#dark!aemond targaryen smut

[youraverageaemondsimp]

“Made for me.” // Aemond Targaryen x Sister!Reader

Thank you everyone for 1K followers, I am so grateful for all the support I've received for my fics, it's kind of an emotional moment for me cause I never thought I'd get this far, so here is the fic from this poll! this is short since I did not have much time and I do not want to delay my 1k celebration fic further! <3

MDNI // DD:DNE // reader discretion is advised.

Summary: As far as Aemond can remember, he had liked you, not in a way a brother loves his sister, no, in a way a man loves a woman, finding out that you were soon to be betrothed to a Tully for alliance, he feels devastated, until he decides he can prevent it, by ruining you.

WARNINGS: heavy noncon to dubcon, mindbreak, mindfuck, canon typical incest, creepy aemond(?), possessive aemond, dark!aemond, jealousy, obsession, breeding kink, tiddy sucking, virginity loss, mentions of blood, purity culture, medieval age standards (no smut until 18+), cum eating, cunnilingus, multiple orgasms, porn with little plot. + not proofread.

block the tag #MAE:DARK!CONTENT to avoid seeing dark content from me.

WC: 3k

For as long as Aemond can remember, he had always been smitten with you, his little sister, someone very dear to him, he had loved you since the moment you were born, immediately becoming someone he swore to protect.

He was rumoured to have some romantic feelings for helaena, which wasn't entirely false but if anyone were to look closely, they would realise that the longing gaze he holds for helaena is nothing compared to the one when he looks at you.

As he grew into a man, these feelings developed further, and as he watched you grow into a woman, desire managed to get a hold of him. He remembers the first time he felt carnal attraction towards you, it was your sixteenth nameday, you had worn a beautiful green dress that showed a little cleavage, something his mother would've been against but she let it slide that time, he remembered as you bent over in front of him to get something from the table, giving him full view of your tits which he immediately looked away from.

That night he had rushed back to his chambers as fast as possible to tug on his length at the thought of you.

He was never the same after that, every touch ignited a fire in him, when you would lay on his thigh as you both sat beneath the godswood while he read, he had to fight the urge to take you right then and there, taking your maidenhead in front of the gods to bind you to himself forever.

As the years passed, his feeling for you grew stronger and stronger.

“Aem!” There was your sweet voice calling him once again, his gaze lifted from the book on the table to your form which stood a few metres away from him, you smiled when you noticed his gaze was on you, walking over to him so you stood next to him, peering down on the book he was reading.

“What are you reading?” you ask curiously, voice leaking with inquiry, he looked down at his book before glancing up again, “Just a book about our history, valyria.” he tells you and you lean down slightly over his shoulder, your platinum blonde locks falling over and curtaining the side of his face as you read the text.

“Would you read it to me?” you inquire and he nods, before you shoot him the bright smile that never seemed to leave your face, and pull the chair beside him, causing the wood to make a noise as it glid against the floor, and sitting down on it.

He began reading and you listened to him for quite a while, before your eyes started becoming droopy and closing as sleep tried to overwhelm you, it wasn't because you were not interested in the history, no, it was due to the fact that your older brother's voice was extremely comforting.

He chuckled when he tried your efforts to keep yourself awake and closed the book, “Sister, you must not fight when sleep finds you, go to thine chambers and rest.”

“But brother! You have just gotten to Aegon's conquest.” you pout, and he chuckles, “I shall read it to you tomorrow, now go rest.” he manages to convince you and obey his word.

Aemond sighs as he watches you walk away, you were the Apple of his eye, everyone knew, he had been protective of you since you were younger, though he developed certain type feelings, the kind that a brother shouldn't develop for his sister, but alas, targaryens have queer customs, after all, his elder sister was married to Aegon, their older brother.

It was only time until mother betrothed you both, and he would wait patiently for that, he would often imagine how married life with you would be, it would be perfect.

But all those dreams were crushed when he finds out that your mother was planning to betrothed you to a tully, to get their alliance in case of Aegon's claim for the throne. Angry was an understatement, he was extremely pissed off, and what did you do? You gladly accepted it, even managing to look happy at the proposal.

Just then he remembers his elder sister's words. ‘If one possesses a thing, the other will take it away.’

He could not have that.

He can not have you be taken away from him, that too by an undeserving house such as tully.

You knew something was extremely odd when Aemond came to your chambers at night, he never did that, always deeming it inappropriate for a lady and a man to be together after the moon has risen unless they were husband and wife. So it was extremely shocking as to what he was doing in your chambers, knowing he took the secret entrance since the guard did not mention Aemond at all when you entered.

“Brother? What are you doing here so late?” you ask as you approach him, he is sitting on the chair near the fireplace, turning his head to the side as if to acknowledge your presence, the light bouncing off his face making his features look much more angular and intimidating.

“I have missed you, dear sister.” he stood up and turned to face you, and you peered up at him confused, “I had heard about your betrothal to a tully, though I do not remember his name, I came here to wish you pleasantries and a prosperous marriage.” he tries his best to not scowl.

You smile widely.

And that immediately sets him off.

“Thank yo-” before you could finish your sentence, Aemond grabs you harshly by your cheeks, pulling his face towards his own, “You're happy? You're fucking happy?” he growls as his breath fans your face, “Aemond-” before you could say anything, the same hand that was gripping your cheeks goes to your hair, pulling your head back, your hands fly up to his to make him release his grip as the tug at your strands were incredibly painful.

He doesn't say anything but slams his lips against yours, moving against yours in a frantic rhythm, your eyes widen at this and you push at his chest to pull him off, but he uses the grip on your hair to further push you against him, and soon you're all flush against him, weakly trying to pushing him off while the hand in your hair keeps tightening as the other holds your waist gently.

A true contrast.

He pulls away to breathe and he looks at your teary eyes, as you look at him, “Aemond- you're scaring me.” you say weakly, shaking as his eye narrows, “I love you.” he blurts out and you look at him shocked, “But- we're siblings–”

“We're also targaryens.” he cuts you off, and lets go of your hair.

You squeal when he lifts you up roughly, before making haste over to your bed and throwing you on it, and before you can get up, he traps you in his arms.

“I do not wish to see you married to someone else, you have been mine, since the day you were born, sister.” he whispers in your ear before pressing a kiss to it. You gasped when you felt his hand grope at your clothed breast giving it a tight squeeze and you tried prying his hand off to no avail.

“Aem- please stop-” you beg but he doesn't listen and his eyebrows are furrowed as he looks at you, “Sister, tell me the truth have you not felt anything when you stay with me? A warm feeling in your heart?” your breathe hitches as he asks you that question, and you look away from him, feeling ashamed that you held feelings for him, they very well hidden, you felt ashamed whenever you would feel heat pool between your legs as you watched Aemond do quite literally anything.

He undoes his breeches and pulls his cock out, undeniably hard, “If I ruin you then mother won't marry you off to him, besides, no one would want a woman that is ruined, especially by her own brother.” he says and you sob, shaking your head and you gasp as you feel his dick pressed against your core.

Your silence gave him the answer he needed, he tore your dress apart, the stitches popping off with a noise, as he changed his grip and undoes your clothing.

You try to push him off and hit his chest, in defiance, but he is much stronger than you, pinning your hands above with his one hand as the other pulls off the shredded clothing, with your final strength, you deliver a hard kick to his crotch which causes him to groan and plop on the bed next to you in pain, and you use that change to try and scramble up and off the bed but to your disdain, he immediately recovers and pulls you down with a tight grip on your leg but pushing them apart, placing himself between them and then wrapping his hands around your neck, the grip cutting off air circulation rapidly as you struggled against him.

“Fucking cunt.” he says before spitting on your face and you cry, you feel your brain go dark as you start loosing consciousness at the lack of oxygen only for him to let go, cause you to take a deep breath on relax, snapping you awake at once.

“Sister, look how much you are leaking, way too much for someone that pretends like they hate it.” he rubs his cock against your folds, coating it in your juices and he groans, before he leans in, kissing your neck and then your breasts before pulling back.

“Brother please- ah!” you gasp when you felt his hot fingers press against your bud, rubbing it, making you squirm as you grip his hand and try to push it off but his grip stays firm and you eventually give up, hands falling to your sides and gripping the sheets below as he plays with cunt.

He knew you'd eventually break.

He did not want to hurt you or force you.

But you weren't making it easier and he did not have much time either, so he had to resort to this.

You reach your peak with a loud moan of his name which went straight to his cock, he leaned down and kissed you once more, holding your legs apart by force and then grabbing his cock before lining it up against your entrance, slowly pushing the thick head in, your hands shot up to his shoulder to grab them, nails digging into the skin as he rips you apart on his cock, bullying into you without mercy, his hand covering your mouth as you let out painful whines to shush you up. You whimper when you feel him fully sheathed inside you, feeling too full, your cunt clenching around him painfully tight to push him out but he stays there.

“Look at you, taking my cock so well, like you were made to.” he whispers in your ear before pulling his hips back and snapping them forward, causing you to let out a scream, although it was muffled, at the pain. The orgasm before had only helped a little, he was too thick and big.

At first he starts slowly, pulling back and snapping one at a time, trying to give you time to adjust until you whimpered his name, which made him lose any and all control he had as his pace became faster, brutally slamming his cock inside you as you whined and moaned beneath him.

The sound of wet slapping noises soon fill the air and the smell of sex starts taking over, your mind becomes all hazy at what was happening to you, you watch as Aemond takes one of your breasts in his mouth, suckling on the nipple, drool spilling all over it while his hand gropes the other, massaging it. Your hand travels to his hair and you arch your back, shoving more of your breast in his mouth, making him groan in delight.

He pulls back with a pop and you look at him gasping and wide eyed as he thrusts into you, eyes dropped as slight drool leaks from the sides of your mouth, letting out moans when he hits that sweet spot inside you.

“Fuck- you're so perfect, made just for me.” he grunts, supporting himself on his hands above you, hair curtaining around your face as you stare directly in his eye, watching him close it in pleasure, gasping when he feels you clench around him.

“You're mine right?” his eye opens and he looks at you intensely, you nod, agreeing with what he was saying, your mind losing all of its ability to think rationally the moment he entered inside you, you felt your stomach tighten.

“Use your words.” he commands and you gulp, “Yes only yours— ah! Fuck aemond!” you throw your head back as your second orgasm hits you, moaning out loud and he let's out a shaky breath before you felt his thrusts become sloppy, “Fuck, I'm gonna fill this cunt up, watch my seed take root in your womb, you're mine, mine to fuck, marry, breed, you'll give me many heirs won't you?” he goes off, voicing his thoughts and you feel warm and turned on at his words, “Yes- brother, I'm all yours, only yours.” you say, grabbing his cheek and rubbing a thumb on his scar and he finishes inside you with a loud moan, pushing himself to the hilt as his cock spurts thick ropes of cum inside you.

He pulls out, still somehow hard and lays down beside you, and you feel so empty without him inside you, so you whine, “Aem- I need you.” you pout and he looks at you wide eyed, and you don't know what comes over you, but you find your patience running thin as you wait for him to do something, so you take matters into your own hands, getting on top of him, grabbing his blood soaked cock before rising your hips and sitting down on it.

“Sister?” Aemond asks questionably, as he grabs your hips, watching you bounce on top of his cock, breasts moving up and down as you moan loudly into the chambers, only his name, on repeat and that's when he finally understands what happened.

He broke you.

He fucked your mind.

He should feel bad, knowing how now you're seeking him and his cock out like a bitch in heat but he doesn't, he feels more accomplished at that, knowing you desire no one but him. He moans when he feels your cunt spasm around him as you reach your peak, and instead of stopping, you continue riding him, wanting to bring him to his peak as well, you take one of his hands and guide it to your breast, making him grip it and play with your nipple.

“Brother please! Please cum inside me, I want you to fill me up.” you beg and Aemond groans at that, “Want- want you so bad! please haa, I need to have your children.” you moan and Aemond felt himself reach his peak harshly at that, filling you up once again.

Aemond changes the position, getting on top of you again, cock still inside and you give him a small smile before grabbing his face and pulling him in for a kiss, his lips move passionately against yours, before he pulls away, kissing down your neck and to your breasts, he pulls out and slowly trails kissing down to your down, watching as his loads of cum leak out from you, he pushes his tongue out and collects his juice on his mouth, before shoving it inside again, engulfing your cunt in his mouth, you grab his hair and grind your hips against his face, moaning his name loudly as he works his mouth, his nose shoved against your clit, creating friction whenever he moves his head, and soon enough, you reach your peak once again, “Brother!” you moan as you arch your back and he groans into your cunt, lapping up at the juices being secreted from you, before pulling away from it, placing wet kisses on your inners thighs and coming up towards you again, and kissing you, shoving his tongue inside your mouth, making you taste both your combined juices, and you groan into the kiss at the taste.

You both spent that night just like that.

Your mother was horrified when she had heard about this, and tully had walked in on the conversation, scrunching up his face in disgust and calling off your betrothal, you stood with your arm wrapped around Aemonds arm as he explain his mother what happened, looking away and hiding in his arms as she yelled at him for ruining and spoiling you, before inevitable deciding to betroth you both as result.

And you both were married, two moons later.

The maesters were extremely confused when you went into labour earlier than what they had predicted, they thought that it was going to be a stillbirth, yet they were confused to see when a healthy silver hair babe popped out, crying and cooing. They considered it a miracle but only Alicent and Aemond knew the truth.

Aemond stood there with his child in his arms as he gazed lovingly upon him, a son. You smiled at him as he cooed in high valyrian.

“Maester, When can I take her again?” That question caught the maester off guard and he cleared his throat before speaking up, “I would suggest waiting 6 weeks until she is fully healed, or 3 moons time.” and Aemond hummed.

The maester leaves the room, leaving you, aemond and the babe alone, the baby cooing at his father, small hand entangled in his hair.

“After you heal, I shall put a babe inside you again, dear wife.” He comes down and sits next to you and you smile, “As you wish, husband.” you tease and press a kiss on his lips.

———

[targaryenrealnessdarling]

Pearl of The Realm

Aemond x wife!reader | HOTD Big Bang!

Summary: Duty meant a lot of things to Aemond. But he had hoped that it would not mean marriage. And when the day comes for him to confront it, he finds with his new wife, small, naiive and innocent, that there is some pleasure to be found there also.

Word Count: 9,240 (oops) | Warnings below the cut~

A/N: My fic for the HOTD Big Bang! Thank you to the lovely @solisarium for the artwork! 🥰 Please also support all the other lovely writers/artists over @hotd-bigbang, and thank you to @ewanmitchellcrumbs for organising this event ❤

Warnings: arranged marriage, virginity loss, p in v sex, domination, corruption kink, oral (f receiving), fingering, canon typical sexism, aemond has a breeding kink (obvi), dark!aemond (ish)

Aemond Targaryen was nothing if not dutiful.

To the realm. His title. But most of all, his family.

As a Prince of the Realm, he had many duties.

For most of his adult life he had trained relentlessly with the sword, striving to become better than his own teacher.

He had buried his nose in books, absorbing  information from them, willing them to stick to the insides of his head to obtain intelligence unmatched by any other member of his family.

And, most of all, he had upheld his faithful relationship with his mother, whom he cherished dearly, and his sister equally.

He'd always felt close to the women in his life. But his mother had a special place in his heart. She had been through such hardships, such sacrifice.

And when she'd exploded that night in Driftmark, as inexcusable as she seemed the behaviour to be, he had felt such utter devotion towards her that she would be so angry on his behalf. At a time when he had felt so vulnerable, and felt that his own voice as well as hers had been ignored by the man in their lives.

A man who had so repeatedly, let them down.

He would never admit it out loud, but a part of him sought pleasure in the fact his father was largely bed-bound these days. Even more so that his own father had lost an eye as a result of his worsening condition.

It felt like the Gods were looking down on him and validating him.

But there was one duty he had yet to perform.

Taking a wife.

Unfortunately for him, that time was upon him, and he had no interest in it whatsoever.

As much as Alicent tried, and she really did try, she could not get her second son interested in courting the ladies at the Keep.

As soon as Aemond clapped an eye on the opposite sex, he would retreat in the opposite direction. Not even bothering to engage in conversation, surmising perhaps that he had little in common with them.

He'd never met a lady before who shared the same interests, why start actively seeking them out now?

Alicent's son was in his prime, rooted in adulthood, and she knew it was time, like it or not, that he was wed.

Aemond stood stock still, hands behind his back curled into fists, biting the inside of his cheek, trying not to show his mother the annoyance on his face. Her words were those of truth. He knew that he would eventually have to marry someone, but it did little to take the sting away from it. Often, while his mother talked at him, he looked down at his boots, shifting his weight from his right, to his left, and to his right, again, batting little thoughts in his head.

What his mother didn’t know is what those ladies at court said about him while they supposed his back was turned.

That he was of a violent disposition with a quarrelsome temper, one wrong movement or something as simple as a word spoken out of turn and he would dare not speak to the person in question for however long he deemed fit. That women thought of him as incapable of feeling something as beautiful as love, or even affection, given the sullen look he always wore, with barely-contained anger lurking beneath and an unexpressed pride in his position.

Aemond would never show that such words would have any effect on him with earnest. Sometimes it is better to not say anything at all, he concluded. This method had so often proven successful, it seemed little use to him to stray from it now.

He merely hoped that this woman his mother spoke of with such respect, was not one of the ladies at court.

And mercifully, Aemond sighed with relief that she was not.

Something struck deep within his chest. His mother spoke of her so wonderfully, as if she were a star plucked from the sky, and Aemond pondered if such attributes could be proven correct by simply meeting her once, as Alicent had. What woman, and of what standing, deserved such praise, after only meeting for a short time?

What would she look like? Her mannerisms, her stature, her smile? He found himself haunted by these thoughts without even knowing the woman’s name. Much less, her appearance.

He feared that she might share the same sentiments as the other ladies at court once they were due to meet, chaperoned by her ladies and tainted by their company. Perhaps they had their own opinions that they instilled on her also. She might be afraid of him, he thought. Maybe it is not so bad if she feared him, he allowed himself to think.

Aemond could not find it in his heart to expose himself so willingly to a stranger he was due to wed, and so when word reached the Keep that she had arrived and made her pleasantries, he thought to have mercy on the poor thing, stay clear and not dim her supposed ethereal presence with the darkness that followed at his back since the day he lost his eye.

There was some power in not allowing her to see him until their wedding day.

While a small part of him felt empathetic to the poor girl, that her betrothed chose not to greet her on arrival, another part of him was somewhat self-assured that he had made the right decision. It was the little power he felt he had.

When one thinks of a wedding, they might imagine the Sept beaming with joy, crammed with people all eager to feast their eyes on the new royal couple. But as Aemond stood before the Septon, with the extended feeling of nervousness at the fact she had yet to arrive, he could hear nothing.The Sept was dead silent. The people, the lords and ladies, as well as his family, were in attendance, watching with wide, curious eyes, too terrified to make a sound.

His hands were rigid behind his back, dressed in his finery, feeling the tightness of his clothes against his chest where his heart was hammering underneath.

For duty. For family.

He did not see her at first, as she was on his blind side, but once she’d well and truly stepped beside him, he spared a glance at her and felt his mouth go utterly dry.

Her dress, which he presumed were her house colours, was a light pastel, almost dream-like when combined with the translucent silky fabric graced atop it. He watched with curiosity as she let go of her father’s hand. Her gaze and almost undetectable smile was warm and inviting, as if the space around her was simply alight with her presence. Her father peeled the cloak from her shoulders, and it reminded him that he had the cloak with the Targaryen colours fisted in his grip.

Her hair was pinned up in a series of braids, all varying in size, and he was ashamed to admit that the first thought that came to mind was not that she looked beautiful with them, but that they must be uncomfortable. He was allowed to have his hair loose around his shoulders, whereas this woman, and he supposed others like her, were prodded and poked to look their best to the detriment of their comfort.

Aemond found it impossible to stare ahead and listen to the Septon, and he could’ve let a heavy breath loose when he was asked to cloak her. He swallowed over the lump in his throat that had formed and lifted his gaze to look down at her. Her bright, warm eyes looked up at him, revealing nothing about what she was really thinking, and her lips were full and looked soft, forcing him to think what they would feel like when they would sign their marriage with a kiss later.

He took a breath and placed the cloak on her shoulders, half thinking that such a heavy, large thing would swallow her whole, for her form was smaller than his, and therefore more delicate. Placing his hands on her, but not directly, still felt somewhat intimate, especially in a room of so many people watching. But something stirred deep within when he stepped back and observed that the colours complimented her, like she was meant to be his and belong to him.

They faced each other as the Septon spoke.

Aemond watched every micro-movement. The fluttering of her eyelashes, the deep intakes of breath through her nose and her thumb brushing over her hand, in what he could only assume was nerves, though she was hiding it well on her face.

It was only here that he noticed she wore a dainty pearl necklace, not at all gaudy in size, but small and delicate, like he perceived her to be.

A feeling he didn’t know hummed in his blood. And it showed when both of them were asked to conclude the ceremony with a kiss.

“With this kiss I pledge my love.”

Aemond had to be the one to lean down to meet her in the middle, and he felt his blood thrum when their lips met, excited to find that her lips were as soft as he had imagined. He could not help the lewd thought that passed through his mind, and wondered if the rest of her was as supple and luxurious.

Curse the wedding feast, he wanted to find out right after the ceremony.

He was not overzealous with the kiss, not wanting to frighten her. But he was equally delighted when they parted to the applause of the lords and ladies, to find that her cheeks were faintly bloomed with warmth. His lips pulled into an indistinct smile at the idea that he was the first man that would have made her feel that way, and it pulled a possessive string in Aemond’s body towards her.

He took her hand in his and led her away from the Septon, through the line of people, and relished in the fact that she was now his. Aemond felt somewhat ashamed when his manhood began to harden within his breeches at the mere touch of her hand, and wondered what hers would look like wrapped around it. If her fingers could barely encircle it, and if she would be good and pliant, do as she’s told, and please him.

The wine during the feast surprisingly did nothing to quell the hardness between his legs. He yearned so desperately for her, sat right next to him, posture straight and proper like a good lady wife, with her hands clasped so delicately in her lap. She had yet to say a word to him and he thought she must have been raised very strict, not speaking to her betters without being spoken to first, and now that person was her husband.

It was difficult not to look unimpressed when the various lords and ladies all queued up to provide their congratulations to the intimate little table he and his wife were seated at during the feast.

He watched his mother beam with joy, though he and his wife had not spoken. Aegon had snickered, clearly thinking something inappropriate. And Otto had bowed, offering congratulations as if he had not been involved in the match behind the scenes along with Alicent the entire time. Did he think he was stupid?

Not even his father had managed to pull himself from his bed to offer his congratulations. But, Aemond thought then, he was glad he didn't have to see his face.

At times he could suppress his sheer boredom and impatience, he wanted them all to leave him alone so he could fuck his wife and see what pretty sounds she could make. With the absence of her voice, it only made him more impatient to find out.

Surely, the girl might not have been afraid of him? He thought.

Aemond almost regretted hoping she was afraid of him, but there was some dull excitement in thinking she was, even now, with how beautiful she looked. When he takes her maidenhead, as he was sure she was entirely pure, would her soft eyes look up at him in fear, or in pleasure, or both?

He found his gaze wandering over her for several quiet moments, watching her profile as she scanned the hall, observing everyone else enjoying themselves. Whilst he appeared somewhat indifferent to her to anyone else’s untrained eye, he was otherwise calm and collected. Her lips glistened against the warm amber glow of the candles adorning the table, and he could not hide his delight in seeing how she swallowed nervously. She must have felt his gaze on her, he thought. And as he watched her throat bob, he was drawn to her chest, where the pearls lay, and watched as her breathing pushed her breasts somewhat over the bust of her dress.

He imagined those pearls dancing while he fucked her, her breasts moving with the rhythm of driving his cock into her sweet wetness. Her lips parted with hurried breaths as she struggled to gain it while she appeased him with the sound of her soft moans.

“Are the celebrations to your liking, wife?”

He smirked, testing the title on his tongue.

The insides of him glimmered in excitement when she turned, her posture still perfect and straight. Her wide, innocent eyes met his with curiosity, and also fright that he had spoken to her in such a way. She almost seemed to flinch at the new title he’d referred to her as.

She gave an almost indistinguishable nod, her grip tightening on her hands, “Yes, husband, thank you.” She replied with a wavering voice.

