Neither can you.

You close your eyes and grit your teeth, having no choice but to endure the pain. In a desperate attempt to understand what's happening, your brain rakes through every explanation but comes up empty. It makes no sense that Poe is helping you. He has no reason to.

"I don't deserve it..."

Poe's heart just breaks at that. He knows you're supposed to be his enemy but something tells him to help. That there's good in you and the reason you haven't killed him is because deep down you want Poe and the Resistance to succeed. He truly thinks you can do what Finn did and one day you'll laugh about how you were 'enemies'. That everything will be okay.

"Come on, let's get you up," Poe says surprisingly gently. He grabs you securely, under the arms as he lifts you up slowly. It hurts, it hurts so bad to even try to stand. But he's got you.

"What are you doing?" You ask again, choked up on tears and unable to phantom that someone like him would help someone like you. The sand is soft and unforgiving under your feet, forcing you to cling to Poe for support. Maybe it's instinctual, something deep and primal within you that clings onto survival, but you find yourself holding onto his arm and jacket so tightly that you're afraid you'll break him.

"There we go," Poe says softly and leads you toward his ship. His arm wraps around your waist as he supports you. There's truly nothing around these dunes. Just sand as far as the eye can see. Had he not come, there's no doubt in his mind that you would've bled out all alone in the cold. It's not a pleasant thought.

Finally, you reach his ship. Poe makes you sit down on the co-pilot seat. Then he begins to rummage through his stuff, finding the first aid kit that everyone is always supposed to keep onboard. He finds something that he can use. Bacta spray. Poe shakes the container and then uncaps it, spraying the cooling spray on your wound to disinfect it.

You watch as he works on you, patching you up so that you won't bleed out on him. Hopefully, you'll hold on until the Resistance base.

"You shouldn't help me."

"I probably shouldn't," Poe agrees and shrugs. He rips a package open with his teeth and grabs a handful of gauze. "You're really...messed up," He mutters as he sees the injuries in better lighting. It's disheartening to witness such wounds on anyone.

"I...I failed..." You whisper, leaning against the seat as reality begins to sink in. Kylo could sense it, there was no denying it. You were fully aware that you were going easy on Poe, letting him go when you had chances to hurt him, letting Poe defeat you on many missions. You hate Poe yet you let it happen. He's infuriating, always getting on your nerves yet you always prolonged every standoff with him. It makes no sense.

"What do you mean?" Poe asks gently as he throws bloody gauze away and uses fresh patches to soak up more blood. There's gotta be something else he can use in that kit. He drops more stuff on the floor of his ship as he tries to find something useful.

"I was supposed to kill you or... or capture you," The revelation doesn't really come as a surprise. Poe knows that he has quite the price on his head after becoming such a high-ranking member of the Resistance and successfully escaping from Kylo Ren's watch multiple times.

"But you haven't done that," Poe states the obvious.

You shake your head.

"I...I haven't. I didn't... I didn't want to," You confess. There it is. A simple truth. You didn't want to hurt or capture the enemy.

Poe stops in his tracks for a moment. He sighs deeply and meets your eye, his own eyes searching for answers so desperately, hoping that you can mend his own similar confusion. Why hasn't he let you die either? He's had many opportunities.

"Funny thing," Poe cracks a small smile although he's far from amused, "I haven't been able to kill you either, although I probably should've. And could've. You're a terrible pilot, got that auto tracker on you in seconds."

That's the Poe you're used to, a fucking smartass.

You chuckle, even at the cost of a shot of pain in the abdomen as your muscles tighten.

"Yeah yeah, I'm sure that's the case." A small curl tugs at the corners of your lips as well.

"Could've blasted you out of the sky a million times," Poe insists as he cleans your wounds. He's distracting you from the worst pain by talking and consequentially talking shit.

"Bad timing, you insensitive-"

"Woah, woah, woah!" Poe interrupts you before you can insult him and he laughs softly. "Don't I get a pass for coming here to save you?" He asks and then gives you a look that you can only describe as a man having puppy dog eyes. What's his issue and why is he so cute and charming?

"Whatever," You smirk and sigh shakily. His words don't actually offend. They're kind of comforting right now. Everything feels so scary as the life you know has changed completely. The moment Kylo shot you down, there was a disconnect from your previous life and the present.

"Everything's gonna be okay," Poe promises a bit more seriously now, "but you're gonna have to switch teams. Don't you want that?"

It's a valid question. The difference from the million times he's asked that before versus now is that Poe can see your expression.

Your gaze sinks to the floor as you think about it. It's an offer that has tempted you before but you've denied out of fear and an obscure sense of loyalty to someone you thought you could trust.

After thinking for a while, you finally break the silence.

"It's gonna suck to take orders from you," You mutter and gather the courage to face Poe. To see his reaction.

He seems happy. Relieved. It's weird that he can smile and trust that someone like you will turn out good. But if he believes in you, maybe there's hope.

"Don't knock it 'til you try it. Maybe you'll like it," Poe wiggles his brows playfully.

A/N: Forcing myself to stop here before I turn this into a series or smut (or both??)

185 notes · View notes

crazyworldofsiani · 8 days ago

Text

Claim | Sergei x Reader | A/B/O

Summary: Sergei helps show you how to take his knot.

Author's notes: June of Doom day 14 - Knot(s)

Claim

“You can take it.”

Eyes screwed tightly shut, you pant, mouth hanging open. A loud, keening whine falls from your lips, desperation making you inch your hips forward. It hurts. It hurts more than you thought possible. Yet you want nothing more than to please Sergei. To show him he is right; you can take it. You are worthy of being his mate.

“I’m trying,” you whimper as hips snap behind you, his length spearing you in two. Slick drips across puffy folds, gathering beneath you, staining furs with your spend.

Calloused fingers reach for your most sensitive place, circling your clit, sending you hurtling back towards the edge with practiced ease. You have lost count of how many times he has had you, twilight blending into nighttime into sunrise with no signs of stopping.

Teetering on the edge, you fall into the abyss. He drives deeper, your world whiting out as pain and pleasure intertwine in a perfect, overwhelming, heady mix as at last he locks in place, stretching you beyond anything else you have ever felt.

A fierce growl falls, a snarled “Mine!” echoing throughout the dome. Teeth lock into the silvery scar on your neck as Sergei presses his knot deep. You can feel every inch of him pulsating, twitching, filling you fit to bursting.

Tears of pleasure stain your cheeks in steady rivers as arms curl around you protectively, pressing your back to his chest, keeping you where he needs you the most. You will be locked like this for some time. There is nowhere else you would rather be. Lips press a messy kiss to your shoulder, smearing blood and spit in their wake. A tired smile works its way onto your lips as you allow yourself to drift, savouring the moment.

“Yours, Sergei. Always.”

