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[sstan-hoe]

girlhood is staying up late to read the top posts in an x reader tag

[sstan-hoe]

Prepare For Takeoff

Title: Prepare For Takeoff Characters/Pairings: soft dark!Mafia!Andy Barber x female!reader Word Count: 1.5k

Content Warnings: vaginal fingering, dubious existing engagement

Logistical Notes: Another piece early in the days of the I'm Your Man AU.

Author Note: I started this AU when I was at an airport, and my recent trip had me thinking of these two again, and it had me wishing I were Andy's to spoil.

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While you aren’t used to being chauffeured to every aspect of your life (nor did you want to get used to it, the driver and vehicle yet another element that Andy insisted on in the new life he inserted you into), you know a security checkpoint where your driver had to stop and speak to someone else is not part of the typical route back to the palatial Barber Estate. You sit up straighter in your seat, looking first to the men in the front, but neither of them give anything away, your bodyguard Shep’s face is the same stoic expression as ever, and your driver Mark only glances into the rear view mirror to meet your eyes briefly.

Your brows furrow and you look out the window. You can only see large white buildings on either side of the SUV, and the overwhelmingly industrial feel has you at a loss for guessing the where and why of your location.

That is until you reach the end of the building and the car pulls around the corner. Now you see these large white industrial walls make up the sides of a row of aircraft hangars. While your jaw doesn’t drop, your mouth opens slightly. The jaw dropping moments as a character in the life of Andy Barber are so frequent, but you are starting to control your reactions a bit more.

The SUV pulls up smoothly to the side of a private jet, sleek and black, the late afternoon sun shining off its metal sides. Mark stops the vehicle, and as Shep opens your door, you are not surprised to see you are stepping out exactly onto a long, blue carpet that leads from the SUV to the bottom of a set of white stairs. At the top of them, Andy emerges from the plane, nodding to you. You smooth down the front of your clothing and glare up at him.

“What is this?” You call up loudly.

“You know what it is.”

“Where are we going?”

“Away for the weekend. Now, don’t be difficult, sweetheart, you’re going to love this.”

You feel a sting in your eyes but quickly blink it away.

You hate this because you know he is right.

Yet again he will undoubtedly give you exactly what you want and go beyond what you could even imagine for it, but because he wants to, not because you want any of it.

That is the constant curse in this relationship.

Everything you want, but all your choices stolen from you before you can make them.

You concentrate on taking deep breaths as you ascend the staircase, mustering the strength that you will need for this. You have to armor yourself against his charm and his cunning. Every moment with him is dangerous.

“I thought it was time to take you away, make you forget the everyday. I know you’ve been under a lot of stress.”

You blink, open your mouth, then shut it again. He is the source of the stress, but you don’t trust what would happen if you said that.

He smirks, then sweeps you into a kiss that immediately sends tingles all through your body, from where his lips press insistently against yours, tongue teasing into your mouth, to the hand he plants possessively onto you hip and the other on your back, pressing you flush against him, down to your toes, legs feeling unstable as he takes your breath away. You are helpless but to cling to his shoulders and kiss him back, because your traitorous body willingly surrenders to him, damn near craves him.

He finally lets you breathe again when you tap against his chest and turn your head, gasping for air.

He kisses your cheek, then your neck just beneath your ear.

Getting your breath back, you give a small huff. “So, what? I don’t even get to pack? You just have whatever I need for the flight and when we get wherever we’re going, I’ll just arrive to a closet full of new clothes and accessories?”

“Naturally.” You can feel his smirk against your skin for a moment before he bites at your delicate flesh.

“This is insane.” You push away from him and step through the open door of the jet.

“It’s not insane,” he says, stalking close behind you.

The interior of the plane is sleek, minimal, but the flavor of the furniture and decor evoke the same feeling as the common spaces of his estate with lush leather and dark wood.

The fact that there’s furniture…

“It’s not normal.”

Hand to your back, Andy ushers you further into the plane. “You’re never going to be subjected to normal again in your life.”

“But what if I liked normal?”

He sits on a leather loveseat and pulls you down immediately next to him, nearly in his lap. He counters, “You liked needing to get to the airport early, check your bags or haul them through security with your three-ounces-or-less limit on liquids, take off your shoes, and trek through the terminals to your gate?”

You sigh and look straight ahead.

He chuckles and beckons over a gentleman who offers a tray of drinks.

“Bourbon or champagne?”

“Thank you,” Andy says, and takes a glass of the dark bourbon.

“No, thank you,” you decline.

“The captain says we are clear for take off on your word, Mr. Barber.”

Andy nods. “Wheels up then. We’ll take dinner in ninety minutes. You can leave us until that point.”

“Call if you need anything, sir.”

You hear the click of a door as the man disappears. Andy takes a slow drink, then presses the glass to your lips, forcing you to take a sip before he sets the glass aside.

You feel the jet begin to move and then turn toward the runway.

“You deserve more than normal,” Andy says, eyes on you, returning to your conversation from moments before.

“Andy…” you hedge.

“I will whisk you away anywhere in the world. I’ll give you everything you want. You’re mine to spoil. You’re going to live a beautiful life with me.”

“Andy,” you start again, but unsure how to counter.

He growls your name and yanks you abruptly into his lap. He cuts any argument you were about to launch into by biting at your lower lip and grinding you down onto his hard bulge.

You whimper and throw your head back.

Andy assaults your bared neck with heated kisses. He knows he’ll have you a pliant mess for him to slake his lust in a matter of moments.

You know it, too.

And you know he’ll overwhelm you with pleasure of your own, never a selfish lover even though every other bit of him is selfish.

His fingers slip under the fabric covering your core without hesitation, and he strokes your labia, gathering more and more of your arousal as the plane picks up speed. Slow strokes back and forth, back and forth. The pad of his forefinger circles your clit and you bite back a whimper.

“Mmm, you know I love those noises you make.” He circles your bundle of nerves again, this time with his thumb, letting two of his fingers dip just slightly into your slick channel. “Give me what I want,” he coos, coaxing with another circle, and another, and you finally break, moaning openly for him.

“That’s it, sweetheart, let me know how good I make you feel.”

He pumps his fingers full into the knuckle now, and not like anyone else you’d ever been with intimately before. It’s only been a few weeks, but Andy has taken every opportunity to become a master of your body and coax and command pleasure out of every inch of you. He knows just how much pressure to apply when fucking you with his fingers, and he pushes into that spongy spot at the front of you walls insistently, repeatedly as the jet leaves the ground, making you cry out and shake on an abrupt orgasm.

You sink forward, hanging your head on his shoulder, but it’s only the first orgasm he plans to ply from your body on this flight. He draws your left hand to his mouth, and hums as he places a kiss first against the band of your engagement ring on your finger and then into your palm, before trailing his lips to your wrist. He eases you down to the floor, and you lay back and watch as he shucks off his pants above you before descending down to sheath himself inside you next, demanding more.

And as he fucks you there, then on another of the chairs, then takes you back to the sleeping quarters for yet more, you bend to his will and his demands and his lust, overcome with everything he is and everything he makes you feel, lost in the complexity of what he’s confined you into. His spoiled and ruined sweetheart.

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[sstan-hoe]

Aemond x Baratheon daughter!reader. They are planning teh wedding and reader hears that there will be a bedding ceremony on the night of their marriage. She talks to the queen about it but she can’t do shit. She gets anxious and Aemond notices it so he ask why and she tells him that she’s uncomfortable about the bedding ceremony so Aemond personally asks Viserys to not have one

Warnings: arranged marriage, mention of bedding ceremony

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—

When the prince Aemond set foot in Storm's End and offered to take one of Lord Borros Baratheon’s daughters in a marriage pact in exchange for swords and banners alongside the Greens, you didn’t know a bedding ceremony would be part of the pact. You had been flattered when the prince chose you over your sisters. The idea of being ‘sold’ to another Lord in marriage always made you uneasy, but the prince was tall, handsome, and kind to you. 

Moons later, as you were discussing the preparations of your and Aemond’s wedding, you found yourself wishing he had taken one of your four sisters.  

‘’A bedding ceremony?!’’ you repeated, feeling your stomach churn at the thought of having intercourse with spectators watching. 

You tried to not think too much about it, telling yourself that if you closed your eyes during it, it would pass fast. But come the week of the wedding, it was all you could think about. 

Shortly after your arrival in King’s Landing, you requested to speak to the Queen. Mayhaps she could do something about it?

‘’It’s about the bedding ceremony. I do not wish to do…that, your Grace.’’

If you had voiced your complaint to your father, you doubted he would have cared. A bedding ceremony was not embarrassing for the man. Quite the contrary, he was praised during the act. But the Queen was a woman. You hoped she would understand you, or at least have some compassion. 

The Queen sighed as she sat on the camel-back couch before you, knowing the mortifying experience that is the bedding ceremony. Especially for a woman. ‘’Unfortunately, it is a Westerosi wedding tradition. I’m afraid I cannot do anything about it, sweetie.’’ 

‘’A perverted tradition...’’ you whispered, not thinking she would hear you.

‘’I agree,’’ she said softly, her eyes filled with empathy. ‘’Unfortunately, we must submit to men's perversion.’’ Her words hung heavy in the air, a bitter truth that neither of you could escape.

A public defloration was something that — some — people enjoyed. Including your father. Lord Borros needed proof that the marriage had been consummated before sending his men to the Greens. He didn’t want to give them his men and get tricked in return. 

The evidence of the growing affection between you and Aemond wasn’t sufficient.  

Speaking of Aemond, he came knocking on your door after his afternoon duties. 

‘’Come in.’’ 

Usually, seeing him put a smile on your face, but today, you didn’t bother to open the door. You stayed sitting by the large window giving on the gardens, your eyes casted on your lap as you fidgeted with a thread from your dress. 

Stepping inside, Aemond frowned, seeing you sitting by yourself. ‘’I apologize for not coming to greet you sooner. I was held back,’’ he explained briefly, not wanting to bore you with the details of his duties.

‘’All is good, my Prince,’’ you said flatly.  

Aemond walked over to you, suspecting by your tone that something was upsetting you. He sat beside you and gently, he covered your hands with his, stopping your anxious play with the thread. ‘’What is it that is upsetting you, my love? Is it the wedding?’’ he asked, noticing the tension that seemed to wrap around you like a suffocating cloak. 

You shook your head. The wedding itself was a moment you were looking forward to — truly. It was the hours that followed that made your anxiety spike to unbearable levels. 

All these pairs of eyes on your naked body, observing — and judging. It made you sick. 

‘’It’s about the bedding ceremony. I…I’m already scared of the bedding itself,’’ you confess, your voice small and insecure. ‘’I do not want to make my first time a spectacle.’’ 

Aemond nodded, understanding. ‘’I’m not comfortable about this either. But it is part of my duty as husband.’’ 

‘’I spoke to your mother about it. Her Grace said there is no possibility of getting out of it…’’ A single tear slipped down your face, the sight pinching at Aemond’s heart. 

‘’Have you spoken to your father? Mayhaps he—’’ 

‘’My father requests it.’’ 

Aemond brought your hands to his lips, kissing them. ‘’I’ll speak to mine. Not to compare, but he holds more power than yours.’’

—

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[sstan-hoe]

Riding the Dragon- Modern! Aemond Targaryen x Reader

summary: after a great dinner with Aemond, he decides to give you a ride on his motorcycle, a Dragon T6.

warnings: 18+, MDNI, public smut, pussy on bike, cum play?, reader getting off on Aemond's bike, some tiddy succin, mentions of p in v sex, I think that it?

wc: 3,064

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dividers by @firefly-graphics

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notes: this is my first time writing in reader's pov? the whole 'you' kind of perspective. I apologize if it sucks ass, I wanted to try something different. And can y'all believe I wrote majority of this when I was ovulating? HAHA

“I had a really nice time tonight.” The man in front of you says with a content and flirtatious smile on his pretty chiseled face. 

Heat coats through your cheeks to the tip of your ears. Definitely not the effect of the two glasses of wine you’d drunk not too long ago. Wine hardly ever did a number on you to slightly fuddle your conscience. 

You give him a sheepish grin, scraping the tips of your heels against the pavement, shying away from the intensity that his eye holds. “Same here. I hope we can do this again sometime.”

His face contorts in a way that clearly indicates that the feeling is in fact very, mutual. “Mind if I take down your number?” He asks, pulling out the latest new Iphone from his pocket. You only engaged in conversation through the dating app both of you met in and you thought it seemed only fair to give him your number after weeks of meeting him.

He taps a few things on his screen before you’re met with a white screen with only your first name and birthday typed. It is then when you wonder how he came about on knowing your birthday, if you had ever mentioned it in your electrifying conversations either on the app or this date. Most likely the second option. 

You knew his name, well if you’d call it that, supplying you only his first initial. By his angelic looks, he was definitely of Valyrian descent. And you hate how much of a sucker you were for those blonde bitches. You knew he was in the last year of university, double majoring in political science and business here in the capital. You also knew he had a geriatric maine coon cat, Vhagar, who’d stuck with him since he was a child. 

But that was pretty much it. 

You nod, typing out the most critical information both of you needed in order to secure the second date. “Here you go,” you hand back his phone with such caution that causes his lips to quiver in a smirk. 

He leans forward, too forward in a way you feel his breath steadily fanning your face and the warmth that radiates through his chest. You don’t pull away as his head lowers, keeping your gaze steady with his, admiring the amethyst hue of his lone eye that twinkles against the low street lights. 

A snakes his hand around your hips, which normally you’d slap away if it was any other man. But he was different. A rare gentleman who bought you a single winter rose even when you were five minutes late, let you devour the fries off his plate, and hashed your steak without asking. 

You wanted him to kiss you and perhaps even more. 

You wouldn’t say no. If anything you’d whimper out a simple “please” if it came to that. 

However, just as you expect his lips, it doesn’t come. He pulls away with a lupine smirk on his face, waiting for a response to a question you did not hear.

You cough away the slight embarrassment, “What?” 

“I asked what your password was,” 

Before you process how he did it, you see him wave the gray screen of your phone around your face, waiting for the six digit code. 

Oh. 

“I got your number but you did not get mine and you’re gonna need it when I take you out to dinner again.” The blonde in front of you points out. 

True.

It almost feels too goofy revealing the code that multiple of your friends tease you for. Nevertheless, you stutter out the numbers: one, two, three, four, five, and six. 

You hear him dryly laugh, shaking his head side to side as he types out the three sets of numbers. “Mmm, you need a better password, darling. One might think you want your personal information stolen,” He teases. You shift your thighs to a close at the term of endearment, already feeling the slightest tingles in a place where you desired him the most. 

You make a sound of agreement making a mental note to change it later tonight. After he hands back your phone, he combs back the loose silvery hair out of his face into a neat bun that well flatters his face. “Take mine for example; it’s five, twenty-two, one-thirty. Easy to remember.” 

“Is that your cat’s birthday?” You questioned. 

“No. It’s the day we matched on Tinder.” 

You are lost for words. Not even you knew the exact date you matched with him, only knowing it was around a few weeks ago. Judging by your reaction, he knew what you were thinking. 

After a few more rounds of flirtatious conversations, you both decided to call it a night, waving each other goodnight as you watched as he sped up in a black, shiny Dragon T6, a vintage motorcycle that was the second most precious thing he owned. (The first being Vhagar). You’d be lying if that wasn’t one of the list of reasons why you swiped right. A tall Valyrian man, with long locks, that rode a motorcycle definitely modeled the countless dark romance books you’d spent hours reading. 

To your frustration, the price of Uber had doubled the amount you’d paid for hours ago. Not even Uber Share happened to be near your price range. For ten gold dragons, you could buy a week’s worth of groceries!

So you sighed, turning off your phone. Your usual bus was still in service and way cheaper than the ridiculous prices of Uber. And while it was too late to be out by yourself, it was a risk you were willing to take. 

As you rummage through your wallet for some copper coins, you hear a deep, rumbling sound of an engine revving up close to where you stand. 

It’s him. Braking his bike on the side of the road where you are. His expensive Lysene suit coat no longer hugged his body, wearing only a white dress shirt that was half unbuttoned, giving you an impeccable view of his perfectly rounded cleavage and the multiple hidden tattoos you didn’t know he had. 

“Hop in,” He says, pointing his head to the side. It was not a request but a demand. 

You tilt your head, unsure whether to say yes or no. “Is it safe?” You ask. His chest moves, seemingly laughing as he opens the visor of his helmet. “Of course it is. I’m a cautious driver, never had an accident and I don’t think I ever will. I made sure to drink water after a glass of wine, so I’m not under the influence.” 

He narrows his eye, observing the hesitation written throughout your face. He offers the spare helmet from his bag and hopes that it will coax the uneasiness. 

“If you’re so dubious about it then by all means the bike is yours to drive.” 

It’s your turn to laugh because the thought of you riding something of high value and rarity seemed absurd and silly. You were someone who did not have experience in driving in general whilst also being terrified of the narrow and steep roads of King’s Landing. 

But there was no humor in A’s eye. 

“You’re not serious are you?” 

He powers off the bike before he scoots back from his seat. “I am.” He eagerly pats the spot he has saved for you. 

“You do realize that this is a Dragon T6, right? They practically don’t make these anymore!” You gesture your hands around the expensive looking machine that was probably worth more than your left kidney. 

He clicks his tongue, crossing his arms on his chest. “What’s your point?”

You scoff playfully, “My point is that manufacturers don’t make these anymore and if I crash it–”  

“–You should have a little more faith in yourself. Maybe this will come naturally to you but you’ll never know if you don’t try.” 

You can’t help but exhale in slight failure. This was a conversation you knew you couldn’t win with him. “Look, I’m not going to pressure you into something you don’t feel comfortable doing but I happen to be a great teacher. And if you do crash I’ll buy another, they aren’t that expensive anyways.” The Valyrian man shrugs as if thousands, or hundred thousands of gold dragons were nothing. 

You mutter a “fine” under your breath which makes him all giddy with excitement and slides the helmet down your head. He double checks if it's secured before he lifts you to sit properly on his bike. 

“Or I have one or two things in mind of how you could repay me.” 

Every single piece of information he hurled your way was taken deep into your head. And you did your best to pay attention to it all under the sharp needles of nerves going through your spine. At some point he had given you little rubs up and down your back to soothe your nerves. The effect was anything but that, instead all you could think about was how his hands would feel against the bareness of your body.

Fuck. 

You tried to push those lewd thoughts away as he demonstrated the anatomy of the Dragon T6. The ignition was a little red switch right below the speedometer, whilst the clutch was on the left hand side and the accelerator in your right. The gear shift was something you had to get used to as it was not on your eye level but rather a small little lever near your foot. 

Once he feels you’ve gotten the grasp of how everything works it was time for the ultimate test. “Alright now we start. Are you ready?” He asked with an eager smile tugging his lips. 

No.

You nod your head, adjusting the mirrors to match your height. You feel the tips of his fingers lift and turn your chin towards him, “Use your words, darling.” There it was that name again that made you clutch your thighs together. You audibly gulp, “Y-yes I’m ready.”

“Good,” His hands squeeze at your hip bones to bring you closer to him. Your eyes widen almost comically to what you assume is his cock pressing insistently onto your ass. It was hard, and through the thin material of your dress you could feel it throbbing full of want and need. Gods, how will you ever focus now?

A brief image flashed through your mind of how much and what was packing underneath his undergarments. The length and thickness and how it would feel wrapped around your palm as you’d stroke him from base to tip, or the taste of him as you’d take him inside your mouth, or having his full length stuffed deep inside you as he fucked you dumb. 

Something tells you that he knows what you are thinking but neither of you speak about it. 

Finally, he takes your hands onto the handles of the clutch and the accelerator and you, being a step ahead, check if the gear is on neutral before you release the clutch and to your satisfaction it is. The blonde behind you smiles at you proudly like a teacher would to their student. 

“Now, you’re gonna slowly release the clutch and twist the accelerator slightly…there you go, good girl. You’re doing such a good job.” He coos at your ear. 

The beat of your heart raced almost out of your chest. You weren’t sure if it was the excitement of a small accomplishment or the low timbre of his voice praising you but you welcomed it. 

With confidence you didn’t know you had, you decided to drive the rest of the way to your apartment without complications and took up every tip the man behind you advised. The cool air kissing your skin and the adrenaline wildly pumping through your veins, awoke something in you and slowly you began to comprehend why A loved riding. 

You had felt like a small bird taking its first flight through the skies. 

When you both reached the parking lot to your apartment, you returned his helmet and a small part lingering inside you did not want to let it go. You enjoyed it and the freedom it brought you.  

“That was so fun! I can’t believe it was that easy. Think I need to save me up for one of these,” You quipped patting the bike. 

He throws his head back to let out an amused laugh, “Or I can just give you this one,” A tone of nonchalant laced through his voice. 

You look at him baffled, “I was–” 

“–But first we need to get you your license before I–” 

“–Absolutely not, I was jesting.” You snipped, making him roll his eyes with a slight pout drawing out his lips.