She studied him for a moment, watching as he gave a lopsided smirk, adoring the way she seemed so nervous in his presence, and speaking to her husband. He drank slowly, continuing to watch her squirm under his gaze. Her breathing had hastened, evident by the way she struggled under the tight confines of her boned dress.

Her voice was smooth, like the sweetest honey, and he couldn’t wait to hear how it would translate, echoing throughout their marital chambers, with his flesh pressed against hers.

He never imagined merely envisioning power over something so delicate could be so exhilarating.

Aemond had to hide how elated he was when their leave was announced. He stood, and therefore she did as well, like a delayed little shadow.

She was an obedient little thing, he surmised, as she followed quietly, willfully ignorant to the leering glances and smirks of the lords and ladies who parted a path for them. Every single one of them was curious, as to how such a quiet, soft girl could tame someone so fearsome and chaotic as a dragon prince, who could not be caged in as mere mortal men could.

The chambers seemed too grand, too clunky, to house such a perfect thing as her, he thought. She stood stock still in the middle of his chambers, which he would now share with her, and watched amused as she looked around and took in her surroundings as if she were in some kind of danger. Her pupils flitted about the darkened room, lit only in a warm glow from various candlesticks placed most deliberately.

Her pale dress cast a glow against the grey of the room, as well as her aura, which seemed to lift all the tension from his body and direct it to the place he had needed her the most since he laid his eye on her.

The glass decanter clinked as he poured himself a cup of wine, his back to her.

Aemond turned and extended the decanter only slightly, asking wordlessly if she would like one as well.

But she simply wringed her hands and shook her head, her body wracked with nerves.

Aemond only chuckled, cup of wine in hand and looked upon her, standing so diligently, where he’d left her.

“Wine might dull your nerves, my lady wife.” He mused, watching the way she looked down in embarrassment at being able to see inside her head so clearly.

Every now and then, she would peek over at the well made bed, like it was an inevitability, and not a place where she would share her most intimate and passionate moments with her new husband.

There was a dark red blanket held taught atop the pale sheets.

A warning.

There were never such dark, stark colours atop her bed sheets at home, and she wondered silently why they would choose such a menacing colour to adorn a place where you may lay your head to rest.

A peaceful night’s sleep. A moment’s passion. The birth of a child.

She thought, beds are where we are born, where we sleep, where marriages are made, where women give birth, which is often their last. And where we die. Not necessarily in that order.

Her husband may have thought a bed a peaceful thing.

But to her, many dangerous things may take place in a bed. And she had heard the stories of a dragon’s temper. Of lords, not necessarily of royal standing, taking their wives on their wedding night, whether their wives were willing or not. And this, is what she feared.

“You need not be so afraid.”

He tore her from her thoughts. And she blushed and felt warm all over realising he had caught her staring at the bed, her body betraying how nervous she felt.

When he looked at her, he felt his manhood throb. He wondered if the blood would rush to her cunny the same way it rushed to her cheeks, and how her flesh would cover her delicious curves beneath the softness of her gown.

He felt excited when she opened her mouth, forcing the air into her lungs like it took all her effort.

“May I ask for your assistance with my gown, husband?” She asked sweetly, with her eyes downcast.

Husband.

He felt his cock become impossibly harder.

He poked his cheek with his tongue in amusement, pushing himself off what he was leaning on and made towards her, watching the way she shrunk the closer he got. She turned slowly, showing him her back, where the laces of her dress were tied so tightly, he was surprised she had not asked him sooner.

While he worked on them, loosening the fabric around her middle, his breath hitched when he saw the shift underneath. She moved her hands to her hair, pulling several pins from it where the braids had been twisted together. She visibly shivered under his touch when the laces were undone and he pushed the stiff fabric apart across her back.

Her hair fell to her shoulders, and she used the sharpened tip of the pins to undo the braids into delicate wavy strands, all while unaware how her new husband marvelled at her out of sight.

She walked away from him for a moment to the vanity, never meeting the looking glass with her eyes, but simply placing the pins in a trinket bowl. With the gown loosened around her shoulders, the fabric lifted when she reached up to unclasp the necklace.

“Leave that on.”

She met his gaze in the mirror, questioning. Her cheeks alight with what he was suggesting.

But he didn’t say anything else.

So instead, she cleared her throat quietly, and pulled the heavy dress from her shoulders, folding it lengthways and draping it over an armchair. Her fingers clasped and unclasped, anxious. Aemond merely watched, his doublet feeling tight and hot against his chest. He could make out the silhouette of her form beneath the thin cotton, the candlelight illuminating her, as if her body was the soft and gentle morning sun, peeking over the horizon to set the day alight.

He heard her shuddered breath and allowed himself to think about what it would feel like against his neck while he rutted into her. Her arms wrapped around him tightly, pulling him closer to her, to sink deeper into her hot insides.

“I do hope that…I please you…with my appearance.” She murmured, turning with her body to face him from a distance. She sounded embarrassed, and shy.

Aemond furrowed his brows.

“Why do you say such a thing?” He asked, colder than he had meant to sound. And it’s clear that the tone of it made her shudder more, which he didn’t intend.

“I only meant that…I hope I am pleasing to the eye…and that I shall be obedient and supportive, as a good wife should be.”

He fought the urge to smile, not wanting to embarrass her further. His silence towards her had clearly given her the wrong impression. That he didn’t approve of her, and perhaps she thought that she wasn’t suitable for him because of his reaction.

“Come here.”

She did as he asked, albeit slowly, until she stood right in front of him.

“Are you afraid of me?”

Does my appearance scare you, he thought with curiosity, and panic.

Does my ailment make you uneasy, as it does the other ladies?

She shook her head softly, “No.” She answered quietly, “It’s just… my Septa said…that the night of consummation would be…” she trailed off, speaking too quietly for him to hear.

“It is alright. Speak again, without fear.”

She swallowed as she looked at him, having to crane her neck.

“She said…the night of consummation would be painful…and that it must be endured. As wives are to be submissive and obedient to their husbands.”

She spoke as if she were speaking from a line in a book. And Aemond thought she must have had this idea stamped into her brain from a very young age. It both concerned and irritated him to think that a young child, forming into a young woman, would be forced into being so terrified of such intimacy by a caregiver who ultimately knew little about marriage.

“There will be some pain.” He replied simply, watching the way she flinched at his words, “But I do not wish for you to endure it simply because you have been told to.”

His fingers came to the tresses of hair that hung on her shoulders, threading his fingers through them and revelling in their softness. Her eyelashes fluttered and her lips parted, absorbing his words, and he could see behind them that he was challenging everything she had ever been told.

“If there is pain, you must tell me.”

She inhaled slowly, gathering her nerves, and nodded simply.

“Come. Lay on the bed.”

Though he spoke softer, there was still a coldness to the way he gave his demands. But nonetheless, she did as he said, and stared up to the canopy of the bed, feeling her heart going so fast she was sure it would burst from her chest.

All she heard was the rustling of leather, the unlooping of his belt, and the clinking of his silver clasps.

She felt the mattress dip at the end of the bed and saw her new husband, without his doublet, but with his breeches only untied halfway, so she could not see a thing. But even so, the sight of a man naked on his torso had her heart still in her chest, and warmth crawl up to her cheeks. Aemond chuckled slightly, not wishing to embarrass her.

“Have you seen a man bare before, little one?” He asked, laying down beside her. She tried with the utmost effort to not stare at him, fearing that in some way she would anger him. His chest was well-muscled and pale, shimmering in the low light of the chambers and littered with many tiny scars that had silvered with time. His hair ran like milk over his shoulders, so silky it seemed to stick to his smooth skin.

She shook her head, and mouthed ‘no’. His manhood throbbed in his breeches at the thought that she had not even seen a man beneath his clothes before, and that he would be the first.

“It is alright, there is no need to be embarrassed.” He gave her a soft smile, trying his best to appear comforting.

But it could not be ignored that they were strangers, and it was his fault that he had not gone to see her before marriage and get to know her better. And on top of that, she was afraid, not of him, but that he might hurt her and that it would define her expectations for the rest of the marriage.

She flinched noticeably in shock, not out of fear, but at not having been touched so intimately, when his palm ran softly up her leg, taking her shift with it.

“Relax.”

She tried to do as he said.

She was so jumpy and nervous, Aemond wondered for a brief, funny moment, if she had even spoken to a man before today.

So he asked a question which he thought was almost silly to ask.

“Have you ever touched yourself?”

His question was answered immediately when she flushed and her face went all warm, and suddenly she was unable to meet his gaze. She shook her head softly. And instead of feeling bad for her, a devilish grin split across his face, all the blood going south.

She was so pious, and so devoted to the Seven, that she had saved any part of her inner desires for her husband to be.

He would be the first to give her pleasure of any kind.

To touch her intimately.

To make her feel as beautiful as he thought she was.

“It is alright. I shall show you.” He added softly, his voice like the purr of a cat.

She dared to look back at him as his hand trailed higher, dipping beneath the hem of her shift to touch her smooth skin beneath, “How will it feel?...”

“It may feel strange at first,” He answered honestly, “But after that, it should be pleasurable.”

She seemed to accept his answer, but her legs were pressed together almost instinctively, like her body was telling her it needed to appear smaller. His sharp nose pressed into her hair, inhaling her pleasant, female scent. His breath against the shell of her ear, hot puffs of air landing against her neck, where he began to place one, and then two open-mouthed kisses.

His eye wandered over her from this angle. Looking down her body, he could see the shadow of what lay beneath her shift in between her breasts as they moved with her breathing, which was slow and calculated. He could see how her hands held the bedsheets below her in her palm, not tightly, but prepared to pull on them if she needed.

She shivered with a shuddered breath when he kissed her, trailing his lips lower to her collarbone, past her string of delicate pearls, and he could see that beneath the cotton, her nipples had reacted to the chill of the room, but he liked to imagine that it was because of the way he was touching her so lovingly.

His hand completely slipped past where her hip met her leg, not touching her womanhood just yet, but close enough to feel its warmth. He felt the gooseflesh on her tummy as he trailed upwards, the shift bunched against his arm when his palm slid over her breast. She gasped softly as he squeezed tenderly, testing the weight of it in his palm and kneading it, and when he looked up to her briefly, she had closed her eyes.

He would tell her to open them later, after he did what he planned.

Her hips moved towards the mattress when his deft fingers dipped between her legs, the tips parting her folds to her entrance first, where Aemond began to feel the slick, as little as there was, gathered around it.

She was beginning to feel aroused even if she didn't know it.

She whimpered, pressing her lips together when she felt his fingers in such a strange, forbidden place. Her eyebrows furrowed in discomfort.

"Shh…" He cooed, the air brushing against her cheek, "Relax, dear wife."

She swallowed thick, and relaxed her thighs so that they weren't pushed together as much. The title he'd given her making her head feel as if it were full of air and nothing else.

A part of her felt bad. For she was supposed to be an obedient, pliant little wife, and he was taking care of her so diligently and she was still afraid.

"I apologise-"

"Do not apologise." He replied quickly, and her eyes opened, glistening with a new expression of understanding, "Only feel."

Her breath quickened.

Feel?

"Feel how I touch you here -"

He drew his fingers from her entrance to her pearl, drawing little soft circles using her arousal for ease. Her mouth dropped open, her eyes glued to him, a near-indistinguishable gasp falling from her lips. She began to feel a sort of ache, deep in her stomach that felt strange. And her hips began to move in micro-movements.

"This is where you feel the most pleasure." He whispered, his fingers moving sometimes directly and then indirectly over her pearl. At others, the anticipation of them being close to it had her hips searching for the touch.

"How does it feel?" He asked.

She struggled to think of a word, having never felt this dull and yet pleasurable rush to her core.

"Strange…pleasantly so."

He continued to move slowly, not making a direct effort to make her peak like this, just allowing her to feel what the touch of a man, the touch of her husband, could feel like.

"I will prepare you like this, so that there will be as little pain as possible."

Maintaining eye contact while he said things like that, while he did things to her like this, felt so intimate and so painfully domestic. As if nobody had bothered to care for her so much in her life. Her eyes curiously flitted between his seeing one and his eyepatch, not in fear, but wondering what he might be hiding beneath it.

It would not be removed this night. Or perhaps many to come.

Aemond's fingers moved over her womanhood with ease, more slick began to pool there and lubricate her puffy folds, swollen with arousal. She was wet, but he thought not prepared enough for his cock just yet.

He shifted his body down, his cheek grazing over her still clothed form, as if he was teasing himself. He could easily have asked her to be naked for him. But there was still trust to be gained.

Her eyes were questioning where he might be going. And she truly had no idea.

Using his knee, he settled between her legs, seeing the gooseflesh still there. His hands rucked up her shift, just pausing at the point where it would reveal her womanhood, all slick and ready for him. Her cheeks bloomed as she looked down at him, but didn't have the courage to question.

"Keep your eyes on me." He whispered lowly, his fingers pushing the fabric up so that he could see her cunt, so close to his face. And he was hit right then with the invigorating scent of her, like the sweetest perfume. He felt ashamed that even the scent of her aroused little cunny made his cock weep with arousal.

She looked more embarrassed than anything to have her new husband's face so close to her intimate area she had been taught to keep hidden. And it was hard for her to keep her legs apart. But she couldn't close them for fear of clamping on his head, and his hands were tenderly keeping them spread, his fingers only slightly indented in her supple flesh.

He looked down upon her, his thumb grazing her pearl again and watching with delight as her hips moved again, accompanied with a breath. It was simply too tempting, the idea of tasting her and the sweet nectar that leaked from within.

Holding her thighs, he leaned forward and flattened his tongue against her womanhood, and something primal was awoken inside when he finally tasted his new, little wife. He moved around her folds, and whenever he had to take a breath he placed an open-mouth kiss to it. He spared a glance up at her, and he hadn’t even heard her hurried breathing or tiny whispers of moans, so engrossed in tasting her for the first time.

Her cheeks were alight, her eyes torn between settling on his gaze and what he was doing to her. He had already told her to keep her eyes on him, and Aemond felt pleased that despite how embarrassed she was, she was obeying him.

Aemond redoubled his efforts, using his tongue to part her folds and nuzzling deeper against her, his nose rubbing gently against her pearl and using his wet muscle to dip against her entrance. It’s here that she gave some semblance of a proper moan, slipping shakily out of her throat, her hands tightening on the bed sheets.

He all but moaned against her cunt, delving into the deepest parts of her and dragging his tongue against the top of her velvety walls, trying to find out why she was the way she was. What made her feel the best. How he could make more of those pretty sounds tumble past her lips. He thought he could have spent all his life between her thighs, lapping at her arousal, and he would die a happy man.

In his grip, her thighs began to shake, and her brows furrowed like she didn’t understand what this feeling coursing through her veins was, this fire ablaze in her blood. Pride flooded his head, and he dragged his tongue from the inside of her to her pearl, where he drew circles over it. She jolted in his hold, as if he’d scared her, but he knew that it was because of the overwhelming feeling that was beginning to crest over her, and the uncertainty of it.

With his attention and efforts on her bud alone and she was suitably wet, he looked up at her when he touched her entrance with the pad of his finger. He heard her gasp when he slowly sank one digit inside her, he himself struggling to keep his composure once he realised just how tight she was around his finger alone. And he could barely think straight thinking about how she would feel wrapped around his cock.

He could forgive for the time being that her eyes were closed and brows furrowed, for the new sensation must have been strange for her. Something akin to a strangled whine rumbled from her chest when he was sank all the way inside, curling upwards. And when he brushed against that spot at the top of her walls, gently caressing the slick ridges, her back arched slightly off the mattress, and he smiled against her womanhood.

It appears his little wife was becoming emboldened in her movements by what he was doing to her.

As he continued to please his wife in two separate ways, almost instinctively, her hand came to his bare shoulder. To pull him close? To push him away? She wasn’t entirely sure herself.

He could tell she was on the precipice of something she was unable to comprehend, and was embarrassed to show herself in such an open way.

 “What is it, sweet wife?” he asked, drawing his lips from her, now covered entirely in her arousal when he licked at it.

Through her loud pants, she regained her breath as he continued to tease that deep spot inside of her, “What is…” She breathed, her grip closing around his shoulders. Her nails dug into his flesh, not meaning to, which made him smirk.

“Shh, it’s alright.” He cooed, pulling out slightly to slide a second finger inside, using the girth of his fingers to stretch her cunt around him, “I am just making sure you are ready for me.”

He began to pump his fingers inside her like he would fuck her, curling them up to focus his attention and pressure against the sweet spot at the end of her. She was so tight around him, already trying to suck him further inside and clenching hard. He felt his skin stretch around her grip on his shoulder, like she didn’t realise how hard she was holding him.

“ - Aemond - I’m - ”

Aemond.

The way she called him by his name.

There was no shame now in how hard it made him, and he felt as if he would spill right in his breeches and not inside her if she was going to say things like that.

A breathy whine made its way from her mouth, her eyes tightly shut as her face twisted in pleasure, feeling all the pressure leak into her limbs in bliss while Aemond kept pleasuring her, loving how her body was uncontrollably trembling with the force of her peak. He could feel the rush of slick coat his fingers and hand, so he slowed down the pace of his movements, allowing his sweet wife to savour the feeling she’d experienced here for the first time.

“That was your peak, little one.”

Her eyes opened to focus on him, feeling her body erupt in shivers as he pulled his digits from her and smeared her wetness over her thighs, thinking that as erotic and lewd the action was, that is excited her at the place where her husband had just been caressing with his fingers and tongue.

Her pupils were dilated only a bit larger than before, and Aemond felt pride in being the first to make her feel such things, awakening a part of her that had remained dormant for a long time. And while she had been emboldened by what he’d done to please her, her cheeks still bloomed with a faint embarrassment that he found endearing.

His hands traced her sides, taking her shift with it, and her breath hitched at the idea she would be entirely bare before her new husband, who had just given her the first experience of female pleasure. But alongside the trepidation, there was excitement.

Once he pulled her shift over her head and raked his gaze over every inch of her body.

It was a fucking crime that she’d been hiding herself under that gown all evening, he thought.

He thought she was perfection, with her soft and supple curves, and he hadn’t even realised his calloused hands had been kneading her breast until she let out a breathy sound. But she didn’t protest. She just appeared somewhat uncomfortable, as this was the first time she had shown herself so openly to the opposite sex.

“You are beautiful.”

She seemed to calm at least when he said that, relieved her husband found her attractive.

He saw her eyes flit from his one seeing eye to the eyepatch covered one, curious. But she simply swallowed thickly and didn’t say or ask anything. And he too was relieved that she hadn’t asked him to remove it.

He was not sure if he would be ready for that, for some time.

She still wore the little pearls around her neck, and now with her entirely naked with the exception of that, it felt erotic and arousing.

They were the same.

She wore the necklace, he wore the eyepatch, keeping a tiny piece of themself while they joined in matrimonial bliss.

He unlaced the rest of his breeches, watching her breasts move up and down as she breathed in anticipation of what was going to happen and the irreversible fact that she would never be the same afterwards.

“Remember what I said?” he asked, pulling his breeches over his hips. His achingly hard cock sprang free, standing proud and aroused against his stomach.

She took a moment to reply, trying not to stare too much at his member as he stroked himself slowly, the ruddy tip, weeping with arousal, poked out of his fist with every languid movement. She’d never seen one before. But all she knew was that she wondered how on earth it would fit inside her, he looked so thick and long, slightly curved to one side. Was there empty space inside of her she didn’t know about where he would place himself?

Her eyes met his, all glazed over, and she nodded.

“If there is pain, I must tell you.” She repeated what he’d said earlier. Her skin bloomed, for that moment was here right before them.

She tried to relax her body, numb from the force of her very first peak, as the mattress dipped either side of her where he’d leaned on his forearms, his knee brushing the inside of her legs as he nudged them apart so he could place himself there.

“Yes, you must.” He added tenderly, “It is not my intention to hurt you.”

The affection in his words made her stomach roll.

“You are my wife.”

She confirmed with delight that she was. And she nodded, not knowing what to say in response to his statement, but Aemond could see the subtle glimmer in her eyes.

He saw her glance at his manhood with something akin to a mix of fear and curiosity, and she took a sharp breath in as Aemond leaned forward, not pressing his weight on her, and placed several open-mouthed kisses to her jaw, neck and collarbone, teasing her with his teeth, while his cock kissed her puffy folds.

She felt his breath at her skin, her grip loosening on the sheets as he made her feel a little more relaxed.

When he leant forward, parting her folds easily with the aid of her slick, the first thought she had was that it felt strange, but nothing else in particular. It was only when his cockhead had disappeard inside her and he speared her upon his length that she began to tense up, her stomach tightening somewhat unpleasantly. Her hand came automatically to his chest, to try and push him away and make him stop.

He raised his head from her neck, his eye hooded down in concern. He felt her soft, almost-hummingbird-like touch on his chest and felt something fluttering inside of him at the tenderness of it. She was in some pain, not dramatically so, and yet her touch was so gentle.

Nothing was said, and only the utmost patience was offered. And it was difficult to do so for Aemond, with the way her core was holding him so tightly, to stay still and not move an inch. But for the sake of making her feel safe, he did it.

After a moment, she made an effort to relax her muscles for him. Her hand trailed over his muscled chest, as if taking this small window of opportunity to do so. Her fingers ran over the scars he’d gained on his lithe form, wanting to commit every ridge, every little piece of him to her memory as if it was the last time she’d ever see him.

Her eyes shifted to him once he sheathed himself inside her all the way, bottoming out with a low groan. He felt her walls fluttering around him, stretching her to accommodate this size, having not felt anything like this before. Her lips parted to let a soft pained sound past her lips, but that was all, and she felt the worst was behind her.

It felt only slightly uncomfortable, but she was willing to do it for this marriage. To please him.

It was intimate, looking right at her while he was deep inside her, and she gave the faintest of nods, telling him without words that she was alright. She thought she'd never felt more full in her life, nor more connected to someone as she was right at this moment.

It hurt at first, yes, but he had prepared her, waited for her and cherished her like she was precious. And the pain, the sting of losing her maidenhead, was a small price to pay for how full her heart felt, by giving a piece of her to him.

Closing his eye, as if to concentrate, Aemond moved almost entirely out of her to push back in as she gasped below him, the same feeling the second time had a spark licking at her insides that didn’t stop as he began his slow and careful pace. He wanted to tear his gaze off her, desperately, but couldn’t.

It was just as he imagined. With every soft thrust inside her, the pearls at her neck danced, and her cheeks were flushed, eyes shimmering. It wasn’t as animalistically lustful as he envisioned. Before he imagined an innocent thing like her, bending to his will, corrupting her in any way he saw fit.

But now more than anything as he listened to the gentle moans come out of her, he wanted to protect her, to nurture and watch her flourish. The pearls clicked against each other at her neck, her breasts moved, nipples pebbled with arousal, and she’d raised her legs only slightly to wrap around his waist, blinking slowly up at him.

The whore Aegon had gotten him to fuck on his thirteenth nameday was overzealous, large-breasted and older, perhaps more experienced. She had bounced on top of him, her loud moans bouncing off every surface in the room, her hands planted on his chest as she moved her hips up and down on him with loud slaps. He remembered feeling horrified that this is what intimacy was. That this is what men would desire so relentlessly.

It didn’t feel good. And he remembered feeling sick.

But here, with her, looking so lovingly up at him. No hysterical moaning, no pathetic whines to boost his male ego. Just unapologetically everything she was feeling, she was giving to him.

It felt like a gift. To experience real intimacy. And with the person he was due to spend the remainder of his days with.

As if realising he was daydreaming, his hips still moving against her with wet slaps of skin, her hand cupped his face, on the unmarred side, and her thumb stroked over his cheekbone. She touched him so softly he could have wept.

She had seen some kind of thoughtfulness on his face, and in the throes of consummation, was supporting him.

“Aemond.”

When she said his name with such sincerity and care, he blinked slowly and reached his hand up to hers, encircling his fingers around her small wrist, and turned his face into her palm, to kiss the inside tenderly. One kiss to her palm, and one to her wrist. And it felt more intimate than kissing on the lips, which he only now realised with shame, that he’d not done for her yet.

“I am alright.”

He looked at her when she said that. It was as if she could see all of his inner thoughts, and had been able to all evening.

She saw that he had been holding back.

He had been afraid of frightening her, and yet she was allowing him what he wanted.

Her breath caught in her chest with a kind of excitement as his fingers wrapped around her wrist and forced it down to the bed beside her head, his other hand joining her other to keep her pinned tightly under him to the mattress. Her eyes glimmered as she looked up at him, watching his expression change to something more possessive.