AO3: Otaku_girl | 30 days, 30 fics | ATJ character masterlist

72 notes · View notes

crazyworldofsiani · 8 days ago

Text

Fallout Season 2 Teaser

Ghoulcy nation, are we okay??? Was that a smile that he gave her?

After rewatching it, it seems like he’s trying to give her a reassuring smile about what lies ahead—like a silent “okey dokey” for her 😭

149 notes · View notes

crazyworldofsiani · 8 days ago

Text

Breaking the Rules

Modern!Aemond x reader | Summary: Aemond was the one who established the rules of your fwb relationship, but can he really follow them? | Word Count: 5.4k~ | Warnings below the cut~

Links to my Taglists: General Taglist | Aemond Targaryen Taglist

Warnings: fwb relationship, fingering, p in v, pussy slapping, dirty talk, degrading, ass slapping, hair pulling, creampie, insinuation of oral (m receiving)

That little slither of time between submitting your dissertation and actually graduating was heaven.

The last student finance payment hit your bank, as well as everyone else’s, and as soon as exams were over, it was time for a party. One last part to send you all off into the big wide world.

Doing a four year course was akin to starting school for the first time, as it seemed everyone around you had done three years instead, graduated a year ahead, and you had to remember people’s names, make new friends and circles, all over again.

At least it was only one year.

There was only one person who had also done a four year course, your bestie, Helaena. Who just so happened to be the reason you met your now fuck-buddy, Aemond, of just over a couple of years.

Truthfully Helaena was the only thing keeping you sane. She was ‘mother’ on night’s out, the one who made the best hangover dippy eggs ever, but also just an all round good friend. Your absolute rock. She’d been supportive, albeit protective, when she’d learned of yours and Aemond’s…unconventional friendship.

Could it be called a friendship, if he wasn’t really friendly?

Not that he was ever mean. He just didn’t have a social bone in his body.

But an absolute freak in the sheets.

For a man so quiet and unsociable, he was surprisingly rough. He craved control, and this obsession didn’t stop in the bedroom either. But you enjoyed that about Aemond. It always felt raw, dangerous, as if he needed it. One flip of the switch and he was in that headspace. And the moment it was over, he’d retreat back into himself and leave soon after.

Helaena was the type of person who could spend all night in the 24-hour Library, head in her books and like it was any other day, have her hair looking pristine, face clear ready for her 8am lecture the next day. You, on the other hand, turned up, but looking considerably worse for wear than your dear friend, a messy bun perched on top of your head, and hefty dark circles under your eyes.

Your lovely, silver-haired friend was sat cross-legged before a floor length mirror, pulling a curling wand through her thick strands of hair, only leaving them long enough to form a loose wave. The phone screen perched on your bed lit up.

“That Aem?” Helaena asks, looking at you in the mirror.

You furrow your brows, “Baela. She’s meeting us there” you answer, typing out the response to her before clicking the phone away, “What are you wearing tonight?”

"Nothing terribly impractical. I'm not impressing anyone" she answers, dusting some highlighter over her cheeks. Not like she needs it, the cheeky sod, she already has amazing bone structure.

"Liar" you smirk, biting your lip, "You know Floris is going to be there and you're purposefully wearing a low cut top"

"Oh my god, leave me alone"

"I'm just pointing out the facts"

You get up and go to your wardrobe, pulling out a floral dress. It's July, so the nights are still bright and it's humid all the time, something short should do the trick.

Part of you wants to wear nothing underneath, just to see how far you can take it. Would Aemond be jealous? He shouldn’t be. He was the one to suggest you two weren’t exclusive, and that if either of you bumped into each other or just felt like it, you’d fuck.

But it's a party with old uni mates, so begrudgingly, you've opted to keep on a lace black thong, one you know gets guys immensely riled up. It's quite entertaining really.

Usually, you’d be disgusted to turn up to Aegon’s house. He was single, and unapologetically filthy. However, when you arrived, you were relieved beyond measure to find that Aegon had employed the use of a cleaner (probably at the behest and payment of their mother) before inviting people over. No used condoms, cigarette butts or lingering weed smell.

Since graduating, Aegon had opted to move into (quite permanently) one of the homes that Viserys had owned on the outskirts of the city. When their dad died, Alicent found no use of such big homes and so rented them out as Airbnbs. You remember Aemond telling you how Aegon was more than happy to just slip in unannounced one day, and that he’d paid for the first month’s rent, but after that had mysteriously stopped. Alicent let him stay anyway, as long as he behaved himself.

Which, of course, he didn’t.

You walked hand in hand with Helaena through the front doors, the bass and sheer loudness of the music audible from even the curb. Aegon had gone all out. Some of his friend’s were graduating as well, so he’d invited everyone. Pretty much half the university by the looks of it. Even though by student standards it was still fairly early, the party was heaving, so much so it was difficult to tell in the low light of the inside who was who.

“There she is!” Aegon’s voice boomed, a cigarette already between his lips and that lazy, dozy look in his eyes. You give Helaena a knowing look. He’s quite clearly been drinking a while.

He makes a show of leaning in to fake kiss his sister on the cheek, “My darling sister and …oh it’s you”

You playfully swat his shoulder, “Shut up”, you raise your eyebrows with a smirk, “Oh, nice to see you respecting the no smoking inside rule”

Aegon merely winked, flashing a smile with all his teeth before being dragged away for shots.

Helaena gasped quietly, “There she is, there she is, there she is”

Floris was on the other side of the room, leaning against a chair with a can of gin and tonic, wearing quite the piece. The effort almost rivalled Helaena’s, and your silver-haired friend was vibrating with excitement.

“Okay okay, deep breaths. Calm the kitty and just go talk to her”

She goes instantly pink, looking quite ethereal against the violet of her eyes, “I can’t just-”

“You can. I have every faith” you say, giving a reassuring smile and pushing a can of g&t in her hands.

Her eyes look nervous and worried in equal measure, “You going to be alright on your own?”

You nod quickly, “I’ll be fine, I’ll badger a Lannister or something”

She smiles anxiously and takes a breath, crossing her fingers. You watch as she crosses the room, dipping her head to Floris’ eyeline to initiate a conversation. She’s so cute, you think as she flushes pink.

With the party in full swing, now several cans deep and a nice buzz, you’ve found yourself ‘engaged’ in a conversation with a Martell, Baela and Rhaena having ventured outside for a smoke. You don’t remember his name, you only know that he smells dizzily of Tom Ford Black Orchid and that he’s giving bedroom eyes.

You say ‘engaged’ in conversation. Martells aren’t exactly known for their conversational skills, so you’re mainly nodding along to whatever he says, hoping that he might show you his bedroom skills associated with the stereotype.

Your phone vibrates and you look at the illuminated screen.