“You’re stubborn and difficult, has anyone told you that?” You chortle thinking of the numerous times you’ve been called that. 

“Plenty of times but I reckon this won’t be the last.” 

He hums tucking a loose piece of hair behind your ear, “I guess I have to fuck it out of you.”

You blink.

The hue of your cheeks increased tenfold, your feet and body became paralyzed to what he had just confessed. 

Had he just said that to shut you up? If so it worked. 

You didn’t know how to respond to something as bold as that and to your inclination you lowered your head but the blonde behind you couldn’t have that. You felt the tips of his fingers roughly grip your jaw to meet his gaze. The amethyst hue of his eye turned into a darker shade of violet as he eyed between your eyes then your lips. 

Every part of you screamed for him to kiss you or to do something to appease the longing. 

You instinctively parted your lips when his head began to dip towards your lips. The tip of his nose brushed delicately against your own then it slowly trailed to sniff at your neck, the sweet smell of spiced peaches. 

“Nyke jaelagon ao,” He whispered in his mother language. 

“Pār emagon issa,” You said before you mentally said ‘fuck it’ and knocked the wind out of him with a kiss. 

He lets out a mix between a growl and a groan as he feels your wandering hands tugging the roots of his hair. Something you yearned to do ever since you saw how long and silky his hair was. 

And Gods did it meet your expectations. 

His lips moved against yours most ardently and with equal fervor. It was hungry and needy the way your teeth clashed with his, tongues dancing for dominance until you hissed when he bit your lower lip. 

You melted into his warm embrace, deciding to tease him by rubbing your palm on his clothed length, detecting a damp patch. You shot your eyes open, separating away your lips. 

“Did you just cum?” You panted heavily. 

A smirked, “I came when you first got on the bike and I was about to cum right now.” 

You quirked a brow, “That’s what did it for you?” Redness coated his cheeks and before you knew it his lips were on you again and his hands lifted the hem of your dress, exposing the black lacy panties you wore just for him. 

“Incase you get lucky,” Your best friend Sara teased just the day before when you and her took a shopping trip to a Lysene lingerie store. 

Through some imaginary telepathic communication, you thanked Sara. 

He groaned feeling the wetness that gathered through your folds. You weren’t just wet, you were dripping like honey on a hot summer’s day. A mischievous idea popped into his mind, something so lewd that made the head of his cock twitch with excitement. 

You squealed as he swiftly turned you around and twisted the ignition switch on. Was he going to make you drive in this state? 

“Move your panties to the side.” He commanded behind you. 

You pushed away the curiosity and did what he bid you to do. “Good girl. Now lean forward a bit.” You shifted yourself forward until you could feel the warm metal of his seat pressing tenaciously at your bare cunt. 

A gasp turned into drawn out moans as the blonde behind you revved the accelerator at a speed that made stars appear in your eyes. It felt good, so obscenely good that all thoughts about being in a public setting flew right over your head. 

You began to grind yourself with the vibrations, creating as much friction to your bud as you could. 

“That’s it, darling,” He encouraged behind you, increasing power to the accelerator just enough for your arousal to coat his bike. “Fuck yourself on my Dragon.” 

You clenched around nothing, whining as you felt the pure waves of ecstasy slithering down your spine. It was unlike anything you ever felt, not even the vibrator you owned made you topple over the edge.

In ten seconds or less, you loudly moaned, not caring who heard or saw you, as your legs shaked and the coil around your stomach loosened, cumming absolutely hard. 

Your limbs felt entirely spent as if you ran three laps around Rhaenys’ hill. 

“Mmm, do not get too comfortable, now, darling.” He boasted smugly as his fingers scoop your honey to his lips, humming at the delicious taste. “I haven’t even fucked you senseless yet and after witnessing this I want nothing more but to ruin your ability to walk straight for week.” 

A low whine escaped your lips at the thought of him roughly taking you. “Is that what you want?” He questioned, lowering the straps of your dress to expose your breasts to his gaze. 

You sighed contently, feeling his tongue enclosing around your perk nipple. “Yes please,” You tenderly loop your fingers through his hair. 

“I promise I will never make you beg,” He murmurs against your breast, “But you sound so pretty when you do.” 

He had kept true to his word as he not only bent you over his bike as he fucked you raw, but took you three more rounds on your couch, bed and shower until you absolutely passed out in his arms. And for the rest of the week you couldn’t walk straight without limping. Thanks to Aemond Targaryen. 

general taglist: @dreaming-for-an-escape @marvelescvpe @omgisrdj @ramsip @silentf @thenightmistress @dixie-elocin @namelesslosers @gigi-panecillo @laureeedn @watercolorskyy @seabasscevans @kittendoll05 @fullmoonworshipper @bunbunbl0gs @summerposie @dusicapopilic @tulips2715 @kckt88 @chaoticwinnercupcake @folksriddle @ficsandsin @nyx-daughterofchaos98 @qweencrimson @slytherized @qyburnsghost @tofujiji @saturnssrings @janeety @thought--bubble @theunburt @mandiiblanche @iamkookiesforyou @jeben196 @just-a-harmless-patato @moneypriestess @ladymoon666 @angelinap09

empty is who I couldn't tag sowwy besties.

[sstan-hoe]

From mistakes, we grow

Pairing: Aemond Targaryen x fem!reader

Warning. angst, mention of pregnancy, divorce AU, modern AU, fluff

Summary: Two hearts, separated by a mistake made in haste. Aemond was never so determined to mend wounds as he wanted to mend the bleeding one of his marriage.

You sat in a neatly decorated conference room. The walls are white, and a glass front looks over downtown King's Landing behind you. The room was bright and oddly warm for a conference room of a law firm. Probably feng shui.

A large glass table separated you from your future ex-husband. Aemond, ever the notorious perfectionist, sat in a black three-piece suit and black tie. You wouldn’t have picked that combination out for him. You would have given him a little speck of colour like his favourite sapphire blue tie. But he wasn’t at home anymore. He had moved into a penthouse where his grandfather’s real estate company belonged. The blue tie hanging in your closet, alone and forgotten.

His hair was falling like a waterfall over his shoulders. Neatly tied back in the middle on the back of his neck. Not your preferred hairstyle, you liked his man-bun more. His bangs framed his chiselled face. A look that made your panties drop in an instant.

You closed your eyes momentarily, banning those thoughts out of your head. You sat in this room, in front of him, to finalise the divorce and tie the loose ends. Fumbling with the handle of your bag, you calmed yourself down a bit. The blue bag he had bought you with his first hard-earned money he received after his first case. He was so proud when he bought it for you. You had beamed that day too, as he told you he had won.

He never lost a case in his entire career. Your stomach churns at the reminder.

Your lawyer and his discussing the terms of the shared custody. Your daughter was only four. Still in kindergarten. None the wiser why daddy wasn’t home.

Your eyes focused on the skin of your thumb as you began to scratch it. Aemond wanted to reach out and stop you from tearing your soft skin. A bad habit you developed during your college years. His heart ached as he saw the blood oozing out of the small wound.

Your eyes widened as your lawyer argued with you giving up your career as a lawyer during your final years of law school because you had fallen pregnant. Your breathing became heavy, your hands clammy. The familiar weight on your chest weight heavy. „I need a break.“ You choked out softly. All eyes are on you.

You pushed your chair away and got up, rushing out of the conference room. You were all too familiar with this office. Aemond had been working here as a paralegal during law school, supporting your growing family. He had worked here since he passed the bar test and became a lawyer. Even got promoted to junior partner just six months ago.

Your heart hammered in your chest. Six months ago all this began. When he came home that night, kissing your cheek and telling you he was now junior partner.

He had promised to be home that night for Maeya’s first tooth she would put under her pillow. He wasn’t there like all the other times he promised to be there but wasn’t. Your daughter fell asleep with the tooth in her hand cradled to her chest. She told you over and over again that her daddy would come. And he would watch her but it underneath. It sounded like Maeya was convincing herself at that point.

But it wasn’t your disappointment of him not being there or that he forgot about it. It was the hidden disappointment in your daughter’s eyes that brought you to your breaking point. You couldn’t take it anymore.

You walked on, hearing his quick steps following you. He called your name several times. Trying to gain your attention. Reaching you right before you turned the corner.

“You told your lawyer~” You held up your hand. Aemond immediately stopped. “I need air.” Your voice was breathless and small, kicking his overprotectiveness into overdrive. His eyes widened as he heard your whimpering voice. The panic in your eyes. He nodded curtly before leading you to the office balcony.

You began to shiver, a sign your adrenaline was wearing off. He took off his jacket, laying it over your shoulder. You looked at him with a soft smile. A smile he missed so much in the last months. He felt alive again standing in front of you.

“I told my lawyer I gave up law school to take care of Maya. I never said I regretted it. Because I don’t. But apparently, she thinks I do.” You walked over to the railing, watching the busy streets below. “You know I hated law school. But my parents made me do it. You gave me an out. A bit unconventional but I never regretted it. And you know how much I love my flower shop.”

Aemond smiled softly as he listened to you. Your parents had pressured you into law school. Wanting you to fulfil their fucked-up legacy of a lawyer dynasty.

He remembered the day you told him you were pregnant. It was during a stressful exam month. Your period was late. You put it off due to stress, it had happened before. He took your word. Believing you, it was your body, even if he had your period marked in his calendar.

You had screamed through the apartment. Jumped around in glee as he stood in the doorway of the tiny bathroom. How you had sung so happily that you were with his child. His anxiety disappeared as you fell around his neck and kissed him passionately.

He had never seen you so relieved as the day you dropped out of law school. Not even after giving birth.

“I know.” He mumbled softly. Standing next to you. Close but not touching you.

“I can’t do this.” You whimpered again. The corners of your eyes fill with tears.

Aemond looked down at you. His eyes trailing your shivering body. The need to hold you close grew the longer he stared at you. “Can’t do what?” There it was, the moment of truth you had been waiting for. “I don’t want to get a divorce. It was stupid. I don’t know what ran through my mind. This mess is all my fault.”

As he saw this beautiful woman ramble on about how she had caused all this he couldn’t take it. You had sacrificed so much for him and his career. You, who would have become a great lawyer if you wanted to? Even better than him.

Instead, you worked in a rundown flower shop next to campus until you could afford your own. Not wanting to take his money or the money from his trust fund you both swore only to touch for your daughter.

His heart broke into millions of pieces as you blamed yourself for the divorce. “Stop, darling.” The term of endearment fell from his lips so effortlessly. He held your shoulders, softly squeezing them as he heard your hateful words.

“It was my fault. I am a workaholic who forgot a lot of milestones in our daughter’s life. I am the one who took you for granted. A mistake I made time and time again. Regretting it every day but still I continued.” He took a deep breath. His body shaking in anger at himself. “My darling, you are incredible and flawless. Don’t you ever blame it on yourself when you should blame me? My love, my heart, my world don’t you dare go to that dark place when your anger should be on me.”

You looked up at him. Your tears falling down your cheeks. “I can never hate you.” Your voice cracked as you sobbed. Aemond finally pulled you into his chest, not caring for any makeup stains from your tears leaving stains on his shirt. He needed you to know you are loved. Wrapped up in warmth.

“I can’t do this without you.” You sobbed again. Your face pressed into his chest. “I don’t want to do it alone.”

Aemond tightened his arms around you. “You won’t. I will cut down on my office hours. I can work from home now. A small perk of being junior partner now.” He kissed the top of your head. “Not that I will be working so much when I am home. I’ll take care of the household while you are gone. By the way, you need to teach me how to cook. I have been eating takeout and convenience food for the last six months.” His voice was sheepish like a boy telling his parent he did something wrong.

Your small giggle warmed his heart. He kissed the top of your head once more. “I can help you with that. I will be at home a lot too.” You looked up at him with a teary smile. You never looked more beautiful to him than in this moment.

A pale silver-blonde brow was raised as your words rang in his head. “Why? Is everything okay with the shop? Did I do something wrong? Did you lose it?” He spiralled down a hole. His mind was racing if he had done the right calculations for you. If he had missed something.

You had never been good with numbers. Always give him your finance books and bills to go over it until the late hours. He never minded. Knowing he was helping you pursue your dream like you did with his.

“No, the shop is fine.” You mumbled sheepishly. “I will take a break to raise our kids.” His mind stopped reeling and he looked down at her. Only now he felt it. The telltale of a small bump hidden under a thick wool sweater.

“That day…” You swallowed thickly at mentioning that fateful day. “So many things clashed. Mae was so overexcited about her tooth. An order had not been delivered on time. There was a bridezilla trying to rip me off. I was nauseous the whole day and I found out I was pregnant. And you were not there when I needed you. I was not in the right mind when I demanded the divorce.”

Aemond’s heart broke once more. He had come home late, slightly drunk and had nearly gone straight to bed if Sara hadn’t stopped him and told him her piece of mind that night.

You pressed yourself tighter to his chest. “I called you so many times before I hung up again in the last months. I was so scared I hurt you so much that you hated me.” He remembered those calls. Always picking up and waiting for you to talk only to hear the click of the phone as the call ended.

“I am sorry I was not the best at the moment. I know I buried myself in my work and rarely left it at the front door. I let you down even if I swore I wouldn’t. My darling, I never wanted to be my father but I had become him. Taking you and Mae for granted even though you are the ones that spur me on.”

He leaned down, kissing you deeply with all the love he held for you. “Love, I will move mountains if I can’t be there for you at the moment. I would never abandon you, Maeya or this little one ever again.” He leaned his forehead against yours. “And if I do, I will personally ask Baela to frame me for anything and put me in jail.” A small chuckle escaped you at Aemond’s words. His cousin, a pretty damn good detective in the King’s Landing police force, would do it in a heartbeat. You were her best friend and the godmother to Maeya.

“Let’s go back inside, burn the papers, pick up our little girl from kindergarten and get lunch at the Dornish restaurant we all love so much.” He whispered, kissing your forehead once more. You closed your eyes. Relief washed over your body as Aemond guided you out of his workplace. Holding on to him and never letting go again.

Main Masterlist

Can't get enough? Tell me about it...

[sstan-hoe]

Tear In My Heart

Aemond never cared for tourneys, for hunts, nor for any sort of pageantry; he supposed marriage fell in that category. To be frank, he never cared for you either, but then he heard whispers about you and his brother, and then thought, maybe he somehow did.

Aemond Targaryen x Baratheon!Reader x Aegon Targaryen | 3k+ | cw: fem!reader, reader has baratheon feature (dark hair), wife!reader, arranged marriage, jealousy, possessiveness, infidelity, men being men, angst, violence/hunting for sport/death, typos, etc.

A/N: mind the tags! This is part of my graduation celebration 🩷🩷🩷🩷 slayed college. Let's pretend I posted this on schedule lmao. The hotd trailers really brought me to life. Part of this fic is inspired by the 2014 french beauty and the beast film.

Tagging: @pinksirensong @aralezinspace @delicious-xx @deniixlovezelda @targaryenmoony @risefallrise @slavyanskiyahui @thebullship @sa3losa @lxdyred

Brother.

What was he?

The word was a stone, heavy but worthless. Nothing ever came from a brother besides bluntness, brashness, and bludgeoning burdens.

No kindness befell Aemond from his brother Aegon. Likewise, Aegon long knew to expect nothing but vexation from Aemond.

Yet even the most broken of bonds are bound back under the great unifier— Death.

Never before had the brothers worked towards a common goal so fast, so easily, and all without needing to utter a word. Together, they carry their game back to their camp, equally ignoring the burn of their arms.

Aemond loathed hunting expeditions. He loathed it then, he wholeheartedly abhorred it now. He regrets forcing himself into this godforsaken trip. He should have let you go on it alone, like always.

He regrets letting his slimy older brother getting under his skin. He regrets listening to all the rumors about Aegon and you. But in his defense—

"I MAY BE BLIND IN ONE EYE," Aemond snaps, causing you to flinch. He had never raised his voice at you like this before. He despises how shocked you look, how your bright eyes accused that he was wrong. It makes him fume, "but I see clearer than most."

Aemond is further irritated when your eyes began to water.

You, who was otherwise so well-kept and pristine, were falling apart in front of him. The wayward strands of dark hair framing your face irked him. The momentary thought of his children inheriting this trait added fuel to his anger. If, that is, whatever child you'd bear was even his to begin with.

"You are whoring yourself to my bovine brother!"

Your chest heaves heavily beneath your nightgown, "you would happily believe any slander to my name."

He scoffs when tears begin to fall from your cheeks. He paces towards the bed, unbothered if the issue is left unresolved. He'd rather sleep than watch you sob. The latter left a rather bitter taste in his mouth.

"What have I been but docile and serving?"

"Serving?" Aemond turns back, one eye narrowed, "to whom? Your greed and lust?"

"TO YOU!"

Aemond slightly pulls his head back, not expecting you to scream. He watches a spirit take over you. It was similar to that of the one that sometimes causes him to stare at you from across the room.

You suck in a breath, "do you not complain about Aegon day in and day out?" You blink rapidly and point harshly, "do you not wish him away and want him out of your hair, husband?"

"Don't you twist the truth for your-"

"I played his keeper so that you wouldn't have to," you motion, "I kept him in check so that you could do your errands, help your grandfather, go on your dragon rides, and yet you say you see clearer than most?"

"I saw you," he hisses, grabbing your shoulders.

You gasp and go rigid.

"I saw you embrace him in the cloak of night, in the corner of the gardens, where you thought no one could see."

You catch betrayal in his words, but it only causes you to chuckle dryly, "had you not lurked in the darkness, you'd have known he vomited on my shoulder and nearly passed out. Perhaps you would have felt compelled to help me drag him to his chambers."

Aemond clenches his jaw. He does not believe you.

You swat his hands away. You shake your head, "you're just a man. You're bored of what you have and want what you cannot."

"Ha. You are delusional if you think I want you."

You cannot help the sound that leaves your lips. You cannot help how you slap a hand to your mouth.

In that split second, Aemond spots the hurt on your face before you walk past him to your side of the bed.

You pull the covers down, "worry not. I've long accepted you will never want me."

"Oh," he growls, grabbing your arm before you can sit down, "and is that why you turn to my brother? Or why you leap at every chance to leave?'"

You wince as you turn to him.

"Now that I think about it, why is it you're invited to hunting expeditions so often?" Aemond demands under an angered breath, "d'you seek refuge in the-"

"I RUN INTO THE FOREST!" you hiss, shoving him away. His grip left a sting on your flesh and you rub it as you continue to burstp, "I run into the forest and let my instincts take over! I let myself shift into a beast and I run wild like a deer, begging to be shot down."

Aemond expression sours at your reaction.

"I live my curse as a Baratheon woman and morph into a doe, bullied by stags and dragons alike," you shudder, tears running down your face.

"Don't you play the victim here," he rebuts, "your family offered you to mine for power."

"Then why is it that I am so powerless, husband?"

Aemond doesn't bother watching you walk away, slamming the door shut on your way out.

Aggravation spills from his mouth through screams when silence drowns him. There is an ache in his chest that intensifies. It doesn't take long for him to question why he felt so hurt when what he was is angry, angry at you.

He then finds himself imagining you throwing yourself at Aegon, weeping on his lap. He imagines Aegon brushing your dark tresses back and drying your tears. It infuriates him more.

And as he convinced himself whilst in fumes that the reason why he hated your leave was how rudely you left, parts of his nightmares where coming true.

Aegon saw you storming down the hall in nothing but a nightgown, a cloak, and tears. He was too drunk to actually ascertain if you had no shoes on, but he was partially sure that there were truly tears running down your neck.

He was shocked by how shocked you were when he grabbed you by the arms and stopped you in your tracks. He knew you to have eyes that could spot a needle in a haystack, or real jewels from fake ones ten paces away. How could you not have noticed him when he wasn't even trying to hide how he staggered down the halls on his way back to his room?

"Spooked, kitty cat?" Aegon furrows his brows.

Your skin definitely had a damp sheen to it. Your gaze upon him somehow always hurt his thorax but it was amplified now with how puffy and red your eyes were.

"Where 'r'you storming off to?" he slurs.

You push him away, but even then you managed to offer consideration, as it was clear he was one shove away from dropping. You say, "unhand me, Aegon. I have no time for you tonight."

He pouts, blinking slowly, "and here I thought we were friends now."

You laugh. Your laugh has always had the power to make his spine tingle, but it was different this time. You shake your head, "the enemy of my enemy is not my friend."

Aegon slowly releases you. He clenches his jaw and sighs, "so it's Aemond who did this."

You scoff as you break away from him, "oh, spare me."

He watches you walk away from him. He feels hurt by your coldness. How quickly Aemond reaps your warmth. He calls out, "from what?"

You stop and snap from over your shoulder, "from whatever it is you think you can do!"

He was sober now, and his throat was dry at that.

"My burden is mine. I am his wife."

"And am to be king," he whispers, taking a step forward. He watches as you heave. He's long wondered what it would feel like to hear it as you did so beneath him.