“Put your legs around me.”

She did as he asked and raised her legs around his waist, causing his length to brush that same spot inside her that he’d pleasured just moments before. And with an iron grip on her wrists and easier access to her, he dipped his head into her neck, her scent swirling around him and fucked her as he had wanted to the entire evening.

Skin slapped against one another with the moisture of her slick on his pelvis, his stones hitting against her repeatedly with every rough thrust into her wet cunt.

"Does my innocent little wife like to be properly fucked, hm?" He grunts, watching how she blushes and turns her head away out of embarrassment.

"I think you will continue to surprise me, little pearl."

She felt her insides clench at the name he gave her.

Little pearl.

Aemond smirked, increasing the intensity of his driving into her, constantly spearing her open onto his cock, and watching at the way he disappeared into her.

"I can feel you tightening around my cock. Did you like that? Little pearl?"

Her breath was sucked from her with each devastating thrust, and that same pressure was beginning to build in her belly, from when he'd pleasured her before.

"Answer me.”

"Yes - yes, husband - " She replied, breathlessly and gulping for air, throwing her head back against the bed sheets.

He smirked, leaning back and watching how his cock was being covered in her slick everytime he pulled out of her.

He pulled her hips onto his lap, and the angle had his cockhead bullying her tender and sensitive place deep inside of her. Her eyebrows furrowed with pleasure, feeling utterly at his mercy.

Feeling proud of the reactions he was getting, his hand slipped from her hip to her bud. Her pearl. A grin splitting across his face at the lewd thoughts he was having. He circled her sensitive bud tenderly, applying just enough pressure that she clenched around him again.

If she wasn't careful, he would cum right there and then.

"Does that feel good, little one?" He teased her in a low tone, not ceasing his endless pace, pushing himself as far inside her as he could.

"Do you like it when I touch you here?"

She couldn't deny she liked it. The way her back arched, being pleasures in two ways. It was nearly overwhelming. And it took her voice from her.

"Perhaps we should name you Pearl of the Realm." He smirked, increasing both his pace and pressure, "Prim, proper…a good little obedient wife to her lord and husband."

He leaned over, changing the angle yet again.

"But in here, with me, it is this pearl I shall be paying special attention to, dear wife."

His words made her tighten around him, coupled with the intensity of the pleasure he was giving her. She felt her entire body get hot, the pressure in her belly set to explode at any moment.

His delicate and careful ministrations to her bundle of nerves was almost too much, and her hips began to move forward towards his in rhythm with his cock stretching her open, meeting him halfway.

She didn't imagine such lewd words would have an effect on her.

"Husband - "

"I think I will keep you like this. All night if I have to. Paying special attention to this precious pearl you have been neglecting for so long." He mused, his words were strained, as if set to explode himself.

"I will give you my seed. Over and over. Until I am done with you." He breathed through heavy pants, his eye slipping shut, "I will watch you swell with my child. Would you like that?"

She could only whimper in response, fisting the bed sheets as she had nothing else to hold onto, her mouth dropping open as her climax began to crest.

"I would like that. To see these perfect tits all round and full."

The idea of bearing his children was only a fantasy that appeared right at that moment.

"Gods - you are so tight - such a perfect little cunt - fuck - "

She fell apart around him, her entire body filled with such eternal feeling bliss that she felt as if she were floating, her husband's deft fingers still pleasuring her bud.

Her limbs felt numb, her blood like fire under her skin and her lips dropped apart so that a shattered moan could escape her, the only proof that her peak was decimating every nerve in her body with blinding, white hot pleasure.

She tightened impossibly around him, and the pistoning of his cock into her sex was only stilled when he slammed inside her one last time. His length throbbed within her, his spend warming her core at the end and filling her, completing this sacred, intimate ceremony.

They both gulped down air desperately and when Aemond had caught a moment to himself, he spared a look down at his sweet wife, her delicate skin covered in a soft sheen of sweat, eyes shut, breasts shifting erratically with her breathing.

She must have felt his gaze on her, because she turned her head to look up at him. In her once innocent and naive gaze he once saw fear and trepidation. And now her pupils were blown wide and glimmered with lust and a kind of pride that she'd pleased him, and they'd done this together.

Aemond still had a grip on her hips, noticing the red marks where his fingers had been. Her body was littered with them, where he'd been too tempted to nibble at her, to make sure she bore the marks of his passion for her.

He looked down where they were joined, pulling out of her and watching with a lustful curiosity at his spend that leaked from her entrance. It was instinctual, the way two fingers scooped up what had come out, and he gently plunged it back into her as far as he would go.

Overstimulated and tired, she winced, bucking her hips slightly.

Aemond only smiled down at her.

"I can hardly wait to make you a mother, little one."

She laughed a little, exhausted, "You speak of children. We have only lay together once."

Aemond took her reply and smirked, pulling her thighs close to him again.

"In that case - might we try again? I dare say I have already forgotten the first time."

His little pearl smiled tenderly up at him. A safe smile. One of utter adoration. It was like he was being seen, truly seen, for the first time in his life. She had been so good to him in the short time he'd known her, and cared enough to let him see her as well.

He felt fulfilled in a way he never had before. Something exciting ran through his blood, like how he felt whenever he trained. As if a new challenge were upon him.

Challenging the notion that had been placed upon him his entire life, that marriage was about ownership. As a wife should belong entirely to her husband.

And while he felt that sheer possessiveness before he really knew her. Knew her properly.

Now, he questioned if marriage was more about respect than anything else.

The fabric covering his eye now felt so heavy. And one day, he thought, he hoped to be able to show himself so openly to her, as she had done for him.

Aemond Targaryen was nothing if not dutiful.

And he would pay his little pearl all the attention she so deserved.

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[asumofwords]

Modern!Dark!Aemond - Divorce AU - Oneshot

Til Death Do Us Part

SUMMARY: You and Aemond had been married for years, but he was not the man you thought he was. Discovering his affair with his secretary Alys Rivers, you had decided that enough was enough. You packed up your things in secret and left, leaving divorce papers on the table, and booked a one way ticket out of the country.

What will happen when Aemond goes to the ends of the earth to find you and make you his again?

WARNINGS: This fic is 18+. Readers discretion is advised. She/her pronouns, stalking, abuse, toxic relationships, infidelity, divorce, NONCON, manipulation, gaslighting, marriage, rough sex, choking, hitting, punching, yandere, obsessive behaviour, possessive behaviour, forced orgasm, violence, daddy kink, dacryphilia, head injury.

PAIRINGS: Modern!Dark!Aemond x reader

Word count: 10.2k

NOTES: Well, well, well.... Here we are. You have all been so feral waiting for this to drop and I am honestly so excited to see you all crawling about in my walls after. Probably shouldn't have to say this by now but will for new folks, READ THE TAGS, this is a DARK!FIC. There is no fluff or happiness lmao. This has been so fucking fun to write hehehe.... Anyway.... Without further adieu... Enjoy ;) <3

The soft hissing of the kettle took you away from the book you had been reading, nestled against one of the many windows in the small cottage you now owned.

Taking the kettle from the stove, you poured the boiled water over your tea leaves, watching the herbal mix swirl in the strainer. 

The soft aroma of chamomile and peppermint wafted from the cup and you inhaled deeply, leaning against the kitchen bench as you waited for it to steep, no use going back to your book nook until the tea was ready to take with you. 

The leaves from the pine trees in the forest outside had turned a deep green, the cold chill of winter having rolled through the valley of the quaint village you lived in early this year. Condensation rose from earth as the sun heated the mildew on the grass, the smokey illusion seeping from the forest floor.

It was different to the city. No more were the days of craning your head up to look at the crawling skyline of buildings, the sound of traffic, or yelling of people on the street. No more did you hear cars blare their horns or music, or the melodic sounds of people chattering in the late hours of the night or fights between lovers from apartments surrounding.

Now, the most noise you heard was the occasional storm that rolled through the valley, or the deer that wondered the pasture at the back of your property. 

You could remember the first night you heard them, such a different and unfamiliar screeching that had set your hair on edge, eyes darting about to each window and front door as you raced around the house to make sure they were locked. 

They always were. 

You were meticulous that way. Always vigilant, always ready. 

But in reality, you shouldn’t still be on edge.

It had been months since you left.

Almost an entire year since you packed your things and left the papers and your ring on the table for him to find. And what’s more, there would be no way for him to find you out here. 

Not that he would even try.

You hoped.

It wasn’t as if you didn’t love him, or loved him; the lines were still blurred there. But Aemond had broken you in ways you never knew he could.

The lies, the secrecy, and then, her. 

You remembered when you had first met Alys; a work event Aemond brought you along to. The pretty wife and happy family image did wonders for his company and the press, so he often brought you along on his arm, smiles and grins for the cameras, whispers of starting a family or trying for one, until you were out of view. 

But that time had been different. 

That time, something had changed. 

You had known about Alys Rivers for a while, a new hire going months back. A woman from no notable name, nor background, a start up of her own, worked hard to get where she was, or at least, that’s what you had first thought when Aemond had described her to you; his new secretary hire. 

An older woman, not one a wife would usually find as a threat.

It’s almost always the younger ones. Older men seeking out their youth between the thighs of a barely twenty-something, whilst their wives are none the wiser, or perhaps knowing and too resigned to care, birthing them children at home as their marriage dissolves into nothing but a loveless legal contract.

But this was different.

She hadn’t come to introduce herself at first, not at all, and that’s what you found the strangest.

Alys Rivers, a few inches taller than you, with pale skin and bright green eyes, had stood in the far end of the hired venue, sipping a glass of red wine, perfectly manicured maroon nails tapping on the glass, whilst she tucked an ebony strand of hair behind her ear. 

You had felt the heat of her gaze immediately, your eyes meeting hers, and yet, she didn’t look away, didn’t smile softly, walk over and introduce herself as any other woman would have. She just stared. Right into your very soul. It had sent shivers down your spine, and you knew, in that moment, that something was wrong. 

Off.

Aemond had done his rounds with his private investors, higher employees, friends, if you could call them that, and press alike, all whilst you stuck by his side, smiling pretty and responding with shallow answers that didn’t give too much or too little for them to talk about later. 

You hated those stuffy events, men and women alike always trying to get closer to you in order to get to Aemond, who was a fortress to begin with. Some people often commented or made joking remarks at how surprised they were that you had married him. That you had managed to thaw the Ice Man himself, that he was even capable of such things, and you would always laugh and make jokes back in good nature, smile never reaching your eyes. 

But really, he was amazing when you were first married. Doting, loving, loyal, and always there, though that was sometimes overbearing. There was of course the little things, the teeny red flags that you ignored more often than not, rose tinted glasses and all that, but you had been young and in love and crazy about him, and he had been the same about you.

But as the years rolled by, and the two of you grew, you also both changed. The business expanded rapidly with the death of his father Viserys, and Aemond became more preoccupied with that legacy, most of the empire being passed along to him, and not his older brother Aegon, who had no desire to work and would rather live off his inherited wealth with drugs and weekend benders surrounded by lusty women. Occasionally men too.

And then when Alys came into the picture, it was like a switch had been flicked.

As though the Aemond you had thought you knew, never existed at all.

Alys had sauntered her way over half way through the event to introduce herself, all saccharine smile with razor sharp teeth that looked ready to sink into your flesh. She was polite, pleasant, overly pleasant, too sweet, too complimentary, and it felt off. Like an overripe peach, or wine that had been left open for a week too long. 

Your husband had been stiff at your side, hand flexing around the tumbler of whiskey the entire time she stood beside him, too close to be friendly, and most certainly far too close for a boss and his secretary. And really, you should have listened to your instincts then and there, for they screamed that something was amiss. 

But Aemond had a way of getting into your head, making you believe every word he said, push away your own instincts, and question yourself over, and over.

And that’s what you had done.

Questioned yourself, over and over. 

Yet one day, something in the back of your head nagged at you too loudly. Aemond had not answering his personal number, calls you could understand, but usually he responded to his texts. But that day he hadn't. And so you called the office, where he spent most of his time these days, which had become a frustrating new normal, as was the depletion of your small weekends away, romantic dinners, spontaneous days out together.

The marriage felt stagnant, stale, and you knew in your gut the true reason for it. His desk had rang for too many rings too long. And when Alys had finally answered, she sounded rushed, caught unawares, awkward.

That was all it had took. 

You had asked if he had his lunch yet, that you were nearby in the city and wondering if you should drop by, knowing that he had been spending later evenings in the office ‘working’, or weekend trips away to Harrenhal for business there, his secretary tagging along. 

Alys informed you that he had just ate, but the way she said it was with that same overly sweetness that set your brain afire. 

It was almost smug. 

And so, without even hesitating, like you had for months on end, you picked up your keys and left, heading straight to his office.

Your heart had raced the entire time you drove there, weaving through traffic, just knowing, knowing, something, deep in your gut was not right.

And you were right. 

Because there they were, caught like two deers in the headlights as you had swung the door open, Alys, seated on his desk, skirt pushed up to her hips, one shoe lost to the floor as Aemond thrusted into her parted legs.

They hadn’t even heard you at first.

But she saw you.

And she had smiled.

You will always remember his face. 

He had turned and looked at you with shock at first, but then it turned to anger, as though you were at fault for this, as though you had ruined his fun, as though you should have known better, scar on his cheek crinkling with the sneer he threw your way.

You left in a flurry of hot tears, immediately calling your lawyer.

You drove straight to your best friend Sara’s house, and crashed at hers for the week, ignoring the constant buzz of calls and texts, and yes, even emails from your husband. Aemond in his desperation to reach out to you, even drove to Sara’s house, demanding if you were there. You had hid in the bathroom, holding your breath in the tub, shaking with anger and heartbreak and fighting the urge to go out there, to yell at him, scream at him, or more dangerous still, forgive him.

Then you were gone, speaking to your solicitor to get everything set into motion, friends loyally supporting your decision. You left the divorce papers on the dining room table, packed your bags and left whilst he was at the office, giving him no chance to manipulate you into staying, no chance for argument, and no chance for your heart to win over, taking your essentials and sentimental possessions with you.

You stood in your home, looking at everything inside, at all the memories that you shared in there. From when you had first looked at the house, to buying it, to Aemond's insistence on christening every single surface in the house to make it yours, all giggles and smiles, pleasure and joy.

But gone were those days, gone was the joy and the giggles, the pleasure and the smiles, and so with shaky fingers, you ripped off your wedding ring, finger feeling bare in its absence as you left it atop the pages. 

At first you were just hoping to get some space to clear your head and not be manipulated by your husbands lies and very convincing words again. You knew that if you gave him a chance, you would be stuck. You knew that if he pleaded, if he begged, if he smiled with his signature smirk, it would be your downfall. He knew you far too intimately now. He knew how to get you to bend to his will. So you booked the nearest ticket you could and raced to the airport, not once looking back.

You had just landed in Paris when you turned your phone back on, watching the screen as it lit up, where you were immediately bombarded with multiple missed calls from him and a barrage of texts that became more, and more aggressive as time went on. 

It was your fault really, to poke the dragon the way you had.

And yet you still did it, answering one of his frantic calls to hear the cool and icy tone of Aemond, barely keeping it together on the other end. 

“Where are you?” He had asked, voice deep and quiet, small growl on the end; a tell tale sign that he was furious. 

The airport was loud around you, people moving to their next gates, or stopping to move to the small cafes to eat, others continuing onwards towards the baggage claim to collect their luggage. 

“It's none of your business.” You had responded, tone clipped, irritation and anger surging through you at his audacity to even be mad.

“I think it’s plenty my business. You’re my wife.”

“Not anymore. Have your solicitor talk to mine. Sign the papers, Aemond.”

You heard him breathe heavily into the speaker, “If you think for one fucking second that I’m going to-“

You pressed the red button on your phone and hung up on him, shoving your phone into your back pocket as you moved lazily through the queue to get through customs. 

By the time you had gotten out the other end, you checked your phone again. 

There was only one text on the screen that had sent panic blaring through your mind. 

‘See you soon.’

You hadn’t planned to run, you hadn’t even planned to leave the country indefinitely, you just needed an out, but Aemond’s aggression had extended it, triggering your flight instincts. You didn’t believe that he would hurt you, but this new anger had frightened you. This new Aemond frightened you.

But Aemond Targaryen’s anger was not new to you either, his possessiveness was not new, and at one point you had even found it endearing. But after years of being married to what you thought was the man of your dreams, the other shoe dropped, and the true man was revealed. 

So you made quick work of it, going to an international bank, taking every single cent out of your combined account.

You knew he wouldn’t struggle financially from such a loss, having another seperate offshore account, or two, or five if you were really counting. Not to mention his inheritance which sat in a vault in Budapest.

Comes with being descended from royalty.

But in the end, you knew you needed every dollar if you were going to get away from him and make it stick.

So you got a new passport, ID, and hitchhiked your way across several countries until you finally settled, finding a cottage, nestled in the woods, a solid thirty minute drive from town, buying it from the local farmer in cash. No contract. No deed. Just cash and his silence. 

And that’s where you had been ever since.

You took your tea to the window, settling against the nook, pillows and blankets strewn all over as you curled inside. You looked out at the trees, the sun slowly setting for the day. 

It was cold in your cottage, not too cold, but cold enough. Winter had come early that year, and you had used more logs of wood for the fire than you had thought you would have needed. 

It was strange, to be so far away from the life you used to live. To be so removed from the world. But in some ways it was good. You had no social media, having deactivated every single one you had, and you also had barely any use of your phone unless you turned on the broadband, which was shaky at best and if it was windy, the reception would cut out.

The only people you really spoke to anymore was the people who lived in the town just a ways away, and Sara, who called every Sunday like clockwork, well actually like clockwork, you needed to turn the broadband on for Skype to work on the laptop you had taken with you.

In the almost year you had been gone, you had taught yourself how to make your own clothes, pickle and preserve foods, and even became quite handy at baking the odd loaf of bread here and there. The farmers whose cottage it was previously had left his belongings behind, taking only his clothes and things of memory with him.

There were books almost everywhere, the old man having been an avid reader, and amongst the books had been one on horticulture, and so slowly but surely, you had grown your own self sustaining vegetable patch. It wasn’t perfect, but it prevented you from going into town too often, and also allowed you to not seek employment just yet.

That would come later when Sara would tell you that Aemond would sign the papers. 

But every Sunday was the same.

“Any news?” You asked her that morning, Sara had frowned, pixelated to hell, but the frown still evident on your screen.

“Nope. Nothing. The asshole won’t sign them still. Solicitor can’t even find him to talk.”

You sighed, wiping hands down your face angrily. 

Why was he doing this?

Why wouldn’t he just let you go?

Something about it made your skin crawl. 

Those messages, those calls. 

The ‘See you soon’ text. 

Something had snapped in Aemond, and you didn’t like it one bit. 

Your only consolation was that you were far away with a new name, new life, hidden amongst rolling green hills and large forests.

“How’s Cregan?” You changed the subject, and Sara had given you an update on everyones lives, her brothers first, and his new girlfriend. Then to all your other friends who you longed to see again. 

But not yet, you just needed a little more time and for your husband to agree to the divorce. 

When the sun had lowered in the sky, you moved to turn the lights in the house on, throwing some logs into the fire and lighting them with a match. You made sure to thank the Gods for solar panels. 

The warmth of the fire heated up the small cottage quickly, and you made quick work of reheating a lamb soup you made a few days earlier, crisp homemade bread on the side with butter from a nearby dairy farmer.

It was hearty and warm, and filled you up, having a soporific affect on you. You had a glass of red wine as a treat afterwards, bought from the local markets and found yourself sinking deeper into fatigue. 

It was a routine of sort, wake, eat, read, work on the garden or house, eat, drink, sleep. It was comfortable, and it eased much of your worries, always keeping busy. You didn’t realise how stressed and anxious the life you used to live made you.

The week went by, much the same. 

The same routine. 

The same walls, and floors, and rooms. 

Same window nook, and cups of tea, and warming your hands by the fire.

By the time Saturday rolled by, you had been elated, excited even, to get out and look at the homemade wares and farm grown produce. To see the people you had grown to care about and make as your quiet friends. Still at arms length of course with your fake new life, but you let them in more than you had intended to. 

It was never a large market, merely the other people who lived in or around the tiny town. But it was cozy, sweet, and some faces were more familiar than others. You looked forward to seeing them all and catching up on their weeks, especially an older lady named Lucy, who crocheted and knitted some of the most wonderful things. She had kind grey eyes, and would always insist on you taking something from her for free.

Today was no different.

“You make this most difficult, hen.” The grey haired woman frowned, coming round the side of her small stall to shove a large, grey knitted jumper into your arms, the same colour as her eyes.

You shook your head, “Lucy, please, at least let me give you some money for it.” Grabbing the soft wool that was pressed against your chest.

The older lady smirked, hands up in the air in submission, “It’s too late,” Her voice was thick with a Scottish accent, “You best be taking that, girly. It’ll be a cold winter that comes round this year, I feel it in my bones already.”

You sighed, “Then let me give you some money for it, and you can buy some more wool to make yourself some warm socks.” Fishing around in your bag to find some cash to give her. 

Lucy crossed her arms across her chest, “Gonny no dae that. If you give me any money I’ll be right offended by you, I’ll gie ye a skelpit lug. It’s a gift, you dafty.”

You shook your head and chuckled, there was no point in fighting.

You would never win anyway.

“Fine.” You acquiesced, “But I’m coming to drop you some muffins and scones when I make them next week.”

The older lady sat down heavily in her chair behind the stall, “I expect nothing less. Will you bring some strawberries from yer plot? Dang caterpillars got into mine and tore them to shreds.”

“I’ll bring you a mix of goodies from my wonderful garden that has no caterpillars.” You teased, rubbing the woollen jumper between your fingers, “Thanks again, Lucy, but you’re a menace.”

“Got to be when yer married to my husband.” Lucy joked, but it made your heart race instead.

You swallowed thickly and smiled shakily at the woman, nodding before bidding her a goodbye. 

You walked through the rest of the market for a while, getting some fresh honey from a local farmer, some potatoes for a stew later on, and even buying yourself a new handmade mug.

It was a bustling affair, small children giggling with their parents, and older members of town who had been born and raised there walking about and stopping to talk with their life long companions. 

Bright bunches of flowers caught your attention, and you moved over to look at them all.

Native flowers of all kinds were bunched together; roses, petunias, anything that could survive the chillier climate. And as you looked at a peculiar shaped purple flower, hooded like a bell, the hair on the back of your neck stood up.

A shiver rolled down your spine, and instinctually you turned, eyes darting around the rest of the market, looking at the sea of people, young and old, walking with their wares, chatting amongst each other or smiling. 

Not one had that familiar head of silver hair.

You breathed out a sigh, shaking your head.

It’s fine.

You’re fine.

You’re safe.

It’s just your anxiety. It was probably just Lucy’s comment that set you on edge.

Not even Sara truly knew where you were. 

You looked back at the flowers again, eyes on the purple ones that were nestled amongst pea flowers and other pinks and yellows.

“Devils Helmut.” The man told you, noting your interest in its peculiar shape, “Monkshood to others, or Wolfsbane to those witchy ones.” His eyes looked at you intently, “You ok? Yer lookin’ a bit peely wally.”

He was tall, older, but not by much, with deep brown eyes and wavy brunette hair that came to his shoulders, tucked behind his ears. His jaw was sharp, a nice shadow across the skin from his stubble, with lips that were full and pulled upwards slightly. He had broad shoulders and large hands, tiny freckles dusting the pale skin as he watched you. 

He was relatively new to town like you, but not really. Duncan, you remembered, had moved back to the little town after his father had passed away, inheriting the plot of land that was next to yours. Lucy had spilled the tea, over a cup of tea, about him with you a few months before, telling you that he was an eligible bachelor with a wink, trying to set the two of you up.

And although he was undeniably attractive, you worried for the implications of getting to know him, and eventually having to tell him about your marriage, and why you were truly where you were. You doubted the man would want anything to do with your baggage.

“I’m okay, just a bit cold. How have you been?” You asked him, the feeling of being watched prickling at the back of your head.

“Fairly good.” Duncan rolled his r deeply, same low Scottish timbre as Lucy, distracting you from the rancid feeling that curled in your gut, “The winter’s come early this year.”

Duncan leant a hand against the table, and you noted that there was no ring on his finger.

Stop that.

“That’s what Lucy said too. Can definitely feel it.”

Duncan looked pointedly at the jumper still in your hands, “And what’s she given you this time?”