You furrow your eyebrows at his texts. What on earth would he need to talk about? And the unsent text messages are giving horror movie vibes, so with the buzz of the alcohol as well as your disinterest in him (and heightened one in the Martell) you click your phone off and put it back, only to be dragged to the dance floor by your hand.

Ok so he's not the best dancer either. If anything a tiny bit clumsy and mostly just grinding his clothed dick into your ass any chance he gets. But the buzz of the drinks, low lights and loud music drowns out all that. You and Aemond hadn't fucked in forever it felt like, and a woman had needs.

It's not even that you were pissed off at Aemond. The rules were rules, of course. But everything you did was always on his terms, and you felt you couldn't say a single thing about it.

It's not like you were his girlfriend.

You knew he was fucking at least one other girl. Alys Rivers. She was fucking gorgeous, but also quite a bit older. Something about the entire thing felt wrong. Like she might have been grooming him or something. But of course, who were you to judge? He had his own life. Could make his own choices.

He didn't know you weren't fucking anyone else though, things like that you kept close to your chest. The terms were no feelings. You didn’t want to give him the satisfaction that he was the only one you were fucking and for one inescapable reason.

That you’d violated those terms.

So, in the interest of figuratively getting back at him, you smirk up at the Martell and push your ass back against him. His hands on your hips, pulling you back, moving with the best of the music. The dress leaves so little to the imagination that if he ventured merely a few inches lower, he could easily dive between your thighs.

The thought makes your insides clench. And you feel the Martell get hard behind you.

Your head zips up quickly, slightly dizzy, as a flash of white hair passes. At first you think it's Helaena, but there he stands, Aemond, on the other side of the room with a bottle of beer nestled in his grip. His violet eye watches darkly, as you continue to dance with the Martell. He almost looks amused, but frustrated at the same time.

Aemond hates parties. Especially now that he's graduated. So why the fuck is he here?

After rolling your eyes and finishing the song, you decide to not give Aemond the satisfaction of knowing you care enough to ask, instead going to the table to mix yourself another drink. The Martell guys isn't far behind, a hand on your waist.

You can feel his stare at the back of your head, even more so as the Martell’s hand ventures down, over the curve of your ass. One move under the hem, and he’d be touching bare skin. Something about it ignited a spark inside, knowing that he was watching.

Looking over your shoulder, he was watching still.

The fuck is his problem?

Some poor girl was standing at his side, trying to engage in some kind of conversation, which was clearly going well. He wasn’t giving her an inch of attention, and you smirked at her attempts, taking sips of your drink every now and then.

Around you, the party had almost doubled, some people you didn’t even recognise. Aegon’s house would be trashed in the morning, but looking over at the other Targaryen brother, who was happily dancing on the dining table, pouring the contents of his bottle down a girl’s top, he didn’t seem like right now he cared. In the corner, Helaena and Floris sat together, knees touching, looking pink in the faces with alcohol and chatting quietly amongst themselves over the loud music.

You downed your drink, wincing at the alcohol that hadn’t been mixed at the bottom, before whispering to the Martell, “Just going to the toilet”

You give a sigh as you ascend the stairs. Another nice thing about Aegon’s place is that whenever there are parties, going upstairs is a nice breather. Yes the bass still vibrates through the walls, but the bathroom is far enough away that it gives a moment of respite and a chance to sober up.

Which you promptly do once you’ve washed your hands, wiped under your eyes for any runaway mascara in front of the vanity, and take a breath to face the party again. To face him again.

It turns out, you didn’t have to. As soon as the door opens, you gasp and stagger backwards as Aemond firmly wraps his palm around your neck, just as a means of holding, not squeezing. Your back meets the wall with a thud, eyes looking wide up at him in a mixture of confusion and anger. His eyes have more in them, as he stands in front of you, tight lipped and fired up, ready for confrontation as he promptly shuts the door and locks it, setting your heart to a faster rhythm.

“You know, I was going to be nice” is the first thing he says, “But now I think I won’t”

He stares back with conviction with his one good, violet eye, his other a clouded over light blue, with the angry scar that ran through it somehow looking more painful that you’d seen it before. All you knew about it was that he was secretive about how it had happened, and only a handful of people had been told.

You were considered not worthy enough to know clearly.

You can’t deny, this side of Aemond thrills you. But despite the fluttery feeling in your stomach, your expression hardens into a frown.

“The fuck is wrong with you?”

He has the audacity to scoff, his hair, now shoulder length, sways as he moves, fingers flexing against your neck.

“The fuck is wrong with me?” he says, “I don’t think that’s the question we should be asking, is it?”

It occurs to you now that he’d been looking down at you, because now when he rights himself to his proper height, you have to look up at him. You swallow thick, some part of you nervous, and his eye glints when he sees the weakness there.

“I think we should be asking what the fuck you were doing out there” he finishes, low, attempting to be threatening.

You scoff, “Is that what this is about? Me dancing with an empty-headed Martell?”

“I wouldn’t call that dancing”

“And I would say I’m not your fucking girlfriend, Aemond” you bite back, expression hard against his. His mouth forms a line, “We just fuck, remember?”

His tongue hits the inside of his cheek in annoyance. But you’re not backing down.

“Although” you grin, looking him up and down, “We don’t even really do that anymore, do we?”

He takes a sharp breath in, releasing your neck to grip your face and tug you close to him.

But you just laugh, “What’s wrong? Can’t get it up?”

“Fuck you”

“Save that for Alys. See if I care” you hiss, trying to pull out of his grasp harshly.

An annoyingly smirk makes its way to his face, and you have to reaffirm to yourself to be mad at him, “Someone's jealous”

You scoff, “I’m not the jealous one here. You’re the one on my case because a Martell stared at my ass” you counter, his fingers digging into your jaw almost painfully, “I’m the one playing by the rules”

“And what rules are they?”

“The ones you made, dumbass” you argue, attempting to pull your face from his grip, but failing, “You know, not having feelings, being a cold, dead cave of a man who doesn’t want to admit he’s just having sex because he likes being in control”

Aemond’s face right now is unreadable, and he’s so close that you can feel the hot puffs of air that come from him. He’s angry, and you can see it. Something simmering beneath that cold gaze.

Under that though. It’s clear as day. He’s being put on show for his behaviour, in a manner someone nobody has dared to do before. And it is this vulnerability it’s clear he doesn’t enjoy.

His chest inflates large, taking a deep breath in before he speaks. But when he eventually does, it’s a surprisingly quiet whisper.

“I’ve not been with Alys for months”

The admission takes the breath from your lungs, and his fingers loosen somewhat. Moving along your jaw in a gesture too soft from what he was doing before.

“What?”