"But you are not king," you reply, stepping back to maintain the space between you, "and you have your sister wife."

"Who would deny me?" he peers his face closer to you, "even a fool would deny me nothing."

"I would," you rebut.

He freezes.

"I am prize to you," you muffle out. Your manage an even voice even as hurt baptizes your cheeks, "meat between your teeth. You and him are cut from the same cloth."

"I AM NOT MY BROTHER, " Aegon snaps.

You flinch, just as you did Aegon. You shake your head and force a smile, "of course not, your grace."

The next moment, Aegon realizes he may not have been as sober as he thought, considering how quickly you fled him and how delayed his reaction to it was.

But then again, it was probably just you and your effect on him. After all, he managed to evade the incoming attack from behind, albeit momentarily; Aemond's senses were far shaper than Aegon's.

He grabs his older brother by the collar and shoves him against the wall. "All my life, I watched you be spoon-fed your desires, yet still you covet my bride," the younger Targaryen rages.

Aegon grins in challenge. He chuckles, "as it appears, you covet your own wife from me, brother."

Without warning, the first born is hurtled to the ground. He lets out an undignified grunt after he collides with the stone. He gasps when Aemond lunges at him.

It was only at this moment, he realized his brother without his eye patch. Dare he say that the sight of the sapphire added to the madness in is functioning eye.

Aemond produces a dagger and presses it to Aegon's neck. The former seethes, "I have every right to demand satisfaction from you."

Aegon groans when the cold steel kisses his skin too tenderly.

"You wouldn't last a second against me," the prince spits with venom, "brother."

"Do it then," Aegon screws his eyes shut, "and watch your marriage crumble before your very eyes."

Aemond throws his dagger to the side and slams Aegon once, "DO NOT TRY TO TRICK ME! I saw her reel from your touch."

"Oh," he utters through pain, "just as she reels from you, I bet."

Aemond releases him with a growl and heaves while looking down at him. He paces around; Aegon props himself up on his elbows, slowly coming to a stand.

Before Aegon can goad him on any further, Aemond grabs his dagger and pushes past him.

Both of them anxiously await your return that night. Aegon falls asleep whilst waiting for word from a servant, Aemond fights sleep whilst waiting for you to return to bed.

Yes, in Aemond's defense, the rumors about you and his brother was enough reason to pick a fight. In his defense, it was his right.

And for the first time, when you received invite for that hunting expedition with your cousin, no longer did he send you off on your own. He was keen to keep you at his side at all times, especially because Aegon weaseled his way into joining.

Aemond did not know why your cousin was so against the idea of hunting a stag. He was, in fact, offended by the Baratheon's adamant decline. The lesser lord dared even imply such a beast was beyond his caliber. He wasn't surprised you sided with your him, imploring Aemond to try his hand another season. What spurred him on was how Aegon agreed with you and how you looked at him when he smiled your way.

Yet, the spite he bore for his brother was the same thing that led to cooperation with him.

That night, when you thought he was sleeping, Aemond followed you outside. When you were nowhere to be seen when he got out of your shared tent, he stormed to his brother's, sure to catch you in the act.

All he got was a startled brother, cuddling up to a pillow when he ripped his blanket off, a naked one at that.

And after a bit of arguing, Aemond saw a shadow of a deer passing outside the tent. That was how the brothers ended up in the forest. Aemond was intent to hunt that stag and Aegon was intent to watch him fail.

Again, in his defense, it was dark. In his defense, of course he wouldn't believe Aegon when he said that they were stalking a doe and not a stag.

Aemond was satisfied with his shot when he heard the beast cry out in pain. Aegon was satisfied when they found the writhing deer to be, in fact a doe.

It was common knowledge not to hunt the female of a species, yet the two debated whether or not they should let the injured animal go free or put it out of its misery. They thought they received the answer when the animal dropped in agony, but instead they received horror that would last them lifetimes upon witnessing the beast morph into a bride.

Your bare body laid before them, stomach pierced with an arrow. No traces of a doe was left, there was only pain and you. Tremors took over your body. Yolur tears flowed as steady as the blood from your gaping wound.

Aemond fell to your side, eye wide as he reached out to you. He thought a touch of your trembling flesh wake him from this nightmare, but it didn't. His mind raced, but he had a moment of clarity when he felt your blood dampen his knees.

He took off his shirt and covered you. You screamed in pain when he tried to carry you by himself, and he glared at his brother when he tried to help.

Aemond does not stop him however, thus, the brothers carried your body back to camp.

When you were laid on your shared bed, Aemond ordered Aegon to wake everyone and ready a carriage back to the city. His brother runs off to do just that.

"This will hurt," Aemond tells you, "but I must cut part of the arrow and bind your wound."

Before he can do so, you wet his face with the blood on your hand as you whine, "why do you weep for me?"

Aemond's brows furrow.

You swipe your thumb on his cheek with great difficulty. "Soon you will have the freedom you desire," you mumble, eyes slowly closing, "as will I."

The pain that courses through you when your husband breaks off part of your arrow prevents you from passing out.

As an extra precaution, Aemond taps your cheek, "keep your eyes fixed on me."

Your sad eyes open. Your tears gush down like rain.

"Is this why you're invited to hunt so often?" he cups your cheek, shaking you slightly, "does your cousin, himself, turn into a stag?"

Your reply does not come easy. You speak between your breaths, "it is a curse from my father... for hunting so many of them..."

There is commotion from outside your tent.

Aemond has the mind to grab some fabric to press on your wound. You cry out again because of this.

"Why didn't you tell me of your affliction?" he speak in panic.

Stabbing pain cuts off the laugh you meant to laugh. Your breath shortens, yet you manage a response, "would you have listened?"

He must admit, all the prayers he ever prayed were only uttered to please his mother, but as Aemond held half your body in the carriage back to King's Landing, as he watched Aegon's tears fall onto you while he held your other half, he prayed as earnestly as any pious man would. He claimed he would be better, he would even share you, if that is what it took to keep you.

And just as easily as Death unified the Targaryen brothers, she collected your soul the same night.

[sstan-hoe]

[sstan-hoe]

𝑷𝒂𝒑𝒂𝒓𝒂𝒛𝒛𝒊

𝒑𝒂𝒊𝒓𝒊𝒏�� �� actor!aemond targaryen × fem!reader

𝒔𝒖𝒎𝒎𝒂𝒓𝒚 — life with aemond is always risky...but not just because of his status in society. No, more because he likes doing risky activities...

𝒘𝒂𝒓𝒏𝒊𝒏𝒈𝒔 — smut, oral (f receiving), dirty talk, getting caught, public sex

𝒏𝒐𝒕𝒆 — well, what more can I say besides the fact, that the new trailers awaked something in me? Team black forever, I'll just take aemond as a prisoner

A happy sigh left your mouth as you leaned your back against Aemond while his fingertips graced along your arms.

He had found a cinema with the opportunity to watch a movie while laying comfortably in your seat and god was it amazing.

And another plus point, the cinema was rather outside the city and as a result not as crowded, meaning no paparazzi or fans were around.

You and Aemond were in the last row, giving your man enough privacy to trail his hand from your arm down to your sweats. “Aemond!” You whisper-shouted trying to slap his hand away but instead he gripped your wrist with his free hand, caging you in between his arms.

“Come on love, live a little…” He chuckled, his lips lightly gazing your cheek.

You rolled your eyes at his words, Aemond lived for those risky sex moments. While you did enjoy them, you often come too close to getting caught.

“Aemond, we almost got caught last time!” You complained as his finger slipped into your panties, and that gods forsaken pussy of your betrayed you once again by getting wet just from his voice.

“Quite a tone you have there...you are really serious huh?” He asked with amusement dripping from his voice.

“You’re soaked for me, my little whore is turned on by getting caught,” Aemond drags his fingers through your folds, rubbing your clit gently. A whimper left your lips as he put pressure into his movements.

Suddenly a white light filled the cinema and it surly wasn’t the movie.

Aemond looked around, his eye scanned his right side and locked with the ones of a paparazzi. The actors face was filled with rage, he pulled his hand away from you and gently pushed you to the side.

“What the actual fuck man? How much of a perv do you have to be, taking a photo of my girl and I? You better get your ass out of here before you don't feel your face anymore, sick fuck!” He yelled at the paparazzi who scrambled out of the theatre.

“Come on, we’re leaving and tomorrow we will go to the police, and I will call my agent.” Aemond promised you softly, taking your hand to help you stand up.

Tears threatened to leave your eyes as you walked out of the cinema. A crowd of paparazzi were waiting outside, all of them making photos of Aemond and you. “Shut those fucking cameras off!” the blonde snapped at one of them who held the camera close to your face.

You could hear them ask questions, but you didn’t know what they said, too focused on getting out of there.

When you were finally inside the car you took a deep breath, though your exhaling was shaky. Aemind grabbed your hand giving it a gently squeeze before starting the engine, “we will be home any second love, I promise,” he whispered while stroking the back of your hand with his thumb.

You nodded at him to let him know that you were listening. He always wanted to here you say that you were with him in situations like this, however at the moment was all you could offer him.

The car came to a stop in front of your apartment, Aemond walked over to your side and opened the door for you helping you out of the car. “I’m gonna make you a hot chocolate, how does that sound?”

His thumb graced over your cheekbone as he smiled at you. You didn’t answer his question, instead you slowly realized what happened. “They saw us…that man took a photo of us, while you had you hand in my pants…oh god they caught us! What are we going to do?”

“Tomorrow I will go to the police, make an indication, call my agent and we will sue them yeah?”

“But what if they use it against us? I don’t believe it's allowed to do that,” your eyes were filled with fright as your mind imagined all the possibilities, on how this could be used against you.

“Maybe, but what that man did was far worse than our little adventure and even if they use it against us do you know how many people are on our side? Aegon, Rhaenyra, Daemon, Haelena and those were only a few!” He tried to reassure. You wanted to believe him so bad but a voice in your head told you the oppisite.

“And they won’t think I’m a…slut?” “Oh, god my love no! You are not a slut, it was my fault we got caught, okay? I made you do this, it's all my fault.”

His large rough, but gentle hands cupped your cheeks as the tears you tried to hold back streamed down your face. Aemond lead you to the couch and brought a tissue up to your cheeks, drying your tears.

“It's you and me against the world, yeah? We did that and it was okay, you are not a slut, and that man is a sick perv who will get at least liberty punishment and with our lawyer he will end up in prison.”

The tears slowly stopped, your vision was still blurry, but you could make out how Aemond looked at you, with so much love and care. “I love you and I’m sorry we got caught my beautiful girl,” he whispered against your lips.

“I love you too,” you replied sealing your lips in a soft, slow kiss that was filled with passion.

“I’m going to make sure that paparazzi gets what he deserves,” Aemond promised you as he carefully pulled away from your soft lips, giving you one last kiss before he stood up.

“Hot chocolate?” “With marsh-“ “Marshmallows I know,” he gave you a cute smile before vanishing in the kitchen.

He knew that by tomorrow the whole internet would be flooded with the picture, but with you by his side he knew that he could go through hell and back, with smile as if you just told him, you loved him.

[sstan-hoe]

The Ties That Bind Us

Pairing: Ex-Husband!Bucky Barnes x F!Reader

Word Count: 5.7k

Summary: Even though Bucky is your ex-husband, you still have to see him often because of your shared son. But the heated tension, the spark that is still very much alive after your divorce, finally reaches its peak when you come home from your date.

Warnings: Mentions of divorce, small amount of angst, mutual pining, jealousy, kissing, smut, oral (fem receiving), daddy kink, p in v sex, derogatory names, spitting, happy ending.

Author’s Note: Unbeta’d, warning graphics and dividers by @rookthorne

“You look so pretty, Mama!” You caught your son’s reflection in the mirror, his bright blue eyes wide and in awe as you finished the final touches up of your makeup. 

You were about to respond, but the words died on your tongue at the sight of Bucky’s large form rounding the corner into the bathroom. He leaned against the doorframe, crossing his arms over one another. “She absolutely does, cupcake.”

The intensity of his stare made you gulp silently, and you diverted your eyes back to your son.   

Bucky had been doing that a lot recently —looking at you differently, more longing in his eyes than usual. 

“Thank you, baby,” you said, ignoring Bucky in favour of showing your appreciation to your son. The knot in your stomach was wound too tight to try and unravel the conflict that ravaged in your mind. “You’re going to be good for your Dad tonight, aren’t you?” 

Your son did his best to try and hide the cheeky smirk on his lips — one that resembled his father a little too much. “Of course Mama, I be a good boy.” 

Unable to help the smile growing on your face, you brought him into your embrace, snuggling him tightly until he let out a loud squeal when you tickled his stomach. “I mean it, trouble. No staying up late and no ice cream before bed.” 

Instantly, his puppy eyes fell to his father, an innocent pout on his lips. “But Dadda—“ 

“Sorry kid,” Bucky held strong. Glancing to you before looking back to his son, “Mama’s rules.” 

“Oh, shucks,” your son sighed as you laughed. 

From the outside looking in, the three of you seemed like a perfect family. Picturesque and ideal — white picket fences enclosing a home that was full of love and laughter, wholesome family dinners and celebrations for each loved one. 

But things were never as simple as you wished. 

The sobering thought made your laughter die in your throat, and you checked the time on your lit up phone screen. It was almost time for your date and you were wary of being late. “Okay, cupcake. I’ve gotta get moving so I can make it on time.” 

“Aw,” your son whined, and you ruffled his hair as you made your way out of the bathroom. The air was knocked out of your lungs as you squeezed by Bucky, the scent of his aftershave he had worn since you first met him filled your nose and overtook your senses. 

You barely suppressed a moan, a sinful combination that your mind begged you to inhale one more time, while another internal voice scolded you. The lingering touch of his fingers ghosting over your waist made it even harder to listen to sense. 

Once you reached the hallway, you shook yourself and grabbed your bag from its hook by the door.  The coat over your arm was warm and comfortable as you slipped it over your shoulders. 

The telltale patter of feet over the hardwood floor bounced towards you, along with another set of heavier ones not too far behind. “Where you going this time, mama?” cupcake asked. 

Smiling, you leaned down and tucked a stray lock of deep brown hair behind his ear. “Just for dinner, baby. I won’t be out long and I promise I’ll be back to make you pancakes in the morning, okay, sweetie?” 

He nodded before stepping closer and tiptoeing up to whisper in your ear. “Make sure he treat you good because you deserve whole world.” 

Tears sprung to your eyes, clinging on to your waterline. You blinked them away quickly before your son could notice. 

Though, Bucky did. 

You kissed his forehead, and leaned back to look into his eyes. “You got it, cupcake.” 

Stepping forward, Bucky spoke up. “Why don’t you say goodbye to Mama and go get a movie set up, huh pal? I’ll be with you soon.” 

Before your son left, he hugged you. “Bye Mama, I loves you.” 

You smiled as he ran off. “I love you too, baby — and remember to be good!”

Only Bucky and you were left by the door, your blanket of comfortability was gone and you felt his eyes that held too many memories burning through you. 

“You really do look beautiful,” he vowed. 

Fuck, you internally cursed.

You tried not to look into his eyes while you fumbled with your dress. “Thank you, Bucky.” You quickly shifted the conversation. “If he doesn’t settle then text me, okay? My phone will be on loud and I’ll answer straight away—“ 

“As much as I— We would like you home, I’m sure we’ll survive without you for a couple of hours,” Bucky said, recovering from his hiccup smoothly. 

Your gazes met — you had always gotten lost in his eyes and even all these years later nothing had changed. 

Snapping out of your reverie, you shook your head and unlocked the door. “I’ll um— I’ll be back later.” 

Before you could leave, Bucky caught your hand. “Have fun, Doll.” 

And with all the strength you had, you delicately took your hand out of his, taking note of the tan line of where his wedding ring used to sit. “Bye, James.” 

The date went as expected. 

Your company for the night wasn’t a problem at all. In fact, this was the third date you had both been on together. However, the spark you had so badly tried to ignite through bland conversations and one already ringed out similar interest fell short. 

Every date you had been on since your divorce with Bucky seemed to lack a certain something for you. Although in recent light, you had come to terms with the fact you that no one’s eyes had the same shade of blue you were familiar with. Or made your heart jump in your chest from excited nerves years after your first meeting. 

Simply, you hated the fact you compared every single man to Bucky. 

With a sigh, you unlocked your door, careful to make as little noise as possible as you walked into your home. It was quiet, almost silent, apart from those damned footsteps that eased the weight off your chest and yet caused goosebumps to cascade down the bare skin of your arms.  

Bucky rounded the corner from your kitchen to the open plan living room, a glass of whiskey in his hand in the orange hue of the darkness, provided by a single lit lamp. 

“Hey,” he greeted you, the expression on his face imperceptible. “How was your date?” 

You cleared your throat, struggling to keep your composure from the sight of his tight black T-shirt and denim jeans that deliciously hugged his thighs. “Um yeah— it was— it was okay.” 

Bucky raised an eyebrow in skepticism. “Just okay?” He laughed. “Come on, give me more than that.”

You sighed in defeat. “I told him it was best if we didn’t see each other anymore.” 

Unfortunately, there was only so much of a facade you could fake until it became noticeable to your date. It was an amicable decision with no hard feelings. But, it didn’t help to settle the confusing thoughts in your head. 

Bucky took a swig of his drink, placing it on the hallway side table before he began slowly pacing towards you. 

You couldn’t discern the look in his eyes, the way they feasted on your thighs or your waist. Backing up against the door until you physically couldn’t break free from the heat of his gaze, you could only watch as Bucky drew closer, right until you were a breath apart. 

He brought an arm up, over the top of your head to lean against the door. “Any reason why?” he asked, a husk to his tone that granted you no favours. 

A sudden pulse shot through your nerves, the ache between your thighs intense. It took everything in you to not rub them together. He would notice that you were sure of. 

Desperate to escape what was sure to be a dangerous situation, you quickly slid out of his invisible hold and hastily made your way to the kitchen to pour your own drink. Bucky joined you only seconds later. 

“How was cupcake?” you asked instead, attempting to switch the conversation to a safe topic. “I hope he didn’t cause you too much trouble.” 

“He was good as gold,” he instantly replied, staring you down. A beat later, “He whined about the ice cream situation, but I promised I’d take him out for it tomorrow and he was out like a light  — we had fun.” 

You slightly faltered as you poured the whiskey into a second glass. You didn’t miss his small innuendo of spending more time together.  

“Thanks for looking after him tonight. I know it was pretty useless anyway, but—“ 

Bucky trapped you against the counter as he placed his hand over yours, his deep baritone rumbling in your ears. “Don’t thank me for looking after my own son, you know I’d do it all the time if I could.” He took a deep breath. “If you would let me.” 

No. You couldn’t do this. 

You immediately dropped the bottle of whiskey onto the kitchen countertop, ripping yourself away from his touch to walk away. 

Bucky reached out as he followed you. “Babydoll—“ 

“Don’t fucking call me that,” you scolded, fury in your voice. 

Bucky however, wasn’t deterred. “Doll.”

“No—“

“Will you just—“ he caught you with a firm grip and spun you around to face him. “Will you stop running away from me.” 

The two of you were out of breath from sudden adrenaline, harshly breathing into each other's mouths. The look in Bucky’s eyes was wild, untamed — tortured.

“Tell me you’ve never thought about it — us getting back together.” He gripped onto your arms, his eyes flicking between yours. “Tell me I’m delusional and I’ll walk out that door right now and we’ll never speak of this again.” 

The ache in his voice broke your heart as much as the day you signed the divorce papers. 

“Bucky—“ 

“Please.” He cupped your face with his hands, glancing between your eyes and your lips while his thumb slowly rubbed over them. “I’m a desperate man, baby. I’m desperate for you.” 

You gulped, emotion bubbling over into your voice. “We broke up, Bucky. We’re divorced.” 

He laughed wetly, but there was no humour in his tone. “And that means we can’t try again?” 

The reasons for your separation seemed to blur under his stare. All the ways you weren’t good for each other leaving your mind and only making room for the good. 

“Where the hell is this coming from, Bucky?” You deflected once again. 

Your hands shook as he leaned his forehead against yours. “I can’t stand the thought of seeing you go out with another man again,” he whispered, painfully. “It’s killing me, Babydoll. It should be me.” 

Tears rushed over your cheeks, you were too overwhelmed to hold them back any longer. You sniffled as you glanced down the hall where you son currently lied fast asleep and obvlious. “I can’t hurt our son, Bucky — I can’t.” 

He smiled sadly at you, the crinkle in his eyes ever present but they only made you swoon for him even more. “There’s a reason all those dates don’t ever work out.” 

You couldn’t hear it, couldn’t take what he was trying to say. “Stop it.” 

“I know you’ve been holding back as much as I have.” 

He was pushing you, like he always did and as much as you wanted to curse him, it was working. “Please don’t make me—“

The point of no return came in the form of your most hidden secret spilling from Bucky’s lips. “You still love me, Babydoll.”