Unfolding the jumper in your arms you held it up, holding it against yourself to show him, “A new jumper. Will be perfect when it gets colder. Wish she’d stop throwing things at me and not letting me pay though.”

Duncan laughed, a deep chortle that rumbled his chest and warmed your cheeks, “That’s Lucy for you. She does the same to me too, the auld blether.”

You laughed heartily, “We should go in doubles to the markets when you’re not selling. There’s strength in numbers, you know.”

Oh gods. Why did you say that?

A soft smile pulled on his lips, “You don’t know Lucy well enough if you think we’d stand a chance against her. She’d bowl us over without even blinking.”

Another laugh, and a shrug, "Worth the try.”

Duncan’s eyes scanned your face softly before he stepped forward, grabbing the bunch of flowers you had been looking at from their little vase, holding them out towards you, “Here.”

You looked at the flowers in his hands and frowned, “What?”

“Take them.” He insisted, “You looked right keen on the Monkshood, mean bloody flower that one. Be careful you don’t touch it too much.”

You shook your head, tucking your jumper into your bag, “I can’t possibly-“

“-Please. I insist.”

You reached forward to take the flowers from him hesitantly, feeling guilt bubble inside of you. What was with all these people and their generosity? It was going to give you an aneurism. 

Your fingers brushed against his, and the warmth carried up your arm and straight into your chest. Duncan must have felt it too, because a soft blush creeped across his freckled cheeks.

Holding the bunch of flowers to your chest you smiled.

“You don’t have any pets at home? Any cats that might try and make a snack of the flowers?” Duncan pointed to the Monkshood.

You shook your head, “No it’s just me.”

His eyes danced as he nodded, and you felt as if you had answered his second question without him even having to ask.

“Thank you. They’re beautiful.”

A large hand waved the thanks away, “Dinnae worry about it. Though, I have heard good things about yer baking.”

“Have you now? Has Lucy spilt all my secrets?”

A smirk, “Not yer secrets no. But yer baking, yes.”

Feeling bold, you smirked back, “I could make you something, if you’d like." You held up the flowers in show, "As a thanks, of course.” 

“What can you make?”

“Anything you want.” You said quieter, swallowing the anticipation that rose in your throat.

“Can you make a good scone?”

You scoffed, “Easiest of things to bake.”

Duncan mirrored your stance, pursing his lips, “Guess I’ll have to be the judge of that then. Do you have enough wood for yer fire? Snow will be falling soon, and we dinnae want you chittering in the cold.”

“I’ve got some left, but I know I’ll probably have to go over to Douglas and Lucy’s to get some more.”

The brown haired man paused in thought, tongue in cheek before he spun around, crouching down to rifle through a bag beneath his table, pulling out a pen and paper. 

Duncan placed the small notebook in front of you.

“How about this, you give me yer number, and I’ll come round and bring you some more wood, maybe chop some for the fire as well, and you can thank me by making some scones. I can bring some of Elsie’s jam with me.” Duncan looked up at you, tucking a strand of hair behind his ear. 

And although he had spoken with confidence, it was clear that he was just as nervous as you. 

It was hard to fight the heat that creeped up your neck. Excitement and anticipation coursing through you, the feeling of being desired making you giddy. 

It had been so long.

You bit your bottom lip softly nodding, leaning down to write your home phone number, making a note to plug the old thing in, praying that it still works, as well as your address into the notebook.

Duncan smiled softly, taking it back and looked at the note, “You didn’t have to write down yer address, I know you bought Macnair’s property a while back, we're practically neighbours. Not accounting for the acres between us.”

“Oh.” You laughed softly, “Sorry, I didn’t know you knew him.”

“Hard to not know everyone here, especially when you grew up around them all. Plus, hard to not notice the bonnie lass who moved here. Quite the stir you created.”

You shook your head and blushed again, Gods damn him, “Not my intention.”

You both stood shyly for a moment, staring at each other, a warm pleasant tension building around the two of you. 

Duncan cleared his throat, and clapped his hands together softly, “Right. Well, It’s a dreich day, so you best be off before the rain comes again.” He held the notebook up in his hand and shook it lightly, “You’ll be seeing me soon then. I’ll be coming to collect some of those scones.”

You grinned, and held the flowers gently in show again, “I hope they’re up to your standards. Thanks again for the flowers. I’ll see you.”

“Looking forward to it.”

-

The blaring ring of the Skype call filled your cottage. You raced from the kitchen to the desk, answering Sara’s call with a bright smile.

“Sar!” You smiled, pulling out your chair to sit in it, looking at your best friends face. But her excitement did not match yours, and instead, her face filled you with dread.

“Sar, what’s wrong?” 

You watched as Sara visibly swallowed, leaning towards her computer, “Aemond’s left the country.”

Chills ran over your body.

“Oh, he must have a conference in Rome or Budapest. He always used to-“

“-No.” Sara interrupted you, and her voice instilled a rising sense of fear that you had been battling with for months, “Y/n, I don’t think that’s it. He’s already been gone over a week. That’s why the solicitor couldn’t talk to him him.”

Your heart raced in your chest, blood rushing in your ears.

Sara continued as you felt the walls around you move closer, “That’s why the solicitor couldn’t get in contact with him. They went to his office. Apparently he’s on leave, not even Alys was there.”

You licked your lips, swallowing dryly, “What do I do? Fuck, Sara, what do I do?”

“Don’t panic. He doesn’t know where you are! Hell, I don’t even know where you are.”

“I know, I know. But still…” You paused, breathing shallowly, “Sara, I went to the markets yesterday, and it was… Off. Something was off… And I just couldn’t shake this feeling that I was being watched.” You felt like you were going to be sick.

Sara’s face fell, head turning to talk to someone else quietly in the room.

“Who’s that?”

“Just Cregan. He’s talking to Helaena.”

You scoffed sadly, “Helaena won’t know anything. She didn’t even know about Alys.”

Sara shrugged, image becoming pixelated, “I-…-ow…-bu-….-o….-harm…-“

“Sar, you’re cutting up.” 

You swore, swatting the computer lightly as her image froze.

Fucking broadband. Gods, maybe you should invest in getting a satellite dish here. At least you could get some cable tv if you did.

“-come to you.” Sara unfroze, the pixels evening out to an almost smooth image.

You groaned, “I didn’t catch any of that. Fucking internet cut out.”

“Can you get a satellite or something like a normal person and not be such a hermit? I said, why don’t I come to you.”

“I couldn’t ask that of you, Sar. Besides, he wouldn’t hurt me, not that he’d ever find me. He’s just an asshole. Probably curse me out and tell me I’m making it all up.”

Sara’s face dropped again, and you wished she was pixelated so you couldn’t see it, the image making your skin crawl, “Y/n. Theres something you don’t know.”

You straightened in your chair, “Is Alys pregnant?”

“No. She’s too old for that. Something else. Something Jacaerys told Cregan one night years ago. I didn’t want to tell you then, you guys were so in love, and I had never seen you so happy. I just,” She sighed, “I didn’t even really believe it until recently.”

“Sar, you’re scaring me.”

She shook her head, “I know, I know. But as you said, he doesn’t know where you are, and he won’t find you. But Y/n, Aemond isn’t who we think he is.”

“Are you about to tell me he’s some sort of international spy, or politician in hiding?” You tried to joke, but the joke fell flat.

Sara’s head looked to the side before back at the screen, “When Aemond was young, he had a temper. A real bad one. Never got along with his nephews.” She took a steadying breath, “When Lucerys was thirteen and Aemond was nineteen, he attacked him. It was probably years of pent up anger after the accident, a fight had been brewing, but he didn’t stop. No-one could stop him, Y/n. It was bad. Really bad.”

Your stomach roiled.

“Y/n, Lucerys nearly died.”

Your mouth gaped open as you could scarcely get air into your lungs. 

Oh gods.

Oh gods.

“Breathe.” Sara cooed through the computer, “Girl, you need to breathe.”

You sucked in a sharp breath, hand rubbing your chest, “What the fuck?”

“I know. I know. But they were young, I mean, Aemond was a lot older, but still. They were boys. And Aemond would never do anything like that to you. Not that he will ever find you.”

You counted your breaths as Sara spoke to you, trying to get the room to stop spinning.

“Y/n, y-….I-…t wi-…ll be fine-…. I-… ca-…n…-“

You growled at your screen, standing up in anger and frustration, anxiety pulling cruelly at your gut. You paced in front of the desk as you waited for your friend to come back into view. 

When she de-pixelated and came back, you leant heavily against the table.

“You got your phone with you?” You asked, rocking back and forth on your heels.

“Yea.” Sara lifted her phone to the screen.

“Okay, I’m going to give you my address. When do you think you can come?”

A cry flew from your lips. 

The cottage was bathed in complete darkness, generator slowing to halt outside, the soft hum of electricity disappearing. Your heart lurched into your throat as you stood in the darkness. Skype screen blaring a ‘Lost Connection’ notification at you.

You took shaky breaths, trying to calm yourself. 

This wasn’t unusual. 

Just last month a squirrel had been trying to burrow into the electrical box for warmth and chewed through a cable. Luckily for you, Douglas had come over to fix up the wiring and helped you on your way. But with all that had been happening, it gave you a right scare. 

Your heart did not slow in your chest, nor did you calm with the way your ears pricked at any noise inside or out. You stumbled through the darkness of the cottage to the kitchen, searching beneath the sink for your emergency torch. 

Grasping it in your hand, you clicked it on, lone beam of light shining a path for you through the house to the front door. You crept slowly forward, the sound of your loud breathing in your ear as you got to the door.

You would have to go out and flip the switches manually, and make sure the damned squirrel wasn’t back. 

Throwing on your wellies, you unlocked the four deadlocks you had installed on your door one by one until you opened it wide, the valley blanketed in the darkness of the night, clouds shrouding the moon and stars. The shadows of the forest around your house made you more on edge, every trunk or branch causing your eyes to linger that moment longer to decipher what it was.

But they were just that.

Trees. 

You trudged around the side of the cottage, shoes crunching on the ground below as you made your way to the back. The icy air nipped at your skin, and you tugged the jumper that Lucy had knitted tightly around you. 

They were right, winter had come early this year. 

You would have to thank her later.

When you reached the electrical box, you tugged it open, shining the torch on all the different switches inside. 

The main switch was flicked off.

For fucks sake. 

The broadband must have blown it out. 

The cottage was old, and the electricals likely older. But the solar panel were new, and you had a sneaking suspicion that perhaps the different generations of technology were clashing. You briefly wondered how costly it would be to have someone come to rewire the house for you.

As you looked at all the other switches, making sure they all looked in order, and the wires coming from out the back were all in tact, you felt the hair on the back of your neck stand on end.

You never liked coming out here in the dark. 

It was scary, and although there was nothing out here to hurt you, unless there was a miracle lone pack of wolves that came strolling by, which you knew could never happen, since Lucy had told you wolves were hunted to extinction there. So it was just you, the trees and the moon. 

The sound of a twig snapping in the woods made you spin on your heel, shining the torch out at the trees in vain. The light didn’t reach very far, illuminating just the front row of trunks, leaving the rest to be bathed in its dense darkness. Your heart thumped in your chest as your eyes scanned the woods. 

It’s fine. 

It’s nothing. 

I’ve just worked myself up. 

Gods.

It was probably just a deer or something.

You remembered the day you woke up to a whole herd of deer outside your cottage one morning, quietly munching on the grass outside. You had nearly screamed with joy, but kept the excitement inside, tiptoeing to sit in your window nook and watch them graze. 

Holding the box open with one hand, you popped the small torch in your mouth with the other, holding it in your teeth as you flicked all the switches off, and then back on again.

You looked to the house. 

Still dark. 

You groaned, and did it again. 

Again, nothing. 

No hum of the motor kicking back on. 

“Third times a charm.” You mumbled with the torch in your teeth, flicking the power back on.

The steady buzz of electricity came back, and the lights from the house illuminated a path for you back inside. You all but slammed the box shut and sped back inside to the safety of your cottage, spinning quickly to shut the door behind you, rapidly locking it tight with the deadlocks. 

One, two, three, four.

You sighed a breath of relief.

See? Nothing. Just country electricals and wild deer.

You toed off your gumboots, hanging your keys on the hook beside the door. 

You needed a glass of wine. 

That would do it, a glass of wine and maybe some baking.

“Took me a while to find you.”

Ice ran down your back. Your heart leapt out of your throat as you spun on your feet, fear crashing over you. 

You blinked.

And there he was.

Standing in your lounge room. 

He had found you.

Aemond’s jaw ticked.

You were so in shock, so terrified that you couldn’t move, entirely rooted to the floor in place as your breath was caught in your throat. Your mouth opened as you tried to suck in air, head feeling light, but you couldn’t even speak. Couldn’t even let the scream out that clawed at the back of your throat. 

He had found you.

Aemond took a step towards you, dressed in all black, his long silver hair pulled away from his face in a braid, “I told you, I would see you soon.”

Instincts kicked in, and like a startled deer, you ran. Tearing down the short hallway to get to your room, where you knew the old shot gun Macnair had left behind was hiding beneath the bed. But Aemond was quicker, and you heard his loud steps before you felt him, grabbing you from behind as you kicked your legs back and screamed, trying to get out of his grip.

“Did you really fucking think you could get away from me?” He grunted, holding you impossibly tight, “That I’d ever let you go? It was just by chance that I saw you today, I didn’t even think to go to the markets.” He explained, and tears prickled in your eyes. 

You were right, you were being watched.

“But there you were. The Gods brought us back together again, Y/n. I was about to give up. But it was fate that our paths crossed again. It was meant to be.”

You thrashed against him, his arm locking around your chest and neck tightly. You turned your head and bit down on his arm, hard, tasting blood fill your mouth. Aemond hissed, tearing himself from your teeth as he dropped you to the ground, knees collapsing beneath you as you scrambled along the floor to get away.

“Fucking bitch.”

Pain rippled up your scalp as Aemond gripped you by your hair, throwing you back against the floor. Your head hit the wooden boards, eyes sluggishly blinking as the room spun and nausea curled in your stomach.

Your husband stood over you, sneering.

“You’ve been hiding out here for months whilst I’ve been looking for you. Having an affair with that other man who gave you the flowers.” Duncan, “Almost paid him a visit, but that can be done later. Spent all this time searching for my ungrateful cunt of a wife, but you didn’t hide well enough.”

His lone eye narrowed as he looked down at you, lips pulled back in a sneer. Strands of his silver hair had fallen from his braid and puffed with each breath as he stared down at you, chest rising and falling roughly.

You scrambled backwards, nails digging into the wood as he stalked forward, hunting you like prey.

“Money talks. And I have a lot of money. Which you would know, since you cleared out our joined account. Very naughty, Y/n.”

“Fuck you. Get out!” You screamed, kicking a leg at him.

Aemond laughed, dodging your kick, “I’m not going anywhere. You’re my wife.”

“I’m not your fucking wife, you psycho.”

“No?” Aemond paused, cocking his head, “Then why are we still on the marriage register? Hm?” 

Your back hit the side of the bed, hands swiping underneath desperately in search as you kicked at him again. Aemond swatted your legs away with ease, smirking down at you meanly. But he couldn’t block your kicks forever, and your foot hit him squarely in his groin.

Aemond grunted, doubling over in pain.

You took your chance, desperate to escape as you crawled forward, away from the bed, dizzy and horrified, all instincts telling you to run, not fight.

Besides, you didn’t even know how to use the gun, let alone if it was even loaded.

You stood, side stepping him as you moved to run out the bedroom door.

Your head hit the wooden frame with a crack, smashed into it by Aemond’s large hand. Stars bloomed behind your eyes, pain shooting through your skull. You tried to catch yourself on the door, your nails digging painfully into the wood as you cried, the hand gripping your hair, pulling you back into the room. 

Aemond threw you onto the bed, looming over you, “Do you know how long I’ve waited for this moment? To see you again? How hard it was to find you? And you’re acting like such an ungrateful little bitch.”

You grunted and cried, trying to get away, desperate to get yourself off the bed as he pushed you back on it. 

“Get off me!”

“But a husband needs his wife,” He leered down at you, pupil wide, “I’ve been dying without you, Y/n. I’ve been bereft ever since you left me. Abandoning me like a coward.” Aemond shook his head, “You could never really leave me. You’re mine.”

“I hate you!” You screamed at him.

Aemond smiled down at you softly, stilling for a moment. Your heart stuttered in your chest as you looked at him, “No you don’t.”

His smile dropped from his face in an instant, shadow cast over his scarred cheek as he looked at you blankly, “And if you do, I’ll make you love me again.”

His hands slid down your body, and began to tear at your pants, busting the button from your jeans, sending it flying across the room, then ripping the zipper apart. 

Sobs flew from your lips as you pushed up at him, desperate to make him stop, fear escalating within you, “Stop! Aemond. Stop!” 

Your fingers tangled in the bed sheets as you kicked at him, knuckles going white as you tried to drag yourself up and away from him on the bed, nails pulling sharply as you used every ounce of strength you had left. The room still spun as your head throbbed with every movement or jolt of your body.

Long fingers dipped beneath the waistband of your jeans and tugged them and your underwear down your legs as you struggled and cried and clawed at him.

“Been a while since you played this game with me.” Aemond chuckled darkly, “Do you remember when you used to pretend you didn’t want it? When you’d say ‘Stop! Please, no!’ and cum around my cock all coy?”

You blinked, memories erupting inside your brain. But those days were consensual, that was fun, something he had even introduced you to. But now? This? This was different. This was not a game. This was not play.

You kicked at his chest, heel clipping his shoulder sharply, a grunt falling from his lips. Aemond slapped a leg away, other hand gripping your thigh tightly. You cried out in pain as his fingers dug into your skin meanly, pain rippling up it.

Your hands tried to pry his fingers away, but the glinting of his wedding ring caught your attention.

He was still wearing it.

He ripped open his belt, and terror struck inside of you.

“Aemond, no. Please. Stop! Aemond stop, please!”

But all the man did was smile down at you crudely, “Gods, I’ve missed your begging. So sweet and small when you’d get on your knees and beg for my cock.” He pulled his length from his slacks, hard and angry, a drop of arousal smeared across his tip, “You’re so fucking beautiful. And you’re mine. My wife.”

You felt like you were going to throw up, thrashing beneath him as he crawled atop of you.

You dug your nails into his arms, trying to swipe at his face and neck, your teeth bared, ready to bite down onto whatever limb came into their collision course.

“Stop.” He growled, slotting himself between your thighs, overpowering you completely.

You sobbed beneath him, begging him to stop, screaming at him to get off, grunting as you twisted beneath the sheets, your head still spinning with small stars that continued to multiply in front of your eyes, the corners of your vision shrouded in black. 

In one final attempt, you went for what you knew would hurt him, what you knew would stop him, slow him down.

Give you time.

And so with the heel of your hand, you thrust it upwards into his face, connecting with his prosthetic eye, clipping the painful scar tissue that would sometimes wake him in the middle of the night in tears.

Aemond’s head withdrew with a sharp and pained cry, one palm pushing into his eye socket as he tried to calm the agony. You pushed against his shoulders, trying to move out from underneath, but Aemond was quicker, and his enraged gaze landed on you. The hand that had been pushing into his face, curled into a tight fist.

Your head whipped to the side, and a cool blanket of darkness washed over you. 

You laid in it for a while, with no thoughts, no terror, no fear, just that darkness that curled around you quietly.

It was nice for a moment, almost comforting.

Just the feeling of not being there.

But then the blanket faded away, and pain bloomed in your face, iron on your tongue as you blinked in confusion. 

There was movement and a weight atop you. Something sliding against your core. 

And then, pain.

You whined, hands shoving against the chest above you as Aemond speared you on his length, thrusting sharply and dryly into you as he reached his hilt, the tip of his cock pushing painfully against your cervix. 

You gagged quietly, head throbbing as the room spun, your arms weakly pushing at him, feeling as though they were made out of lead. Each movement of your body sent pain rippling through your skull, and bile into your mouth.

“Take it like a good wife.” Aemond growled, pulling his length out of you before thrusting it back in sharply.

You cried loudly, pain spreading through your core as you felt him tear at your walls.

He was always larger, much larger than anyone you had had before, and when you were together, he would have to spend ample time to prepare you, but you would always be wet to help. 

The only wetness you felt now, was from your own blood.

Aemond began a harsh and rough pace, with long sharp thrusts that jolted you up the bed on his length, cries of pain bleeding from your lips as you cried, turning your head away from him.

You still tried to push at his chest weakly, nails scratching at him through the dark shirt he wore, but it was no use. 

He grunted above you, picking up his pace, wrapping his hands around your neck for leverage. He squeezed, not tightly, but as a warning, and your eyes shot open to look up at him, hands clawing at his to try and get him to release you. The more you dug your nails into his skin, the more he tightened his hands until you were wheezing beneath him. 

“This doesn’t have to be difficult, you just need to give in, baby. Come on. Be a good girl for me. Be a good girl for daddy.” He groaned, one hand leaving your neck to pull up the soft woollen jumper to reveal your breasts to the room. 

Your nipples stiffened in the chill of the air, fireplace not having been lit yet and the cool of the early winter air seeping into the cabin.

“Fuck.” He hissed, hand coming to squeeze your breast roughly, pinching a stiffened peak between his fingers, rolling it through forefinger and thumb.

You whined in protest, hand trying to move his away.

Aemond lightly slapped your face, “Behave.” He accentuated with a hard thrust, another warning, sending pain shooting through your gut, “I’ll even let you cum. Be a good girl for me and I’ll let you cum, hm? Is that what my pretty wife wants?”

You shook your head weakly, tears overspilling from your eyes and down your cheeks, a sob working its way through your lips. 

Aemond bent down and licked the trail of tears from your cheek, “Fuck.” He moaned, thrusting into you faster, “Forgot how fucking tight you were. Gods. Gonna have to make up for time lost aren’t we? You’ve been such” Thrust, “A naughty” Thrust “Girl.” Thrust.

Your core clenched around him instinctually, Aemond adjusting his hips upwards so that his length would brush against the soft spongey spot within. His pace faltered, and a smirk pulled at his lips. Warmth spread through your gut.

“There she is.”

“No. Please, stop. Aemond, please. I’m begging you.” You wailed, hands gripping his arms as your nails clawed into him.

Your husband smirked down at you, “Not so cocky now that you’re mine again, huh? Where’s that bratty attitude from on the phone?”

Aemond continued to fuck at you from the new angle, one hand on your neck in a promise, the other pulling a limp leg up his hip, revulsion barreling through you as you found yourself growing wet from the angle, your body betraying you. 

The sound of your slick was loud in the room, adding to your shame. 

Aemond only tutted at you, “See? Only I can make you feel like this. Duncan would never be able to make you cum the way I do. No-one can. You’re mine. This pussy, is mine. And what I do with it is for me alone.”

The light in the room was too bright above you, making your head spin even more, the clapping of his hips against yours loud in your ears as his thrusts rocked your head and body backwards, a familiar coil beginning to wind in your stomach.

It was all too much. 

Even the smell of him overwhelmed you.

“Can feel you squeezing my cock. You gonna cum for me, baby?” He cooed, mocking you.

“P-Please st-op, Aemond. It h-hurts.” You sobbed.

“Oh it hurts does it?” The sneer was back, Aemond’s head leant down beside your ear as he pushed to his limit, your walls gripping him tightly, and whispered, “Now you know how it felt when you left me.”

You weeped.

“I hope it fucking hurts.” Aemond leant back, fucking into you with new found vigour, sitting back on his haunches as he pulled your hips onto him, the coil getting tighter and tighter. 

It was horrifying, to find your body finding pleasure from his assault, but you couldn’t stop it, no matter how hard you tried. He knew you too well. Knew your body too intimately. Knew everything that made you tick, twitch, or moan. He had spent hours, years, learning how to expertly map out your body, and he knew your body better than you did.

A slick thumb pressed down on your bud. 

“Come on, baby, cum for me. Wanna feel you cum on me. If you cum for me, I’ll forgive you, okay? You cum for me and I’ll know you love me back. Come on, be a good girl, cum for me.”

His thumb swirled roughly against your bud, your hands tightening around him, unsure if you were pulling him toward you or pushing him away. Your mind hazy and confused, the world having been turned upside down. 

You came with a cry, back arching off the bed as Aemond praised you through it, fucking into you harder and faster. Warmth spread through your limbs, your eyes scrunched tightly shut, bright lights behind them as your skull throbbed.

Aemond fucked your limp body, thumb leaving your clit as he held your hips with both hands, drilling into your wetness with a painful force, pulling agonising pleasure from you. 