His face hardens a bit again, “She isn’t around” he admits softly, “It’s just you”

“Aemond-”

“I’ve changed my mind” he says, his his eye darting about your face, taking in your shocked expression, “I don’t like to share”

Your lips part and stay frozen where they are when his other hand squeezes the bare flesh of your thigh under your dress, tugging the skin painfully before venturing up to stroke his two fingers against your clothed pussy, his breath hitching when he feels the wetness already there.

“I’m very disappointed in you” he chastises softly, dipping his head into the crook of yours, running his sharp nose up the side of your neck, making all those little hairs stand on end. You feel like your heart is hammering so hard all the blood feels like jelly in your veins, a hotness creeps up your shoulders, and a pull of arousal tugs at your gut.

His lips part and he bites the skin there, semi-hard, enough to break skin if he really wanted to. You whine with your eyes shutting softly, his fingers drawing mini-circles around your entrance, and it’s difficult to not move your hips to meet his touches.

“You weren’t playing by the rules anyway, were you?” You mewl as his tongue runs over the site where he’d bitten, breath stuck in your throat as his fingers move your underwear aside and collects your slick on his fingers.

Warmth blossoms in your core as his fingers gently massage your bud, “Fuck-Aemond...”

His shirt is bunched in your fist, and you can feel him smiling slightly against your neck. The glint of the chain that peeks out from under the neckline of his shirt catches your eyes for a quick moment. He never took it off. Even when you fucked. Truthfully, it was sort of thrilling, watching it dangle in front of your face whenever he was on top of you, holding your legs up to your shoulders to-

“Were you fucking other people?”

Shit.

Two of his fingers sink all the way in, setting a flame ablaze inside. His breath is hot against your tender skin, his fingers far too effortlessly finding that sweet spot inside and brushing against it, stoking the fire within.

“You were so talkative earlier. What’s wrong, baby?” he asks in a faux sweet voice, not able to hide that shit-eating grin as he fucks you slowly with his fingers, “come on, you can do it”

Your breath feels so thin in your lungs it’s difficult to think, but his teeth bite at you again, as if to reprimand and your body jolts briefly, “Fuck-uh…No-no I wasn’t…”

“Wasn’t what?”

“I-” fuck this guy, “I wasn’t fucking anyone else”

“Hm” he hums low in his chest, pressed right against yours, you can feel it in your own, “I think that was against the rules, wasn’t it?” he asks, adding a third finger into you.

The first genuine moan manages to escape with the addition of his third finger, quiet, but it feeds his ego nonetheless. And he fucks up into you with renewed vigor, his breath coming in hurried pants, as if he cannot function unless he makes you come apart on him. His palm is grazing so hard against your clit with each micro-movement, that it honestly makes it difficult to breathe.

“The rules were we fuck who we want. No feelings” he reiterated, lips against your ear, “You broke the rules first”

“I didn’t-” your voice falls apart as he pushes, the pads of his thick fingers rubbing hard against your g-spot. That feeling returns in a wave of warmth, settling with pressure deep in your core and you squeeze impossibly tight at the incessant stimulation. Aemond groans quietly and low, feeling the soft, silky walls of your pussy clenching around his fingers alone, legs trembling trying to stay standing.

“You think I didn’t see it?” he asks in accusation, voice hard and stern, “You’re a smart girl and yet-” his other hand holds you around your waist, pulling you towards him as your body trembles, a white-hot, blazing orgasm making its way devastatingly through your core. His fingers never letting up their pace, “-you’re acting like a stupid little slut right now. All wet for me”

The degrading manner of his words and the pleasurable assault of his fingers prolong your orgasm, fading into your limbs with a dull buzz. But one that doesn’t last long. His fingers pull out of you, covered entirely by your arousal, and he presses them against your lips, groaning as your mouth accepts them and licks his digits clean. It’s so erotic you hum around his fingers, looking up at him through your eyelashes and smirking with pride once he pulls them away.

He doesn’t look any less stressed out. If anything he looks more pent up.

“I can’t stand you”

Your lips part in surprise, a quiet mewl escapes and a pained pleasurable jolt running through you when Aemond practically rips your underwear down your legs and delivers a hard firm slap to your wet heat.

“Aemond-” you start as his hands curl around your nape, pushing you harshly down over the vanity of the sink. You can feel him pressing behind you, your hips digging painfully into the porcelain, and feeling utterly exposed in your sundress now that he’s pocketed your underwear.

He flips the bottom of your sundress over your back, his palm meeting the flesh of your ass with a loud slap, making you whine as your cheek is pressed to the porcelain. It hurts, but you can’t help but feel that familiar throb of arousal in your core as it clenches around nothing. Your skin blooms in anticipation as you look back over your shoulder, hearing the clinking of his belt. You can’t help but smirk at how quickly he pulls his cock out, the angry red tip poking out through his fist as he strokes himself to full hardness.

“Don’t fucking look at me” his fingers thread into your hair at the crown and grip hard, pushing your head back down, pressing his erection against your slit and teasing you slowly.

You moan softly, moving your hips back to seek more friction, which earns several more hard slaps to your already tender ass in discipline, each followed by a desperate whine that falls effortlessly from your mouth. He almost gently soothes the angered skin with his palms after, clearly happy with the colour he’d made. He’d always been rough when it came to sex, yes, but this felt so much more exciting.

“You think you deserve it, hm?” he asks, barely pushing the head between your slick folds, parting them only slightly. It all feels so sensitive it almost hurts. What you’d give for him to just fuck you already is honestly pathetic.

“Please-” you say quietly, moving your hips towards him, even if it means he’ll punish you again.

He chuckled darkly, leaning over to pull your head up, your eyes meeting his gaze in the mirror. You look a bit of a mess, with mascara smudged at the sides, the waves you’d put in your hair slightly frizzy and cheeks flushed a dark pink. And as much as Aemond likes to put on the persona of control, his cheeks are just as flushed, as desperate for this as you are.

“Look how pathetic you look right now” he grins, his hand moving to your front to tug the dress over your front, a low growl forming in his throat when he finds no bra underneath. He palms your breast, teasing the hardened bud between his fingers and the feeling sends a cold tingle through your body.

“Beg for it” he whispers, mouth next to your ear. But all coherent thought is gone when the head of his cock runs down your slit, over your entrance and slaps it mockingly against your clit, the throb from the previous release still lingers and it sends shots of fire in your belly.

“Come on, baby”

“Please- fuck me” you breathe, so desperate that it sounds borderline cringeworthy to say. But you cannot bring yourself to care.

He grins. That was easy.

Your lips part in a gasp as his length slowly splits you open, stretching your pussy onto his cock. He knows what he’s doing and takes his time, allowing you to feel every vein, every ridge, even the way the tip tucks into that sensitive rough patch inside, your back arching with the electricity it gives you. It surprises you everytime, just how full you feel when Aemond fucks you. He is long and thick, able to fill you in a way that you’d never been able to find in a guy. And fuck did he know how to use it.

