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kitch3nwitch · 2 years ago

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✧Jealousy is a cruel thing✧

{Aemond is jealous and jealously can be a horrible thing}

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In your defense you didn’t mean to end up dancing with the lord, whose name you don’t even know, everyone was just moving so fast, and suddenly you were no longer dancing with Helaena you were in the arms of some nobleman.

You could feel your husband's stare, it was practically burning a hole in your head, and you made the terrible mistake of glancing over at him, watching how his hand clutched the handle of his sword and how his jaw clenched with anger.

“Gods be good” you whisper under your breath as you watch his face contort into a look of disgust, he’s walking towards you, and you practically feel the anger oozing from his being. You roll your eyes at how Aegon laughs at you.

“Are you okay my lady?” The lord asks as his arms tighten around you, the action only angers your husband even more and as he approaches the two of you with, a stride in his step, your heart starts to pick up the pace.

“My lord I think it best you go find another—“ you’re cut off by Aemond, his hand clamps down on the nobleman’s shoulder ripping him away from your arms, the fear on the poor man’s face made you feel a little guilty.

“You do so much as glance at my wife I’ll be sure to take both your eyes and hands” he whispers to him through gritted teeth, his knuckles straining, slightly red as his hand tightens on the lord's shoulder, “Am I understood?”

You watch as the lord nods before running away rubbing his shoulder in pain, “We are retiring from this pathetic excuse of a party to our bed-chambers— now” he sneers, hand settling against your lower back.

Now it’s your turn to be angry, he has no right to talk to you like that, no matter how ‘jealous or mad’ he might be.

“Lose the venom in your tone towards me dear husband” you jeered, yanking your arm away from his grip before storming ahead of him back to your bed-chambers.

“Tell me, wife… do you take pleasure in whoring yourself around? Do you find enjoyment in making a mockery of our marriage?” He talks with nothing but anger seething from him, you're taken back by his words.

“Oh gods be good… ‘whoring?’ Do you think of me so lowly?— it was a dance Aemond nothing more- why must you grasp so heedlessly to this idea that my heart belongs to everyone but you” you hate how your voice wavers in hurt, but you were brought up better than to let a man bring you down.

“Well what can I expect from a Snow” it’s the calmness in his voice that hurts more than anything, your heart aches and it’s a pain you won’t be forgetting soon.

“I am a Stark.” You whisper trying to hold back the tears as he scoffs, walking past you to remove the rings that decorate his hands, the argument is way past his petty feelings about you dancing with some lord, no this was much deeper.

“Well I suppose I would expect no different from a man who holds onto grudges for so long, with such anguish” you sneer you want to hurt his feelings just as he did to you, you watch as he unties the small section of his hair, watching the blonde locks fall against his sharp face.

There’s an unsettling silence that wedges itself between you and it takes all your power not to storm out the room, “I would advise you to hold your tongue when it comes to things you haven’t the slightest idea about, wife” the tension between you is so suffocating it makes you dizzy.

You go reply with a snarky comment but he stops you, “If I were to know how much of a hindrance you would be to me I would have thought twice before courting you, a bastard child” his tone is something nasty as he whispers ‘whore’ under his breath and it makes you want to hide away from the world.

The words float around your head, you repeat them to yourself over and over again, and there’s this horrible blocky feeling in the back of your throat, and your bottom lip wobbles in hurt.

“You— you are truly a cruel man” you whisper wiping the tears that fall effortlessly from your tired eyes, whatever deeper feelings Aemond is holding have finally surfaced and now he’s taking it out on you.

He falters as he glances over at you, the tears that shine in the reflection of the warm candlelight that settles softly against your skin, the hurt on your beautiful face pains his heart in a way that hurts him more than anything, and the worst thing about it all is that he caused this pain, him.

The man that is supposed to love you unconditionally flaws and all, the man who had promised himself to you, but yet here you stand before him crying.

“My heart—“ he whispers an immense feeling of guilt drowns him, “My heart, I never—“ he goes to apologize but you stop him.

“— but you did Aemond. Do you mean to say you regret it? Was it a waste of your time courting me? Tell me! Do you regret our marriage? All those nights you reassured me not to worry about my patronage, was it a lie?— Tell me!” You sob against his shoulder as he brings you into his arms, his hands rubbing the expanse of your back, gentle fingers grazing against your spine.