You weeped below him, keeping your eyes shut as you just wished for it to be over. For him to just finish. 

“Gonna fill you up. Gonna fill my pretty wife up so we can have a baby. Hm, doesn’t that sound nice? Start a family.”

You sobbed loudly, hiding your face in your hands as you turned your head away from him, the taste of blood still thick on your tongue from where he had struck you.

His pace became sloppy, thrusts uneven as he began to lose himself to pleasure. 

“Fuck!” He hissed, thrusting into you sharply as he came, hot ropes of cum coating your walls as he thrusted weakly through his climax.

You chest stuttered with sobs, head spinning, but exhaustion taking over. 

You were so tired. 

So tired.

You just wanted to sleep.

Wanted to fade away back to that darkness again. Back to nothing.

“Shh,” Aemond hushed you from above, dipping his head to press a gentle kiss against your wet cheek and forehead, “It’s okay now. I’m here. It’s okay.”

You sobbed even harder.

Aemond pulled out of you with a hiss, a small whimper falling from your own lips as you felt pain strum through your brutalised walls. He flopped back onto the bed, dragging your body up beside him as though you weighed nothing, black blooming before your eyes as you knocked your head against the pillow, a wave of sickness rising inside.

But you didn't fight it. 

There was no point. 

No escape. 

Nowhere to go.

Nowhere to hide. 

You couldn’t run, even if you wanted to.

And so you laid in his arms as he held you whilst you cried, curling into him as the tears kept coming. He cooed at you softly, rubbing a gentle hand up and down your arm in a way he always used to. 

It was so stomach turning, the different sides of Aemond, and if it wasn’t for the concussion that you certainly had, his actions alone would send your head spinning. 

Because this Aemond, the soft Aemond, was the one you had known. The one who used to hold you to him, and whisper words of praise. But that was a long time ago, and the Aemond who held you now was a different man. 

Someone you didn’t even know. 

This Aemond was not the man you married.

Aemond pressed another kiss to the top of your head again, “It’s okay, cry it out. I know you’re sorry. And it’s okay. I'll forgive you. Alys was a mistake, but she’s gone now. She won’t be a problem anymore, okay? It’s just you and me.”

You sobbed louder, and he pulled you closer to him, tangling his legs with yours.

“I know, baby." He cooed sweetly, but it was insincere, hollow, cold, "I’ve missed you too. I love you so much, Y/n." Aemond exhaled hotly at the top. ofyour head before his voice fell to barely a whisper, "So much, you don’t know what I’m willing to do to keep you with me.”

A chill rolled down your spine. 

You knew now what he was willing to do. 

And with the added news of what he did to Lucerys, you wouldn’t put it past him to harm anyone that came between you again. 

A wave of mourning crashed over you. 

Mourning your past. 

Mourning your future. 

And mourning the person that you would become with him. There was no escaping this.

Him.

You inhaled his scent deeply.

He still smelt as he always did, but there was a lingering smell of pine in his clothes. The pines from the woods surrounding your home. 

How long had he been out there?

How long had he been waiting?

“You’ll love me again, I know it. I’ll never leave you again. We will be happy together. Here.”

Your breath caught in your throat, eyes wide against his chest.

“You’ve chosen the best spot, baby. You always were clever, we can start our family here. Somewhere quiet, no-one around. Just you and me, and eventually the children. Like it was meant to be.”

A shiver rolled through you.

“Marrying you was the best decision I made in my life.” He kissed the top of your head again, smoothing your hair down with his hand lovingly, “I’ll make you see.”

You laid there as you cried, unsure of what to do, unsure of what to say. Having no real power over the situation, having no real way to escape or get out. If not for Aemond's sheer will, the four dead locks on the door assured it as well. He hummed softly as he let you cry, pain crashing through you in waves.

Aemond paused in thought, his thumb coming beneath your chin as he tilted your head to look up at him.

Your vision was fuzzy from the tears, and the edges were seeped in black, but you could see it. The crazed look in his eye as he gazed down at you with a hungry possessiveness. 

“Do you remember our vows?” He asked, watching as you blinked at him, your lip wobbling as you tried to stop the endless stream of sobs that worked their way up your throat.

His thumb brushed gently over your bottom lip, a sharp sting sparking in it as his finger brushed over the split.

And then he smiled at you, in the same way that he had the day of your wedding, lips pulled wide, teeth revealed.

Your heart fluttered in your chest as you looked at him.

The man you had loved, the man you had married and planned a future with. 

The man you had been on the run from.

His mouth parted again, smile becoming softer.

“Til death do us part.”

Thanks so much for reading along with me, if you wish to be added to the general tag list please let me know on the general taglist post here :) Likes and reblogs are greatly appreciated ! Enjoy <3

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[saltywritings]

The Bonds of Blood (Aegon Targaryen II x Reader) Dark Content

Summary: Aegon visits Aemond's wife at night.

Warnings: very dark fic, noncon/dubcon, somnophilia, slight stalking, envy, descriptive smut, blackmail, and trickery. adults only.

You've been married to Aemond for three lunar cycles now. He had shown glimpses of kindness in his own way… when he was present. Yet, to call him merely "kind" felt too generous—he merely existed. He was passive, seemingly disengaged. You endeavored to spark his interest. You inquired about his dragon and extended offers to share books with him. Nevertheless, the moments spent together felt devoid of life. Even amidst conversation, the emptiness hung heavy in the air.

Passion was absent, and intimate moments were few and far between, lacking any semblance of desire. His gaze scarcely met yours, and his departures were swift. The only instances when Aemond displayed any semblance of spousal behavior were in the presence of his elder brother. It seemed as though Aemond harbored a tinge of jealousy towards Aegon, perhaps protective of you from his brother's attention. Despite Aegon being among the few at court who showed genuine interest in you, Aemond repeatedly cautioned his brother to steer clear of his wife. Nonetheless, Aegon's presence always found its way back to you, defying Aemond's warnings.

At times, you found yourself pondering the possibilities of a different marriage, yet you endeavored to remain grateful that your husband was not cruel or violent. Despite this, the weight of duty pressed heavily upon you. Three moons had passed, and still, your womb remained empty, testing the limits of your hope. This was of course until the night you woke up.

As your eyes begun to flutter you first noticed the pressure on your body. The rhythmic creaking of the bed caught your attention, though initially, you were uncertain of its cause. This was until you could feel him, inside of you. He was engulfed in you, your tight pussy clinging around him. Aching for a sensation that he, your husband, had not provided you with this moon. A moan had parted from your lips, remaining in your throat as you pushed yourself up slightly.

"A-Aemond?" You questioned; a hand quickly pushed down on your back, holding you down against the bed. Your body obeyed, though your lips continued to spill the sweet sounds of desire.

There was a feeling inside of you. It was unfamiliar, foreign. A tightening deep within your womanhood that clung around your husbands length.

"A-Aemond, I-I-"You did not even know how to form words to explain what was happening, however, his hand hard against your back his length continued. Hard, smashing into you as you begun to spasm around him. Your first release would consume you- It made sounds that never left your lips bounce on the stone walls of the room causing him to push your face down into the bed to silence you. His trust quickened and soon you could feel him fill you.

This feeling was familiar, the other was not. You could feel his seed, sticky and thick, as he fucked every last drop into you. His trust becoming lazy as he kept you pushed down on the bed. He stayed there like that and while you wanted to question him you could not move. When he did pull himself from you he left the room before you could even fully turn around. Leaving you to sleep, sticky, and unaware of what your husband's brother had just done to you.

For you had thought that your husband had come to your room, late at night, to finally fulfil his desires . . . or his duty. Regardless you were finally happy to be fulfilling yours.

Aegon would come to you when you were asleep each day that week. He pushed you down on the mattress, face down, and always left without saying a word.

Tonight was no exception for Aegon. He had managed to slip into your room undetected, pausing for a moment at the foot of the bed. As you slumbered, as you often did, he couldn't help but notice how your features seemed almost angelic in the moonlight, reminiscent of a painting he had once seen of the Mother. Aegon's eyes were fixated on your chest, watching your breast as they rose and fell with your breathing. What he would give to fuck you in the day light. Aegon crept onto the bed, a smirk playing at the corners of his lips as he deftly peeled away the blankets. Your legs were apart, waiting for him, he was certain.

Aegon normally flipped you over but tonight was different. He could not resist, for his hands carefully removed your undergarments. He brought them to his face and took an inhale of your sweet scent. His cock had become rock hard, stirring in his trousers as he brought them down. He did not wat a moment longer, for he soon pushed down on your thighs and slid himself inside of you. Even after nights of stuffing himself inside of you, your cunt was deliciously tight. Aegon begun to thrust into you, concerned about his own pleasure.

Your body became tense with him inside you, he watched as your face contorted; soft sounds falling from your lips as he thrusted into you.

The sensation was no longer unfamiliar. As you stirred from your slumber, you found yourself beginning to embrace the feeling. Yet, as your eyelids fluttered open, you gazed upward. For the first time since your husband had started visiting you at this late hour, you were able to meet his gaze. However, now eye to eye, you were able to see that this was not your husband. It was Aegon who had welcomed himself into your body, hands gripping on your waist as he spit you on his cock, grunting into you, and filling you with his seed each night.

"A-Aegon!" You asked in an out rage, a smile creeping on his lips as he placed his hand over your mouth.

"Shh-" He ordered as he started to thrust into you at an accelerated rate. Without mercy. You were tightening around him, involuntarily. You were trying to fight off the feeling of your own release; tears had been pooling in the corners of your eyes as you whimpered for mercy.

There was no mercy here.

Aegon knew what you were doing and continued until you spasmed around him causing him to hum. "Good Girl." He cooed to you, taking his fingers and now shoving them into your mouth. Looking at you, your hole full of his cock and another full of his fingers. "Fucking look at you, getting fucked by your husbands brother. You whore." Aegon said in a grunt as he continued his speed, slowing down slightly to savor this moment.

"You love this, don't you?" Aegon asked, his fingers pushing down on your tongue, causing you to gag on his fingers. You could not answer, you didn't have to. The slickness between your legs said more than any defense you would have given.

"Ah, Gods- I'm close. It's so hard to last inside you." Aegon spoke in a grunt as he continued to fuck you teasingly slow. "Aemond doesn't know what he's missing." He continued on.

Aegon would pick up his speed, unable to hold off any longer as he soon tense his body, his cock spasming inside of you. "Fuck- fucking milk me you whore." Aegon says as he fills you, ensuring that not a drop of his seed is leaking out of you, his free hand pushing down on your thigh so you have no option but to take it. He soon pulls his finger from your mouth and slowly unsheathes his cock from within you.

Aegon turns over to you and without a moment hesitation informs you, "You'll have to fuck Aemond here soon, convince him that he actually managed to get you pregnant."

[myfandomprompts]

Unhealthy Addiction

(drugdealer!Aemond x Reader)

Synopsis: Your sister is a drug addict, at the mercy of a dreaded drug dealer group led by a mysterious man. When you decide to save your sister from this life that kills her, you didn’t expect to build a whole other addiction to a perfect stranger.

A/N: Just some illogical & weird moderndark!Aemond smut in the October mood.

Words: 5.6k Masterlist

Warnings: dirty talk, dom, oral , vaginal, fingering, manipulation, possessive, begging, light bdsm, slight mention of drugs, praising

Your sister was at her lowest.

She kept screaming at you, scaring the neighbours, alarming the entire street when she went into one of her tantrums and you didn’t know what to do. She was hurting, a pain that only something chemical could ease and you refused to indulge her. This was all she had in mind, getting that fix, and she didn’t mind doing the most violent things, saying the cruellest things to you in order to plead her case.

She kept screaming how she could not be done, how she bought all the drugs from this scary guy, that he convinced her to sell for him. That she couldn’t refuse.

She had no control over herself anymore, but you didn't back down, you had to get her clean.

So you decided that you would take care of it for her. 

You made her tell you where she got it from, a shady little place on Silk Street with shady people going around all day and night with business even the police didn’t even dare looking into as you forced her down to the ER. If it was the last link that tied her to this life and her addiction, you would cut it, and, as she dozed off in her hospital bed, you rushed to her flat in apprehension, grabbing the bag full of those terrifying substances and heading down to Silk Street.

You knew it was a bad idea, but you knew you had to do it. You just had to give the bag back, explain to them that your sister wanted nothing to do with them anymore, pay up whatever amount was necessary to make them forget about her and leave.

How naive you were.

You knock on the scruffy-looking door with a trembling hand, the chilly night already settling around you as dogs barked in the distance. 

The door creaks open, dim light filtering through a slim screen of smoke that comes out of the  messy room. The few people inside look concerningly calm, the soothing electronic music making their head bob inconsistently as the smell of weed slowly reaches you and tickles your nose.

“What?” the huge man at the door says in a flat tone, tattoos on his face but alert eyes strained on you.

“I… have stuff to give back to you,” you courageously state, staring back at him with all the fierceness you could muster and only earning an unimpressed look.

You owed it to your sister, you could do it.

He gauges your appearance mercilessly, unfit for this place and only when you take out the heavy plastic bag out of your purse does he nod silently and step aside to let you in. 

You retain a cough, the scent of smoke becoming much stronger as you enter and making your eyes sting. Several pairs of eyes which weren’t hooded and gazing into the void looked lazily at you, eyes so dark there was no more colour in them, swallowed by the blackness of their centre. Two or three men stared at you like they would jump at you at the first false movement while the few women present were half laying on the couches, mouth open in what looked like delight, but you knew better.

A chill goes up your spine, hearing the door close behind you in a sharp snap while you feel the air shift around you.

You did not belong here.

“Who are you?”

The man came out of nowhere, brown skin and brown eyes, luxurious dark hair falling to the side of his face and all dressed in white with a heavy chain hanging around his neck. He scrutinises you, looking you up and down with a judgmental frown.

“It doesn’t matter,” you state after a difficult swallow. “I’m here to return this.”

The man eyes the bag you extend to him, a flash of recognition passing through his features but he doesn’t take it, rather deepening his frown. “Where did you get this?”

You bite your lips, growing uneasy under his gaze. All that you wanted was to leave this place as quickly as possible, even if you had to lie to achieve that. “Maria doesn’t want to do this anymore, and we don’t want any problems. So I’m doing the right thing, and returning it to you.”

The man sneers, an amused smile dancing on his lips and you tense. “Yeah, I’m afraid it doesn’t work like that, sweetheart. You’re her sister, aren’t you?”

You don’t have time to answer as the man at the door approaches him with a serious look on his face, ignoring you. “Cole, the boss is back.” 

“Perfect timing, he’ll want to see this,” the man named Cole answers without taking his eyes off you. “You’re coming with me, sweetheart. We’ll sort this out, don’t worry.”

You could feel it, the trap closing in on you as he takes the bag from your hands and turns away for you to follow him. “I just want to give you this and leave. Please.”

He gives you an uninterested look over his shoulder, shrugging. “It’s not up to me.”

You shiver as panic starts to fill your nerves, the desire to flee, to run becoming stronger but you make the sensible choice and do as you’re told. 

He leads you into a cold-lighted room where the sole wide window is draped with a thick grey curtain and blocks your view of the humid night. The carpet floor is dirty, rendering you uncomfortable as you advance further into the room, chairs and stools stacked along the walls and an old looking desk standing at the opposite side. Even the huge couch below the window isn’t welcoming, the mess on the low table in front of it is filled with objects you don’t recognise.

You shouldn't be here.

Cole throws the bag on the table unceremoniously, the sound startling you as he commands you to wait. “Don’t touch anything.”

You try to settle your breathing, the room suffocating you as you realise that you are stuck, led there by a fool’s hope of coming to an understanding with these men, with dangerous people. You recall the frightened look on your sister’s face as she yelled at you, saying that she couldn’t fail them, couldn’t upset them.

Maybe you should have listened to her. Maybe you should have been scared too.

Muffled whispers filter through the door over the faint music, making you turn around with renewed anxiety as you recognise Cole’s voice. You know your time is running out, and you have no idea what’s going to happen. But then the door opens and you freeze.

It isn’t Cole, but someone much taller, leaner, terrifyingly attractive. 

He has long silver hair, silk cascading down over his shoulders that are wrapped around a dark green vest. He wears black trousers, matching with his tee-shirt that clings to his form and contrasts with his skin, fair and white. He effortlessly radiated an unsettling confidence, which you could feel even from a distance, making every muscle in your body tense, and you don’t know where to look. He hasn't even spoken yet.

His eyes are fixed on you, a perverted glow shining within them but you can’t meet it, too focused on the angular features of his face, on how flawless his marble skin and thin red lips look under the dim light. Everything about him is captivating, from his collarbone that peaks from under his shirt to the long scar that runs across his left cheek and further up his eye.

At this moment, you understood why your sister had been scared.

He stares at you for a while before finally smiling briefly in unconcealed satisfaction and closing the door. You don’t move, too stunned to utter a single word as he slowly walks towards the table to pick up the plastic bag and examine it closely, humming to himself. You watch, speechless, noticing the red marks over his knuckles, the bruises that stain his fist and you swallow the taste of iron in your mouth. 

The bag is carelessly dropped again as he reaches for a cigarette within his vest without a word, fingers enticingly coming to trap it between his lips and you’re hypnotised, desperate for him to acknowledge you, to say something. But then he flicks the lighter, casting an orange flame on the upper side of his face and you can’t help but gasp.

Unnoticed in the dim light, you can see it now, see how one of his eyes shimmers an icy blue, while the other one shone darker, deeper.

Blue as the night sky.

“You’re Maria’s sister?”

His voice makes you jump, his deep and velvety tone making the hair stand at the back of your neck and your heart race in your chest.

“Y-Yes,” you stammer, words coming out of your throat in strained sounds.  “Yes, I am.”

He nods, one corner of his lips curving upwards slightly as he takes a drag, making a thin curtain of smoke escape his sharp nose. “And you’re here because…?”

You manage to swallow the lump in your throat as he draws closer, intelligent eyes searching your features, making you hyper aware of how small you are compared to him. “I… just want to give the drugs back, so she can leave this part of her life behind. We won’t cause any trouble, I-I promise.”

He stops inches in front of you, his body going rigid as his eyes turn a shade of black, making you take a step back in reaction. “And what makes you think I can let that happen?”

You widen your eyes at the soft-spoken threat, freezing as you cower under his gaze.

He sees this. It makes him smile. 

“Relax, kitten. I'm not going to hurt you…” he says in the same unsettling tone as his blue eye lowers to the way your chest heaves under your shirt. “It’s just… not how we do things. When you take my stuff, you make a commitment, and you have to go all the way through with it or you get punished. There is no return policy.”

You could see it now, right beneath the scar, the gemstone shoved inside of his eye socket, as blue as the starless sky. It glowed softly, beautifully, and you were left to wonder how a man like him could be so dangerously pretty.

You urgently chase the thought away, slapping yourself internally as you feel yourself shrink under his gaze. “She can’t-,” you try uselessly, feeling the noose slowly constricting around your neck. “I understand, but I’ll pay for you to take it back. I beg of you, it represents almost nothing for you. Please…”

Something noticeably shifts in his eye at your last word, his nostrils flaring as he takes some time to compose himself before asking. “What’s your name?”

You hesitate, thrown off by the question and unable to come up with the simple answer and he grows impatient at your silence. He takes a firm step forward, making the back of your knee hit the chair behind you as the faint heat from the tip of his cigarette reaches your sides somewhere over the skin of your hand.

“What’s. Your. Name?” he repeats slowly, a hint of darkness in his voice.

“Y/N,” you finally blurt out, barely hearing your own voice as he claims your space like it’s his own, prowling.

His lips form silent syllables as he repeats your name to himself, finally satisfied. “And do you know mine, kitten?”

You silently shake your head, feeling excitement rise at the prospect of knowing, shameful eagerness taking hold of your mind, not thinking for a second that it might anger him.

But he only clicks his tongue in disapproval, watching you like you’re nothing more than a nuisance. “I’m Aemond, and if you had known that, kitten, you wouldn’t be here. Because everybody fucking knows I don’t take things back.”

Your nerves stir in renewed fright as his words ring like a death sentence in your ears. You have to find something, anything that would suit him, please him, but your mind draws a blank, the intensity of his gaze holding you in place. You remain silent as he takes a drag from his cigarette, not tearing his eye from you and when he suddenly turns away, it leaves a cold trail of chills along your spine.

You let out a quiet sigh of relief, your lungs burning from your previous lack of air as he wanders around the room.

“I take it you don’t use?” he says unexpectedly as he crushes his cigarette in the ashtray before taking the bag again on the table, drawing a round white pill out with his usual soft tone.

“No…” you answer weakly as he rolls the pill between his fingers, your eyes following the movement, transfixed.

“Mh… You’re one of those… The ones that don’t take wrong turns, the good girls.”

The stress that had settled between your ribs turns into something warmer at the calling, his tone inexplicably making the last ounce of courage you have left emerge. 

“If I didn’t take any wrong turns, I wouldn't have ended up here.”

He stills, his eye darting towards you like a single-eyed hawk and you bite your lips in instant regret, almost drawing blood as teeth sink into the thin flesh. His eye lowers to it and you instantly let go with a bashful expression.

He chuckles darkly, a devious smirk appearing on his features and you blink. “See, this is where you’re wrong. I don’t think you’ve realised the opportunity you just walked into… Y/N.”

You feel your stomach turn as reality hits you, your worst fear taking shape right in front of your eyes. Whatever he wanted with you, you could not let it happen, you could not fail your sister and get into the system like she did. She needed you. “Please, Aemond, I only want to be square with you and-”

There was a loud sound, plastic being crushed under immense force as his hand wrapped around the bag and violently squeezed. He took a deep shaky breath, his flashing gaze fixed on you as his knuckles turned white under the pressure. But it was gone seconds later, acting like it had never happened as he dropped the bag and started walking towards you.

“I used, once. This is how it all began,” he stated, a single slender finger brushing the edge of the table as he advanced. “I wasn’t really addicted, but I knew it was enough to cloud my mind, to make me believe that I needed it. But do you want to know what I really need, kitten? Why I stopped?”

You tried to hold his gaze when he lifted a single heated eye at you, excited by his little story, excited by something. He was in his element, he had the upper hand, he knew he was in control. You were only a slave to the fiery blood in your veins.

His finger had reached your arm by the time you registered his question, looming over it like a reverse magnet, untouching. He smiles when he sees chills prickle over your skin there, right before his pupils spread wider, an ink drop in water and you hold your breath.

“I like people begging me. I like the desperation in their voices, their scared little expressions as they mutter pathetic excuses, their pleas as I beat them…” You can feel the thrill in his tone, the pleasure that radiates off him, and you gasp when his finger finally touches your skin, burning. “I like hearing them beg me when they realise there is no escape, when they realise I’m the only solution, that I alone can give them what they want…I like this sensation of control, and I need to feel it on my own terms. Without any substances."

His hand has travelled down your arm, finding your pulse and you feel the thrumming of your heart meet his fingertips, pressing the delicate vein there. You wonder if he can feel your blood running within it, hot and wild. 

“You know, when Cole told me there was a lost pretty girl that wanted a refund, I laughed and could not wait to scare that girl. How naive she must be, how foolish. Coming here, wanting nothing more but to protect her poor little sister, asking what I cannot grant you, thinking you’ll get out of it like it’s nothing and not realising the mess you’re in. Just… perfect.”

You want to talk, argue, but you had stopped breathing altogether when his face leans slightly closer to your shoulder and you hear him breathe in your scent, humming within your neck. 

“But then, here you are… Pleading me, not once, but three times, kitten, with your sweet little tone of yours and I just-” he inhales brusquely, his pupil now completely blown out as you tremble beneath him. When he manages to talk again, his voice has dropped several octaves lower, guttural. “And now, let’s say that scaring you is not the only thing I want to do to you.”

The air feels sucked out of the room as tension fills it, palpable within the silence and you retain a whimper. His hold on your wrist turns stronger, as if to mark it, your pulse constricted beneath his fingers and you suddenly feel dizzy, gravity pulling you backward as you lose balance. You drop in the chair behind you like a stringless marionette, overthrown by him and his overwhelming presence.

He doesn’t flinch, neither does he comment as he leans over you, strong arms resting on the armrests at each side of you, trapping you as if he had planned everything. You huff when the tip of his hair grazes the skin of your cleavage, a silver curtain dropping under his face.

“So we're going to try this once…. Say please to me again, and I might reconsider your sister's situation.”