"Gods, tightest little pussy I've ever had…" he moans quietly.

Your body and jaw slackens as he pulls out and snaps his hips back against you to slam inside, a choked moan falling from your lips. His hand moves to your jaw, keeping your gaze in the mirror to look at him as he fucks you slowly at first, watching how your ass bounces with every push of himself inside. His head is buried near your neck, breath hot against your skin,

“You like that, huh” he breathes against you, hearing the strain evident in his voice. Your voice is useless right now, only able to make a few soft sounds of pleasure, “like it when I fuck you?”

Only a struggled moan comes out, and you catch your lips between your teeth, hyper-aware that you’re still fucking in a bathroom at a party.

"No need to be shy. It's just you and me" he utters against your skin, “Let me hear you. Or have I fucked you dumb again”

He punctuates his demand by pushing you forward harder, the porcelain digging into your hip bones and spreading your ass cheeks so that he can somehow get deeper. And he makes a grunt of displeasure when he doesn’t get the reaction he wanted. So instead he grabs the flesh of your calf and bends it high over the counter, spreading you impossibly wider.

It’s unconscious the way your mouth opens now, releasing your lips from your teeth as you moan helplessly, feeling the way his cock bullies your sweet spot, the way his flesh hits yours with every wet smack.

“Are these sounds just for me?”

“Yes…yes…” You chant almost imperceptibly.

“And it’ll only be me” he grunts, “do you understand? You’re mine”

You nod quickly. The pleasure is so overwhelming that you’ll agree to just about anything right now. Your core winds so tight, it feels like a fist is curling inside you and Aemond fucking you is just accelerating it.

“Say it” he demands, pressing your body against the vanity, his cock punishing your insides faster and harder. With each thrust comes the hard thud of the furniture against the wall, which you hope that the bass of the music downstairs covers enough.

“Yours…I’m yours…” your voice sounds almost pitiful. Every bit of you just desperate for that final reprieve.

Aemond grins against your skin, “Good girl…” he coos, his lips finding purchase on your neck and biting down, grunting into your skin at the way your pussy tightens around him as your second, more powerful orgasm echoes throughout your body.

"Shit- couldn't have any other pussy-oh fuck-you're perfect, baby" he coos next to you, the term of endearment making warmth creep into your chest.

It has Aemond fuck into you desperately, prolonging your seemingly never-ending pleasure into a long stream of fucked-out moans and breaths. With one final slam of his hips against your ass, his grip so tight it’s almost painful, you feel the warmth of his cum paint your walls. His cock twitches, trying to stuff as much of him inside you as is physically possible. Thank the gods for IUDs.

“Fuck-”

Both of your breathing is equally heavy, his hot against your shoulder. You can feel the intensity of it through his chest as it’s pressed against your back. His cock softens inside the longer you two remain in this position, until his hips leave you and he pulls himself out with an almost pained sigh.

Gulping air back into your lungs, your legs shakily meet the ground, tiredly pulling your dress back over your ass and bracing the sink, feeling the pleasant sting at your hips where they’d continued to meet the furniture.

His gaze meets yours in the mirror as he tucks himself away, looking somewhat flushes and uncharacteristically soft, especially after the way he’d just fucked you.

It’s so quiet, it’s like whoever speaks first, loses.

“I meant it” he says, somewhat breathily as he too gains grasps his energy, “I’ve not seen Alys in months”

You turn around to see him properly, half sitting against the vanity, feeling the soft throb of your heartbeat through your core still.

“Why?”

Aemond looks almost bashful, his cheeks still pink from the force of your little tryst just now combined with the way he nervously licks his lips.

“Because I’m the one who broke the rules first”

You furrow your brows, “What do you mean, Aemond?”

He swallows thickly, making a point of looking right at you.

“I caught feelings and…” he pauses, searching his mind for the rest of the sentence, “...didn’t want to scare you off”

Your lips remain frozen, parted. Your eyes flit about his face and he raises his arms, as if annoyed he’d even told you.

“I’ve never had this before”

“Had what?”

“Had this” he gestures between you both, “It’s never been like this with anyone else” he admits, his voice withering away at the end, “and I’m just fucking shitty at showing it, I know-”

“Aemond” you step forward to cup his face, halting his irritation in its tracks. Your thumb runs over the scar on his face, gaze on his eyes entirely, “you don’t need to explain yourself to me” you say softly.

"But I do" he argues, without that sternness to his voice now, but rather so quiet it's almost a whisper, "I didn't want to fuck things up. Because I always do"

You shake your head once, "What do you want? From this?"

"I want you" he says almost immediately, swallowing his saliva with anxiety, "and I want you to be mine…"

You laugh at his sweetness, he's never been like this, "I already said I was yours, remember?"

Your hands wrap around his shoulders, chests touching, "Think I always was"

The first genuine smile you ever see from Aemond Targaryen, is when you tell him this. It looks good on him. The way his eyes crinkle up is just too charming to resist.

Before he can say anything, you lean up on your tiptoes and kiss him, fingers running through the hair at the nape of his neck, tracing over the silver chain. You hum in delight when you feel him shiver at the touch.

Kissing him as softly as this, your lips parting for each other to slowly consummate this budding relationship, it feels like you're meeting each other for the first time. Feels so intimate, like you're the only people that exist right now, despite the thump of the party downstairs.

You both pour everything you feel into the soft caresses of your lips and tongues, trying to make him feel as loved as you think he deserves.

He smiles bashfully when you break, fiddling with the hem of your dress.

"This was a good touch" he says jokingly, "was it for me?"

You laugh, "It might have been"

"Cheeky little minx" he replies, pressing a soft, tender kiss once more to your lips. It feels so right, you want to hit yourself for not addressing this sooner. It feels nice to have your heart so full like this.

Aemond grasps your hand in his large one and goes to unlock the door. A motion you stop immediately, pushing him by his chest.

"Um, what are you doing?" You ask, a teasing smile on your face.

A moment of panic passes his face and it makes you want to laugh. His eyes wide and mouth open, wondering what he's done wrong.

"Getting back - to the party?..."

You shake your head, your palm running over the prominent bulge in his jeans.

"Not with this you're not" you smirk, "was all this just from kissing me?"

He bites his lip, trying to hide his grin and the way he visibly flushes from your hand on his erection.

"...Maybe"

"Maybe?"

"Maybe" he grins.

Your hands go to his belt once again, making light work of it. Aemond groans breathily as your hand encircles his length, giving him a few languid pumps that are just painfully too slow.

You smile through your eyelashes as you sink to your knees, feeling yourself become aroused just at the sight of him like this, all vulnerable and at your mercy.

With his cock heavy in your palm, you press your lips to the base, making your way slowly with your tongue to the top, tracing the vein there on the underside. His musky scent, smelling of sex and sweat envelops the air around you.