Ice ran through your veins, hearing those words out loud that you hadn’t dared let yourself believe. Your mouth gaped open, unable to find the words to deny his accusations until your tether broke. 

“Fine! I’m ruined for anyone else!” you shouted, frustrated and scared — a wild animal trapped in a corner. “You’ve ruined me — is that what you want to hear?”

His plump lips, soft and pink curled up. “It’s exactly what I want to hear.” 

Leaping forward, Bucky crashed his lips against yours. 

He was feverish as you both collided into each other. His hands, unrelenting yet gentle mapped out each and every slope of your body as you stood in the living room, feeling each other for the first time in years. 

“Fuck,” he groaned between kisses. “Fuck, I’ve missed you, baby.” 

Your head spun, dizzy with want. You hadn’t been touched in so long by anyone, never mind your ex-husband and your heart pounded erratically with nerves, excitement and longing. 

Slipping his tongue into your mouth, Bucky kissed you like he was starved, as though you were his only salvation. He ran his fingers through your hair, tugging it harshly to pull you closer to him even though there was no longer any distance between the two of you. 

“You’ve got no idea how bad I need you,” he whined into your mouth. “Need to fuckin’— I just need you.” 

Without you realising, Bucky had pushed you up against the nearest wall and even through denim jeans you could feel the hard shape of his cock while he unabashedly grinded against you. 

You broke for air, gasping as oxygen rushed to your lungs. “You have me, Bucky.” He trailed sloppy kisses down your neck as you panted, desperate to stain your skin with any trace of him. “You can have anything you want.” 

He growled, a sound that caused a gush of wetness to soak your panties. “That’s a dangerous thing to say to me, sweetheart.” 

Ripping away from you, he grabbed your hand and dragged you towards the laundry room on the other side of your house. You struggled to keep up with his fast strides in your heels, but you just about managed as he shoved you through the door and locked it behind him. 

His back was turned to you for a while and you stood nervously fidgeting, waiting for him to face you. His back rose and fell with breathless heaves, as though he was holding back — a feral beast ready to pounce. 

“Babydoll,” he said suddenly, rough and graveled. “I need to know you want this before I fuck the shit out of you.” 

Holy fuck, the mouth on this man. Your mouth grew dry while you struggled to think clearly in his aura. “I— I do—“ you stuttered, lamely.

He slowly turned around, a wolfish gleam in his eyes with adrenaline surging through his veins. He was tense as he took a deep breath. “Say it like you mean it.” 

When you stayed quiet, too hazy to speak, Bucky stalked towards you, lifting your chin up to look him directly in his eyes. “Say. It.”

Closing your eyes, you cleared your mind and swallowed before whispering, “I want you to fuck me until I can’t remember my name, Bucky.” 

He smirked, the kind you knew all too well — deadly. “Atta’ girl.” 

You sqeauled as he suddenly hiked you up into his arms, hands under your thighs so he could place you on top of the washing machine. Laundry detergents and other products you didn’t care to take note of fell from the shelves around you as he pounced on you once again, devouring you whole with his sinful lips. 

“Do you know how much I’ve had to restrain myself, Doll — Mm?” he pressed, covering every inch of bare skin you had to offer with his kisses. “How fuckin’ hard it’s been to not drag you back in the house and take you right then while you get dressed up for someone else?” 

You did. Because you understood more than anyone the pain of having to force yourself away from Bucky when all you had ever wanted was him. 

He unbuckled his belt, the telltale sound of the leather snapping against his hands and the jingle of metal sent bolts of electricity straight to your cunt.  

Your mind couldn’t keep up, your vision blurry with the sudden turn of events. All you knew was that you needed Bucky. 

“Hurry, baby. Please,” you whined. 

Bucky groaned with delight, his eyes rolling to the back of his head while he bit his swollen bottom lip. “Oh, how I’ve missed you begging for me, pretty mama.” 

Rushing to take off his belt, he slid the material through the loops of his jeans and threw it on the floor, not long after hurrying to unzip his fly and shuffle his pants down along with his underwear.

The tip of his cock peaked out of his black briefs and instantly you let out a high pitched moan, even shocking Bucky enough to look back up at you drooling over him. 

“Oh, sweetheart,” he cooed, slightly condescending. “Don’t you worry, Daddy’s gonna take care of you.” 

Bucky revealed the entirety of his cock, the length just as long as you remembered and the girth as thick as you had imagined in your nights alone with your toys that couldn’t compare. 

The slight curve that you could feel the ghost of pleasure from to this day caused you to bite your lip and squirm in your place. 

Without waiting for Bucky, you began shifting the bottom of your dress up your thighs, too impatient to wait for him to undress you. It gave you immense satisfaction when he followed the material, slowly revealing more of your skin. His mouth gaped open while he fell to his knees, the thud that sounded surely must have hurt, but there was no other expression on his face than greed. 

You stopped your dress just before Bucky could peak at your red panties and you almost laughed when his head shot up, aghast that you had interrupted the show. 

The power you held, you smirked. “You want more, Daddy?” 

Bucky dropped his head onto your thighs, his breath travelling up to your covered mound — your eyes fluttered, though you kept your breathing steady to not seem so desperate. 

Stroking your fingers through his fluffy hair, you murmured low, “Does it hurt to know my pussy is right here and you can’t have it?” 

You felt his muscles quickly lock up, his head snapping up to you with a speed that was frightening and exhilarating all at once. The blue of his irises darkened, dilating as he chuckled, “You’re very much mistaken, sweetheart. Because this pussy right here,” he shoved your dress up, spread your legs and breathed into you. “She’s mine, baby girl. And you’ve kept her from me long enough.” 

A chilled blast of air hit you as Bucky tore your panties from your waist and held them up. “You wore these slutty panties for that fucker, huh?” 

You gasped in shock when he brought them to his nose and inhaled the gusset deeply. He grunted as he closed his eyes in bliss. “Cos’ I’m pretty sure I’m the one who’s got you this soaked.” 

Your keens amused him greatly. “Bucky—“ 

“That’s right, mama,” he laughed with pride. “My name sounds so damn heavenly coming from your lips.” 

Bucky pocketed your underwear, not caring to be discreet and his thumbs came up to your cunt to spread you open to his eager eyes. “My god, baby,” he gasped in awe. Your hole clenched at the vulgar display. “You’re just as tight as the last time I had you.” 

He tested a finger over your folds, running it through the embarrassing amount of slick that coated you. 

“No one,” you breathed, shaking your head while willing your scrambled thoughts to formulate into words. “There’s been— there hasn’t—“ 

Bucky looked up at you from his knelt position, a small slither of vulnerability shining through his lust-hooded eyes. “Just me?” 

You gulped and nodded, staring into his wide blues with honesty. “Just you.”

A moment passed between you. The charged air filtered down to that spark that had always been buried through the heartbreak you both endured in your divorce. 

Bucky swallowed before placing a single kiss to the inside of your knee. “Then let me make up for that.” 

You leaned your head back against the shelf behind you as his lips traveled up the meat of your thighs, yelping each time he gently bit you. 

He murmured obscenities you could barely respond to as he edged closer to your pussy. You offered yourself freely, on a platter, as your legs opened even wider for him — the only man who ever truly owned you. 

His lips whispered over your mound, a hint for what was about to come. “I’ve been waiting to taste you again for years.” 

You moaned aloud, unhinged and unapologetic while Bucky licked a fat stripe up your cunt. Your nerves were alight with pure fire and you instantly grabbed onto the back of his head to push him further into you. 

You didn’t care if the action was needy — one single touch of him and you were a goner once again. 

He feasted on you, not coming up for air as he switched between sucking your clit and slurping your juices. “Oh my god— Bucky, baby you gotta— holy fuck.” Your eyes rolled to the back of your head.

Bucky wrapped his thick arms around your thighs and dragged you closer to him — all too happy to suffocate between your legs. “Sweet as a fuckin’ apple pie,” he murmured into you, the vibrations only deepening your pleasure. 

Looking down at him, his eyes were homed in on you, watching your every expression. They were blown out, wild while strands of his hair stuck out in every direction. 

Pulling away slightly, his heavy pants blew over your throbbing clit. “Daddy makin’ you feel good, Babydoll?” 

You hardly had time to reply as he immediately shoved his tongue into your clenching hole and fucked you with it. 

“Bucky!” you screamed to the ceiling. However, a harsh slap delivered to your thigh snapped you back to sense. 

“You know that’s not what you call me,” he barked. 

Whining, you corrected yourself. “Daddy, please!” 

You felt his smirk plastered over your pussy as he hummed into you, “There’s my good girl.” 

Your legs began to shake as you felt your climax creep to the surface and Bucky only doubled down with his sinful tongue that you somehow had forgotten he was way too talented with. 

“I’m close,” you whispered as your vision began to blur. “So close — please, please don’t stop.” 

Bucky continued his ministrations while your pussy fluttered around his tongue. Your release was within reaching distance and you gripped the washing machine, ready to let go until suddenly his presence was gone. 

You almost fell forward before you caught yourself with your remaining strength. The pent up tension that was wound in your stomach hadn’t loosened and it took you a second to realise you hadn’t cum. 

“W—what?” you mumbled shakily as you blinked your eyes open. Bucky stood there, his cock pulsing and viciously purple, with a smirk on his face, wiping his slick covered mouth with his arm. It disorientated you. 

“I haven’t—“ you swallowed the dryness of your mouth. “You didn’t make me—“ 

Bucky’s cock bobbed as he closed the distance between you, dizzying you even further with a passionate kiss. “No I didn’t, baby.” 

You whimpered in despair, the ache worsening. “But Daddy—“

“Nu-uh,” he breathed while lining his cock against your hole. “You’re only gonna fuckin’ cum when I say you can.”

Recklessly, Bucky pushed his full length into your pussy. You clung to his shoulders, your nails digging into him as the sheer size of his thick cock winded you enough to wail out. 

“Shit,” he cursed, a strain in his voice as he firmly gripped your hips. “Fuckin’ hell— Babydoll, how the fuck are you still so tight.” 

Impatiently, you fidgeted. Whether it was to escape how full he made you or try and force him deeper into your cunt you weren’t sure. All of it was too overwhelming to process.

“I can’t,” you shook your head, tears building over your glassy eyes. “You’re too big— Bucky, I can’t—“ 

“Yes you can,” he declared with conviction while he lifted your gaze to him. “You can take it, sweetheart.” 

Slowly, Bucky began to ease out of your cunt. His cock was coated with your wetness and he moaned deeply at the sight. He grinded back into you, his curved tip hitting every sensitive spot. 

“There we go,” he brushed your hair back and kissed your forehead, praising you. “Taking my cock so good, Babydoll. Just like always.” 

His touch was familiar, yet new — all consuming and claiming — and you melted into him, smothering his neck with a litany of kisses as he continued to gently thrust his cock into you. 

“M—Missed you,” you confessed, drunk from lust and emotion. “Missed you so much, Bucky.” 

The motion of his hips sped up as he began pounding into you with more force. “Yeah? You missed being a sweet little wife for me?” He taunted with an evil grin. “You loved being Daddy’s little slut, didn’t you?” 

“Mhm— Always your slut, Daddy!” You sobbed into his skin. 

His pace turned unrelenting, fierce after too much lost time. He fucked you as though he would be left out to dry after he was done. 

Grabbing your cheeks, he leaned his forehead against yours. “You’re mine, Babydoll,” he grunted. “Don’t care who’s fuckin’ taking you on dates. You belong to me.” 

Nodding your head, you fell mute, mouth gaped wide as you felt the knot begin to build up in your stomach once more. 

Bucky looked down to watch his dick glisten with your slick. The obscene sounds created from the amount of your juices leaking out only caused his cock to throb. Your cunt squelched with each thrust he made. But it wasn’t enough for him. 

Gathering saliva in his mouth, Bucky spat to where the two of you connected, groaning as it clung to your pussy and stringed out with his motions. 

Your squeals of pleasure began to get louder as the coil tightened, “I’m gonna—“ 

Before you could rush the words out, Bucky pleaded, “Tell me you love me.” 

Your eyes snapped up to his, more alert now. He didn’t falter, only fucked you with more abandon. 

“Tell me you love me,” he repeated once more, a demand this time.

“Bucky, I—“ 

“I know you do, Doll.” His hips started to twitch, his telltale sign that he was also close to cumming. However, you had an inclination that he wouldn’t let himself go until you gave him what you wanted. “I know you remember how good it used to be. Let me come home and I’ll fuck you this good whenever you want.” 

You gurgled around his fingers as he suddenly shoved them into your mouth, collecting the drool gathered on your tongue to bring them down to your clit. He didn’t ease them against you, instead rubbing tight circles rapidly, bringing you closer to the edge faster. 

It was impossible to escape his dark eyes or the fierce hold of his hand at the back of your neck. “Feels so fucking good, Daddy!” you blurted.

“I know, mama,” he assured as he drove his cock into you even harder. “Your cunt feels like heaven.” 

“I wanna cum,” you cried. “I need to cum.” 

“You know what you’ve gotta do then, don’t you, Babydoll?” 

You squeezed your eyes closed. The pleasure started to blend into a mix of pain and you were only slightly ashamed that it only turned you on more. “I—“ 

“Come on, baby. Give me what I want.” A few more punishing thrusts and you were treading the line of your impending orgasm. Your thighs shook violently and beads of sweat dripped down your chest. But when Bucky grounded out his next words, you fell apart. “Be a good wife for Daddy and tell me the truth.” 

You couldn’t hold back any longer, the balance of your orgasm tipping over along with the truth you tried to withhold. “I love you, Bucky!” 

Instantly, you felt the pulse of Bucky’s cock, a warm shoot of his load filling your cunt while you silently screamed and shook with the intensity of your climax. 

Everything fell deaf to your ears as you fought to catch your breath, slumping against Bucky. His heavy breaths blew your stray hairs sticking out from the sweat gathered on your head while his hips continued to slowly pump into you from the aftershocks of his own orgasm. 

You were brought back to the present with the gentle touch of his lips pressing against your cheeks, kissing your skin delicately. “Hey there, Babydoll.” 

While you would have normally been nervous, the energy that he had drained you of allowed your inhibitions and walls to crumble, leaving you to smile drunkenly at him. “Hi,” you whispered. 

Bucky checked you over, darting his eyes over your face. “You feeling okay?” 

“Mhm,” you mumbled, bringing your thumb up to swipe over his stubble you had always been fond of. “Freshly fucked and never better.” 

The corner of his lips curved up, a small mirth of laughter escaping him. He licked his lips and you detected a hint of nerves that crossed over his features. “I um— I’m sorry if I—“ 

You placed your pointer finger over his lips, shushing him. “You didn’t go too rough.” Slowly, you brought your finger down, hooking it into the collar of his shirt. “I enjoyed myself.” 

“Good.” He brought one of your hands up to his mouth to kiss the palm of your hand. “Good.” 

The two of you barely noticed his length still deep in you. All that you cared for was the weight suddenly released from your chest. 

“Did you mean it?” Bucky asked, cutting through the peaceful silence. He was defenseless, all guards down with a shimmer of hope twinkling in his ocean eyes. 

You knew exactly what he was referring to and you inhaled deeply before you replied, “I did.” 

He swallowed thickly, his emotion clear though his bright eyes. “I love you too — so fuckin’ much.” He nuzzled into your neck as your hand held him close to you. “I’ve missed you.” 

A lump gathered in your throat once more. Breathing in Bucky’s scent freely, without guilt this time, you sunk into his embrace even further. 

“Can I come home?” he whispered into your skin, a desperate plea. “I’ll do whatever you want — I’ll go to counseling with you, we can take things slow. I just need you back, Babydoll.” 

The answer was simple. You knew in your heart there was no one else for you, no one better. No matter your differences, everything would always lead back to Bucky and you were willing to give the two of you a second chance. 

“Okay,” you answered softly. 

His head shot up, eyes wide and red from the tears you felt gathering on your neck. “Okay?” he repeated hopefully. 

You smiled, kissing him gently on the lips before you muttered, “Come back home, baby.”

The pan sizzled on the stove as you cooked the last pancake, a stack already piled high on the counter next to you for breakfast. 

Music played softly on the radio and you swayed your hips side to side, covered by a long T-shirt, while you hummed to yourself. 

You were interrupted from your task when a pair of thick arms wrapped around your middle, hugging you from behind tightly. “Yknow, I could have had my breakfast in bed,” Bucky grumbled into your ear, his deep morning voice causing your eyes to slightly flutter. 

You huffed a laugh before you mumbled, “I bet you could, greedy.” 

The bristles of his trimmed beard tickled your skin as he playfully nibbled your neck. “Can’t exactly blame a man when his woman tastes so sweet, Babydoll.” 

Your head started to feel heavy as you gave into his kisses, leaning back into his hold and opening yourself up for him. 

“There’s a good girl,” Bucky praised you. “You just let Daddy—“

Peaking an eye open, you watched as his hand crept forward, about to pinch a pancake from the pile. He yelped as you swatted his hand away, a pout on his lips while you grinned. 

“Nice try, Daddy,” you teased, smugly. 

Before Bucky could retort back, a sluggish set of small footsteps sounded over the floorboards and you whipped around to find your son, still sleepy, making his way to the dining table. 

“Morning, cupcake!” you greeted him cheerfully. 

With difficulty, he climbed his way onto one of the chairs, huffing with the effort and sinking down once comfortable. He looked towards you, blinking the sleep from his eyes. “Mornin’, mama—“ 

Frowning, your son looked towards Bucky, finally noticing him too. “Dadda?” he asked, confused. 

“Hey, pal.” Bucky treaded, carefully. 

Your son’s gaze fell to the lack of distance between you and Bucky, his hand still lingering on your waist. Keeping your composure, you waited nervously for his reaction. 

“He treat you good, mama?” he asked all so innocently with a hint of fierceness in his bright blue eyes. 

You watched with bated breath as Bucky stepped towards him, leaning over the table with his palm up to your son. “I’m gonna take good care of mama, “ he promised with sincerity. 

Your son deliberated for a moment before nodding his head and reached out to hold his Dad’s hand. “Okay, can I have pancakes now?” 

You sighed a breath of relief. “Of course, baby.” 

It was silent for a moment, in your small kitchen while you plated up breakfast for your family. Bucky and you shared an intimate smile until your son spoke up once again. “Just don’t forget about the ice cream you promised me.” 

Laughter filled the entirety of the kitchen, a home once again bathed in love — your perfect little family. 

[sstan-hoe]

Dr. Bee

Summary: Bucky has quite the reputation but all it takes for him to want to change is an hour with an outspoken little Bee.

Bucky x Nurse!Mom!Reader

Bucky Barnes has many names. James Buchanan Barnes, Buck, The Winter Soldier, Sergeant. 

But on compound grounds, and in hushed tones, he’s usually called an asshole. 

He’s developed quite the reputation. Being difficult is his natural state of being. 

Bucky is constantly late to meetings, doesn’t show up for media days and is always going rogue in missions.

He doesn’t know why he does it, Dr. Raynor says it’s a coping mechanism, but that doesn’t make Bucky want to change one bit. He stays away from people and makes it everyone’s problem when someone decides to talk in his vicinity. 

Sam has tried to talk to him but, as per usual whatever the Falcon says, Bucky does the opposite. Sam’s even tried to convince everyone that Bucky’s like an untrained dog, he needs some kind of exposure therapy. Having people stand up to him and flat out call him what he is, that’s what he needs. 

Sadly for everyone who works with Bucky Barnes, no one has the balls to do it. 

But, everything changed one day. 

Everyone scurried away once the quinjet landed at the Avengers compound. They’d gotten word from someone in Logistics that the mission had gone terribly and the agents had barely come out alive. 

Bucky stormed into the med bay, his heels digging into the floor with such force you’d think it break, only to find it desolate. 

He huffed twice, looking around for anyone who could help with a deep cut on his right arm. 

“Hello?!” He yelled out, his temples throbbing and his left eye twitching. 

Bucky Barnes waited for no one. 

“May I help you?” Bucky’s eyebrows furrowed at the meek voice coming from behind the nurse’s station. His confusion only grew deeper when he didn’t find anyone there. 

A few seconds later a tiny hand popped up, wiggling its chubby fingers at him. 

“I said,” The little voice drew out the last word, annoyed. “May I help you?”

Bucky leaned forward and peeked behind the large desk to find a little girl.

Standing with her hands on her hips, the little girl with pigtails looked up at him with raised eyebrows. 

Her expression turned to one of concern.

“Are you hard of hearing?” The girl spoke slowly and loudly.

Bucky almost had to cover his ears from the shrill and very high tone of the girl. 

“I am not hard of hearing.” Bucky finally responded. 

“Then why didn’t you respond?” Little miss pigtails crosses her arms over her chest. “I asked you: may I help you?” 

His right eye accompanied his left one in twitching.

After he didn’t respond, the little girl scribbled something down on a paper in front of her. 

“What are you writing?” Bucky said through gritted teeth, how can a person so small get on his nerves so quickly?