“I apologize for my abhorrent words— for my actions, it is beneath me” he whispers pressing a meaningful kiss to your forehead, before gently wiping away your tears with his sleeve.

“It was just a dance Aemond” you murmur resting your head against his shoulder, he hums in agreement.

He holds you close to him afraid that you will disappear, “I am a jealous man” he admits wincing at the words, “Terribly jealous when it comes to you my darling” he cups your face in his soft hands' thumbs caressing your cheeks.

“There is no need to be jealous Aemond, I promise I belong to you and only you” you smile as he presses a kiss against your lips, and you wrap your arms around his neck bringing him closer.

He awkwardly moves to push you onto the bed as you giggle, “Let me make it up to you my heart” he smiles as his fingers pull at the lace of your dress.

“Mm you will have to try exceptionally hard dear husband” you giggle as he struggles with your very complicated dress, you can see the frustration in his eye as you watch him pull his knife out cutting the fabric of your dress, you gasp.

“I will make it up to you my dear, I will make you the happiest woman in all of Westeros” he smirks, perhaps Aemond will confide with you in the future, or perhaps he will just have to go around threatening everyone lord who glances upon your beauty.

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☾⋆AN// I’ve had this sitting in my notes app so here ya go! hope you enjoyed my lovelies! <3

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kitch3nwitch · 2 years ago

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blood is thicker than water (but betrayal stains the most)

summary: all of his courtship and endeavors belonged to your beloved eldest sister; yet his bed and seed were yours.

pairing: dark!aemond targaryen x fem!reader

warnings: very much nsfw. explicit language. dub-con. allusions to drugging through alcohol. infidelity on aemond's part because he's an obsessive (but honestly kinda romantic) asshole. breeding kink. aka aemond ruins a perfectly happy sister relationship bc he’s suffering from pepe la pew’s aggressive horniness

notes: supposed to be finishing my module 2 assignment for my senior research seminar class but instead i wrote this.

masterlist

Aemond Targaryen was meant for your older sister.

It had been that way for well over a year, a mutual betrothal agreement drawn up between your house and his. House Targaryen sent the Prince Aemond to decide on his bridal choice- in exchange for sworn fealty to the Prince Aegon II and the Greens, and, according to the many whispers of the court, he fell smitten with your sister at first glance. It was all very romantic.

And come the early springtime, when the pretty tulips and orchids begin to blossom in their fields, she shall wed him in the sept at the Red Keep. A lady she would no longer be but instead a royal princess of the realm and, soon after that, the mother of his children.

You could not be any more excited for her.

You loved your sister very much, in all truths. Perhaps even more than your own mother, father, and the rest of your brothers and sisters. Although she was three years older, she was your dearest friend and companion, a beautiful and well-educated young lady that always carried herself in grace and high esteem. In your eyes, there were no better wife for a Targaryen prince. But still you feared losing her to the duties of wife and motherhood forever; after all, she was everything to you.

When you were given the news of her betrothal to the prince, you sobbed at it, pleading for her to not leave your side.

“Oh, my precious little sister,” she wept as well, pulling you close to her, “when I marry him, I swear to you that you shall follow me to the Keep, so that we may find a worthy husband of your own. You will be by my side forever,” and she took your hands in hers, promising you such beneath the weeping willow, a tree so sacred to your lineage.

To break an oath sworn underneath a weeping willow was a horrid and sinful act, a gesture of utmost direspect and pure betrayal.

That made you feel better, much happier and lighter.

It meant you would not lose your sister to this marriage.

There were several times that the Prince Aemond visited your homeland, all in small and sweet attempts at courting your sister. The two would stroll through the gardens, talking and smiling and laughing, and by the time the sun fell from the sky, your sister would be nothing more than a blubbering and blushing mess. The sight would always make your mother and the servantmaids giggle.

You never really caught the best glimpse of the princeling, always hidden away in respect for their betrothal, but for the few times that you managed to sneak a peek, you found him terribly handsome, a man so tall and gallant and in love. His shoulders were all the time straight and proud, and his one remaining eye never strayed far from his betrothed’s face.

The courtship continued throughout the long winter months, up until when the springtime sun peered from behind the dark clouds. It would be such a lovely spring season.

Perfect for a marriage.