A ray of hope cuts through your foggy mind at his words, determination spurring within you as your treacherous tongue already rolls to form the words, eager to please him despite the lack of air in your lungs. “Please...”

The wood at your side cracks as he tightens his grip on the armrest, a repressed hiss dying within his throat as he composes himself again, hooded eye fixed on you, smothering.

“Hm… Yes,” he breathes, content visible on his features. “But the thing is, kitten, your sister was useful to me. She had access to people I didn’t, people like you. I’m sure you can see why it’s difficult for me to let her go.”

You know he is taunting you, dragging out what he wants from you and you know you have no choice but to indulge him, you need to indulge him. “She won’t survive if she keeps on, please.”

You can feel it, the pleasure he takes out of it, the delectable sensation he draws from your words as he licks his lips, a devious smirk tugging at them as he speaks slowly. “And what about you… Kitten?”

The near whisper makes your spine go rigid, his nose coming to loom over the junction of your jaw and you truly try to answer. “I- I don’t understand…”

He is the first to notice as his eyes are drawn to the sudden movement of your body under him: how tightly your thighs are clenched together, how tense you are as you shift, muscle tenses.

You blush shamefully, untying your legs to try to soothe the ache there as well as the heat pooling between them. He lifts a knowing eyebrow, observing you with excitement. "Hm… Not such a good girl after all, are you, kitten?”

He slowly lowers himself, broad hands coming to stroke the length of your thighs from your knees to your hips, the heat of his palms scorching you through your jeans and you repress a whimper, failing. “Did begging me turn you on, kitten?” 

His voice is hoarse, playful. You notice his own arousal pressing against the fabric of his pants and it makes your legs widen, watching helplessly as your body responds to your primal urges. “Do you need me to touch you? Is that what you want?”

You struggle, trying to fight what had been evolving since he had entered the room but you find yourself overpowered by your desire, submerged by it. "Yes…"

He arches his eyebrow higher. "Yes, what?"

"Yes, please."

He almost groans as he slowly comes to unbutton your jeans, a warm hand sliding under it and your stomach tenses when he connects with your dampness. "Fuck, kitten. Do you want to say please to me again?” 

He rises, giving himself a better angle as he comes to close his face over yours, suffocating as he waits for an answer out of you. When you give him none, he proceeds to grab your chin, pressing your cheeks between his fingers as he continues to stroke the heat between your thighs.

His face is close as he breathes your ragged breaths. “Lost your tongue?”

His gaze is unforgiving, his lips parted in delectation as you moan under him, and you suddenly feel the need to taste them, to chase them.

The movement makes him pull back, tutting as he grips your cheeks tighter. “That was bad. Very bad of you.”

You let out a plaintive whimper when he steps away, his hands departing your wet core and mouth as he comes to stand before you, jaw hanging low, slightly panting. His gaze is fixed on your glistening skin despite the harshness of it, a punishing glare within his eye as he lowers his jeans and briefs in order to free his bulging girth. You feel your mouth salivate as he starts pumping himself in wide long strokes, gaze transfixed on your face.

You’re unable to look away, heaving and hands gripping the wood of the chair tightly. You don’t realise the grinding of your hips against the surface of the chair, unconsciously chasing for what he robbed you of, wanting.

“Stop that,” he commands in a strained voice as precum starts leaking from his tip. You immediately obey, your body stilling as he comes closer, a pang hitting your core at the sight of his continuous movement over him. “You want a taste, kitten?”

One of his hands reaches for your hair, fingers tangling in them softly as he continues to stroke himself steadily, looking down at you with parted lips and he almost purrs when you nod bashfully. He guides you on the floor, eyes blown wide as he makes you kneel before him by a slight pull of your hair. You lick your lips in expectation, soothed by his hand within your strands and feeling the heat radiating off of him. 

You feel warmth spread within your cheek as you approach but he suddenly yanks your hair strongly, holding you into place in a hiss. “Then beg for it.”

He has stopped his ministrations over himself, rather squeezing the base of his shaft and making the already swollen tip inflate with blood as he watches you with a harsh and wild blue eye. You have to swallow the saliva that has accumulated in your mouth to talk. “Please, I want you in my mouth, Aemond.”

He groans as he lets go of his throbbing cock and loosen his hold over your scalp, allowing you to finally run a playful tongue along his length and wrap your hands around him, appeased by the sounds you draw out of him. “That’s it… Good girl.”

You try to go slow, hollowing your cheeks while you take him deeper and deeper, but as the minutes pass you feel the pressure of his hand in your hair tighten. The next moment he is claiming your mouth, making his tip hit at the back of your throat in loud lewd sounds as well as gag several times before he lets you go with a low growl.

You try to settle your breathing again as he wipes the single thread of saliva that connects you to his cock before probing you up by your chin, chest heaving in lust. “Do you even know how good that begging mouth feels? Do you even realise?”

You only feel the aching inside of your lower stomach heighten through your daze, and your mouth forms lazy words you don’t know the purpose of, blinking weakly. “Please, Aemond…”

“Fuck, kitten. Are you going to ask me to fuck you, is that it? Is that what you want to say?”

His thumb grazes the side of your jaw and you barely acknowledge his length against your hip, hot against your flesh. “I- Yes.”

A low grumble escapes his mouth right before you’re pushed on the sofa without warning, his hands rushing to get rid of his vest and pants before tugging at yours, forcing you to dig your hands into the cushions as he bends you over.

You quiver as your skin is met with the cool air but the next moment he moulds his chest against your back and you freeze, his mouth coming to position inches from your ear as a rough hand grabs your throat from behind, squeezing.

“From now on, kitten, you beg me for everything. You want to be touched? You beg me. You want to touch me? You beg me. You want my cock? You say please. You want to cum? You fucking ask permission. You’re gonna be extra polite for me, you understand?”

You let out a strained sound against his fingers he takes for an affirmation before taking hold of your hips, not wasting a second to align himself near your entrance and you exhale in want as he lets go of your neck. Your fists clutch the fabric of the sofa as he runs his length against your folds once, twice, and you can’t help but close your eyes in frustration, feeling his pleasure growing at what he knows you’re about to say. “Please…”

You hear his satisfied growl as his fingers presses deeper into your flesh and you let out a quick gasp as he plunges into you in a swift stroke, quickly replaced by needy moans as you feel the ache in your loins sharpen. He fills you, his thrusts growing from controlled to erratic, faint praises whispered through the sounds of smacking flesh as he roams his hand over your back, and soon you feel your muscles pulse around him in building tension.

It makes him tighten at once behind you, fingers bruising the flesh of your ass as he suddenly withdraws and with a few last strokes, spills onto your back with a ragged groan.

“Fuck, look at the mess you’ve made…” he tuts while you whimper from the sudden loss, feeling your walls pulsating over nothing as he watches his cock glistens with your fluids. “You don’t care about being dirty, do you? You just like being a good girl.”

You whine again as he spreads his seed over your lower back soothingly, not caring for the stains but rather snaking a hand under your shirt, cupping one of your breasts to squeeze it as you wiggle under him, his name on your tongue.

“What is it, kitten? Do you need to cum?” he purrs as he caresses your breast firmly, hoisting you up against him.

“Yes please, please…”

His hold tightens, his face coming close to your neck and you can feel his hot breath on your cheek as he coos. “Prettier.”

The heat in your stomach thickens, heart racing against your ribcage in nervousness and you melt into his embrace. “P-Please, I need to cum. I need you to make me cum.”

He hums in satisfaction as he turns you around, flattening you against the back of the couch and yanking your shirt over your head as he spreads your legs, his jaw dropping in elation when he slides two fingers inside of you, making your head fall back with a loud moan. Your legs barely hold you as he rubs his thumb over your clit at a consuming pace, his long fingers finding the rough spot within you as if he had known it all of his life, and you’re soon panting heavily.

His gaze is fixed on your face, enjoying every moment, every painful expression as you’re closing on your high, waiting for you to say exactly what he wants and when he feels your walls clenching around his fingers, he stops, violently squeezing your inside between his three digits.

You wail at the sensation, meeting his harsh gaze and fascinated eye and soon you let out a strained sob, your inside muscles constricting painfully. “Aren’t you forgetting something, kitten?”

You swallow with difficulty as he smiles, his grip on you merciless, unmoving and you feel your legs tremble. “Please, don’t stop, I want- I need to cum. Please, I beg you.”

“Good girls ask permission, remember?” he grunts as he starts his movement again, rough digits now too slow on your wetness. “Try again.”

“Can I please… cum,” you plead in a strained sob, gripping the back of the couch more tightly but when he starts stroking your insides again, you see nothing but white, the coiling sensation within your core finally snapping and he doesn’t stop until you’re a puddle under him, letting you sink on the couch in a ghosting embrace.

“That’s it,” he soothes, grazing your waist and breast before gently making you suck on his fingers after the last shockwaves of your climax, tasting yourself through your heavy breaths. “Such an obedient little kitten.”

You slowly start to get the control of your legs back as he wipes some sweat out of your hair, but his gaze is nothing but soothing. “Fuck, look how hard you made me again, with you begging me so sweetly…”

He slowly runs one of his hands up your thigh, his hardening state hitting your flesh briefly before he lifts your knees up, positioning his weight over each of your thighs and you blink in anticipation, too dazed to utter a word. You angle yourself better against his body, the only confirmation he needs before he plunges into you again, this time his desire is too strong to wait for you to find your composure back.

It burns, vividly so, your swollen flesh barely recovered from your previous climax and you start moaning loudly, your hand rushing to your mouth to stop the embarrassing sounds from escaping your throat.

Two hands come to snap it away, lacing them over your head in a secure hold and you sink your teeth in your flesh when you meet his fierce gaze, the roll of his hips unfaltering. “No no no, kitten. Let them hear you, hear how desperate you are for my cock, how much you like begging for it.”

“Kiss me.”

He recoils slightly, his thrust slowing gradually as his single eye widen, the black of it taking over. “I don’t kiss my pets.”

“Please...”

Your voice sounds broken, a hint of determination within it that makes him blink and you can clearly see him battling himself for a moment before he crashes his lips against yours. The suddenness of it makes you moan against him as he devours you, the roll of his hips starting again deeper, needier.

It hits every right spot despite the overstimulation and soon you feel a numbness take hold of you, goosebumps spreading over your body. “Aemond, I’m going to-”

He grunts against your mouth as his hand comes to play with your breast again, freeing one of your own in the process that you bring to his face, stroking the smooth skin there along with the scar that marks his cheek. “You’re not cumming yet, I need you to wait a little while longer, alright kitten?”

His thrust slows again and you feel the pleasurable pain of being denied once more, filled by the need to obey him. “I can’t-”

“Don’t you dare cum before I say so, be a good girl and wait for my fucking permission, you understand?”

You close your eyes in a tremendous effort not to let the stretching sensation of him rocking inside of you overcome you too fast, your back arching under him and you feel his free hand flatten against your stomach to immobilise you, shushing you in a husky tone.

You beg one last time, feeling your guts heating up with the way he is chasing his own climax with deep thrusts and you dig your nails in his shoulder.

“Fuck… Come on, kitten, come for me, you can let go.”

Your vision blurs, your eyes rolling back as you cry out, your body going numb under the shattering pleasure and you don’t register anything, not how he follows you minutes later as you clench around him nor where he spills himself. You just feel like your limbs don’t obey you anymore.

You huff, feeling Aemond’s scent and sweat envelop you and when you open your eyes he is looking down at you with a hooded eye.

His thumb massages a spot over your shoulder and a sorry expression passes on his feature as he sets a strand of your hair aside. “I can’t grant you what you asked for.”

You feel cold all of a sudden, the air biting your damp skin as his warm fingers graze your cheek, feeling your disappointment. 

“I’ll leave your sister alone, as you wished, but I’m not taking the drugs back. You’ll have to find a way to sell, as Maria promised she would.”

A wave of relief runs through you, happiness for your sister but an odd sensation takes place within your chest as the man next to you watches you with fierceness. “Because you… you’re going to be very useful to me, kitten.”

You don’t glance away, you don’t recoil.

Because you’re not sure you want to leave anyway.

Tagging @watercolorskyy and thanking @babyblue711 for the beta reading. We cannot disappoint.

[squirmhoney]

HoD porn links - 2

warning: 18+ only. these are twitter links that contain porn videos. these are not fics. Mentions of non con, dub con, somnophilia and incest.

navigation // house of dragon master list // No.1

Aegon Targaryen

Waking up to uncle!Aegon fucking you

Slipping it in when he knows he isn't supposed to but brother!Aegon gets carried away

Vacation days where cousin!Aegon uses you in his freetime

Literally being used as his cum dump

Aegon wants you whenever and wherever

Fucking you till your numb

Perv Aegon whispering profanities while you get off on it

Aemond Targaryen

Aemond punishing you with overstimulation

Gamer Aemond takes his anger out on his niece

After being too mean uncle! Aemond wants to show you he cares

Literally it is his favourite meal

Fucking you in his clothes

Risking it with cousin reader in your dad's kitchen

[li0nn3stuff]

Kiddo

Chapter one

Kiddo masterlist

English is not my first language, be kind.

Modern!Older!Aemond x Modern!Younger!Reader

•Chapter warnings: beginning of the obsession•

As Aemond sat at the bar during his lunch break, his colleagues from the bank company gathered around him, chatting and laughing.

It was a family company, but nothing was given off out of nepotism. He had earned it. And he earned it fucking wonderfully.

He had studied in the best schools, yes, but he had been dedicated as no one could.

His father took him to work there when he was twenty-two, then he took his degree.

He worked wonders in the company, success after success. Not that his father ever applauded him anything. It was just his job to be a good employee.

He acknowledged his success, that he did. That was the reason why when his father started to get seriously sick, he named Aemond his successor.

Because he was fucking good at what he did.

Then, it happened. His father died, and the company fell into his hands.

CEO at thirty years old.

These types of bar were not something Aemond usually frequented. He likes places more… quiet, personal. He only came because his colleagues, or well, his employees suggested it with enthusiasm.

“Keep good relationships. You have to be present in the company, for them to trust and respect you. They’ll see how much you work and they’ll never doubt a word of yours.”

Despite the jovial atmosphere, Aemond remained aloof, his icy demeanor never faltering.

"So, Aemond, how's the Martel project coming along?" asked Marcus, a fellow executive, taking a sip of his drink.

Aemond shrugged nonchalantly. "It's progressing as expected." he replied in his usual monotone voice. "Nothing worth getting excited about."

Marcus chuckled. "Always the stoic one, aren't you? You should loosen up a bit, enjoy the small victories."

Aemond raised an eyebrow. "I'll leave the celebrations to those who find them worthwhile." He said curtly.

Across the table, Emily, another colleague, leaned in with a playful smirk. "Come on, Aemond, don't tell me you're immune to the charms of success." She teased, her eyes twinkling mischievously.

Aemond's lips curled into a slight smirk, the closest thing to a smile he ever showed. "Success is fleeting," He replied cryptically. "I prefer to focus on the long game."

The conversation continued, with Aemond contributing sparingly, his responses always measured and guarded. He listened intently to his colleagues' chatter, but there was a distance in his eyes, as if he were observing from afar rather than fully engaging.

Despite his detached demeanor, there was an undeniable aura of authority and confidence that surrounded Aemond. He commanded respect without ever having to demand it, his presence alone enough to make those around him sit up a little straighter.

“Aspect, composure, and attitude are the key.”

As the conversation turned to other topics, Aemond remained in his own world, a silent observer amidst the lively banter of his colleagues. For him, the bar was just another backdrop in the intricate dance of corporate life, a place where he could observe and strategize, always one step ahead of the game.

As he perused the menu of the pub, a sense of disappointment washed over him. The offerings seemed basic and uninspired compared to the elegant plates he was accustomed to in high-end restaurants.

As he reluctantly considered his options, he couldn't help but long for the sophistication and refinement of the restaurants he frequented. The thought of settling for a mediocre meal in a dingy pub left a bitter taste in his mouth.

He ordered a basic plate of pasta, hoping it wouldn’t suck too much.

He glanced around the bustling pub, filled with lively conversations and clinking glasses, he thought that perhaps there was more to the dining experience than just the food itself. Maybe, just maybe, he could find enjoyment in the simple pleasures of good company and convivial atmosphere, even if the cuisine didn't quite meet his lofty standards.

He looked at his employees around the table.

What a lie.

He liked being alone, he liked to stay away from people.

He sighed silently and scanned the pub, people standing or sitting everywhere, with a beer in their hands, laughing out loud, it almost gave him a headache. He drifted his gaze to a group of young girls that just walked inside. They were laughing in such a high pitched tone it was so annoying. They were all dressed too provocative for their age, probably hoping to look older in order to buy some alcohol.

Stupid kids.

They could barely walk on those heels, they looked horrendous, even if they acted like they were on top of the world. One of the group of girls looked at him and she immediately straightened up her composure, trying to evidence her curves.

Aemond felt like throwing up.

The girl laughed when he averted his gaze for a minute, looking behind her. He followed her gaze, and he saw her, a couple of steps behind the whole group, there was another girl, dressed in a skirt long to her knee, and a cardigan. There weren’t heels at her feet but old stan smith, she wasn’t wearing much makeup, just some mascara and gloss on her lips, that made them sparkle under the light, making them look soft, plumb, ready to be bitten.

Her hair tied up in a half ponytail, her hair coming down in soft waves. She clinged to her backpack strap like it was her life savior. She must have been… sixteen? Maybe seventeen, and she looked like it, despite her friends. Her friends only looked ridiculous.

She walked in a shy demeanor, her legs almost shining over the light that came from the door of the pub. Her thighs swayed one against each other, making all of her skin move in waves. They looked so soft, the perfect shape to grab them tightly and-

“Here’s your pasta.” The waitress said to him, as she placed the plate in front of him. He hummed and nodded, as she gave him a smirk and went away. He didn’t even bother to look at the waitress' body as she walked away. He went back to the little girl, but he found her looking back at him.

She softly, gently smiled at him, shyly.

She smiled.

Aemond didn’t smile back, and she immediately looked away, running to her friends. Her breasts jumped up and down at every step she took towards the bar, her hair moving around her face.

She was beautiful. Perfect.

He coughed and finally looked away from her. He felt like she put a spell on him. He felt drawn to her.

God he looked like a pervert.

The girl was only sixteen, half his age.

What the fuck was wrong with him?!

He groaned and rubbed his temple, looking down at his plate, grabbing the fork and taking a bite.

Tasteless. Fucking tasteless.

“Marcus, stop staring at them, they could be your daughters!” He heard one of his employees say, laughing. Aemond immediately looked at him… Kyle? Then at Marcus, seeing him looking at the group of girls he saw before.

Don’t you dare look at her.

Marcus looked up and down the girls, smirking to his colleague.

“You can look at those, I don’t even know what the other girl is.” He laughed.

Don't talk about her.

Aemond clenched his hand on the fork, as both Marcys and Kyle turned to look at the girls again, drawing the attention of other colleagues as well. Aemond took a deep breath, closing his eye and leaning his head down.

I will kill you.

“Marcus, I heard the Lannister complaining about some work that has been done for them.” Aemond spoke, raising his glance at him, as he sat comfortably back on the chair.

The most uncomfortable chair he has ever sat on.

Marcus looks at him, surprised, and he immediately lowers his eyes.

“Uhm… yeah, they’re not really good at explaining what they want, you know? I made some mistakes, but I immediately fixed them when they noticed.”

“Mistakes?” He questioned further, taking another bite of his pasta, leaning back forward.

“Yeah, but nothing serious… Everything's alright now.” Marcus quickly added.

“Mh.” He only answered. He looked down at his silverwares, and he noticed the spoon was dirty.

Disgusting.

He sighed and looked towards the bar. The girls were still there. His girl was looking around the pub, her mind obviously somewhere else from her friend's conversation.

He shouldn’t do it.

He got up, excusing himself cordially to his employees, and walked away from his table.

He really shouldn’t.

He approached the bar, standing beside his girl. Her friends were giggling closed in a circle, she was more outside of it.

Were they really her friends?

Why the fuck did he care?

He twirled the spoon between his fingers, looking ahead of him as he waited for someone of the pub’s staff to consider him. Still he kept his ears well open.

“Y/N you should do it too!” One of the friends exclaimed, laughing. His girl looked at her, confused, but with a gentle face.

Y/N. He liked her name.

“What should I do?” She asked softly.

Her voice.

God, her voice.

Sweet, caring, gentle.

“Sammi maid. To earn some money, you need it, don’t you?” Her friend chuckled.

Bitch.

Aemond felt his anger rise in a second. They couldn’t be her friends. No. His girl tilted her head, confused.

“What is a Sammi maid?” She asked, so innocently. All of the girls laughed.

“Just… a maid. They just pay them more.” One of the girls explains.

Don’t.

“Might think about it, thank you.” His girl answered. She sounded embarrassed, her soft cheeks were probably red.

Don’t.

Aemond sighed and moved away, as finally, he saw a bartender coming to him.

“This spoon is dirty… and I know those girls are underage.” He handed the spoon and pointed at the group of girls, who were just asking for beers to another barman.

“Thank you, sir.” The barman took the spoon, and as he went to change it he whispered something to the other barman.

He saw the pissed expression of those girls and how they acted all offended. They quickly started to walk away but his girl was confused.

“I… I haven’t finished my cola…” She said weakly. One of the girls rolled her eyes at her.

“Whatever, Y/N stay here then.” She said, and all the group left. His girl was just staring at them surprised, as she stood there, alone.

He felt bad for her.

He wanted to hug her, console her. Kiss her.

What. The fuck. Was wrong. With. Him?!

He wanted her for himself. Never let anyone else touch her, speak to her, see her. He wanted her to be a prisoner in his arms. Why was he being so affectionate towards this girl? She was nothing he hadn't seen before. Yet he found himself rubbing his fingertips together, wanting to touch her, in any way she would let him.

“Here.” The bartender gave him back another spoon. He nodded and took it, so he turned to walk away, when he saw a necklace on the floor, next to her feet. He bent down, as she turned to him, surprised to see someone so close to her. Aemond stood up in front of her.

She was short. Shorter than him.

Her head was barely at the level of his shoulders. She looked at him, always gentle, soft, a hint of a smile on her face.

Her perfume. Sweet. Vanilla.

Her big eyes were staring at him. She looked so innocent.

He raised his hand with a necklace so she could see it. Her eyes sparkled when she noticed the necklace. She smiled broadly, and grabbed the necklace, putting her other hand over his.

“Thank you so much! I didn’t even notice it fell from my neck.” She looked at him, grateful. Aemond nodded back, even if his mind was trying to perfectly memorize the feeling of her touch. He looked at her hand, over his, her thumb moving slightly, as if to caress him.

He was a stranger to her, why was she being so nice and friendly? Was she like this with everyone?

He hoped not.

“Have a good day.” He said, nodding, turning to walk away, but she quickly put her hand in his arm, stopping him on track.

He had to put distance.

She had to stay away from him.

He didn’t know what was happening to him.

“Sorry… Would you mind helping me put the necklace on?” She smiled softly, her expression a mixture of hope and worry, she didn’t want to bother him. He shook his head and turned back towards her, as she gave him her back, giving him the necklace. He quickly puts it on her, and she immediately turns back to face him, smiling.

“Thank you. Again.” She chuckled. Aemond felt like smiling at her.

He didn’t.

He gave her another nod, as he walked away, back to his table.

Somehow, none of his employees seemed to have seen his interaction with his girl, and he was thankful for it. Especially because of how he felt his cock stiffen at the mere memory of her touch

[barbieaemond]

The order of things

Pairing: Aemond Targaryen x fem!reader

Warnings: mild angst, masturbation, oral sex (m receiving), grinding

Word count: 3k

Taglist: @zae5 @multyfangirl @arcielee @credulouskhaleesi @bunbunbl0gs @alphard-hydraes-blog

MASTERLIST

There is a raven that flies towards the rookery as soon as the sun is high enough to bathe the Keep in orange. It always comes at the same split minute, Aemond sees it every day, because it is the same split minute in which his training ends. Sometimes he even manages to get the better of the bird, then looks up as he sheathes his sword and awaits him. As soon as it crosses the sky he leaves the courtyard.

His day is like a prayer, devoutly tenacious and unchanging. A bath, breakfast, a flight on dragonback, a book. A visit to Helaena and the twins if the reading bores him.

Someone might say that even his walk is always the same. Rigour and order, to be everything Aegon is not.

This time, he disarms Ser Criston well in advance, so much that the raven has yet to show itself, and when it does, Aemond will be blind to his passing.