"Let me take care of you first" you grin, watching his eyes crinkle as he smiles.

Perhaps rules were made to be broken.

dividers by @firefly-graphics

General Taglist: @risefallrise @valeskafics @theoneeyedprince @thelittleswanao3 @hb8301

Aemond Taglist: @m00n5t0n3 @boofy1998 @merakiaes @hanihoney88 @let-love-bleeds-red @bellaisasleep @watercolorskyy @heavenley1927 @ryswritingrecord @partypoison00 @gaeela-6 @saeselkie @padfooteyes @introverbatim @queenofshinigamis @thatkingofgirl @ryswritingrecord @dahlias-and-marigolds @triscy

1K notes · View notes

crazyworldofsiani · 8 days ago

Text

| When One Possesses A Thing | Aemond/Married!Reader

Summary: She arrives to the Red Keep immensely dissatisfied with her marriage. Aemond proposes an alternative | Word Count: 3.8k~ | Warnings below the cut!

Links to my Taglists: General Taglist | Aemond Targaryen Taglist

Warnings: mentions of being in an unhappy marriage, universe canon aversion of homosexuality, mentions of homosexuality being a sin, mentions of fertility, threats of death, voyeurism, breeding kink, size kink if you squint really hard, p in v sex

@ewanmitchellcrumbs Ty for reading this through first 😭

When Aemond was informed by his mother of the arrival of one Lord from the Riverlands, of whose name he could not even be bothered to remember, he’d merely turned his head away, resisting a shrug of his shoulders and expressing immense disinterest.

That was until, Aemond clapped eyes on his Lady wife.

He observed as she often held back behind her husband, hands clasped at the front, her fingers glimmering with golden rings and wrists with intricate bracelets, as well as one particular necklace that hung daringly around her neck, the pendant lingering above the cut of her dress with the shadow of her cleavage beneath.

They had, of course, arrived in celebration of King Viserys’ upcoming nameday. Not an event Aemond could say for himself that he would enjoy with any degree of certainty. He knew Aegon would find any excuse to drown himself in his cups and leer at the accompanying wives of the elder Lords, and that Helaena would simply attend, but be preoccupied with her thoughts and imagination as she so often was.

The Lord himself was tall, but slender, as if he had not broadened from age. Aemond observed that he seemed sprightly but aloof. Several times he forgot to make the proper pleasantries and introduce his own wife. Her gentle, warm face did not flounder with embarrassment, but she simply smiled, curtsied and introduced herself with a smooth, honey-like voice.

Her husband gave her a nod of the head, his mouth set into a frown as he whispered something to her as his companion threw his arm around the Lord and dragged him off to the closest place they could find wine.

The look on her face made it seem like this was a regular occurrence. Her husband snubbing her in favour of spending time with his male friends, not really even bothering to ask what she would do to occupy herself in a new, strange environment.

She slipped away like a whisper, a cloud of silks billowing behind her as she made for any spot within the Red Keep that might entertain her. Alone.

Several laps through the decorated hallways, brushes through the gardens and wanderings past the Library later, she soon found herself face to face with the skull of a dragon, hung high above a table thick with candle wax, hardened from the years of merely replacing them. The stench of tallow was overwhelmed somewhat by the dampness of the cavernous space, and the smoking incense placed at each corner of the table.

The skull was enormous. Bigger than any animal she had ever seen on land. Those big sockets where its eyes used to be staring down at her, sucking her into its world of rich histories and conquerors.

“My Lady”

The echo of Aemond’s voice did not make her jump, but it did steal her attention, her waves rolling over her shoulder as she turned to see the source.

He could not help but marvel at her grace and the way her dress, so traditionally worn, happened to hang off her body in the most tempting of ways, emphasising her womanly curves. Though he had one eye, he himself could not miss the pressing of her breasts against the front of her corseted garment.

“My Prince” she greeted in the same manner of tone as him, her lips turning upwards almost indistinctively as she gave a polite curtsy. He gave her a small bow back, intrigued.

He took wide, calculated strides towards her into the candlelight. And she watched as his form came out of the darkness, his silver Targaryen hair illuminated by the warmth around them.

“Do you know his name?” he asked, in a manner that insisted he might have been testing the young woman.

“Of course” she answered calmly, “Balerion. Ridden by Aegon the Conqueror, was he not?”

Aemond bowed his head, one eyebrow twitching, as if he had not actually expected her to know. This Riverland bound beauty was a surprise at every turn. He did not respond, feeling his expression was enough.

And it seemed she understood, as she smiled.

“I am no historian, my Prince. But it is difficult to feign ignorance to the victories that have been written of Targaryens”

He bit back a grin. Feeling his ego inflate somewhat.

“So you read then, my Lady?”

She cocked her head, “You seem surprised”

“Not surprised” he answered immediately, standing a good distance from her, “Merely intrigued”

He watched with further interest how her eyes were level with his chest, and how they dragged from the dragon-embellished doublet, over his neck, and to his gaze again.

“I do indeed enjoy reading” she mused, as if the suggestion she did not would have offended her.

“Only history?”

“Of all genres” she adds, with a knowing smile, “All such subjects are of interest to me”

They fell into comfortable silence, listening to the wafting of the candle flames whipping in the soft breeze.

Her shoes clicked in a satisfying way as she turned back to the great skull.

“The King rode the Black Dread, did he not?”

Aemond fought back the urge to kiss his teeth, feeling as if at this moment, as he was lusting for the woman stood beside him, how much he did not want to think about his father.

“He did”

She turned to him, perhaps recognising the lack of affection in his reply.

“I suppose it is of no great merit to you, my Prince. As you claimed Vhagar after all”

“Vhagar is my pride” he answered, feeling warmth inside him as she recognised his efforts, one which cost him his eye.

“As all dragons should be to Targaryens” she offered, “she is certainly a marvel. My Lord husband can barely tame a horse”

He laughed through his nose at her quip. Being able to envision the moment exactly as she described it.

“And pray tell, how long have you been wed, my Lady?”

He almost regretted asking, seeing how her smile suddenly disappeared from her face. Like the sun had gone behind a cloud. She looked down, preoccupied with smoothing down her dress.

“Several years now”

“And no children?” he adds, watching the way she bites her lip, thinking he cannot see it.

“My husband does not enjoy the act of procreation”

His head tips at her reply. Perhaps not having expected her to be so honest.

“And what does your husband enjoy doing?”

Sighing distantly, her eyes ticked over to him, “Riding”, she replies simply.

His lips part to reply, and yet he does not have time to interject.

“Other men at least”

Silence falls between them at the weight of what she’s said.

"A fact he conveniently kept hidden from me until marriage, I may add".