When the raven finally arrived with the summon for your sister, she left for the crownlands, and took you as her company.

“The King and Queen asked for your attendance actually,” she confessed, giggling at your confused face. “I must have blabbed too much about you to the prince, although could you blame me? I have the sweetest sister in all the realm.” Her pretty smile only grew. “Oh, little sister, all the fine men shall collapse to their knees the moment they lay eyes on your beauty,” and she leaned her forehead against yours, “-I wonder if the gods intend for us to enter motherhood together. Would that not be lovely?”

You shivered at her words.

Were you ready for motherhood?

Or to be some highborn lord’s lady wife?

You thought over it. No, not really- you were still young, at that tender age where freedom tasted far more tantalizing than wifehood. But the two of you did do everything together during girlhood…and, well, did you have the power to deny your future princess anything she wished for? Perhaps not…and yet the thought of her carrying Prince Aemond’s trueborn children inside her womb felt heavy in your chest.

Oh, you did not like that sudden feeling.

It felt ugly, very wrongful and wicked.

“Why do you think they asked for my attendance?” you instead asked.

Your sister tipped her head in thought. “Perhaps you are to be one of my ladies-in-waiting? Would you like that? You would remain by my side and keep me company throughout the day,” she offered before being jostled up from her seat. The carriage ride was rather bumpy and rough and was doing a fine job ruining the needlework across her lap.

She frowned at her crooked stitches with dismay. “Oh, rats.” She shook her head with a sigh, “I shall never understand how mother manages to stitch so beautifully during these rides. What do yours look like, sweet sister?”

You studied yours. All your stitches appeared clean and straight, almost exquisite looking. You glanced back at her and shrugged. “Awful as well. I do not know why I even try.”

The hour was beyond late and inappropriate when a sudden knock rang on your door. You had been dismissed to your chambers earlier, sent to unpack and rest while your sister saw to the King and Queen’s private audience and met with her betrothed. Tomorrow you were set to dine with the royal family, and your nerves were a complete mess.

“Come in!” you called out, knowing it to be her, your sister.

“Good evening, my lady.”

You flinched at the voice, spinning around with a hand to your chest. “Prince Aemond!” you fell into a pretty curtesy, although now feeling extremely embarrassed to be before the prince whilst clothed in nothing but a thin nightgown. “My sincerest apologies, my prince; I was unaware you would be visiting me tonight. I ask you to excuse my shock and confusion.” Oh, how you were confused, indeed very much so. “Are you looking for my sister?”

He shook his head. “I wanted to meet with you, actually, so that we might get to know each other better. You are my future wife’s favorite sister; she always talks so highly of you whenever we meet…I just could not resist wishing to bond with the person who brings her the most happiness.”

You smiled at his words, ducking your head away to hide the slight blush coloring your cheeks.

“You honor me, my prince.”

“Aemond,” he corrected. “Please, do call me Aemond.”

“Alright, if the prince himself insists.”

Aemond hummed before gesturing to the two chairs across the room, near the hearth. “Come, sit with me, my good sister. I wish for you to feel comfortable around me, seeing how we shall be family soon.” He sat down but only after you, offering you a golden chalice. When he noticed the look on your face, he said, “Ah, it is wine, made from the finest grapes and plums of Casterly Rock- you do drink wine, right?”

You sniffed the drink, grimacing at the strong but bitter smell. “In truth, not really. But, for you, I shall down this wine as if I’m a drunken god feasting in the heavens above.” Aemond laughed, shaking his head. “Or my older brother, perhaps, seeing how he fancies his cups more than anything,” and you giggled, lifting the chalice to your lips. The prince reminded you of your own elder brother, and it was making you awfully homesick already.

The taste itself was rather sweet, almost honeyed on your tongue. It was unexpected but happily welcomed. You found yourself liking it almost immediately, gulping down larger sips every several minutes while you and the princeling chattered about everything under the sun. Aemond shared with you his most treasured hobbies, fond boyhood memories, the claiming of his mount while at Driftmark, and meeting your sister. He seemed very passionate about it all; a very good look on him.

In return, you spun for him countless stories of your childhood. You told of the many siblings you left back home, the silliest troubles you and your sister would get into throughout girlhood, and your hopes and dreams for the future.

“Do you wish to marry as well?” Aemond asked, watching as you turned towards the fire.