"Mother," he says curtly as the Queen passes by. She goes to pray as she does every morning, always at the same time. She too is a creature devoted to rigour, and duty; she has seized her days and clutched them in her fist to prevent them from floating through her.

She pauses to greet him, her voice as mellifluous as ever and her eyes just as warm, and then suddenly, he turns to look at her as if he is looking at a stranger, as if she is speaking a language he does not know. "I wanted to tell you that I'm going to see some girls today, to choose your new maid."

"What's wrong with my maid?"

"Well, I figured she might ask for a leave as the wedding approaches."

He blinks, he stalls, he bogs, unnaturally, the sand stops in the hourglass. The raven glides over the towers, unnoticed.

"Yes, of course." he says, sheathing his sword, and the sand flows again, grain by grain; the funnel shrunk.

Everything in his life is part of that rigour, even people, even her.

She has been in his service long enough to know without asking when the scar pulls to the point of requiring medication. She has been in his service long enough to know that a slight frown in his eyebrows is enough to make her close the curtains and prevent the light from worsening the pain in his head, to know that he likes his venison rather raw, that he hates that doublet because the sleeves are puffed and he feels like a court jester. And she tacitly made it disappear.

She does everything without uttering a word. She doesn't need to ask, she moves when he moves, she has adapted to him like a second skin, and she doesn't seem harmed by the edges.

Yet he is harmed by something, as she pulls off his boots in front of the fireplace. He sees a flat sea where he would like to see a storm. He sees grains flowing and wishes to crash the glass.

"Do you need anything else my Prince?" she has a seraphic expression on her face, and he sees deception. She speaks in a firm, devoted voice, and he hears betrayal.

He stares at her with the eye that looks like a needle, feels like it, then shifts his gaze to the fire and says "I will be in need of your assistance tomorrow, for the whole day."

"The whole day?"

"Yes. Why? Do you have something better to do than the duties you are paid for?"

She is no novice to his bitter tongue; somehow, stupidly, naively and recklessly, she is able to imbue it with treacle when it enters her head. It doesn't matter anyway, her foolishness will end as soon as she takes her vows.

"No. Of course not. I'll be at your service, my Prince."

"Hmm, until?"

"Until?"

"You should be the one to tell me. When is the wedding due?"

Her eyes widen like two large moons and she seems to crumple in on herself, on the floor she is kneeling on, under the Prince's unwavering, iron eye. She feels her throat tighten and yet his hands are steady along the armrests. She feels her lungs crackle against her ribcage. "I—"

"Why didn't you tell me?"

Why didn't she?

"My prince, I thought your Grace should not be bothered with such trivial matters."

"I decide what to be bothered about." He says in an imperative tone. "When would you have bothered to inform me? Is this how you show loyalty to your prince? Keeping things from me?"

She glues her eyes to the floor, she cannot hold the Prince's gaze, not when he is like this, even though he has never been like this. He looks angry, he looks outraged? As if he has been wronged. That look makes her blood run cold, and then it melts in red down her cheeks and neck. It would be too easy to blame the chimney behind her back, easy but necessary, to keep things in order. Prince and servant, nothing more. What else is there?

There are heavy sighs falling in the dark, stranded between the sheets as his bones boil and tense at the climax, desire spilled, wasted. But that's fine. To not be all that Aegon is. This too has become rigour, part of the order of things.

It is the order of things to watch her kneel at his feet and wish to spill his desire into her mouth. As is seeing her nails always neat and tidy scratching the floor as her back arches against him, as is seeing the blood reddening her cheeks and neck, and wanting to lick it as far as it goes. 

Someone else will do it. An ordinary man of no consequence in the order of things, the real one.

"You may go." he says coldly, hoping the frost of his tongue will cool the feverish blood under his skin.

She rises from the floor with a bowed, desolate head. "I bid you good night, my Prince."

The next morning he asks her to change the sheets, and he turns his back on her, ashamed, as if she knows she is in those sheets.

He takes a bath while she does her chores, finishing exactly when he does, because she moves when he moves. She helps him put on a dark green robe, unperturbed by his nudity, because that is her duty and it no longer makes her blush.

There's never been clumsiness in her hands, but there is today. Aemond feels her hands heavy as boulders when she prepares the ointment for his eye, when she leans over him to remove his eyepatch. She doesn't speak to him as she always does, oozing that glimmer of amusement when she brings up the servants' petty feuds and wars.

"You're rather quiet today." He asserts later, as she buttons his doublet "Has the armistice been reached in the kitchens?"

She opens in a brief smile, but it doesn't reach her eyes. "I don't know, Your Grace. I find myself spending a lot more time outside the Keep these days."

"Is that so?” He retorts, narrowing his eye “Hmm, is that why my books are still on the desk?"

She finishes her buttoning and ties her hands on her modest skirt. "I am sorry, Your Grace. I will see to it that they are put in order at once."

"I have no use for your apology. Why didn't you do it when I told you to?"

"Your mother gave me a leave for a few hours yesterday."

"And why did you ask my mother and not me? You are in my service, not hers."

She keeps looking down like a suspect on trial and swallows. "I went to Flea Bottom to buy some fabric for my wedding dress. I was ashamed to ask you for a leave for something so frivolous. As a woman, I thought your mother would understand."

"You will do no such thing in the future. Hide things from me and leave the Keep without my permission, or I'll have you punished. Am I being clear?"

"Your Grace, I…” she pauses, she looks down, she swallows, but it’s now or never. “You should know that I will no longer be here after the wedding. I am going to formally resign my position. Your Mother has already-"

His eye goes wide, and wild, and he breathes loudly until he is snarling. "Are you deaf or dense? Did you not hear me? You will not leave my service."

The moons in her eyes are full now. She looks at him, begging him to let her go, because that is the natural course of things. She will marry a common man, give him a couple of children and live a quiet life in the country, where her groom has a smallholding of land, their only source of wealth if they do not want a life of misery in Flea Bottom. And she is fine with that. She has accepted it. She is like any other common girl, she cannot dream, her blood is only red, there's no castle nor crown waiting for her.

She has accepted her fate with the calmness of a stream that lets itself be carried along by its current. She is happy like this, because as far as she could, in that silly way in which all ordinary girls dream, she dreamed, even though her dream is made of flesh and blood.

She had shivered when he had leaned over her when he taught her to read. She had breathed in deeply to know what he smelled like. She had felt ice in her stomach under his gaze when she read a few pages to him. And that is more than dreaming.

She cannot remain in his service, because she is an ordinary girl and more than dream, she cannot want.

"Your Grace..." she begs, going down to the floor "I beg you. Let me go my way. I believe I have always served you to the best of my ability and if I’ve ever failed you in something, name it. I will do anything to make it right."

Aemond bogs again, but in something far more paralysing and at the same time overwhelming than all his rigour. Perhaps it is the sight of her on her knees again, her head bowed and devoted, and the fact that he wants to touch that devotion, wants to taste it and swallow it.

Slowly, he lifts her chin with two fingers, eye blind to everything else; his thumb moves over her lower lip as if to know its edges, as if he has wanted to do this all his life.

"Anything?" he asks in the voice of another, the one stranded in the sheets.

She nods slowly, and the movement rubs his thumb against her teeth for a moment, forcing him to swallow, to give himself control, not to push his finger in. He is not Aegon, He is not Aegon, he is not Aegon.

"Would you be willing to please me?" he asks, and his question reaches some remote place in her, that place where a girl can dream and want freely. In that place, if he had asked once, twice, a hundred times, she would have bent to his will, not to the duty of the servant who must please her lord. Sure, that too. But first of all to her will. It is a question that need not be asked, for there is but one answer.

"Yes..."

Blood flows into her cheeks, breathing out fire from her lips. "How...? How do you want me to please you, my Prince?"

"With this..." he replies, pushing his thumb over her lip.

Her hands move fluidly over the belt and buttons of his breechers as if she had done this countless times before. She helps him dress, she knows his body even though she has never touched him. She has never touched a man in her life, not like this. Aemond reads the embarrassment on her cheeks and he basks in it with a glimmer of pride, because he will be the first.

Gently, he places a hand behind her head, tilting it a little, and looks at her with his heavy, clouded eye, enthralled. "Open your mouth..."

He knows she's never done this before, but the hot alcove of her mouth is enough to make him open his mouth and let out air in a broken cadence. She raises her eyes as if to ask if she is doing something wrong, and the sight, real and not the outcome of some delusion hidden in the dark, smothers his breath. He begins to thrust into her mouth slowly, hardening quickly as she continues to look at him and welcome him into her mouth with the devotion with which one kneels to the Seven.

"Gevie..." he pants hoarsely, brushing his fingers through her hair "You look more beautiful than I thought like this..."

His hand in her hair never tightens, though his hips move faster and the wet sound is the only one that keeps his panting company.

"Your cheeks..." he instructs her "Hollow your cheeks..."

And just as when he was teaching her to read, she listens , sucking agonisingly slowly. “Fuck—” he curses, threading his long fingers through her hair and pulling at the roots; he thrusts faster so that she has to grip his waist with her hands but when he senses she can’t breathe, he lets of her head and slips out of her scorching lips, hissing at feeling the cold air of the room.

She’s panting hard, with her mouth open and slick with him. But she has little time to catch a puff of air. He thrashes her on the carpet, with a rough kiss full of teeth and growls, and his hands move like talons, pulling her modest skirts up to her waist.

“No—My Prince—” she muffles on his mouth, pleading but desperate all together “We can’t—”

“I won’t ruin you, I promise.” he says rummaging through her garments “Just let me feel you this once—”

He finds her core with his large hand, hot and slick, and she whimpers loudly in his open mouth. “Do you get this wet for your groom, hmm? Or just for your Prince?” 

She unconsciously bucks her hips against his hand and he smiles, delightfully, against her neck, licking a stripe down her throat. “I’m in need of an answer, my sweet girl…” he says raising his head, the leather piece is about to fall behind his disheveled hair. “Have you touched yourself thinking of me?”

Shame washes over her as well as pride does him. “You did, didn’t you?”

His retrieves his hand and licks her off his fingers as if he was waiting for nothing else, staring at her with his eye pitch black.

“Do it.”

“M-my Prince?”

“Touch yourself. Now.”

She looks away, reddening even more, but he grasps her chin and forces her to look at him. “Do you want that permission to leave my service?”

It takes her a minute to swallow her shame, and then her hands is slipping between them. He pulls himself up on one arm to give her space to spread her legs some more, to watch closely as she starts to move her little hand on her bundle of nerves. “Look at me.” He commands, and she flutters her eyes with a bit of prudery before obliging.

Her breathing becomes heavy, just as his, slowly touching himself to mimic her, as he has done countless of times before but this is different. This is like the first time. He can watch her chasing her pleasure because of him, with him. He can watch the sweat beading her neck, her lip trembling. He can hear the sweet lewd sounds she makes for him.

She grows more desperate by the moment, swaying her hips on the carpet, grabbing his shoulder and neck until he falls on her. He groans upon feeling her cunt against his cock and by now they’re both too close to need hands anymore. He starts to grind against her, his hard flesh slicking ever so easily on her wetness, swallowing her whimpers and moans as he pants and rasps on her lips “Go on, sweet one. Come for me, hm?”

She does so, gripping his shoulders until digging her nails on the fabric, moaning with her mouth slack open.

He keeps grinding against her, frantic, panting, the eyepatch is somewhere on the ground and she watches him in the stupor of pleasure, like she’s experiencing a vivid dream, but the weight of the prince on her is real, his cock rubbing against her core making it twitch for more, his coarse voice as he rasps “Gods—‘M so close…” and then the jolt of warm seed on her belly.

He falls on her breathing hard, making her wince, but she can't find the strength to slip away, to pull down her skirt or move the long silvery lock that has gone into her mouth. She must leave everything as it is, and then leave it to be the ordinary girl without dreams.

For two days, her presence around the Keep is rather scarce, barely traceable in the Prince’s chambers. But his breakfast is always ready on his desk, his clothes always clean and well folded on the chair.

Aemond does not send for her nor does he seem to care where she is. He returns to his rigour, to his books, to his training as soon as dawn breaks.

One of the Kingsguard shows up in the courtyard and stands there to watch, waiting for the Prince to finish his duel.

"My Prince, I've done some research after our last conversation."

"Well?"

"Just as you said, your Grace. A modest cottage and a piece of land near Duskendale."

"Good." He says, sheathing his sword and glancing up upon hearing a distant caw. "I want you to send two city guards there, and burn it all down."

The guard blinks, widening his eyes. "My Prince?"

"You heard me."

The guard leaves and Aemond hears cawing again, closer this time. He glances up and the raven greets him, flapping his wings in the newborn sun.

Everything is in order.

[youraverageaemondsimp]

Crimson Flames & Blue Desires.

DARK!Aemond Targaryen x Niece!Reader

WARNINGS: this story will contain mature and dark themes, MDNI, DD:DNE.

CHAPTER WARNINGS: dubcon (not towards reader), oral (m. receiving) not by reader, choking, fainting, violence, anxiety.

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masterlist

A/N: please mind the tags, Aemond is an absolute asshole and a dick in this story, just a heads up.

CH 1: Return to King's Landing.

One, two, three, four.

You counted to keep your mind busy, occupied, preventing any thought from entering your mind as the carriage was moving with a constant speed, you peaked through the holes of it, watching as the keep came into view, biting your lips in nervousness.

You dreaded it.

Dreaded coming back to King's Landing, at least, not after what happened back at driftmark during your childhood days. Your breath hitched in your throat as the carriage came to a halt, and it was time to get out.

With shaky legs, you descended the carriage, taking in the view of the keep, a sudden wave of nostalgia washing over you as you took in the surroundings, memories of your younger days flashing by in your like a flickering flame.

Your shared youth with your brothers.

With your family.

With him.

The dread quickly replaced the nostalgia when you thought of him, you let out a sigh, moving along with your siblings, going inside.

The first thing you noticed was how foreign it looked, it almost seemed like a different place, watching all the three headed dragons be replaced by the faith of the seven symbol, it seemed alicent was changing a few things around.

Regardless, you were glad you didn't encounter him.

A day of peace, spent in your brothers chambers as your original chamber was being cleaned.

Not until the petition was announced to be heard, Vaemond had signed a petition against your little brother, questioning his lineage, which is the main reason you have to come to King's Landing in the first place.

There he stood.

All calm and mighty, oozing off an aura you couldn't quite pinpoint, you wished to be anywhere but here right at this moment. He was still handsome, the loss of his eye weighed absolutely nothing on his looks, in fact, he somehow looked even more attractive.

He was paying any attention to you, more focused on Lucerys, as if he was waiting for something, as a predator looked at his prey, waiting to strike.

That was until his eyes finally flickered to you.

You stared at him back, eyebrows furrowed.

The side of his lips twitched, curling into a small smirk that made you lose your mind. You felt as though you were set on fire, lava coursing through your veins as he continued to stare at you, you broke the eye contact focusing on the situation before you, and you noticed from the periphery of your eye on how he huffed a laugh, making his mother turn to look at him in confusion, before he shook his head.

Your grandsire just then entered the room, looking all sickly, no doubt coming to defend his daughter and her name, trying to be a good father, you wouldn't dare say it but you truly did not think that he was a great father to your mother nor others, he had made your mother feel insecure about her gender for many years, let her be plagued by pressure and stress, only to suddenly then owe her support.

You didn't dislike him, of course not, he was your grandsire after all, though you wished he tried to do more than just the bare minimum. You knew that it was useless for Vaemond to try and argue more against your grandsire so you zoned out, until you heard Vaemond yell.

“HER CHILDREN ARE BASTARDS!” and you immediately snapped your head towards his direction, the court gasping as the words left his mouth, everyone looked at your brothers, and not you and you hated it.

Having been the only one to escape the clutches of the bastardised traits, they think you are the legitimate daughter of Laenor, but the bastard blood flows through your veins just as it does in your younger brothers, even worse is that you do not know who your actual father is, unlike jace.

“And she is a whore.” he says the next part quietly, and you watch in anger, holding yourself back from lunging towards him and stabbing him to death, everything seemed to move both quickly and slowly as you felt a figure pass by you quickly and you were only then able to process what had happened.

Daemon had cut Vaemond, leaving his tongue intact but with the other half of his face on the floor, exposing the innermost flesh. You should be disgusted, look away, but you didn't, instead you smirked a little, comforted by the fact that no such thoughts can bloom nor be relayed by his brain. Your eyes flicked up to Aemond and you saw how his gaze was already on you, pupil blown wide as he watched you cruelly smirk at someone's death.

You changed your expression to that of a blank one quickly, before you watched as Viserys, who was standing, fell down on his seat weakly, and Alicent panicked, calling for the maesters, immediately going over to Viserys to help him. Aemond watched in distaste as his mother did that.

And soon you were being escorted to your chambers, the guard allotted in the front opened the door and you entered inside, smiling at the view, it was your old chamber, the reddish pink hues of the room kept the same way, not at all changing.

You went over to stand at the window, gazing out at the ocean in a daze when you reminisced about the moments you spent here, how you used to sneak out of this very room, to play outside, with him.

You wouldn't lie to yourself, you missed him, the uncle who you had spent your childhood with, running around and reading books together in the library of the keep, helping him practise high valyrian, you loved him back then.

What has changed?

Everything.

Everything except the emotions you felt for him.

But you pushed it far, far, far away.

To the depths of your heart, brushing it all under the guise of hatred, disgust for him, only for it to resurface again after all these years, the moment you saw him.

And you would push them down once again, convince yourself that you hate him, that you never found joy in him, that you didn't enjoy the moments spent together with him, that you never even loved him.

You have to force yourself to lie to yourself.

For it was better. Better for you to bask in ignorance than swim in the truth that is poison.

You rested in your chambers for a bit, and watched as the sun went down, the sky that was once blue and bright plunging into a red that bloomed around it, some hues of purple here and there, the white clouds scattering, it was beautiful, to watch the sky, you wished it would stay like this forever, but you knew that it was inevitable that all of this plunges into darkness, only to rise again and repeat.

The knock on your chamber door brought you out of your thoughts as you went and opened the door, seeing a fair maid stand before she nervously announced that dinner would be soon, and that she was appointed to get you ready for the dinner.

You allowed her inside, she put down the bucket of water she was carrying, and you undressed, leaving you in almost nothing but your chemise, you watched as the maid pour lavender oil into the water, before dipping a washcloth in it, wringing it and clean you with it.

The smell of lavender had invaded your senses, your mind calm and relaxed by it, it provided an odd sense of comfort. After the bath, she had dressed you in a black gown, with cuffs that were red to honour your house colours, you left your hair almost entirely loose except for the two braids that were pulled to the back of your head and intertwined.

With each step you took towards the dining hall the more your heartbeat increased, your nerves on the edge, you felt anxious, anxious to see him again. Would he even be there? You wished he wouldn't.

But the gods don't hear your prayers, and you spot him, talking to your eldest uncle, Aegon, you slowly go to the table, noticing how your seat was next to Jace, but also next to Aegon. You did not miss the glare Aegon threw your way, looking up at you in disgust and anger and you looked down, fidgeting with your hands.

Why were you becoming so weak?

This isn't like you.

Where had your fire gone?

Soon the king came and everyone settled down, toasts were given to one another, celebrating the houses and the betrothal of your brothers to your cousins, baela and rhaena.

You watched as Jace talked to baela, and never have you felt so alone in your life, you simply began eating, and then Aegon leaned his hand against your chair, calling out to Jace, completely ignoring your presence. You had zoned out most of their conversation, not interested in it until you felt Aegon rise from his seat and go over to pour himself some more wine.

“But if you ever wish to know what it is to be well satisfied, all you have to do is ask.” and that made Jace slam his fists onto the table, startling everyone, he breathed heavily.

That's when everyone heard the sound of a chair sliding and turned their attention to it.

Aemond was standing, hands by his side, twitching to take some action as he eyed Jace, silently warning him, Aegon had the audacity to look confused and sat down once again.

Everyone watched in silence, which was suffocating until Jace picked his wine glass up and toasting, taking a deep breath.

“To prince Aegon, and prince Aemond, we have not seen each other in years, but i have fond memories of our shared youth,” he begins, “and as men, I hope we may yet be friends and allies, to your and your family's good health, dear uncles.” he finishes, you hear viserys utter a quick 'good' before Jace sits down.

Aemond's eye follows him in disgust, before he looks away and sits down, and just then helaena gets up, clearly pissed since Aegon pulled something stupid again, so she indirectly makes fun of him while hiding her sadness.

“It isn't so bad, he mostly just ignores you.”

“Except sometimes when he's drunk.” she chuckles awkwardly before sitting down and you feel bad for her.

“Dear niece, you haven't spoken at all today.” Aegon turns his attention to you, which makes Jace stiffen up, ever the protective younger brother he is.

“Oh- uhm, I do not have much to say.” you mumble and he purses his lips before realising you're boring and turning his attention somewhere else. Your eyes filt over to Aemond once again, who already seemed to be staring at you, with the same intense gaze and you look away in fear.

Jace got up and asked helaena for her hand in dance, to which she happily gave and then they both danced, everything seemed to be going well, until Viserys had to be taken back to his chambers since he was weak, and then the pig had arrived.

Your breath hitched in your throat and you looked over to lucerys, hoping he'd not do something stupid but he laughed and Aemond slammed his fist against the table, picking up the wine glass in one smooth movement.

“Final tribute, ” he started and you watched him.

“To the health of my nephews, Jace, Luke and Joffrey, each of them handsome, wise…”

there was a pregnant pause.

“Strong.”

“Aemond.” Alicent tried to butt in.

“Come. Let us raise our cups to these three strong boys.” his attention then falls on you, “And their elder sister, unknown whether she is strong or not.” those words were clearly meant to be menacing, and you glared at him.

“I dare you to say that again.” you hear Jace talk, “Why? Do you not think yourself strong?” he questions and that was enough to anger Jace and he punched him, Aemond just smirked arrogantly before pushing Jace, using only little of his power, you immediately got up from your chair and got inbetween them, holding Jace back before the guards came in and held him back.

Jace glared at you, “Why did you stop me? Of course, protecting your fucking childhood love.” he spits and your mouth drops slightly open and the air becomes silent before your mother butts in, “Jace! That is no way to talk to your sister, go to your chambers! All of you.” she reprimands and all of them obey except you, you turned to look at Aemond whose gaze was already on you, and it felt like the world stopped for a moment.

Your eyes scanned his face, he looked even more beautiful from up close and you felt your heart wrench when you noticed how his intense gaze softened, even though it was for a moment, when he took in your features. You looked away, putting your head down and leaving the hall, rushing back to your chambers.

You slammed the door behind you and leaned against it, breathing heavily before slipping down onto the floor. You couldn't bear to look at him, not after what happened. The way his gaze still held softness for you, masked behind his stoic expression, it made you feel bad, guilty, anxious.

You bit your lip to prevent sobs from slipping out, tears streaming down your face, you did not want to look at his face, a constant reminder of what happened.

What you had done.

You still remember the way you pierced the blade through his skin, the way you just swung it to protect yourself, not knowing what or where it hit, and the next thing you knew was Aemond laying on the ground clutching his eye, you remember throwing the knife down and rushing over to him, crying and apologising, it had haunted you since that day, Lucerys took the blame cause he couldn't bear his sister crying. Aemond had not said anything the entire time he was getting his eye stitched and you couldn't look at what you had done.

The sobs broke out before you could stop it, crying to yourself as you hugged your knees.

“What's the point of crying?” You got startled when you hear the voice of Aemond, coming from inside your room, it seemed he snuck in through the secret passageways.

You hiccuped as you watched his dark figure come to you, the candlelight illuminating his features, he had taken off his eyepatch and you watched as the sapphire glinted, the reflection of the orange light, bouncing off of it.

He leaned down, and you twitched in fear before you felt him roughly grab your throat and force you on your feet, shoving you against the door, the metal hinges digging into your skin as your hands shot up to grab his, clawing at them to release you, but his only tightened his grip more.

“You are repenting now? After all these years? After you took my eye.” he growled, further tightening his grip and you gasped for air, thrashing around in his hold as the blood supply was not reaching your brain. “Did you know how painful it was? Of course you don't.” he releases his grip for a moment, letting you breathe but not letting go completely, hand still on your throat, he pushed your head back on the door, and leaned his forehead against yours, before he took a deep breath and sighed in content as he smelled the familiar lavender on you.

Tears streamed down your face, crying because of everything, your heart beating loudly from being scared, your mind becoming fucked with messy thoughts.