“I can’t tell you.” She said in a singsong tone. 

“Why not?”

“You’re not my patient.” She shrugs, rounding the nurse’s bay holding a pink unicorn lunch box, coming face to face with The Winter Soldier. Actually it was more like coming face to knee height. “Can’t talk to people who aren’t my patients. Doctor patient villigage.”

Bucky bit his bottom lip to conceal a smile. “I think you mean doctor patient privilege.” 

“How would you know? You’re not my patient.” The little girl swung her lunchbox, skipping all the way to the waiting room. 

He was equally shocked and impressed. This little girl had more balls than most of the agents he worked with. 

Bucky looked around the med bay for anyone who knew the girl. Mom, dad, cousin, hell he’d even settle for a dog. 

With a groan, he followed behind her. Sure, he was a dickhead but he couldn’t let a kid wander around the Avengers med bay all by herself. 

She sat down, opening the lunch box and taking the contents out.

Bucky couldn’t help but think it was cute how her feet didn’t reach the floor. As he came closer, her swinging feet hit him in the shins. 

He let out an obviously fake and over the top groan, throwing himself on the floor. 

The little girl covered her mouth but her giggles bubbled around the room. 

“Aren’t you going to apologize?” Bucky asked from his position on the ground. “That really hurt.”

“No it didn’t!” She laughed harder. 

“Yes it did!” 

“I know nothing can hurt you!” She said as her giggles died down. ���I know who you are.”

“You do, huh?” Bucky sat next to her.

“Mhm.” She said proudly, taking a bite out of her peanut butter and jelly sandwich. “But my mommy says I can’t repeat the names she calls you.”

Bucky suddenly felt embarrassed. Dickhead, motherfucker, bastard, asshole had a whole different meaning now that he knew the little girl thought they were synonymous to Bucky.

“Well then,” Bucky cleared his throat. “I should reintroduce myself. My name is James Buchanan Barnes but people usually call me Bucky.”

The little girl placed her tiny hand in his and shook it. “I’m not supposed to tell strangers my name so, you can call me Bee.”

Bucky nodded his head once, he almost didn’t notice the peanut butter she’d smeared on his hand. “Well Bee, does you mommy or daddy work here?”

Bee shrugs her shoulders. “Can’t tell you.”

He takes a deep breath in. “Can you tell me how you got here?”

“Nope.” She takes another bite of her sandwich. 

“Can you tell me how long you’ve been here?”

“Nuh uh.”

Bucky runs a hand over his face. “Is this because of the doctor patient privilege?” 

“Yep.” Bee smiles up at him and this time Bucky can’t help but smile back. A blooming feeling erupted in his chest. 

Bucky looked down at his hand, trying to find his most surface level wound. Something that wouldn’t traumatize the girl who’s no more than seven years old. 

“Dr. Bee, I need your help. Do you have anything for this cut?” Bucky points to the small cut on his knuckle. She didn’t have to know how it came to be, or who’s cheekbone had caused it.

“Thertainly Mr. Bucky.” Bee’s missing front teeth were responsible for her lisp. She jumped off of the chair and hurried behind the nurse’s station.

She swiftly wrapped his knuckles in gauze. 

“Do you need me to look over your other arm?” Bee asked sincerely.

“I don’t think you can help with this one.” Bucky chuckled, knocking on the vibranium. “Unless you have anti rust spray.”

Bee threw her head back with laughter but the cute sound was cut short by a door slamming open. 

His mind went blank the second he saw her. Bucky couldn’t peel his eyes off of her, even his jaw went slack. He tried to memorize every single detail of her. Her hair, her eyes, her body, the blue scrubs she wore. 

“Bee!” She gasped, taking the little girl in her arms. “You almost gave me a heart attack, I told you to stay in the common room!”

“Don’t worry mommy!” She smiles up at the woman who’s taken Bucky’s mind hostage. “I’ve been with Bucky!”

The woman finally looks over at Bucky and he’s sure the world has stopped. 

But reality comes crashing down when her eyes lose some of their light. 

“Mr. Barnes.” She gasps, pulling Bee to stand behind her body. “I’m so terribly sorry about her, she wasn’t supposed to be here.”

Bucky gulps down the nervous feeling in his throat. He can’t help but feel like the biggest idiot in this universe. 

All he’s done for the past few years is be cold, and rude, and now the most beautiful woman he’s ever seen, who’s got the cutest most outspoken daughter in the tri state area, is apologizing. 

His brain runs out of words and he just stands there. 

Bucky keeps quiet as the woman sutures up the wound on his arm, he’d completely forgotten about it. 

“Bee’s your daughter?” He manages to speak up after a few minutes. 

The woman nods with a smile, keeping her eyes on his wound but Bucky begs the cosmos she looks up at him, even if it’s just for a second. He wouldn’t care if she messes up, if it means their eyes could meet.

Bucky’s kept himself away from feelings for years. He convinced himself he doesn’t need them. But in a quick thirty minutes, Bee and her amazingly beautiful mother have stirred up more emotions than he’s had in the last two decades. 

“She-“ Bucky clears his throat. “She mentioned you’ve got a wide array of names for me.” 

Her cheeks burned red. “Bee must be mistaken, she’s got a crazy imagination. Always coming up with the strangest things-“

Bucky bit his bottom lip. “I’m used to it.”

The woman gulped, finally looking up at him. 

“I’m really sorry about the names.” She whispers. 

“It’s okay, darling.” Bucky’s eyes travel from hers to her lips. “But for next time, ‘Bucky’ is just fine.”

She nods, looking back to his wound. 

“And you are-“

“(Y/n).” She says. 

Bucky’s sure he’s never heard someone with a name as beautiful as hers. 

“You’re all patched up.” (Y/n) takes a step away from Bucky. “I’ll finish your report, I’m sure you’ve got more important things to do.”

Bucky stumbles on his feet as he stands up. Embarrassed, he walks straight to the door but stops before leaving the medbay. 

“(Y/n)?” He turns on his heel. “Would you please tell Dr. Bee I appreciated her help?”

The light in (Y/n)’s eyes returned as she nodded. 

Bucky left the med bay feeling lighter than ever before and he couldn’t help but think a certain little bee had everything to do with it. 

Comments and feedback is greatly appreciated!!

[sstan-hoe]

𝑼𝒏𝒕𝒊𝒍 𝒂𝒍𝒍 𝑾𝒂𝒕𝒆𝒓𝒔 𝑩𝒓𝒆𝒂𝒌

𝒑𝒂𝒊𝒓𝒊𝒏𝒈 — (kinda) modern!aemond targaryen × fem!reader

𝒔𝒖𝒎𝒎𝒂𝒓𝒚 — well let's just say I was in a mood and would very much like to try something new...

𝒘𝒂𝒓𝒏𝒊𝒏𝒈𝒔 — squirting, smut obviously, oral (f receiving), p in v, dirty talk

𝒏𝒐𝒕𝒆 — am I back? maybe...I have finals and I feel so stressed, but I hope I can be back in May!

„Aemond! Stop, oh god!“ Aemond draws hard circles over your clit, a shit eating grin painting his face. He had tried for the past two months to get you to squirt and right now he was the closest he’d ever been.

You had nothing against it, even being your idea but right now a weird feeling bubbled in your stomach which you’d never felt before.

Aemond said it had to be like this, you would get a feelings as if a knot was being tied inside you. The knot would get tighter with every passing second, until it finally exploded.

You couldn't pin point the feeling, was it good, was it bad?

Good, amazing, like a relief. As Aemond continued his work he pushed the right button and answered your worries.

Your husband grinned at you as you covered his face with your juice. “You fucking bastard,” you breathed out as you fell back into the pillows. “Bastard? I just gave you one of the best orgasms of your life,” Aemond told you proudly, his ego growing.

When you first brought up the idea squirting, you would have never been able to imagine how wonderful it would make feel.

Still he was a little shit who cheated. “You ready for another?” He asked wiggling his eyebrows with a seductive smirk. “Sorry, but I don’t have to pee again which means you can’t cheat, and we know how the last few times went…,” you trailed off as your eyes moved to the sheets.

Aemond was offended and suddenly grabbed you by your ankles to pull you down further on the bed. A surprised gasp fell from your lips at his actions.

He grasps your hips and shoves himself deep inside, not giving you any chance to adjust to his size — like he did so often. Aemond pulls back and thrusts in enough to move you several inches up the sheets.

The feeling you have felt not too long ago was building up again like a thread that was threatening to be cut with a knife. A snap, a cut, the right angle to the right spot was all it took for your waters to break once more.

Your man couldn’t be any happier as he grinned from ear to ear. Proud of himself that he made you cum and squirt without ‘cheating’.

“Call me a cheater once more, I dare you,” he whispered as his thrusts slowed down. “And get that outcome again?” You cocked a brow at him, receiving a chuckle from him.

“You know I haven’t cum yet…,” he lowly trailed of.

Your eyes widened in shock, “I’m not gonna make you squirt,” you said with raised hands. Aemons shook his head in response, “no my love, that’s not what I meant.”

[sstan-hoe]

"Catch Me If You Can" - Prince Regent!Aemond Targaryen x Niece!Reader

a/n: combined two anon requests with one from @the-shadow-queen02. i hope y'all like it 🩷

Summary: Aemond offers you the opportunity to run from him. But if he catches you? You're all his.

TW: DUBCON, profanity, innuendo, she/her pronouns, AFAB reader, chase kink/primal play, degradation, kidnapping, CANON TYPICAL INCEST, fingering, p in v sex, breeding kink, creampie, mentions of character death

Word Count: 3,500

Disclaimer: I do not own any of the House of The Dragon/Fire & Blood characters nor do I claim to own them. I do not own any of the images used nor do I claim to own them.

Comments, likes, and reblogs are never required but are immensely appreciated 🩷

You once thought Aemond cared for you. Those days seem so long ago now. All before Driftmark, when he claimed Vhagar and lost his eye at your brother’s hand. Your families ensured that you were unable to remain in contact. And so, Aemond’s obsession grew and grew to unnatural levels. He imagined you, sitting beside him on the Iron Throne, though he knew it was a fool’s dream. Your mother was next in line. And you were betrothed to Jace. Your insipid twin. What a fool your mother was, to promise you to your brother. He would never be able to love you like Aemond.

Seeing you again in the training yard, the day of the Driftmark petition, was like a jolt of lightning. The two of you simply stared at each other. And when Aemond did not speak, merely continued to look at you, his lips pressed together in a thin line, you reached for your brother’s hand, wishing for comfort, the heaviness in your heart at your former companion’s cold demeanor being almost too much to bear. If only you knew how hot his rage burned as he watched you turn to Jacaerys instead of him. If only you knew that it was he who deserved you. Not Jace.

No matter the circumstances, no matter the warnings his mother and grandsire gave him, nothing was enough to temper Aemond’s desire for you. No matter how twisted the story grew, how twisted his love became, nothing was enough to make him stop and realize what he was doing.

It was not enough for Aemond to support his elder brother’s usurpation of the throne that belonged to your mother by right. It was not enough for Aemond to chase after your brother on his war dragon, knowing full well how dire the consequences could be if either of them were to lose control. It was not enough for Aemond to be directly responsible for Luke’s death. It was not enough for Aemond to come to Dragonstone in the dead of the night and steal you away from your family. It was not enough for him to make you bend the knee to him while he sat the throne in Aegon’s stead as Prince Regent, a contented smirk on his face as you pledge your fealty.

Aemond declares that you are to be his chambermaid. Indignation at this insult crosses your face, but you nod, accepting your fate. Biding your time until your Mother, Daemon, and Jace come to save you.

He enjoys having the excuse of you being his maid to keep you around him at all times. Fetching his wine and the water for his bath, preparing his clothes, making his bed. Aemond just stares at you, unblinking, a smirk on his lips when you work in his chambers. He imagines this is how it might have been had the two of you just been two of the smallfolk. A little house on the edge of the Kingswood. You? His pretty little wife, a gaggle of children at your heels. The idea makes him chuckle to himself as you approach, anger in your eyes as you speak in an icy tone.

“Is there anything else you require of me, kepus?” You question icily. (uncle)

Aemond remains silent for a moment, just staring at you, but when you roll your eyes and turn to leave, he calls out in a commanding tone, “Remove my boots, perzitsos.” (little flame)

He can see how angry you are as you walk, both at the nickname and at the humiliation of the task he has assigned you. You sit on your knees beside his bed, making quick work of your boots. A scowl mars your otherwise pretty face and Aemond is not at all surprised when you glare up at him and speak, fiery little thing you’ve always been.

“Are you so useless that you can’t even remove your own boots, Uncle?”

His smile is equal parts amused and annoyed at your insolence, a soft chuckle falling from his lips before he replies, “Perhaps I am.” His voice is low and soft, oozing with dominance and power, having grown into the man he always longed to be, “I shall require your assistance with the rest of my attire as well.”

Rage seeps from your every pore as Aemond stands and you help him out of his tunic, his upper body bared to you. Aemond can tell you are doing your best to act unimpressed, not to look, but he knows you find him handsome. He can see the way your gaze lingers on his chest, his abdomen, admiring his lithe, lean form. You look at him as if you cannot decide whether you wish to kiss him or to kill him. It’s fair, he supposes. The nature of your relationship is quite complicated.

Aemond’s voice is a soft purr as he extends a hand toward you, caressing your cheek, “You could put an end to all of this and simply agree to be my bride, dārilarītsos. As it was always meant to be.” (little princess)

You sneer at him, shoving his tunic in his hands, “I would die before I wed you.”

Your words sting more than he cares to admit. You do not mean that, not really. He shakes his head, pulling his hand back before speaking again.

“???”

“I am not your bedwarmer, Aemond,” you reply sharply, glaring at him, “I remain loyal to Jace. I will always remain loyal to him.”

Aemond scoffs at your response, rolling his eye before regarding you once more, “I do not ask for you to be my bedwarmer. I want so much more than that. You are far more than that to me and you know it. Why else would I have risked everything to take you from Dragonstone? Now stay.”

He pulls you toward him by the wrist and you stare up at him, shaking your head, “Why are you doing this to me? There was once a time I would have considered us friends.”

He hums in acknowledgement, his thumb finding your pulse point on your wrist, the sensation of your blood pumping bringing a strange sort of calm to him, “We were friends, weren’t we?” He muses, his free hand moving to twirl a strand of your hair around his finger, “I wonder what changed that, hm? Perhaps when you abandoned me in favor of your bastard brothers.”

“Or perhaps when you killed one of them.”

No one else would be able to pick up on it. The way your voice cracks ever so slightly. But Aemond does. He averts his gaze, ashamed, if only for a moment.

“It was… Unfortunate. What happened to Luke. But I would be lying if I said I felt any sort of guilt for that other than the pain it caused you, dārilarītsos.”

“He was my brother, you heartless monster!”

“Heartless?” Aemond repeats, shaking his head, “I am many things, dear niece. But heartless is not one of them-”

“Let me guess,” you laugh bitterly, cutting him off mid-sentence while he continues brushing his fingers through your hair, “You love me. Is that what you mean to say? That you have done all this so you can have me? All because you believe yourself to be the better man for me? That you can love me in a way that Jace cannot?”

“Indeed,” he nods, chuckling slightly, “I love you in a way that Jace will never be able to. I am everything that he is not.”

“In that he has a heart and you do not?”

Your acerbic wit never fails to amuse him. He shakes his head, laughing to himself quietly. Aemond knows he is the best man for you. Jacaerys is soft. Weak. He will never be able to protect you in the way that Aemond can.

“You know you love me. In your heart of hearts, you know it.”

“Maybe I once did,” you relent, “But how could you ever expect me to love the man who murdered my little brother?”

Aemond moves to rest his palm on your cheek, his voice barely above a whisper as he speaks, his thumb brushing against your lower lip, “Do you hate me? Truly?” When you give him an unconvincing nod, he merely smiles at you, leaning in close, his forehead resting against your own as he rasps, “You do not.”

The moment is charged with emotions you cannot even begin to understand. Butterflies swirl in your stomach as you meet his gaze, that cold blue eye boring into you. Aemond waits for you to close the distance, for you to give into what is there between you, what has always been there. But you merely wrench yourself from his arms, bidding him good evening, a frown on your face.

Aemond snarls with frustration, following after you, “You are not getting away from me that easily, dārilarītsos.”

“Stop calling me that!” You snap, “You’ve taken me from my family. You’ve humiliated me. Made me your prisoner. Your servant. What more do you want, Aemond? How much more do you wish to hurt me?”

“You think I wish to hurt you?” He questions incredulously, following after you and grabbing your hand, forcing you to face him, “I have taken you for the sole purpose of making you mine. Not to hurt you.”

“I would die before being yours, Kinslayer.”

Your words are like a slap to his face, but he remains undeterred, grasping your forearms, holding you in place, “Perhaps you need to be made to understand how much it is that I love you.”

“If you really loved me, you would let me go.”

Aemond lets out a disbelieving laugh. He shakes his head, a rueful smile on his face. He wishes he was a less selfish man. That he could let you go. But he cannot.

“It is precisely because I love you that I cannot let you go. I love you too much to let you go. I will do anything and everything to ensure you stay by my side.”

“That’s not what love is!” You look at him, tears pricking at your eyes, “You have no idea what love is.”

“You can keep telling yourself that. Repeating your mother and Jace’s words. But you know it is a lie. You know how I love you. That you are mine and I am yours. And I intend to prove it to you,” Aemond lets go of you, taking a step backward. You stare at him, confused, waiting for him to speak, “You say if I love you, I will let you go? I release you. Run. Run as fast and as far as you can. If you manage to escape me, to outrun me, you will have your freedom. But if I catch you…”

“If you catch me, then you keep me,” you finish his trail of thought.

“Indeed. So run, little one. Try and escape me.”

For a long moment, you stand there, frozen. Is this a trick? Some cruel joke? That he wishes to dangle your freedom before you only to cruelly snatch it away? But, it would be foolish of you not to at least try. So, you turn from him and break into a sprint, running down the halls as fast as you can. Aemond gives you a headstart, in his valiant attempt to be a gentleman. To be fair. But he knows he will catch you. Because deep down, he knows the truth you have tried so desperately to hide from everyone, even yourself.

You want to be caught.

You make it all the way to the Godswood. Your blood feels like ice in your veins, your breath coming harder and faster than ever before. You have been running so long now that your muscles ache and your body has begun to tire. You have put a fair amount of distance between yourself and Aemond, so you hide behind the Heart Tree, giving yourself a moment to catch your breath. Then you see it. Your saving grace. For a moment, you think it’s a mirage - the mare that stands before you. But it is not. You hear it whinny, Aemond’s footsteps approaching you, and you make a split second decision. To climb atop the beast, urging it into a gallop as you race toward the Kingswood. You know if you get far enough, Vermithor will hear your call. You simply need to make it to the woods.

Aemond is hot on your heels, having found a stallion of his own to give chase. His blood pumps, like fire in his veins. His horse’s hooves hit the ground with every gallop bringing him closer and closer to you. He can smell your scent on the wind, like a hunter stalking its prey. He enters the woods close behind you, and when the thicket grows too precarious to continue on horseback, both of you leave your rides behind and continue the pursuit on foot. Aemond is mere footsteps behind you, watching as you duck under low-hanging branches, jump over tree roots. Your arms and legs keep getting scratched by the obstacles in your way and yet you continue.

Aemond is confident he will catch up to you, at one point even brushing his fingers along the back of your skirt, making you let out a shriek. It gives you renewed energy, your speed picking up despite the ache in your muscles. Aemond knows he could catch up to you if he speeds up as well. But he has a different idea.

You turn when you hear him let out a moan of pain, faltering in your escape. He presses a hand to where his eye once rested, pretending as though he is unable to continue on. Aemond watches as you glance between him and the path ahead, murmuring his name softly. If you return to him, he will know that you truly do love him. No matter what you say. You take a hesitant step toward him, then another and another until you stand before him.

“Are you alright?”

A smile spreads across Aemond’s face as he moves his hand, revealing that you have been deceived, speaking in a soft voice, “I see that you do care for me after all. You do love me.” Your eyes go wide at the realization and you step backward, stumbling over a root and falling to the ground. You crawl backward as Aemond continues advancing on you, “I knew you would fall for it. No matter how much you resist my love, you realize that you need it. You desire it.” Your back hits a tree trunk and you let out a noise of surprise, realizing that you’ve been trapped. Aemond kneels down in front of you, resting a hand on your cheek as he whispers, “There is nowhere left for you to run, dārilarītsos.”

You let out a sharp breath, your eyes closing as you breathe, “Make it fast.”

“Open those pretty eyes, little one.” Aemond realizes that you have misinterpreted his intentions and shakes his head. He leans in to whisper in your ear, his breath tickling your skin, “I have no intention of killing you.”

“You wish to kill everyone else. My mother. Daemon. Jacaerys,” you pause, meeting his gaze, “I am my mother’s heir. A direct threat to Aegon’s rule. His legitimacy as king. I am sure your grandsire has suggested to you that I be done away with.”