“Maybe…for sure, when I think about it some more. One day,” you answered, voice soft, perhaps even a bit sluggish, feeling his heavy gaze resting on you, “but I’m still young, and I must admit I do treasure my freedom above most things.”

You thought back to your grandmother sitting near the fire, knitting her prettiest shawls in peaceful silence. All those long trail rides with your father and brothers, through the nearby thickets and flowering meadows, and your dear mother kneeling by your side as she taught you how to hawk. You were unwilling to part from any of that, as selfishly and childishly as it sounded. For as long as the gods allowed, you would hold onto it.

“My lady, why do you believe such a thing, that you shall lose your freedom?”

You shrugged before downing the little bit of wine left in your chalice. “It always felt as if I would. Or, at least, that is what we girls are taught while growing up. Many ladies forgo their freedom, all their dearest interests and hobbies, for wife and motherhood.” You glanced back at Aemond, giving him a weak smile. Your vision was beginning to strangely blur, and it was becoming more difficult to think.

Aemond assumed a sympathetic tone. “Our bodies are shaped by our Father and our Mother, all in the hopes that we come together and beget trueborn children. We all live different lives, true, but in the end, is that not our life’s main purpose?” He moved closer, setting a hand on your shoulder, “-to assure our children carry on our legacy?”

“Perhaps,” you mumbled. “I know it will not be long till my sister becomes a mother, and, in the same sense, myself as well, I guess. Truth be told, I cried when my parents told me of her betrothal to you.”

Aemond shifted in his seat, and you wondered briefly if you had made him feel uncomfortable. You hoped not. You really did like Aemond, and it would be nice to already have a new friend in Kings Landing.

“Cried?”

You nodded. “I feared losing her. I love her very much, Aemond. So…so very much. The thought of such…it hurts me deeply…like an arrow to the chest, to the neck and heart,” but your words slurred together towards the end, the wine swamping your thoughts. It was a strange feeling, a startling one as well, perhaps even awful if your mind allowed you to think about it. But you couldn’t. No, your poor head felt so heavy, like a stone, while your chest and tummy seemed aflame.

“Are you alright, my lady?”

“Is this what it feels like to be drunk?” you asked him. “Pardon my ignorance; I’ve never been drunk before….”

The prince chuckled, reaching out to rub your knuckles ever so gently. “Does your head feel woozy? Can you see me still?”

“You bowed your head, tears swelling in your eyes. “I don’t know,” you whined out. “I feel so warm. It’s all happened so fast! My head hurts a lot now, and my stomach too. Is it the wine,” you peered up at him, wincing, “I want to lay down, please.”

“You must’ve drunk it too fast, my dear,” Aemond mused, face twisting ruefully. “It happens, but it serves as a good lesson, perhaps.” He was quick to his feet, sliding an arm underneath your knees to hoist you up. He then cradled your head close to his chest, a flushed cheek cupped against his palm- so gentle and intimate, yet so wrongful and sinful too. You did not care for the consequences; you only wanted to lay abed and sleep away these ugly feelings.

Oh, but he was so strong as he carried you away. His skin felt good against yours, so relieving, cooling the unbearable heat that settled over your poor body. The way his hand gripped your thigh and snaked a thin strand of hair around his fingers made you feel safe and protected.

And when he lifted your face up to his, pressing the softest kiss on your lips, and followed it with a promise to make everything feel better, you believed him.

Hours later, the prince has your shaky legs spread wide, pushed so far back that they’re nearly touching both your shoulders. His thrusts are hard and merciless, never ending as he ruts his hips against yours. Fuck, it feels amazing. You lock eyes with him, feeling those fat tears streaking down your cheek, before tilting your head back in a loud moan.

“Does my princess feel good?” Aemond grins, leaning his face down closer to yours, “-now that she’s finally where she’s meant to be, in her husband’s arms.” And in my bed too, he thinks happily, and so full of my seed already. You’re so fucking gorgeous, so sweet and innocent, absolutely delicious, hiccupping oh so cutely as he pounds into you.

You’re a fucking dream come true for him, in so many different ways. He’s dreamt of having you withering beneath him for too many long months. You do not know that, of course, as he watches your poor glazed-over eyes trying their utter best to hold his gaze again. There are so many stars hidden deep within them; if he focuses for a second, he can see the Mother’s constellation blinking across.