For a moment he is unsure what to say, as she stands, a sad, resigned smile on her face, waiting for him to reply.

“I see”

Absentmindedly, she wanders along the table, her hand running over the hardened wax.

"I care not of his affections for men. I only care that he does not conjure up the respect for me as he does his bedfellows" she sighs, “though as I am sure you understand, my Prince. As his wife, I must support him”.

“Even if what he does is a sin?”

It’s like she had expected that question. Something akin to a grimace appearing, “Even that”.

She sighs, “I must bear the brunt of the rumours surrounding my fertility and commitment to my marriage. Protect myself, where my husband cannot”.

“He does not protect you?”

“If we are speaking plainly, my husband rarely acknowledges my existence” she answers, her fingers playing nervously with one another, “more a hindrance than say, a life partner”.

“Then, if I might be so bold to say, you are doing more of your own duty than he is. The scales are unbalanced, so to speak”.

Her head raises to look at him, something playful lighting up her features, “And what is a husband’s duty?”.

“To protect his wife, of course”

She pauses. Knowing she cannot disagree to that.

In any normal marriage, that is exactly what she would expect.

“And a wife’s is to provide him with children”

“That is no fault of yours, if you are to be believed” he raises an eyebrow. Attempting despite his nature, to be somewhat comforting.

She smiles again, laughing half-heartedly, her hand slipping from the table to wander about the room, trying to free herself from the stifling feeling of being close to him.

He remembered reading a book of loose morals, which at the time he recalled feeling indifferent towards, about the late Lady Coryanne Wilde, detailing her multiple escapades of lovers, indulging in the desires which had long been suppressed by women before and after her.

“And you do not seek pleasure elsewhere?” he asked, hoping the suggestion would not offend her. But if he had studied her well enough in this short time he’d known her, he was confident it would not.

She smiled, her head lowered to the candles on the opposite side of her table. Her face illuminated warmly.

“Gossip is a ghastly thing” she stated, “Once a small fire is started then my dishonourable actions only fan the flames. I do not wish to be the subject of such disapproval, as I already am in my Lord’s eyes. And perhaps the Gods too”

“And yet, your husband has a lover”

Not a question, and her gaze averted at the tone of the statement.

“His advisor. And childhood companion” she nods.

“In my view, it is only fair that he allow you to seek one”

“Perhaps that is where you are mistaken, my Prince. For I am the one with the womb” she responded, “therefore, I must bear the humiliation along with it”.

Her gaze longingly lowered, and it did not go amiss that it happened to graze over his tall, broad form.

"In any case, it does not matter. Any children we would have had would be his, not mine"

That was true as well, Aemond mused.

"His heirs. His future.

"By refusing to allow me to give him children, he is only doing more damage to his own house. 'Tis of no consequence to me".

She had done one lap of the large, candle adorned table.

"You seem perfectly resigned to your fate, my Lady"

She hums. Standing before him, his eye raked over her, yearning for her, having had such an intelligent conversation with her.

"Perhaps I am. My husband is young. Barely half a decade older than I" she says, "it stands to reason, I may be tied to him for quite some time".

Aemond cannot argue with that, try as he might.

Everything she has said so far, has been sensible.

So he nods, "now, that is a sad thought" he muses.

It was only then either of them had realised how quiet their conversation had become, and how low his voice was when he spoke to her. It was difficult to deny how close they were to one another, in a manner most unbecoming of a single man and a married woman.

And yet neither of them moved away.

It was unfortunate, her situation. And though he knew it might have been wrong of her to simply sit idly by, while her husband amused himself with his male lover, he could not find it in himself to reproach her.

“Am I not how you envisaged, my Prince?”

He fought the urge to chuckle, “Not in the slightest”.

She bit her lip, to fight back a smile, realising perhaps she was doing so too much in his presence.

“That I was an intemperate wife, refusing to perform my duties? That I am barren, and incapable of giving him heirs?”

He felt his hands form fists behind him.

“I would not think such things”

“Hm” her eyes once again went over him in a way that made him go all warm, “You are not how I envisaged, either”.

“How so, my Lady?” Aemond asked, amused that she had formed her own opinion before properly meeting as well.

"Many at court say you are tempestuous. Stubborn. Proud" she says, "and you very well may be all of those things. All pejorative descriptors. And yet…there is something else".

He wanted to laugh at that. Of course the other Ladies at Court had opinions of him that were unsavoury, given his common disposition.

"I can be all those things, it is true" Aemond replies, "above all those, some say I am too particular. That I require too much in a person to respect them".

She tipped her chin up, meeting his gaze head on, but also emboldened by what she perceived was an intimate conversation.

“And what is it you require?”

He licked his teeth, smiling, watching her eyes as she stares at the way his lips turned upwards. As if entranced.

“A wit” he states, “a passion” he purrs.

The tone does not go unnoticed. Aemond watches with satisfaction as she swallows thickly, now seemingly uncomfortable standing still on the spot. Her breasts pressed repeatedly and steadily against the corset of her dress as her breathing picked up.

“"And is that what you desire? Someone to match your wit? Your passion?"

All the air was thick in the room as he took one careful step forward, leaning over her, now able to see more of the shadow of her cleavage beneath the silks. Her cheeks bloomed with colour, but she dare not move off her spot.

“Perhaps”.

He could hear her breath. Like he was tuned to it already. The humming of her blood beneath her flesh felt invigorating, and for one brief moment, Aemond allowed himself to wonder what it would be like to sink his teeth into her, to taste her. To try and sense who she really was, what her desires were.

She shivered at his warm breath at the side of her face.

“"I could protect you, my lady" he whispers, blinking longingly, voice like the purr of a cat, "your husband cannot".

"If you were mine, you'd not want for desire. Nor affection. I would keep you round with child, you’d be such a beautiful mother with my heir inside you”.

She gasps at the blatancy of it, for they had for several moments danced around such a subject, in favour of decorum and manners. And now her chest rose and fall steadily with every utterance, "I am a married woman-"

"To a man who does give a shit about duty. About you" he counters, “nor your desires”.

“‘Tis not my husband’s nocturnal activities that vex me, my Prince, it is his lack of respec-”

"I would have you. Respect you. Ravage you"

For a moment, her mouth slams shut, fearing that her reaction to his flagrant desire for her would expose her.

“A good gentleman. A good man…rises above such mortal things as lust".

There she goes again, trying to be the ever-good wife to her husband, who even now, perhaps does not even know her true whereabouts.

"Then perhaps I am not a good man" he replies, "and perhaps it is not merely lust".

"What then?" she asks quickly.

There is a beat. Aemond wets his lips, watching as she trembles at his proximity. Each breath wafting the curls either side of her face.

“Intrigue”.

She swallows again, attempting to brush off the heavy tension with a half-laugh, “I'm afraid intrigue does not free me of my situation, my Prince".