Aemond chuckles, though it is not one of amusement. It is disbelief.

“My grandsire does not command me. Nor does he command my heart. If I cared about you being a threat to Aegon, I would’ve killed you outright when I took you from Dragonstone. I could never kill you.”

He runs a hand through your hair, and you lean into his touch in spite of your better judgment, “I should hate you. I want to. I want to hate you so badly.”

“No, you don’t,” he replies quietly, “You do not hate me. You never have. You never could.”

You let your resolve weaken for a fleeting moment, and Aemond takes full advantage of it. He pins you to the ground beside the tree, holding your wrists above your head, his entire body’s weight holding you down. You stare up at him, shocked. His hold is firm as he keeps you in place, his free hand running along your side, squeezing at your soft flesh. When you try to turn your face, squirming in his grip, he moves to hold your chin in place, his voice still soft.

“Look at me. I want to see those eyes.”

Reluctantly, you face him, your eyes opening. He has removed his eyepatch, and with anyone else, you’d think it was an attempt to frighten them. But with you? You know it’s because he wants you to see him. All of him. And you gaze upon him without fear, his hold on you unrelenting. His lips meet yours in a violent, passionate kiss. You try to refrain from returning it at first, but you find that you cannot. His love is suffocating, dangerous. And yet, you cannot shy away from it. He is a murderer, a kinslayer. He hates your family and everything they stand for. And yet, your body cries out for him. Longs to be touched by him.

Aemond is quite satisfied with himself when his hand moves between your thighs and he finds you wet beneath your smallclothes. He teases you, his fingers grazing against you but never fully pushing inside, your body chasing his touch. Aemond’s lips move to your neck, biting down harshly as he finally pushing his fingers inside you, your cries of pleasure echoing through the Kingswood as he pumps the digits in and out of you at a breakneck pace. You try to hide your face, to hide the fact that you’re enjoying this, but your body does not lie. Aemond knows you want this. That you want him just as desperately as he wants you with the way your peak comes to you, hard and fast, making you all but scream his name.

The way you squeeze around him makes Aemond’s cock grow harder, the thought of burying himself inside you, of filling you over and over, spilling his seed inside you, watching you grow fat with his child completely mesmerizing him. You have always been so kind, even to those who didn’t deserve it. Even to wretched souls like him. He knows you will make a wonderful mother. And an even more wonderful wife.

Aemond pushes up the fabric of your dress and undoes his breeches hastily, thrusting inside you with a low growl of your name, rutting against you at a feverish, almost inhuman pace. And you stare up at him, lips parted. He keeps his grip on your wrists, feeling your pulse beneath his fingertips. It reminds him that you are truly there, with him, beneath him. There for him. That you stopped running and came to him. And the thought of that is sweeter than any victory he may have found in battle. The way your body writhes against his, his little princess, his prey caught in his grasp is more enjoyable than he ever could have dreamed. And you? Try as you might to hide it, he can see the way you gaze at him, admiring his sapphire, his scar, his remaining eye, the sharp line of his cheekbones. You find him every bit as beautiful as he finds you, though you would never admit it.

He kisses you again, his hips slotting against yours desperately, feeling the way you squeeze around him so tight that he can barely move. You reach your peak at the feel of his cockhead bullying against your sweet spot, your arousal soaking his cock, but he is not yet satisfied. He has not yet bred you. He continues, his mind running wild with thoughts of himself sitting the Iron Throne, you as his queen. Aegon is not long for this world, Aemond thinks. And he was never fit to be the king. With him as king and you, Rhaenyra’s heir as queen, the Dance can be brought to an end.

And perhaps, he will finally earn your forgiveness for what he did to your brother.

“I love you,” he rasps against your lips, moving faster and faster, feeling your legs wrap around his, allowing him to fuck you deeper than before, “And it is because I love you that I will never allow you to escape me, dārilarītsos. You and I are bound. We have been for as long as we have known each other.”

“I hate you,” you whisper weakly, burying your face in his neck as he spills himself inside you, “I hate you.”

And he will take your hate. Because he can bear it.

Because with your hate comes your love.

[sstan-hoe]

Arbiter

HOTD: Daemon Targaryen x niece!reader (a little bit of Daemon x Aemond, and Aemond x twin!reader)

Part of the Castling Series but can be read as a standalone

Rating: Explicit (Minors DNI)

WC: 1.6k

Written for @schniiipsel request for Daemon x niece having sex in an ornate tub ( the tub is based on a headcanon I created for a Visenya fic)

Warnings: heavy Targcest, bath sex, pregnancy, breast/nipple play, ye olde handjob

You seek comfort in your uncle’s arms

*comments/reblogs are appreciated

As your pregnancy progressed, you began to find yourself quite uncomfortable as your body adjusted to the changes brought forth. You noticed your discomfort began to vex your twin, so you sought comfort from your uncle during these times. You could not blame Aemond for becoming irritated with you as he loathed the situation you both found yourself in. Taken captive by your uncle and half-sister while their supporters and armies grew stronger as the Greens fell to them. In addition, watching Daemon lay claim to you and fill your belly with his seed while manipulating Aemond into dalliances with you must feel like a thorn in his side. You knew the deep-seated hatred Aemond held for them, yet you had never felt such.

“I shall see if they will fetch the maester for you,” Aemond grumbled, stooped over a book he was reading. One of the few pleasures still afforded to him. He spent his days pouring over the histories to distract him.

You pushed back the hot, stinging tears, sniffling softly as you swiped the remnants away with your fingertips.

“N…no, I shall go for a walk; mayhaps that might help,” you whispered, leaving your brother to his anger and solitude while you sought out the guards outside the doors. You were certain he knew of your visits to Daemon, driving a further wedge between you both, but you needed to find comfort.

The guards escorted you to Daemon’s chambers, which had once belonged to Queen Visenya. Heat flooded your face when you discovered your uncle soaking in the large tub carved into the floor. His silver hair floated around him, and his lips curved into an amused smirk. The sweet scent of rose tickled your nose as your hand caressed your rounded tummy. Your gaze flickered briefly to the ornate handles carved in the shape of two bronze dragons, their sprawling mouths diving into the water, anything to distract yourself from the naked man in front of you.

“Care to join me, qēlītsos (little star)?” A nickname he had bestowed on you as a young girl: the pale Targaryen princess hiding behind her mother’s dark green skirts. A glimmering star lost in a sea of emeralds.

You hesitated, gently lifting your thumb to your plush mouth and nibbling on the skin.

“There is no need to be shy. I have seen all of you. I have taken, tasted, and savored all of you, little niece. Besides, the water will help alleviate what ails you,” he hummed.

“And how do you know what ails me, uncle?” you whispered.

“I am no stranger to a woman’s changing body as she ripens with child. Besides, I have heard the whisperings of your pain and your brother’s dismissal. He will come around.”

“Do you believe so?”

“I will help him change his mind. We Targaryen men are stubborn, and he is still young. He will learn. The wounds of betrayal lay open, the pain prominent, but they will heal given time. Now, undress and join me. Or do you require assistance?” Daemon stated. 

“I suppose I would need help undoing my gown,” you said softly, batting your lashes demurely. You yearned for his attention.

He stood in the deep water, climbing up the stone steps as water dripped from his naked body. Your cheeks burned hot as he approached, and you tried to avoid your gaze as lust swelled deep in your belly. He said nothing as he moved behind you, undoing the laces that held your gown in place. It puddled around your feet, joined by your small clothes.

“Come now,” he smiled, taking your hand and guiding you into the soothing, balmy water.

You sighed softly, feeling an immediate relief in your lower back. Daemon stood behind you, his large hands sliding over your hips before cupping your rounded belly tenderly. A shiver ran through you when his lips pressed against your naked shoulder. The swell of his cock pressed against the cleft of your arse.

“You are beautiful.” The vibrations of his voice tickled in your ear.

“Tell me in our tongue, uncle,” you begged.

“Gevies ​​iksā,” he purred.

You whimpered, emotions racking through your body as you finally allowed the tears to dribble down your cheeks. They splashed gently into the bath water as you trembled in Daemon’s embrace.

“Come now, beautiful girl, let me take all the pain away from you,” he cooed, his hands sliding up your belly to cup your full, aching breasts. His thumbs circled your tender nipples, surprising you by how good it felt. You marveled at the feeling of his rough, calloused hands contrasting with his gentle touch.

You felt like a foolish, blubbering child as tears streamed down your face, yet you did not care. The way his hands worked over your body felt magical, igniting a fire through you. How wonderful it felt to be truly desired. His hand slipped between your thighs, from behind, fingers eagerly seeking out your swollen pearl. The delicate rubs made you mewl and long for more.

“Please, uncle, please, I need you,” you begged.

“So you shall have me, sweet girl. Your begging is such sweet music to my ears.” The dark chuckle bounced off the hollow walls as he pulled away from you, sitting on the stone steps, waving you forward with his hand.

You moved slowly, placing your hands on his shoulder before leaning in to kiss him passionately. Your tongue slipped between his parted lips, tangling with his as he guided you into position. Daemon maneuvered your pregnant body with ease and skill, his cock parting through your folds as you situated in his lap, used the familiar stretch of him. Full of him. Full of your uncle when you longed to be full of your brother.

You looped your arms around his neck, gazing into his eyes as you slowly rolled your hips. Your swollen stomach pressed against the taut, sinewy flesh of his abdomen.

He lowered his mouth against your breasts, kissing and nipping the tender flesh laced with blotches as your skin stretched to accommodate the life growing within you. The trace of his tongue around your nipples urged you to rock faster, squeezing around his cock.

“Kepus,” you whispered, the words still strange on your tongue as you had never been a diligent student. Yet they felt right.

“Yes, qēlītsos. I am your kepus and will tend to you, sweetling.” His voice hung dark and heavy in the air as wisps of steam billowed around him, “Just as I do for Rhaenyra.”

You trembled, increasing your rutting, as your finger brushed over his scars before tangling in his damp hair. Hunger and heat fueled you. His mouth claimed your throat hungrily as you reached a blessed peak. A euphoric respite. As his teeth grazed your delicate skin, you tightened your grip on his hair before spilling across his cock. Lips parted in bliss as moans bled from your engorged mouth. Every ache and pain seemed to seep from your body, leaving you feeling as light as a feather.

“It seems you were able to cure me, uncle.”

“Indeed I have,” he smirked, his hands settling on your hips.

You stayed with Daemon in the bath until the water turned ice cold. After the bath, you lay between Daemon’s sprawled, naked thighs as he tenderly applied rose oil to your belly. Next, he applied a salve to your aching breasts and nipples, lulling you into peace and making you feel like a spoiled kitten. You were delighted to be in better spirits, curled in your uncle’s arms with his large hands resting on your belly.

~~

Slumber came easy that evening as you stretched out in bed, clad in your soft nightshift, caught in the hazy feeling between a dream and reality. For a moment, you thought to have imagined the stilted moan. The heel of your palm dug against your heavy eyes as you attempted to shake awake. A few sparse candles illuminated the black room, and two shadowy figures slowly came into focus with your blurred vision—glimpses of leather, pale flesh, and silver hair.

“You are a good boy, are you not, Aemond? A most dutiful brother?” Daemon’s deep voice vibrated through you.

“I am,” he choked out before gasping softly.

“You love her, do you not? You cannot lie to me, boy. Your eye betrays you every time you gaze upon her.”

“I do.” His voice cracked, a small whine spilling through him. You covered your mouth as you realized Daemon had his hand wrapped around Aemond’s cock, no doubt leaking with arousal. You imagined Daemon’s thumb tracing around the weeping slit, the mess slowly coating his fingers. Heat bloomed in your cheeks at such lewd thoughts. Ones that greatly excited you.

“Then I suggest you tell her, silly boy.”

“I will, I promise.” A heavy intake of air followed by a sharp sucking of teeth.

Aemond’s moans sounded muffled, and you assumed he had reached a release, though it was hard to tell in the dimly lit room.

“Do it soon, or I will blister your arse, boy. Do not allow a beautiful Valyrian woman to slip through your fingers. You two were made for each other; appreciate what you have, or I will continue to do so for you.”

You could not distinguish Aemond’s garbled words in response to your uncle. You shifted under the blankets as Daemon left the room. The bed dipped with Aemond’s weight as he settled against your back, one hand gently curving over your hip. His nose nuzzled the back of your head before settling against the curve of your neck. You held your breath as his hand slowly crept away from your hip to settle on your belly. Very gingerly, you placed your hand on top of his, snuggling closer against him. While he failed to say the words, his docile touch assured you of his love.

Tag list: @the-wonderland-madnesss @watercolorskyy

[sstan-hoe]

Pieces of a Woman | One Shot

Text Divider by @saradika-graphics

SUMMARY | Even when his life takes a turn for the worse, Aemond Targaryen endures.

WARNINGS | 18+; Canon Divergence AU; Smut; Insanity; B&C; Gore; Delusions; Miscarriage; Yearning; ANGST

WORD COUNT | 7.2k

A/N | This is my personal favourite out of all the stories I've ever written, reposted with a new header and all that fun stuff! Beta read by the lovely @ewanmitchellcrumbs ❤️

They say madness is a slow disease, and that nobody truly knows when it begins. 

They were wrong. Aemond Targaryen knew very well the exact moment the madness had sunk its claws into his wife. He had watched as her once bright and hopeful eyes became empty and devoid of emotion. He had watched as she was pulled into the darkness completely, becoming a shell of the woman she once was.

As much as he wished he could turn back time, he had accepted his fate. He accepted that he would never have his wife back. He would never hold her in his arms again and never get to lay his head on her lap as she embroidered. She would never read to him in her mellifluous voice ever again, despite the fact that he would give everything he had to have her with him once more. 

What good was all this power and wealth, if he could not protect his own family? What good was his title as Prince Regent, if he did not have her to stand by his side? If he could not protect his little boy?

His hair, once braided to the side by her deft and nimble fingers with love, remained uncared for, left loose in all its glory. Training his one dark-rimmed, tired eye at the crypt that held the ashes of his heir, Aemond Targaryen let the sadness take him - for when his son’s life was brutally snuffed out, his wife’s very soul had been too.

There was nobody to blame for it all apart from himself.

Ever since their wedding, she had been a steady and calm presence in his life. She was the quiet to his rage, the water to his fire. He had always been a sullen and lonely child that harbored resentment for those who had wronged him, but he felt his heart steadily calm down with every moment he spent in her presence.

It wasn't until he met her that he realized he was lacking love and consideration, both of which he believed had never received before - not like this. She gave him an opportunity to be a better man; one that he took eagerly with both arms. 

In return, he was a respectful husband who did his very best. He wasn’t adept at great gestures of love, but he always made sure that his wife woke with a kiss to her hair and his arms enveloping her body. He wanted her to never know loneliness for as long as he lived, he would make sure of it. 

For all his reading and knowledge, Aemond was not good at making his appreciation known verbally. Instead, he would bring her huge tomes from the library so he could read to her. These books covered topics that he was passionate about, so everytime he brought one, he was offering up a part of his soul. Who better to give it to than the woman he has sworn his heart, soul and loyalty to? 

He needed her. He needed her from deep in his soul, and he needed her carnally, always. She was all that was missing in his life, and now that he had her, he would always need her. 

But right now, as her screams erupted through the halls of Maegor’s Holdfast, Aemond’s heart lurched in his chest, becoming heavier with each passing moment. The babe was arriving, and it would seem that the child was taking her for all that she was. Everytime she groaned in pain, he held onto the railing tighter than ever, as though it would make her pain go away.  

They would not let him in, no. Childbirth was a woman’s fight, and the men would have to wait outside - much like the women did when the men went to battle. There was nothing he would not give to hold her hand right now; to tell her that she would be an absolutely beautiful mother, and that all she had to do was summon all her strength and emerge victorious. 

As though she had heard his thoughts, her pained wails slowly died down, replaced by the first cries of a newborn. Boy or girl, the babe had an incredibly strong pair of lungs on them, their mighty cries could overshadow even the loudest of thunderstorms. The cries echoed through the halls of Maegor’s Holdfast, and the servants outside immediately jumped to work. A new royal babe had been born after all - there was work to be done, celebratory feasts to be organized, chambers to be prepared, nothing but the best for a Targaryen.

His mother stepped out of the chambers and laid a hand on his back in comfort. She kissed him on the cheek and smiled in congratulations. “Mother and babe are well, my son. She has made me so proud. The little one is beautiful, he would go on to achieve many great things. Just like you.”

A son. She had given him an heir to carry his bloodline. How would he ever repay her? 

He walked into the chambers with speed that he did not know he possessed, his purpose made clear with each stride. The midwives and maids moved to make way for the One-Eyed Prince, and in he went. 

She laid in the middle of the chambers, looking like she had braved the worst experience of her life. Her hair was askew, with sweat coating her entire body, her fatigue was palpable. Blood and waters coated the floor, and the chambers smelled like death. The bloody spots on her shift alarmed him, and it concerned him to see his usually happy and energetic wife look so thoroughly worn out. But then she smiled. 

Through all her weariness from the challenges of the birthing bed, she had meekly smiled at him - and all was alright in his world again. He held her cheek in his palm and kissed her forehead, heart full from knowing that she was alright. She reached for his other hand, holding onto it like it was the last thing that kept her tethered to reality.

“Are you well, wife?” 

The seemingly simple question certainly did not project the waves of concern that had plagued him outside while he waited with bated breath, but she knew. She saw it in the crinkles on his forehead and the widening of his good eye.

“I am now.”  

She had braved battle, and had never looked more beautiful to him than she did now. Her voice was hoarse from all the pained screaming, and she certainly had no business being awake right now - but by the Gods, he was the happiest man in the realm. 

The maids were done with wiping the blood off of the babe and had handed the boy to her. Aemond knew right then that he would have to compete for his wife’s attention from then on, for his little son had clearly stolen her heart, and his, within moments of his birth. 

Her weak voice called out to him once more. “Aemond, husband… look what we made.” 

He was exquisite. Aemond reached out to the babe, his son, and his son's pudgy rose finger latched onto his long, sturdy one as he continued to cry. “He has a strong grip. He shall be a storied warrior." She smiles at the possibility, and he cannot help but kiss her hand once more.

"You’ve given birth to a boy as strong as you are, wife.” He watched as she nudged her nose to the babe’s and smiled, her face glistening from sweat and tears. His newborn son’s cries got louder with each passing moment, but despite being a man of silence and solitude, Aemond had never felt more at peace.

“Thank you.”

Aemond would be the first to deny that he was a doting paragon of a husband that the bards would sing about, but he certainly was a good man who loved and respected his wife. 

In the days that followed the birth of his child, he had spent every waking moment that he could spare with the pair of them. Both mother and son had the fierce One-Eyed Prince wrapped around their fingers. Between sparring sessions and battling his family’s idiosyncrasies on the daily, his little family had given him quite the reprieve, one that he was infinitely thankful for. 

But now, his son is gone, and his wife is too.

“The heirs need to be kept safe. The twins, little Maelor, all three of them,” his mother said.

He may be in the middle of a war, but it was moments like these that seemed hardest to him. Aemond sat quietly by the hearth, in the very same chair where he always rested. His wife used to sit by him or at his feet as she embroidered. Now, her absence was a gaping hole each time he sat.

“Aemond…”

He turned to the sound of his grandfather calling out his name, looking cold and calculated.  It did not escape Aemond that he was discussing the safety of his brother's children while he had lost his own child. The irony of it all was stark and jarring.

“Yes,” he curtly responded.

“It is in our best interests that you…” His grandfather paused midway through his words, and Aemond knew well that the man did that only when unsettling news was to follow. “...that you take a new wife. We’re in need of an alliance, and she can be sent to the motherhouse at Oldtown. She will be cared for, she will be fed-”

He saw red. “My son is dead!” The words tumbled out of Aemond’s mouth like shards of glass before he could even comprehend the gravity of his grandfather’s heavy, cutting words. 

"My son’s death is on my conscience, his blood is on my hands. I did not do the deed myself, but it certainly feels like I was the one who wielded the knife that killed him.” The people had taken to calling him a kinslayer, and Aemond felt it in his bones everyday - not because of Lucerys Velaryon, but because of how his rash actions had resulted in the death of his little boy.

“My son is dead, and my wife has not been the same ever since. How do you think I can start a new family, with a new woman, when I know very well that I have caused all the grief that has driven my wife to madness? When I caused the death of my own child?” 

Aemond Targaryen always made for a menacing sight, but his grandfather was not prepared for the kind of anger that his grandson had kept stored in him - for himself, his wife, and his son. They were not here, and he was angry enough for all three of them.

The Dowager Queen watched the entire conversation unfold, and she held her hand to her chest, feeling her heartbeat become frantic with each moment that she saw her son in distress. She knew how content he was in his wife's presence, and how much he loved her. To watch a child grow and fester in his own resentment - no mother should have to witness it. And yet, the Gods saw fit to give Alicent Hightower the closest view to her son's heartbreak.