Gods, how he hopes the first babe has your pretty eyes, and cheekbones, and nose and lips.

You rake your nails down his back, causing him to groan, as you tremble and nibble your bottom lip and bat your dark eyelashes at him. A damned vixen you are, or perhaps a forest nymph, sent by the gods torture him. He soon smashes his lips against yours in a wet and passionate kiss, swallowing every little noise you make. And when he breaks away, he holds onto your chin in a tight grip, tilting your head to the side where a long and dark mahogany desk stands.

“Do you see that?” he asks, grinding down his teeth as your cunt tightens around his cock. “Tell me!” he demands through a pant, “tell me what you see over there.”

You shake your head, whimpering out a breathy, “I-I don’t kn-know…?”

“Look again, princess.”

Squinting your eyes, you can barely make out a weird-shaped object sitting alone on his desk. It is something you can’t exactly put a name to at the moment, your weak mind too fogged up and too dumbstruck from the relentless pleasure, but you can see whatever it is resting on a thick blanket that sags down to the floor.

“It’s a dragon egg,” Aemond admits while his thumb tenderly strokes your cheek, drifting to glide across your swollen bottom lip.

He swipes at the small bit of drool pooling at the corner of your mouth, “Dreamfyre, my sister’s dragon, laid a fresh clutch several months back, and I claimed three of her eggs.” His hand then skims down to your heaving breasts, to tweak a puffy nipple between two fingers. Your breath hitches inside your throat. “It is an ancestral tradition for our trueborn children to have an egg in their cradle.”

“A-Aemond…”

Aemond leans to kiss your forehead, and against it he whispers, “I’ve chosen that one to be our firstborn’s egg. The color reminded me of your eyes, and I thought that, well, maybe if I chose an egg colored like them, our child might be born with them too…to match his own dragon,” he chuckles, pulling your body closer to his.

He chose the egg during the first winter month, soon after he returned home from visiting your elder sister. The day was cold, with a heavy blanket of clouds, as dark as black smoke, coating the sky, and he couldn’t help but cuddle the egg close to his chest, allowing himself, for a small second, to imagine your son in his arms as well, nice and warm and protected by his father. Before he left, he had noticed you, his pretty girl, hidden behind a pillar, shyly watching as he strolled the gardens with his betrothed.

It was the only reason why he ever considered courting that damned bitch of your sister.

Your father refused your hand, claiming you were still young and unready for marriage, and dismissed every one of his many pleas and demands and open threats, instead offering up your eldest sister. It was treason. Denying him you was fucking treason, and Aemond swore he would have his revenge, but he had to be smart about it.

And here you are now, laying underneath him, and while his head is chockfull with a flood of uncountable praises and blessings, to you and the Mother and the Maiden, all he can really do is memorize every inch of your beauty- the breathtaking way your pretty face scrunches up and eyebrows furrow and shoulders stiffen and how your toes curl with every one of his thrusts.

“You’re mine now,” he purrs. “-and I am yours. Your husband, your prince, and the father of your children.”

Aemond then flattens a palm against your lower, where he can feel the bulge of his fat cock poking out. “Fuck, you were made for me,” he moans, low and huskily, before pushing down on it, causing you to shriek and go cross-eyed and reach for his shoulders. “All the times I saw you, hidden away like you did not matter…” he shakes his head, thrusting his hips up, fucking into you deeper, hitting that one spot that makes you feel ready to explode. “Thought about murdering your entire fucking family- your sister included, having Vhagar burn them all until nothing was left but fucking ashes. Then they could not stop me from having you.”

“Fuck,” he whines, breathing hard, snaking a hand in between your thighs, and with his thumb, rubbing at your swollen clit. “Ha…! Does not matter anymore,” he hisses, “you’re mine now. All fucking mine. It’s your blood staining my sheets and my son in your belly.”

At his words, your face twists in a sharp gasp, and your entire body begins to tighten as Aemond feels himself ready to seed you again, for the third time in the night. You’ll be a princess soon, and the prettiest mother in the crownlands. Both the gods and common men will envy him.

“W-What about my sis-sister…?”

He smirks, tucking away a few strands of damp hair behind your ear. “Every princess has her favorite lady-in-waiting.”

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