Aemond hums, righting himself to full height, not stepping away from her, but rather using his size to his advantage by having her crane her neck to meet gazes. With a simple shuffle of his boots, he manages to manoeuvre her body without touching her, doing exactly as he planned and forcing her own feet to stagger backwards.

"Then how unfortunate it would be, for a terrible accident to befall your husband".

Her wide eyes caught the light of the candles as her back met the adorned table.

He did not stop coming towards her.

Not until he was so close, that one exhale, and he would be pressed flush.

Her cheeks bloomed once more for him.

Aemond feigns a thoughtful expression, “Infection, as a result of injury?” he questions, “No. Too slow”.

The air felt humid and she felt her core clench around nothing realising what he wanted.

Aemond’s large palms, even through the layers of silks, felt as if they were branding the very skin of her thighs as he lifted her onto the table.

"Perhaps paying a servant to poison his wine?"

She made no protest, her eyes glimmered with anticipation when she felt his calloused, sword-worn fingers drift along her calves to lift her skirts. The air, though warm, prickled at her flesh merely at the idea of what he planned to do to her.

“I know” he smiled, watching as she gasped sharply as he pulled her thighs towards him, standing between her outstretched legs as they squeezed his hips.

“Thrown off his horse and trampled to death?"

He dragged his nose over her cheek, watching her eyelashes flutter at the sensation, his fingers digging into the meat of her thighs, dying to rip her smallclothes to shreds.

He whispered, placing a loud, open-mouthed kiss to the space between her ear and neck. She shivered in his touch, though not revealing any intimate part of her body, she felt very much as if he had peeled back her being, and stared into her soul.

“A fitting end”.

She exhaled with difficulty, feeling it catch in her throat as Aemond teasingly wrapped two fists around her smallclothes and tore without mercy to the fabric.

He raised his head only slightly, to see the reaction he had extracted from her.

Her eyes were shut, her lips parted for breath.

"Gods, you look like a maiden when I touch you" he whispered appreciatively.

A pitiful moan fell from her lips as Aemond drew two digits up her womanhood, collecting the slick he knew would be there on his fingertips. Her hand tightened on his leather-clad arm, needing somewhere to express this overwhelming feeling.

"It is because it is you who has touched me like this for the first time".

His eye darkened, the colour eclipsed by black.

“Your husband has not even touched you?”

She shook her head softly, now revealing what embarrassment she had desperately kept inside for so long.

“The marriage was consummated…but that was all…” she answered through hurried breaths as Aemond drew patterns on her pearl with the aid of her wetness, "he would not touch me after that..."

"And you did try, didn't you? To tempt him? Like a good little wife?"

"Y-yes...but he refused..." she answered, her voice wavering, "...he would not even share a bed with me..."

He chuckled, "Then we had best make this a memorable occasion, then. My Lady”.

Having used his other hand to unlace his breeches, he released his cock, groaning with relief as he stroked himself, squeezing arousal from the ruddy tip.

Nobody was more surprised than Aemond, when his lady reached down between them to stroke him with smooth, languid motions, her hand in opposition to his, barely encircling his length.

Their hedonistic expressions met. His breath coming in short bursts with every squeeze of her palm around his throbbing arousal.

“I do not wish for him to die” she breathed, her voice heavy, “only for him to disappear. So that I may pursue my own happiness”.

He cocked his head.

“I do not wish to be a murderer”.

She was quite a woman, Aemond thought. Having gotten him this close to having her, and only now making demands, as if he could refuse her.

He smirked.

“Then it shall be done”.

With the promise sealed, she guided his length between her legs, angling her hips up for him as his cockhead kissed her slick folds. Impatient as Aemond was, he moved forward in one motion, watching her throw her head back as he sheathed the entirety of himself within her.

Her cunt squeezed his cock like a maiden, and yet she did not protest to his harsh treatment of her, in fact, spurring him on with the sounds she was making, clutching onto the front of him with every sharp, true and deep thrust of his cock into her.

"Gods - you are as tight as a maiden - squeezing my cock so tightly - "

One hand stayed around her back to keep her flush to him, sliding up her spine, long fingers threading through her hair at the base of her neck and pulling on her for leverage, using his hold on her body to fuck himself into her. Her breasts, beneath her dress, ached to spring free from their passionate movements, jolting the gold necklace held snugly there.

Aemond was entirely entranced by the image he saw when he looked between them, his cock driving into her with fevor, glazed with her arousal and meeting her fleshy hips with a wet smack each time.

“I’ll have my heirs inside you in no time, Princess” he whispered, pressing his lips against the column of her throat, parting them once in a way to nip at her tender skin, “you shall have everything you desire”.

Her half-lidded eyes opened, the pressure in her core building excessively at the force of him driving so quickly into her, in this position, pulling her onto his length aggressively, bullying a rough, pleasurable place inside her she was not able to reach herself.

“What is it you desire, Princess?” he asks, his thrusts becoming somewhat stuttered and messy, his eye screwing shut as his body wound tight, ready to burst at any moment. His hair stuck irritatingly to his forehead and face, from the exertion of fucking her.

“You…Aemond - you...”

He grinned, increasing the intensity of his thrusts, watching her warmed cheeks and body jolting with each smack of his hips. He felt her cunt flutter around him and reached down to apply the same pressure as he had before to her bud, to which she let out a near choked-moan, one hand tightening onto his doublet and the other white-knuckled holding onto the table, emboldened by the act and the fact that they could be caught at any moment in such a disastrous position.

He watches with excitement as she peaks around his length, her cunt sucking him within her from the pressure of her destructive orgasm, just begging for him to spend inside her, and hopefully, in nine moons time, round and large with his heir.

With a choked, staggered moan of his own, Aemond grips her so tightly, she would surely bruise, as he spills himself inside her hot, wet cunt. Filling her impossibly and entirely with his hot, sticky spend, thrusting shallowly to ensure it is as deep inside her as possible. His cock throbs with utter desire, hearing the little mewls of moans still falling from her glistening lips.

She whines softly when he pulls out of her, watching with intense satisfaction at how his arousal as well as hers has made her womanhood glisten.

“You will really do it?...” she asks, still catching her breath.

Aemond huffs a laugh, tucking his softening length back into his breeches, “For your sweet cunt, I am confident I would do anything”.

His Lady smiles back, exhaustedly, pulling her tattered smallclothes off her legs, watching with both confusion and brief fear when Aemond smoothes his silver hair down and walks away.

“Where are you going?” she asks after him, pulling her skirts down.

He half turns, flashing a signature smirk.

“To ask your husband and lover to join me on a hunt. My dear Princess”.

dividers by @firefly-graphics

Aemond Taglist (1): @asp3nxx | @avidreader73 | @bellaisasleep

1K notes · View notes