“Get out,” he seethed. Otto Hightower took Aemond’s raw and angry words in stride before walking away, his head still held high. 

His mother stood in front of him, held his hand and kissed him on the cheek. “I’m sorry, my boy. I’m so sorry…”  

She wept until she could not, and it took everything Aemond had in him to not do the same.

When he tossed and turned in his bed in the middle of the night, he would always reach out for her. 

She would always welcome his touch and curl into him, her forehead resting on the smooth planes of his chest and her warm breath making goosebumps rise on his skin. He would hold her tight until neither could ascertain where one ended and the other began, and sleep that normally eluded him would come to him faster than anything else.

Tonight, her spot on the bed is empty.

When he woke in a hurry, he noticed the crumpled sheets and the pillows left askew, the only evidence of her having retired to bed alongside him. He quickly rose from the bed and tried to calm his rapidly beating heart, wondering as to where she could have gone at this ungodly hour. 

Gods, was she hurt?

He did not have to wait for the divine deities to answer, for his answer came in the form of the sweet humming sounds that he had grown to love. He followed her voice as he walked through their apartments, and it led him to the chamber where his son’s crib was kept. She was sitting next to it in her white shift, her head peeping in as she let her hands rest on the crib. She hummed softly and happily, marveling at how beautiful her little boy looked as he slept - looking much like the man she shared her bed with.

Aemond wanted to ask her to come back to bed immediately. The maesters had advised lots of rest for his wife, given the stress of the labors and the damage her body had taken. But as he watched her and his boy, he knew he couldn’t. He needed a moment to drink in the sight of his wife and son - his entire world, all in one chamber.

He held so much love in his heart for them both despite seeing them only with one eye. Perhaps he’d be able to love them more if he could see them with two.

“He’s going to be there when we wake, wife. Come back to bed.”

She turned to him and smiled, a warm smile that he wished he could brand into his mind for all eternity. “Did I wake you?”

“You did not. Your absence from our bed did.” 

She chuckled softly, and he walked over to her. He positioned himself behind her chair and kissed her temple, letting his hands rest on her shoulders. “I don’t think I shall ever tire of looking at him,” She said.

“Hm.” His gaze rested on the sleeping babe, tired from all his crying throughout the day.

“My son, a dragon prince,” She mused. “He’ll be charming, strong and intelligent, just like his father.”

At that, he chuckled darkly and she rose, turning around to face him. Her hand found his cheek and he leaned into her touch, leaving a light kiss on her wrist as he held her hand in place. “What’s so amusing, husband?”

“Charming is not the first word anyone would use to describe me, wife.”

“Well, you are. To me.” Her whispering siren-like voice was like music to his ears. 

She reached up on her toes and left a light kiss on his brow, and Aemond was quick to hold her to him by the waist, wanting to have this - this quiet solace - all to himself for a time.

Who was he to argue with the woman around whom his entire world revolved? The very one that held his heart in her hands?

He stands in the middle of what used to be their shared chambers and sighs. 

The entire room is covered in pieces of her - fragments of her that he desperately clings to for dear life. Robes and dresses that she had not worn in a long time, but still manage to somehow retain her scent. Quills and ink that she used to write her correspondence with, now left to gather dust. Ten Thousand Ships, her favorite book, one that he had given to her as a name day present, laid abandoned on the bedside table. 

This was the very same chamber where he had claimed her. This was where he had first admitted to loving her. This was where she had told him that she was with child. This was where they had spent countless nights talking well into the night, their bodies entwined and voices coming out in hushed whispers and low giggles. This was where they had discovered and learned of the passions of the marital bed, together. This was where their marriage had grown and bloomed.

If he walks a little further, his feet will take him to the adjoined room where his son used to sleep - but try as he might, he does not have the strength for that. Not yet.

He sits by the edge of their bed, the sunlight passing through the windows in streaks of yellow gold. He closes his good eye, hoping for a little time to adjust to the light. Perhaps if he closes it hard enough, he will be able to picture her sitting by the window with her focused eyes trained on her embroidery or one of his books, waiting for him to come back to her after his daily duties. 

His nose flares at the unearthly reminder that his wife is no longer his by side. She had been full of happiness and life, and she had brought light into his life. He welcomed it for as long as she was around, but now that she was gone, he closes his eye and avoids it like the plague, much like he does with the sunlight that now warms his skin.

Her world has become dark because of him. How can he sit in the light in good conscience, when he knows he has lost all right to it?

The waves crashed by the shores of Blackwater Bay and she sat on the sands, watching them. She had a book in her hands, and a basket of food that she had the maids prepare for them to take.

Her eyes closely followed her husband as he held their baby son’s hands upright, his little pudgy feet resting over his huge boot-clad ones as he led them forward. The little boy’s gurgling and laughing echoed through the wind, and she took a bite of a juicy apple while holding a book in her other hand. 

They were the picture of a happy family, the stories of whom may be immortalized in songs for years to come.

He had not yet begun to walk, and his words were all a blubbering mess - but Aemond Targaryen was not known for being patient. He insisted on guiding his son to his feet so his first steps would come to him quicker, and spoke to him in High Valyrian in hopes that his first words would be in his native tongue.

Her boys had walked all the way toward her with her baby’s toes pressing onto Aemond’s feet harshly. He picked him up and held him then, and his son’s hands landed on his eyepatch. It had become his favorite little plaything these days - the boy took to wrangling it off his father’s head and swinging it with his two fat fingers until he grew tired - that was if he did not notice the sapphire first. By the Gods, if he did, he would insist on taking that off to play with too. His son, like him, had a taste for the finer things in life, it would seem.

“He’s taken well to the waters, I think,” she said. Her fondness for the little lad and her husband was evident in her face as she watched them. Her son had taken to swinging his arms in all directions, occasionally hitting his father’s face.

“Water does not mix with fire and blood. He should not be taking so well to the waters.”

“Suppose he can embrace it all then. Perhaps he’s… special.” She rose to meet her son’s eyes, leaving a kiss on his cheek. The boy smiled, a handful of his father’s alabaster hair in his hands as he pulled. Aemond winced, and she giggled. 

“Zaldrītsos…” Aemond murmured, a quiet plea to his son to stop. It fell on deaf ears, but he did not mind. [Little dragon]

A maid had come to inform them that their presence was requested in the keep, and Aemond handed the boy over to her before walking back to give his wife his hand. He pressed a kiss to her knuckles and rubbed her hand with his before leading them away, their steps slow and relaxed.

“We should have another,” she said. Her smile, the source of all his content, was as bright as the sun. “You should take me tonight,” she murmured then, eyes quickly blackened by lust. He watched as the girl with childish wonder transformed into a seductress, and he lost even before he tried - defeat had never felt sweeter.

He could never deny her anything she wanted.

“Do you want me, wife?” He muttered darkly as he halted his steps, turning towards her. He held her by the waist and kissed her brow, waiting for her to respond. 

“I always want you,” she murmured, eyes fluttering at the closeness of his lips. Her bright eyes sought his lilac one as the sound of the waves rippled through the air. “I also want to bear you another child. Would you like that, husband? Another little babe for us to love…”

He nodded and kissed her, pouring all his passion into it as he devoured her lips. “You do look beautiful, belly round and full with my child.”

That night, he choked her name out like an urgent prayer while he spilled into her, his peak following soon after hers. He then peppered kisses across her face and neck as the smell of sweat and coupling engulfed them, while she held onto his hair and let her hand wander over it in a soothing manner. He rubbed a hand over her belly, praying that his seed had taken. If not, he would seek her out and touch her everywhere once more - he would never be tired of her.

If another child was what she desired, then she shall have it - for how could he ever deny her?

The burns and injuries had ruined any spirit Aegon may have had as King.

He had watched his brother as he grew into a fierce protector of his family soon after being crowned. Ser Criston had made clear the dangers that they posed to Rhaenyra with their very existence, and it was all Aegon needed to grow into his role as the rightful monarch. However, he had gotten ahead of himself and underestimated his skills as a dragonriding fighter and gotten himself hurt.

Aemond’s role as Prince Regent was something that he slid into seamlessly - he had always known that he was the better fit for the throne after all. His first action was to ensure the safety of his own wife, Helaena and her three children.

“They’ve been moved to our father’s old chambers. Deep in the Holdfast, far away from any possible intru-”

“I know where the chambers are, Aemond. Will you shut up? You’re giving me a headache.” Aegon interrupted, words slurred as he sipped on Arbor Red. The wine sloshed in the cup as it moved in his unsteady hands. 

His eyes were trained on his brother, a tired and tested man who was now incharge of running a Kingdom. Aegon knew that the crown was heavy, but it did not compare to the weight of the world that Aemond always carried on his shoulders. It only seemed to have gotten worse since his son’s death and his wife’s isolation.

“Does she fare any better?”

“No.” It is all Aemond wishes to say on the matter.

While he may not want to speak of the family he had lost, Aemond knew that he would protect those he was left with every breath in his body if need be. He may not have been there for his little boy, but he would die before he let a hair on any of his remaining family members’ heads be touched. The regret of being an inadequate husband and father pricked at him like the heat from the bright blaze of the fire in the hearth, and he walked out with purpose.

He knew where he was going next. After all, his feet always carried him to her at nightfall.

When Aemond came home dripping wet from the rain that had drenched him at Storm’s End, he was convinced that he had ruined everything good that he had. He could not imagine a simple scratch on his little boy without feeling angered - how could he expect Rhaenyra to simply accept her son’s death? 

He had to get them safe. He had to keep them safe. He had to keep them safe. Safe, safe, safe.

She had just left the babe with the nursemaid and come to their chambers to find a moment of quiet before her son’s inevitable crying began again. Her eyes widened when she opened the door to find her husband completely drenched, looking like he was inviting death with open arms. He may as well have.

“Aemond..” She rushed to him immediately, hands going to his damp hair and clothes. “Gods did it rain on your ride back home? Let me fetch you some clean clothes and something to dry yourself with.” He reached out to her before she could go too far, and she gasped at how cold his touch was.

It was always warm, and tonight it was not.

“Stay, please.”

“I need you to put on something warm first, Aemond. You’ll catch a chill.”

She was too distracted by his wet state to notice the tears mixed with the raindrops. He said nothing as she walked away and brought back fresh garb for him to change into. She quietly bade that he raise his arms and he obeyed, not having the strength to do anything else. Slowly, each garment fell with a wet thwack to the floor and she took to wiping all the water off of him. 

His grave silence unnerved her immensely, and she knew something was wrong. She would wait for him to say it.

She dressed him in a linen undershirt and breeches and took him to his beloved chair by the fire, in hopes that it would warm him up and encourage him to tell her of what plagued him. He sat in silence for a long while as she sat cross-legged on the floor, her forehead leaning on one of his thighs while her finger drew mindless patterns on the other. 

His hand always reached for her hair when they sat like this, but tonight, that was not the case. She looked up at him with inquiring eyes, and as he caught her vision with his one eye, he did not have the heart to tell her what he had done, but he had to.

“I killed Lucerys Velaryon.” His voice is hoarse and the words are choked out with difficulty, and while the weight of his actions hit him hard, it was harder to watch his sweet wife’s concerned face morph into something else entirely.

“What?”

“He was sent as an envoy. I only meant…” He gulped, and the tears fell freely once more. 

She quickly lifted herself up and straddled him, holding his face in both her hands. Her fingers caught every tear that fell in quick succession. “Tell me, go on.”

“I only meant to scare him. I need you to believe me, I did not mean to kill him.” 

Her husband was a proud man, and it made her stomach churn to see him sound so broken. She feared that she may not like what she was about to hear, but she had promised to be his other half for all his life, and now he needed her. 

He may be fearsome, but he was not a cold-blooded murderer. He did not mean to kill him - but how much weight did his intent hold, now that the boy was dead?

“I believe you. Go on.”

“The dragons…” He let out a hoarse breath and she continued to wipe at his tears with the tips of her thumbs - softness that he right now felt very undeserving of. “Arrax breathed fire at Vhagar and she retaliated, she bit into the dragon’s neck and Luke fell, so did Arrax.” 

She felt light headed with worry. How could she stomach the thought of a young boy falling to his death from the skies? How could she, when she was a mother to a little boy herself?

His uncle, Daemon, was going to come for them, Aemond was sure of that. But he could not bring himself to think of much else as he watched his wife digest all that he had told her, never once ceasing to remind him that she believed him, even if nobody else would. 

When they rose, Aemond’s anger knew no bounds. The possible consequences ran through his mind as he pushed his desk onto the floor with brute force. The sharp edges of her vanity had drawn blood from the back of his hand as he moved in frustration, and she was quick to hold onto him and remind him of her presence. He was not alone, he had her.

“Take me. Take it out on me.” Aemond could not think straight, and she could not bear to see him hurt himself, any more than he already has. It is this very thought that drives her to take his hand and lay it upon her clothed chest.

He took her from behind that night, hands clutching onto her bouncing breasts. Every string that was stretched had snapped with each rough thrust into her, the sounds of skin slapping skin somehow seeming too rough that night. “We’re going to be fine, wife,” he groaned - and she did not know whom he was trying to placate - her, or himself? 

“I will keep you safe, the both of you.”

When he was done with her, she was left looking ragged with dried tear tracks on her face. He wanted to apologize - it seemed as though he hurt everything he touched, and after his now dead Stong nephew, his own sweet wife was his latest victim.

She held him between her breasts that night as they both wept, at a loss for words at what he had done. She did not know how to comfort him or rid him of the guilt or paranoia that his mind now played host to.

What she did know is that her husband needed her, and that she was not going anywhere. So when he suggested sending her and their son away, fearing for her safety, she begged him to let her stand by his side.

“If something were to happen to me, there would be nobody to protect you and our boy.”

“If something were to happen to you, our son and I would much rather follow you than brave many years alone.” 

He reluctantly gave in, thinking that an increased guard and his constant presence around them would be enough to keep them unharmed. 

How wrong he was.

He had walked away only for a moment. 

His wife had wanted to eat some cake during the night - he suspected that she was with child again. Little did he know that it was the last moment of their happy marriage. The sight that he had walked back into was something that would never fail to haunt him.

Dead guards, a whole litany of them. His wife in her bloodied white shift, holding onto their son’s decapitated body. All the light in her eyes had dimmed as he stood frozen in place, his eye widened at the harrowing sight before him. 

She wailed as she clutched the corpse to her chest, with no care for the injuries on her own body, or the blood of their babe that was now mixed in with her own.

“My boy, my precious boy…”

The rest of the royal family soon followed and his mother pulled her away from the babe’s lifeless body. He fell to the floor with no one to hold him, and Aemond could do nothing but watch.  Aegon’s angry calls for his nephew’s head to be brought back along with the killers slipped into one ear and slipped out the other, and he went numb as he realized that the consequences of his actions had caught up to him. 

Him, he could understand. But his sweet wife, his little son? What had they done?

A son for a son.

The rational part of his mind would have argued that Luke’s death probably left Rhaenyra feeling the same tragedy that he was faced with - but he was anything but rational in that moment. His fists clenched as his knuckles met the wall, and Aegon had to physically restrain him from walking out to catch the rats himself.

“She needs you. She needs you. She needs you. Listen to me, Aemond!”

Helaena had collapsed onto the chair entirely, repeating ominous words that he did not register at all. 

“Blood and Cheese. Blood and Cheese. Blood and Cheese.”

Aegon had gone to join in the hunt for his nephew’s killers, and she kept rocking herself back and forth at the sight of the blood that now painted the walls and floors of her brother’s chambers until she was led away. Aemond stood, all alone in a pool of his son’s and wife’s blood. 

When the Silent Sisters were led into the chamber by his grandfather, Aemond froze. His wife had held their lifeless son to her breast as she cried, but he could not bring himself to look at him, much less touch him.

Hours later, with patches of his own son's blood soaked through his clothes, he had gone to see her. He held her in his arms as she sobbed through the night, trying to push him away with each firm hit to his chest. Aemond shushed her over and over to no avail, holding her closer each time she tried to separate herself from him. Sometime during that night, her eyes had become lifeless; a deep abyss. The sight of it finally drove him to tears too, with his good eye becoming a glistening violet ring floating in a sea of angry red.

They say madness is a slow disease, and that nobody truly knows when it begins. They were wrong. Aemond Targaryen knew very well the exact moment when the madness had sunk its claws into his wife. 

It was right then as he held her, comforting her and apologizing like a madman for tainting her life with his presence. 

The moonlight diverged through the stained glass windows that directly faced the room where she now resided. She had been kept in these chambers before their wedding, and she often spoke of how beautiful the lights were when they fell directly onto the corridors, reflecting the colors of the glass that they slid through. He wondered if she still thought the same. He wondered if she even looked.

In the day that followed their son’s death, they had burned their little boy and watched as his body was wheeled around the streets of King’s Landing for their benefit. Aemond had wanted to retch then, but he held his wife tight as the people empathized with the kind princess whose time as a doting mother had been brutally cut short. 

She fared worse - she looked dead in her eyes, and he was sure she was lost on the inside too. He did not know if she even sensed his hold on her as she kept muttering their dead boy’s name in a series of weak whimpers.

Two days later, she had lost their second child. He held her from behind and rocked her gently as the blood flowed from between her thighs for hours, the babe coming out in clumps of bloodied skin, having never drawn breath. Every moment of his wife’s torture plagued Aemond’s existence, and he questioned his abilities as a protector while grieving his son and his unborn child all alone. 

The Gods were cruel to him in their games. They made him watch as his son’s life was taken, and they took bits of his wife’s mind and soul with each passing day. He supposed that this was the hand that kinslayers were dealt.

It was a slow death for Aemond, and it had begun the day his son was killed. Now he had to watch as his once vivacious wife completely lost hold over all her senses, and lived in a world where he could not reach her.

On some days, she would receive him with love, as though his presence in her life had not destroyed her completely. He would be able to revel in her touch once more, if only to simply be able to remind himself that she was still alive - in body, if not soul. He missed her, his wife, his woman, his entire heart. But his actions had killed her from the inside - did he have a right to his yearning anymore? He did not want to know, for he feared that he may not like the answer.

On other days, she would be the complete embodiment of madness. She would fight the maesters and scream at them, begging for them to let her die and throw herself off the window. She would pull at her beautiful hair, blame him continuously and shriek, mourning the loss of their child. 

When she was done, she'd lower her voice and murmur words into the air. Speaking to no one in particular, almost like a ghost, she'd fidget with her dress and say, "His body twitched after they hurt him. My baby boy suffered. Oh, my boy!"

He may not have wielded the knife that removed his head, but his actions caused it. He may as well have killed his son himself. Guilt was not an emotion that Aemond Targaryen knew well as a boy, but it was all he now knew as a grown man.

She would bawl and cry at him to go away. She would scream at him to leave her alone, and blame him for killing her children - and rightfully so. And though it pricked at his heart, he would come back every night. 

He wonders how she is feeling tonight. He wishes she was ignorant and unaware, for he is desperate for her touch, her company. It has been weeks. He is brought back to reality when the Maester’s gown billows behind him in the night wind. 

“Your Grace.” he bows. 

“How is she?”

“Somewhat calmed tonight and not lucid, my prince.” The old man sighs before continuing. “The Princess continues to ask for her little prince. We have given her milk of the poppy, so she may fall asleep soon enough.”

 “Hm.”

He is mildly relieved to hear that she is not herself tonight - for it allows him to relive some of their happier days. 

In his hand is a book - Ten Thousand Ships, the very one that he had gifted her. He dismisses the maester and his stewards follow behind him. Aemond walks into the room with his mind steeled, ready to be brave - for himself and for her.

“Husband! Come, come!” Her cheery voice is not quite hers, and it unnerves Aemond - her words are not from her heart, and it takes everything in him to not fall to his knees and apologize once more for what he has done to her. “The Maester said our boy’s learning to walk! Did you see him? I was promised that you would bring him tonight! Where is he?”

Gone, where we cannot see him, he wants to say. But how could he, without wanting to throw himself at her feet in regret? “He is tired. All that walking has exhausted him.”

“I suppose, yes! They tried to force me to take that vile concoction once more tonight, I managed to push it away and evade them! Look!” His gaze follows her hand and sees the spilled milk of the poppy on the floor. His wife was a calm and steady woman, and now she was behaving like a child and mistreating maesters.

I’m sorry, I’m sorry, I’m sorry.

“You should not do that, wife. It is not proper.” 

He holds her hand and kisses her knuckles, before leaning his head back to look at her. Her hair has not been combed today, and he gently turns her around to run his fingers through her hair, digits trembling at touching her once more. She could come to at any moment and remember who had caused her such distress, and then she would cry until he walked away - the very real possibility rakes at Aemond, so he remains prepared for her to push him away any time now.

I’m sorry, I’m sorry, I’m sorry.

"I know. I drank it the second time. I'm sorry."

He then turns her back to face him and notices the dark rims around her empty eyes. He sighs and lets out a long, heavy breath. If he was drunk enough and she was unaware, he would fool himself into thinking that they were alright. But they aren’t. 

“It is time to go to bed, wife. Will you come with me?”  I love you, I miss you and I am sorry. Will you come back to me? Please?

He kisses both her eyelids and leads her to the bed in her shift. He gently helps her lay down, following her immediately as he lays next to her. She leans into his hold seamlessly and he tightens his arm around her - it hurts him how despite her madness, her penchant to seek out his touch never changes.

He takes the book from the bedside table, and she squeals. “Will you read to me tonight, husband? I do love it when you read to me. Perhaps a quiet moment between the both of us before the maids bring our son back? You know how he makes a fuss and refuses to give us a moment of quiet!” She laughs, and Aemond holds his tears back once more.

“Of course.” He kisses her temple.

He begins reading and the dry sounds of his throat lull her to sleep in his arms as he rakes his fingers through her hair. When she has completely drifted away from him, he allows himself a moment of thought and kisses her on the lips - watching as she murmurs his name.

He had taken her to wife, and sworn to protect her from any harm that may come her way. In the end, the only one she had to be protected from, was himself. He failed her, and now, he would not rest until he picked up all the pieces and put her back together.

When morning comes, she may still be unconscious of her surroundings and allow him some more time, or she may be lucid and scratch at his face until he leaves her alone. The uncertainty kills him, but he will allow himself to enjoy her tonight. 

It was on this very day that he had kissed her for the first time, in the Sept, between the statues of the Mother and the Father. On this day, four years ago, they were married. 

And on this day, he continues to read to her because she had asked, even when she had fallen asleep - for how could he ever deny her?

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MASTERLIST

[sstan-hoe]

"Bewitched" - Aegon Targaryen II x Witch!Reader x Aemond Targaryen

a/n: a request from @dreamfyre03 combined with one from @the-shadow-queen02 🤭🩷

Summary: Bewitching the men of House Targaryen and bringing them under your thrall proves quite easy.

TW: profanity, innuendo, she/her pronouns, AFAB reader, manipulation, mommy kink, dom!reader, breeding kink, p in v sex, unprotected sex, face sitting, oral f receiving, tiddy succin, ass eating, anal sex, jealousy

Word Count: 1,625 words

Disclaimer: I do not own any of the House of The Dragon/Fire & Blood characters nor do I claim to own them. I do not own any of the images used nor do I claim to own them.

Comments, likes, and reblogs are never required but are immensely appreciated 🩷

When Aemond returned from Harrenhal, his mother could not hide her shock at who he had brought back with him.  He said he found you on the side of the road, thrown from your horse, bleeding from your temple with little memory of how you came to be there. He, of course, did the chivalrous thing and took you into his care. But Alicent can tell that it is far more than that when she sees how he looks at you. With care, affection, but something much darker as well. Possessiveness. Intense desire, hunger even. You were quite beautiful, disarmingly so, and it is no wonder her sweet boy was so taken in by you. Buxom with crimson red lips, eyes that seemed much wiser than the age you claimed to be, lined with kohl and framed by long lashes that you knew how to bat oh so prettily at the prince. Your gaze pulled people in. There was a mysteriousness to you, a danger she could not quite name. 

And she hated that Aegon seemed to be just as entranced by you the moment he saw you, descending from his throne to take your hand and press a kiss to the back of it, giving you his most charming smile. The dowager queen saw the way Aemond’s nostrils flared, the way his jaw clenched. You were going to be a problem. And you knew the way you had both the king and the prince wrapped around your little finger. Your smile was one that looked as if you were hiding some deep, dark secret. One that could ruin everything Viserys wanted her to do. A peaceful reign for Aegon, his legacy maintained.

But when she suggests that he send you away, back to the Riverlands where you belong, Aemond raises his voice at her, shocking her entirely. He glares at her, gnashing his teeth as he declares that you are to remain by his side. That you are his guest, his lover, and anyone that has a problem with that will be put to the sword. What sort of spell have you put on her son, she wonders? Are you some kind of enchantress? Some witch who has seduced him with false promises, with the affection he’s so desperately craved all his life? She does not know. But what Alicent does know is this - people are frightened of her third-born for good reason. She has never been on the receiving end of Aemond’s anger before. He’s always revered her, as one reveres the Mother herself. But it would appear that you have replaced her as the most important woman in his life. She watches as you rest a hand on his chest, looking up at him and calming him with a few honeyed words and a bat of your lashes, his eye fluttering shut as you caress him. A low moan escapes from his lips, one that she truly wishes she did not have to hear.

And it’s no wonder what the spell you’ve put him under is. The way he stares unabashedly at your breasts as they strain against the bodice of your dress, the way he licks his lips when you give him that coy little smile. You have seduced him into your grasp and she wonders if you will ever be willing to let him go.

Aemond watches as you move to get up from his bed, the moonlight shining through the window and reflecting upon your bare body as you walk. He stares without shame, admiring your full breasts, the curve to your hips, your soft thighs as you move to grab yourself a robe. He can already feel his cock twitching, imagining burying himself inside you once again, filling you with his seed, tasting your sweet, wet cunny-

His train of thought is cut off when you hand him a goblet of wine, having already poured one for yourself. You smile at him playfully, moving to sit in his lap, running your fingers through his hair. He lets out a soft sigh of contentment, leaning into your touch, feeling your nails scratching at his scalp. You do not judge him for it, the way he clings to you like a babe, his lips finding your breasts, suckling greedily, his tongue laving attention onto your pert nipple. You just continue running your hand through his hair, soothing him. Aemond’s other hand moves to squeeze at your neglected breast, only to have you wrap his knuckles, fixing him with a sharp glare.

“Do not be greedy, my prince,” you say in that silvery voice, scolding him affectionately, the sound making him grow all the harder, “Now, I must go see your brother.”

Aemond shakes his head, arms wrapping around your waist, “No. You have to stay here with me. You are mine. You belong to me. I will not let Aegon take you away from me. He has gotten everything he has wanted all his life. I will not let him have you.”

You run your fingers along the length of his scar, smirking slightly when his breath hitches at your soft touch, “My sweet, sweet Aemond. Surely you remember my vision. To make it a reality, I have told you what it is that I must do.”

“It does not mean I have to like it. Or even approve of it,” he mumbles, burying his face in your neck, nipping at your soft skin, “You are mine.”

“Of course I am yours,” you coo affectionately, “When you sit the Iron Throne, I will be at your side. You will wield Blackfyre, the Conqueror’s crown upon your handsome brow.”

“And you will be my queen,” Aemond insists eagerly, letting out a groan as you sink down onto his cock, the subtle bounce of your breasts as you move your hips mesmerized him, “Oh Gods, you take me so well…”

Your fingers trace his throat all, squeezing gently, a grin spreading across your lips when he lets out a lewd moan of your name, “Yes, my king. I will be your queen. And you will breed me every night. Perhaps this is the night your seed will take and your heir will begin to grow inside of me.”

The thought of you, your breasts heavy with milk, your belly swollen as his child grows inside of you… It is all almost too much for him to bear. He feels you tense around him, his seed spilling inside you at the feeling as you milk his cock for everything he has. You always take him so perfectly, as if you were made for him and only him.

He hates watching you brush your air, applying some scented oil to your neck before taking your pitcher of wine and leaving the chambers you currently share with him. Aemond knows this is all for the greater plan, the vision you saw in the fire on the way to King’s Landing. Him on the throne, his babe in your belly. Aemond tries to stay in his chambers. He tries to play the part of the responsible, dutiful man. To let you do what the two of you planned. You will whisper in Aegon’s ear, bewitch him with promises of a life far away in YiTi. You will get him to abdicate his claim to the throne, allowing Aemond to take his rightful place. And to do all of this, Aemond knows seducing him, bedding him is necessary. But he cannot bear it.

So he storms into Aegon’s bedchamber. He sees you there, sitting atop Aegon, much as you did atop him mere hours earlier. Aegon’s hands hold your hips, his eyes blown wide with lust as you ride him. Aemond is transfixed by the sight. You look so beautiful, so powerful as you give his brother pleasure, as you take your own from him. You grab Aegon’s hands, pinning them above his head as you roll your hips faster and faster. Aegon moves to take one of your breasts in his mouth, whining pathetically when you smirk and move back just out of reach.

Aemond glowers at the two of you for a moment before storming up to you, gripping your hips from behind. You glance at him over your shoulder, a wicked smile curling on your lips as you pull him into a hot, wet kiss. Aegon watches the two of you, his lips parted as he continues bucking his hips up against you before finally spilling himself in your cunt with a pathetic whine of your name. You smirk at the two men before speaking in a cool, measured tone.

“There’s enough of me to share, darlings.”

The two stare at you in awe as you move to straddle Aegon’s face, turning to Aemond and glancing downward. Immediately, he knows what you expect him to do. Before you, he never would have thought of himself as being interested in this sort of depravity. But while you ride his elder brother’s face, his own tongue teasing your puckered hole before preparing you to take his cock, he realizes that he has very much grown addicted to you.

The night continues this way, the three of you losing yourself in your shared pleasure, each brother sound asleep on either side of you. You slip from the bed in the dead of night, putting your robe on once more and preparing to meet a figure, hidden under the shroud of darkness. He waits for you in King’s Landing, near Mysaria’s brothel, a smirk on his face.

“How is the plan progressing, little witch?”

Your lover pulls you into his arms, groaning against your lips as you palm at his cock, “The plan goes well, Daemon. Very well.”

[sstan-hoe]

𝑼𝒏𝒕𝒊𝒍 𝒂𝒍𝒍 𝑾𝒂𝒕𝒆𝒓𝒔 𝑩𝒓𝒆𝒂𝒌

𝒑𝒂𝒊𝒓𝒊𝒏𝒈 — (kinda) modern!aemond targaryen × fem!reader

𝒔𝒖𝒎𝒎𝒂𝒓𝒚 — well let's just say I was in a mood and would very much like to try something new...

𝒘𝒂𝒓𝒏𝒊𝒏𝒈𝒔 — squirting, smut obviously, oral (f receiving), p in v, dirty talk

𝒏𝒐𝒕𝒆 — am I back? maybe...I have finals and I feel so stressed, but I hope I can be back in May!

„Aemond! Stop, oh god!“ Aemond draws hard circles over your clit, a shit eating grin painting his face. He had tried for the past two months to get you to squirt and right now he was the closest he’d ever been.

You had nothing against it, even being your idea but right now a weird feeling bubbled in your stomach which you’d never felt before.

Aemond said it had to be like this, you would get a feelings as if a knot was being tied inside you. The knot would get tighter with every passing second, until it finally exploded.

You couldn't pin point the feeling, was it good, was it bad?

Good, amazing, like a relief. As Aemond continued his work he pushed the right button and answered your worries.

Your husband grinned at you as you covered his face with your juice. “You fucking bastard,” you breathed out as you fell back into the pillows. “Bastard? I just gave you one of the best orgasms of your life,” Aemond told you proudly, his ego growing.

When you first brought up the idea squirting, you would have never been able to imagine how wonderful it would make feel.

Still he was a little shit who cheated. “You ready for another?” He asked wiggling his eyebrows with a seductive smirk. “Sorry, but I don’t have to pee again which means you can’t cheat, and we know how the last few times went…,” you trailed off as your eyes moved to the sheets.

Aemond was offended and suddenly grabbed you by your ankles to pull you down further on the bed. A surprised gasp fell from your lips at his actions.

He grasps your hips and shoves himself deep inside, not giving you any chance to adjust to his size — like he did so often. Aemond pulls back and thrusts in enough to move you several inches up the sheets.

The feeling you have felt not too long ago was building up again like a thread that was threatening to be cut with a knife. A snap, a cut, the right angle to the right spot was all it took for your waters to break once more.

Your man couldn’t be any happier as he grinned from ear to ear. Proud of himself that he made you cum and squirt without ‘cheating’.

“Call me a cheater once more, I dare you,” he whispered as his thrusts slowed down. “And get that outcome again?” You cocked a brow at him, receiving a chuckle from him.

“You know I haven’t cum yet…,” he lowly trailed of.

Your eyes widened in shock, “I’m not gonna make you squirt,” you said with raised hands. Aemons shook his head in response, “no my love, that’s not what I meant.”

[sstan-hoe]

"Lose For Me" - Aemond Targaryen x Hightower!Reader

a/n: felt inspiration after seeing the new posters and wrote this silly little piece based on "a knight's tale". credit to @cyeco13 for the aemond photo and @bucknastysbabe for the tourney favor 🩷

Summary: You ask Aemond to set aside his pride and do something drastic to prove his love to you.

TW: canon typical incest, profanity, innuendo, she/her pronouns, AFAB reader, tooth rotting fluff

Word Count: 1,750 words

Disclaimer: I do not own any of the House of The Dragon/Fire & Blood characters nor do I claim to own them. I do not own any of the images used nor do I claim to own them.

Comments, likes, and reblogs are never required but are immensely appreciated 🩷

Ever since you were a girl, it was said that you had Prince Aemond wrapped around your pretty little finger. The two of you were inseparable growing up. You were sent to the Red Keep at a young age, the youngest and only daughter of Aemond’s uncle, Ser Gwaine. You were to serve as a companion for him, his nephews and brothers not being of the same temperament. You may not have had the blood of the dragon in you, but it was often said you had the spirit of one. Quick-witted, able to charm others with a mere smile and bat of your long lashes. It was no wonder Aemond was bewitched by you the moment he met you.

Many believed that the announcement of a betrothal between the two of you was imminent. However, it never came. Whenever your grandsire, Ser Otto, broached the topic with you, you evaded the subject. You danced around the topic, claiming that you were too young to think of such things. And, ever the apple of his eye, your grandsire agreed with you. Aemond, on the other hand, kept pushing for a betrothal to be made, for you to be promised to him. But, his mother convinces him that when the time is right, it will happen.

When the tourney in honor of Aegon’s one and twentieth nameday arrives, you pull Aemond to the side after supper one night, giving him that cheeky smile that he’s fallen so in love with over the years. He follows after you, his hand in yours as you pull him along to one of the Red Keep’s abandoned corridors. You beam up at him, the look in your eyes nothing short of mischievous, something he’s grown quite used to in all the years he’s known you.

“Are you participating in the tourney?” You ask, gazing up at him through your lashes, that damned smile of yours making his heart beat out of his chest.

Aemond nods, clearing his throat, “Yes. I was one of the first to declare my intention to do so. I will be the champion for House Targaryen.”

“I thought you… How did you so eloquently put it? Didn’t give ‘a shit about tourneys’?” You tease.

His cheeks flush slightly, your gentle ribbing bringing a pleasant warmth to his chest as he meets your gaze, his lips twisted into a half-smile, “Perhaps things have changed. You know that I do not believe in favors. It’s all superstitious nonsense. But this once, I shall allow myself to indulge in such a thing,” Aemond pauses before continuing, “If you will grant it to me, of course.”

“We will see,” you hum, “I had planned to give it to Lord Stark.”

Aemond lets out an annoyed huff. Cregan Stark. The nerve of you to tease him like this. And how foolish is he, to allow you to play him like a fiddle?

“Would you not be more willing to give it to me?” He asks, his voice a silken whisper, pleading with you, time standing still around the two of you as he takes your hands in his.

“Perhaps if you were to prove my affection for me, I’d give you my favor.”

“And how might I do that?” Aemond questions eagerly, his eye focused intently on you, a charming smile on his handsome face.

“Lord Stark promised to win the tournament in my honor. As did your nephew, Prince Jacaerys.” Aemond scoffs at this revelation. How many people must he compete with for your heart? Your next words, however, shock him, “I want you to lose in my honor. To set aside your pride and show me how much I mean to you. I will grant you my favor if you promise to do this, and perhaps something else should you keep your word.”

Aemond’s jaw drops. You can’t be serious. Aemond is undefeated in his training. And you want him to… Lose? His eye narrows slightly.

“How many bouts am I expected to throw?”

“All of them,” you smirk, “The melee. The joust. All of it.”

His jaw clenches in annoyance, teeth gritted as he questions, “And what, pray tell, is this ‘something else’ you are promising? How am I to be rewarded for such a bold move?”

“A kiss,” comes your simple reply.

He arches a brow, considering your words. A kiss. He shifts his footing, and for a moment, it seems as though he is going to refuse. But he simply asks another question.

“What kind of kiss, might I ask?”

“One from me,” you giggle, “On the lips. One kiss.”

Aemond grins, “And there is no chance you will renege on this offer? That you will make me lose for nothing?”

“I swear on my honor,” you vow, “You will have your kiss if you lose this tourney for me.”

“Is it a chaste kiss?” He questions, leaning in closer, “Or something more… Passionate?”

You slap his chest, chiding him playfully, “I am a lady, my dearest prince. Such matters are inappropriate to discuss.”

Aemond chuckles softly, shaking his head at your display of coyness. He moves his palm to caress your cheek, smiling to himself at the way you lean into his touch, your hand resting over his. He has never been one to show his affection so freely, only with you is he so open and loving. You press a chaste kiss to his palm, one that his mind reeling.

“I will see you in the morning,” you tell him, taking a step backward, “I will be in the royal box beside our grandsire. Look for me?”

“I would never miss you,” Aemond promises, holding onto your hand until the last possible moment, his voice dropping to a whisper, “And just think. I will embarrass myself before the entire Seven Kingdoms just to see that beautiful smile. I would do anything for you.”

You nod at him, murmuring softly, “Goodnight, sweet Aemond.”

He smiles, “Goodnight, my lady. Sleep well.”

Aemond rides up to you at the tournament, smirking at Cregan and Jacaerys as you lay your favor upon his lance. You give him a cheeky little wink before speaking.

“I wish you good fortune in the tournament, Your Grace,” you flirt, biting your lip as you lean forward, pressing your lips to Aemond’s cheek.

His entire face warms at the feel of your lips on his skin and he nods, his heart thumping wildly in his chest, blurting out, “With your kiss and your favor, I require no luck at all, my sweet lady.”

Falling on his arse is something Aemond grows quite accustomed to during the tourney. He’s knocked from his horse several times, all in the pursuit of a kiss from you. He lays there, staring up at the sky for a moment as the crowd cheers for Prince Jacaerys. Aemond could have beaten him with ease, but instead? He’s here.

He rides past the royal box, seeing the way you rush forward, concern in your eyes as you wince at the sight of the gash on his cheek, “Aemond, are you alright?”

“I am fine,” he mutters, “It is merely my pride that is wounded.”

Meanwhile, your grandsire looks between the two of you in confusion, watching as Aemond is knocked from his horse time and time again while you sigh dreamily, a hand resting on your chest as you proclaim, “He does love me!”

He continues losing, steel clanking against his helm, being thrown from his horse. But for your sake? Aemond keeps going. By midday, he has a black eye, his entire body is bruised, and he feels as if he’s been thrown from Vhagar’s saddle. His body aches, but all he can think of is you. Of winning that kiss. He’s surprised when your handmaiden comes to him with a message. She curtsies before relaying it.

“My lady bids you to win every bout from now on, Your Grace, and win the tourney in her honor.”

Aemond’s jaw drops and he thinks, if he were a lesser man, he’d walk right back over to you and give you a piece of his mind. You want him to win now? Are you mad? But, he nods, face set with determination as he mounts his horse once again, rolling his shoulders, preparing for the next bout. He glances at the favor on his lance, a smile playing on his lips as he rides back out.

And when the tourney is over and he has won, beating all the others with a miraculous improvement in skill? He rides straight to you, naming you his Queen of Love and Beauty, placing the crown of flowers upon your head. You greet him with a coy smile.

“I believe I promised you something, my prince.”

He removes his helmet, grinning at you, his face flushed and hair matted to his forehead, “I believe you did. I am entitled to a kiss, my lady.”

You brush your lips against his cheek, moving to whisper in his ear softly, “Meet me in the gardens. During the feast. You shall have your kiss.”

Aemond nods, taking your hand in his, brushing his lips against it gently, “I will wait with bated breath.”

Your betrothal is announced at the feast, you having finally given your grandsire permission. But, despite having been on the dance floor a few moments earlier, you and Aemond are now nowhere to be found.

The two of you stand in the garden, in the summerhouse as rain begins to pour, your lips pressed to Aemond’s, his hands on your waist. It’s a tender, sweet first kiss, your lips dancing against each other gently in unison. However, as the rain continues to fall, the temperature between you continues to rise, Aemond pulling you closer, pressing your body flush up against his, his tongue pushing between your lips, massaging it against your own. Your hands thread in his hair as he lifts you up onto the railing, your lips never once leaving his.

“How many children will we have?” You murmur into the kiss, making him smile.

“Six,” Aemond replies confidently, moving to kiss your jaw, then your neck, making you giggle.

“Six? No, Aemond, a dozen at least!” You jest playfully, wrapping your arms around him.

“Well, now. A dozen?” He arches a brow before smirking, his hand wandering to your waist, giving you a gentle squeeze as he whispers, “I suppose we had better get started then, my love.”