You felt scared, guilty, vulnerable, ashamed, embarrassed, everything at once.

You closed your eyes to calm down as much as you can, that was when you felt something wet slide against your face, trailing up the pathways your tears left before, only then did you open your eyes and realise what was going on.

He was licking up your tears.

Tongue travelling upwards your face to your eye, licking the trail where your tears had travelled, before he pressed a small kiss on it, and doing the same on the other side, he kissed your jaw, completely let go of your neck, before wrapping his arm around your waist and dipping his head, kissing your neck.

You felt too weak.

Too overwhelmed.

The previous attempt at choking you finally caught up, causing your body and limbs to give up and completely shut down.

You fainted in Aemond's arms.

Aemond wasn't surprised, instead he carried you over his shoulder. He placed you on the bed, watched as your chest heaved up and down, he grit his teeth feeling his anger come to him once again, and grabbed your unconscious form's cheeks tightly, digging his nails before opening your mouth and spitting into it, he wished you were awake to feel the humiliation.

He fucking hated you so much.

He hates you so much.

He really does.

If he could kill you, he would.

He wants you to hurt you badly, to scar you, to ruin you, the way you had done to him.

Aemond targaryen hates you.

So much, to the point it makes him love you.

A fucked up love.

It doesn't make sense.

He lets go of your cheeks before storming out of your chambers angrily.

Aemond went to his chambers enraged, the poor maid that seemed to be present there at that moment was unlucky, his face turned into a scowl as he watched her slightly misplace his book before he went up to her and grabbing her by her hair, “Your majes-sty i-” she tries speaking but grips her hair tighter, “Shut up, or I'll cut your throat.” and she listened. 

He wasn't usually the one behaving this way towards women, his brother was. He would usually take his anger out by sword training, because his anger never included sexual frustration. 

And so he watches as the poor maid tries to breathe, reminding him of the way you struggled to breathe earlier, as he violently thrusts into her mouth, her tongue swirling around his shaft as he grips her hair tightly, grunting at the way it feels, he lets out a loud moan. 

Of your name. 

The maid, still on her knees, flinches when he climaxes inside her mouth, pulling her off him before looking at her with disgust, He throws some money at her and tells her to never return to this keep again, which she accepts while sobbing. 

She leaves the room and Aemond lays on the bed thinking about you. 

“Fuck.” he groans rubbing his eye thinking about how you had undone him making him react so violently towards someone that had nothing to do with you.

You wake up on the bed, mind all groggy from what had happened, few hours ago, Aemond in your chambers, choking you, and you fainting in his arms, you sat up suddenly and looked around to see if he was there, to your surprise he wasn't, you looked out and noticed how the sun had yet to rise, leaving you in darkness, nothing but the moon far up in the sky, illuminating your room as the candles were all blown out. 

You winced when you felt a burning sensation on your throat, causing you to touch the area, only for it to hurt more. You sighed, knowing it was caused by his tight grip. You felt nauseous when you remembered what he had done, quickly brushing it off. 

Your feet lead you to the window again, as you gazed outside, the moon shining brightly, the water bouncing it's white light off them, you remembered the story that the moon was the sun's wife, but the moon looked so lonely, alone in the sky, but it wasn't truly alone, there were many, many, many stars surrounding it, keeping it company. 

But it looked so lonely in the night sky, without its sun. 

Yet they can never coexist together at the same time. 

Always engulfing each other, either with light, or darkness. Never appearing together as one in the sky.

For that would be a natural calamity.

You related with the moon, a little bit. 

You were truly alone. 

You can never be together with the person you considered the sun in your life. 

You knew you had your parents, your siblings and everyone, though you loved them, you felt like an outsider, at least Jace had the opportunity to know who his real father was, you one the other hand, did not. 

Maybe it was just your insecurities getting to you, you have always ignored feelings such as this, but ever since you returned to kings landing, it almost feels like everything is falling apart. 

You bring your hands up behind your hair, before undoing the braids, causing the hair to curl slightly before it falls on either side of your face, the night breeze hitting your face gently, wind blowing through your strands, lightly pushing them back. 

You closed your eyes in content, taking a deep breath, one you desperately needed, after what happened. 

You’d have to face him when you have to break fast in the morning.

And It was making you anxious.

[sapphiremusings]

bride {vampire!aemond targaryen}

WARNINGS: explicit smut, p in v, oral sex (f receiving), dubcon, loss of virginity, breeding kink, blood drinking

Only the light from the full moon shines down between branches and leaves, illuminating her way as she walks through the forest rarely traveled. She doesn’t know how she got here, still in her shift and robe that has been thrown over her shoulders half-heartedly, the forest floor crunching underneath her slippers, yet an unknown force seemingly presses her forward. Her mind is in a daze, heart thrumming against her chest sporadically and her ears feeling as if they are under water, and through her vision is a fog that refuses to leave, no matter how many times she rubs her eyes. Up ahead, through the heavy brush, sits the abandoned castle that was once called Harrenhal, an accursed place in history. Steadily, she makes her way towards it.

Harrenhal is a mighty fortress, once home to many great houses of Westeros, all in which were struck down by unforeseen tragedies. Whispers of its twisting halls being cursed, haunted by those that died within, scattered throughout the Riverlands, and all along Westeros, until the castle was abandoned. Now, it sits alone, stone burned dark from the days when dragons ruled the skies and their riders sat on the old Iron Throne.

Centuries have passed since then, yet Harrenhal remains the same, merely overgrown in its shrubbery and the vines that trail up its walls. The steady rhythm of her heart begins to speed up as she walks through the courtyard, eyes averting away from the blood stained ground, up towards a window at the very top of the castle, where a single light shines. Like a moth to a flame, she gravitates towards it.

Inside, it’s dark, and she finds herself walking through cobwebs, past open windows that let the cold air in, and up a large number of stairs, until finally, the lit room sits at the end of the hallway. Slowly, her footsteps creek along the floor, her spine tingling at the whisper that enters her ears and swells within her head; “Come to me.”

Her fingers reach out to touch the ancient wood of the door, which sits open just a crack, its hinges squeaking as it opens fully beneath her push. The room is lit by what seems to be a hundred candles, scattered around and perched on almost every surface, including the floor. A large window draws her attention, and standing in front of it, a tall figure, as still as a statue.

He towers over her, even from her spot by the door, lean and strong in his posture. A sheath of silver hair gleams down his back, so beautiful and shiny that it looks like silk, and her hands itch to reach out and run their fingers through the long strands. Slowly, he cocks his head to the side, and her breath hitches as his side profile comes into view among the shadows.

“You’ve finally made it,” he muses, all strong nose and smirking lips, stained the color of roses. Suddenly, he turns, facing her stunned figure. He hums, head tilted. “Come now, bride.”

She thinks he is the most beautiful thing she has ever seen. Even with a scar that runs down the left side of his face, a glimmering sapphire within his missing eye’s socket. His other eye is an alluring shade of violet, though when he turns slightly, it looks almost red. He has a strong jaw and chin, skin porcelain and without color. He looks like a god.

He seems amused by her tied tongue, watching patiently as she tries to form a sentence. When she does, it comes out in a whisper. “Who are you?”

Quickly, so much so that her head spins and she stumbles back, he stands before her, close enough that she can touch him if she merely lifts her hand. He hums, his own hand coming up to run a finger down her cheek, the sharpened nail leaving a small streak of red on the flushed skin. His single eye studies her features, thumb resting under her chin as he tilts her head back, her lips agape. He smiles.

“My name…” he pauses, dipping his head lower, his cold breath fanning across her face, “is Aemond, and I have waited a millenia for you, ābrazȳrys.” (Wife).

The strange word echoed around in her head, and she knew it for High Valyrian, the old language of the dragonlords that once ruled over Westeros with fire and blood, hailed from the kingdom of Old Valyria. Her father is a scholar, one with an interest in history, and she had grown up learning about the years before, from before there were even the Seven Kingdoms. Tales of forest children and the First Men, of the Andals and the ice creatures, were all stories she was told at bedtime.

And then there is his name. Aemond. Another Valyrian name, one she had only heard once. Centuries ago, the ruling House Targaryen was torn to shreds when kin began to fight kin, and their dragons danced among a burning sky. There had been a particular prince that had caught her eye, a one-eyed kinslayer who rode the largest dragon in the world. When the war ended, the cruel Targaryen prince had vanished, and rumors swirled in his wake. Most believe he had succumbed to his uncle, a rogue prince who had a fiery vengeance. Some wonder about his paramour, a so-called witch that had lived in the same abandoned castle she was standing in now.

Her mind reeled over the possibilities. Could he be the long lost prince? After all this time? She knows it is not possible, for too much time has passed, yet he stands before her all the same. Cautiously, she reaches her hand out, resting it against his chest, breath catching within her throat at the stillness beneath his ribs.

He isn't breathing. His heart isn’t beating. It is as if he is a statue, carved from stone.

He gazes down at her, curious. Her voice comes out in a stutter. “H-how…? I don’t understand.”

His other hand encircles her own, pressing it tighter against him, eye fluttering closed as he begins to trace it up his chest, bringing it to his nose. He inhales, nose pressed to her wrist, pulse pounding under a web of blue veins. Her own eyes threaten to close, overwhelmed at the feeling of warmth that overcomes her, traveling from her head to the pit of her stomach, where it goes to rest between her quivering thighs.

He presses his lips to the same spot, opening his eye to peer up at her flushed expression. “You smell so sweet, my love.”

Her head spins, and she sucks in a sharp breath as he begins to kiss down the length of her arm, the silk sleeve of her robe lifting to rest in the crook of her elbow. When his lips reach the fabric, he moves to her shoulder, which the robe has fallen down from, leaving the bare skin exposed. At the nape of her neck, his tongue, surprisingly hot, darts out to lick at her pulse.

“Please,” she murmurs, head tilting to the side and her hands reaching out to grab at his tunic, pulling him closer.

“I am never letting you go, dōna riña,” Aemond muses, moving to press his lips against her jaw. “No, you were born to be my bride, and I shall take what belongs to me.” (Sweet girl).

Cold hands ruck up the skirt of her nightgown, caressing the soft skin of her thighs, which are covered in goosebumps as they shiver in desire. Some part of her is ringing an alarm bell, for she doesn’t yet know how she got here nor why she is here, or even how it is possible for this man… this being, to be before her. He has no beating heart, no working lungs, and though she knows it’s unfathomable, he is a Targaryen prince. With long silver hair and a single purple eye, she believes this in her heart.

Her thoughts come to a halt as long fingers curl under her soaked garment, touching her in a way no man has. A quiet gasp escapes from between her lips, mind at a stand still as his finger dips down to circle at her slick hole, pressing slightly but not yet entering. Instead, he moves to gather more of her arousal between his digits, thumb going to a spot that makes her jump, heart pounding against her heaving chest.

Aemond shushes her, a sweet coo leaving his smirking lips as he watches her with a hooded eye. His thumb rubs circles against that same spot, and a tight coil begins to turn within her stomach, nipples hardened to sharp peaks as she pants.

He brings his face down, forehead resting against her own. “Do you taste as sweet as you smell, ābrazȳrys?”

When she lets out a whimper, knees buckling from beneath her, he lets out a deep groan. Suddenly, with a force and speed that makes her dizzy, he is laying her down on the large bed that is against the wall, the velvet blankets smooth against her hot skin. Her nightgown is bunched up around her hips, robe long forgotten on the stone floor, along with her slippers. He kneels before her, fingers under the band of her undergarments, which he practically rips off her, tearing them down her legs.

“A-Aemond,” she whines, wanton as she writhes atop a sea of red velvet.

His nose nuzzles between her thatch of curls, tongue darting out to lick up her essence, which coats her entirely. Her back arches, hips wiggling away as a broken moan leaves her lips, but he merely throws an arm over her stomach, pressing down and locking her in place. Another moan is ripped from her throat, hands reaching down to nestle in his long strands, fingers curling around them and tugging. A deep rumble is heard within his chest, vibrating against her cunt, which pulses in return.

His tongue is ravenous as he laps up her arousal, swirling around that sensitive spot that makes her toes curl, before moving down to dip into her clenching hole. She leaks even more there, thighs shaking around his head as he pushes his tongue in deeper, until his face is pressed fully onto her weeping cunt. He groans, thrusting the muscle in and out, before retracting and bringing his fingers up to take its place. When his tongue lays flat against her and his finger eases its way through her tight entrance, she nearly screams as her head seems to explode, body vibrating in pleasure as the tightly wound coil in her stomach snaps.

Another finger joins the first, pumping into her steadily as she comes, feeling as if she is floating above her own body. Aemond starts to speak, but the words don’t process as her head buzzes, dazed in a pleasure she has never felt before. Whatever he says, her body clenches at, moving on its own accord with no way of her stopping it and regaining control. When she finally comes down, he doesn’t stop, continuing to lap at her quivering cunt, fingers beginning to curl upwards inside her, searching for a spot that they find almost immediately.

“My sweet, sweet bride,” he grins, resting his head against her thigh, mouth covered in her slick. “I want to lick this pretty cunt every day now. You’ll let me, won’t you?”

She whimpers and moans, tears prickling the corners of her eyes as another wave of pleasure begins to wash over her. He seems pleased by this, eye wide as it flickers between his fingers that are buried deep inside her and her flushed face. “Sȳz riña.” (Good girl).

He finally removes his fingers after her second peak, digits coated in her juices, which he brings up to her lips. Without a word, she opens her mouth, tongue swirling around them as she sucks, the taste of herself causing her blood to heat.

Aemond seems dazed as he stares down at her, member straining against his leathers. The sight both frightens and arouses her, her own mind still in the clouds and seemingly not coming down anytime soon. Slowly, cautiously, she reaches a hand out towards him. He grabs it, laying a kiss on her wrist once more, before moving to grab at her shift. She doesn’t stop him as he pulls it off her, leaving her naked under him. The drafty air of the old room brushes against her skin, and she shivers, nipples hardened and body covered in goosebumps.

His head bends and he wraps his lips around her right bud, hand grabbing at her left breast and squeezing. He’s heavy against her naked frame, the cold leather of his clothing feeling pleasant pressed along her flushed skin. She feels sticky all over, so unbearably hot that she presses herself closer to his odd coldness. He hushes her softly, lifting his head from her bosom and capturing her lips with his own. It’s messy, a clashing of tongues and teeth, and his rigid member feels like a hot iron against her thigh. Dazedly, she runs the tip of her tongue against his front teeth, gasping when a dull pain throbs throughout the wet muscle.

Aemond pulls back sharply, purple eye now a deep red, matching the crimson blood that stains his plush lips. Two sharp canines protrude from the top of his mouth, glimmering under the candlelight. His eye is focused on her lips, which hide her bleeding tongue from his view, and with a groan, he presses back against her, his own tongue forcing its way into her mouth. He caresses the small cut, licking up the blood that seeps from the wound, hands grabbing ahold of her tightly.

With a sigh that almost sounds like a growl, he pulls away so suddenly, and in a blink of an eye, he stands before her naked. Her eyes trail over his figure, porcelain in color and seemingly carved from stone. The light from the moon and the scattered candles create daunting shadows along his form, and through the fog of her mind, she realizes that she wants nothing more than to touch him. She sits up, reaching her hands out towards him, and he complies with her silent request, leaning down to allow her to explore. He watches with a curious eye, still red in color, as her fingers dance along his shoulders and down his chest, brushing over his pink nipples and his lean muscles.

“You’re beautiful,” she murmurs, bringing her lips to kiss the spot where his heart should rest, holding her breath when no heartbeat is felt.

As if reading her thoughts, he pushes her back down against the bed, and her eyes are immediately drawn to between his thighs. A twinge of fear rushes through her at the sight of his hardened cock, its head flushed pink with thick veins that curl up its side. She has never seen one before, still a maiden, waiting for her father to betroth her to whichever man he deems worthy. But she feels as if Aemond’s is too large.

His lips curl into a smirk at her wide eyed gaze, bringing himself forward to lean over her, his silver hair falling around them like a curtain. His body, still cold and heavy against her, like a stone wall. She tenses as his hand goes between them, grasping his member in his palm and lining himself up against her entrance. Once again, his gaze is dark, brows furrowed and jaw tense as he runs the tip up and down her leaking seam, nudging that special spot that makes her spine jolt.

“You are mine, riñītsos. Mine to claim, mine to fuck,” he hisses as his tip begins to press into her tight hole, arms straining to hold himself above her shaking frame. “Mine to breed. Kesan dōrī ivestragī jā.” (Little one), (I will never let you go).

A broken sob leaves her lips as he pushes forward, a sharp pain settling deep between her legs, which only grows the farther he goes inside her. She begins to shake her head, pushing her palms against his shoulders with a moan. “It’s too big… it won’t fit!”

“Shhh,” he hushes her sweetly, lips coming to kiss along her ruddy cheeks. “Don’t worry, dōna riña. I’ll make it fit. You were made for this… for me.”

Her vision is clouded as she nuzzles her face in the crook of his neck, wrapping herself around him and clinging onto him as the pain slowly ebbs away, turning into something entirely different. When he’s sat completely inside her, a wanton moan leaves her lips at the fullness, her head vibrating as she gasps up at the ceiling, trying to catch her breath among the surging pleasure that begins to make its way through every nerve. Her hips begin to cant upwards, the slickness of her arousal helping her to slide against his cock, her fingers gripping tightly to strands of his hair.

“Please…” she whines, nearly sobbing.

He hums, lifting himself up as he begins to move his hips, creating a steady rhythm as his hands grab ahold of her waist. She is tiny below him, so much so that he can see the outline of his cock in her stomach, a sight that makes him groan and speed up, balls tightening in pleasure as her wet heat squeezes him. He eyes her thundering pulse at the base of her neck, his fangs beginning to ache and his throat going dry. His thrusts grow harsher, fingers digging into her flesh as she cries out beneath him.

“Kostagon nyke angogon ao, ābrazȳrys? Kessa ao ivestragī aōha valzȳrys mōzugon hen ao?” (Can I bite you, wife? Will you let your husband drink from you?)

His words come out in a mix between whiny and growling, teeth gritting as he leans down towards her open neck. Though she doesn’t quite understand what he said, only knowing a few words in Valyrian, the neediness in his tone has her back arching, and she greedily pulls him closer. Some submissive part of her wants nothing more than to please him, to give him all he desires and more. She gasps out a small “please.”

He nuzzles his nose under her jaw, rubbing against her pulse as his hips slow down, his thirst growing immensely. He brushes the tips of his fangs against her vein, thrusting his cock deep inside her, before biting down, eye rolling to the back of his head as warm blood spills down into his mouth. He moans, hips stuttering, pulling her as close as he can until they are flushed against each other, listening to her whimpers. She scratches her nails down his back, her cunt pulsing around his heavy cock as her blood flows from her vein, dizzy in her pleasure and loss of blood.

She tastes of the finest ambrosia, rich against his tongue and tingling his tastebuds, and his cock seems to swell in size as he cradles her in his arms, fangs imbedded into her neck. Her vision blurs, the rising wave of her arousal coming to a peak, and she nearly screams out as his hand slides between their stuck bodies, fingers circling at the throbbing bud at the apex of her cunt. His cockhead pounds steadily against a rough patch within in, and he doesn’t let up on his assault as the wave crashes over her, drowning her. She gasps for air, everything silent except for the beating of her heart and the slurping of Aemond’s tongue lapping at her lifesource.

“Sȳz riña,” his own peak begins to wash over him, lips murmuring against her neck and between sips of blood. “Iksā vok. Ñuha vok ābrazȳrys.” (You are perfect. My perfect wife).

With one last groan, he fills her with his seed, taking one last gulp of her before ripping himself away, mouth open against her wound as he pants. His tongue begins to lick at the two points, saliva coating them and slowly healing the marred skin. She is barely awake beneath him, exhausted from her pleasure, yet the sound of his voice and the feeling of his seed hot against her womb makes her throb all over again. She leaves wet kisses along his shoulders and chest, relishing in the feeling of him pressed against her, sweaty in the aftermath of their love making.

Slowly, he pulls out of her, cock only slightly soft, ready for another round. He feels as if he could spend an eternity between her legs, pounding into her tight, wet cunt and breeding her over and over again. For a moment, he has a thought to chain her to this very bed, his obedient little bride. He wants to lap at her sweet blood and lick up the essence of her, until every part of her is claimed. When his seed begins to seep out of her used hole, he brings two fingers to plug into her, refusing to let any of himself leave her. He smiles at her adoring expression.

“Will you marry me now, my lord?”

Aemond brings his coated fingers to her lips for the second time that night, humming in delight when she sucks on them, tongue swirling around and licking up every last drop of their combined arousal.

“Yes, my love. And when the time is right, I will turn you into my eternal bride.”

[asumofwords]

Modern!Dark!Aemond - Divorce AU - Oneshot

Til death do us part

SUMMARY: You and Aemond had been married for years, but he was not the man you thought he was. Discovering his affair with his secretary Alys Rivers, you had decided that enough was enough. You packed up your things in secret and left, leaving divorce papers on the table, and booked a one way ticket out of the country.

What will happen when Aemond goes to the ends of the earth to find you and make you his again?

WARNINGS: This fic will be 18+. Readers discretion is advised. Please make sure to read tags, and remember this is a dark!fic. She/her pronouns.

PAIRINGS: Modern!Dark!Aemond x reader

NOTES: Uh oh, another thing in the works…I’m not sure when I will be posting this, but I had to get it ready in the drafts because I’ll be damned if I don’t follow through with this! Thank you to the lovely anon who suggested a Dark!Aemond divorce fic 😈

If you would like to be tagged in this fic, please let me know!

Taglist:

[flowerandblood]

Object of Desire (1/3)

[ dark • Aemond x Arryn • widow female ]

[ warnings: dubcon, hate sex, sex content, smut, angst, domination, violence, swearing, humiliation, hard chauvinism ]

[ description: Aemond is forced to marry a widow from House Arryn as part of the alliance and support of his brother in the war against the Black faction. This story is an Anon Request, sorry it took me so long. I know anon wanted it to be a softer and sweeter story, but it didn't fit Aemond's character and what I think would be going on in his head. The female character has a specific eye and hair color. Lots of humiliation, violence and chauvinism. ]

Part 2 − Object of Despair Part 3 − Object of Delight Epilogue

* English is not my first language. Please, do not repost. Enjoy! *

My other works: Masterlist

______

He thought the greatest humiliation of his life was behind him when he lost an eye, when his brother and nephews gave him a pig instead of a dragon. He thought that now that he was a man, rider of the greatest dragon walking the earth − he would finally get everything he deserved, a wife from a dignified, respected House, and with her an offspring, his inheritance, an extension of his lineage.

He could not hide his expression of disappointment, disgust and bitterness when his mother informed him that instead of one of Lord Baratheon's daughters he would be marrying Lord Arryn's niece − his grandfather, intent on strengthening his brother's position on the throne felt that depriving Rheanyra of the support of the Eyrie, her mother's kin, would greatly weaken her in the ongoing war.

He would have endured this change without a word were it not for one thing.

The woman was a fucking widow.

Already intimate with another man who had taken her virginity, she was worn, marked, like an overbitten apple that now someone had to eat to the end to keep it from rotting.

He imagined in the back of his mind how the court, which both feared and mocked him, would spread rumours that the One-Eyed Prince was not only crippled but must marry a woman devoid of value and her greatest virtue, for no other lady would agree to be his wife.

However, he knew what duty was and intended to fulfil it.

Despite his mother's suggestion, he did not want to see her before the nuptial day. He felt that he did not want to further exacerbate her bad enough appearance in his eyes; he feared that she was not only worthless but plain ugly, her mind empty and shallow.

Although the nuptials were to take place in the noble family, knowing that this would not be her first wedding it was decided that the whole ceremony would be modest, only the most loyal lords and relatives who supported their cause were invited.

Looking at his reflection in the mirror in shame and disgust, at his emerald tunic adorned with golden threads swirling in embroidery reminiscent of dragon's heads, he thought it seemed too refined for such an occasion, for such a woman who could offer him nothing.

He knew that there was no fault of hers in her husband's sudden passing from this world, that it was pure politics, but he could not help thinking that it would have been better if she had died with him.

Waiting for her in the Great Sept, he felt nothing − he had not even bestowed a single glance on her when he heard the sound of trumpets, indicating that she and her father had entered the temple and were heading towards him.

As he felt her presence beside him he immediately noticed out of the corner of his eye that she was dressed in a blue gown, flowers of the same colour in her hair − curiosity forced him to at least glance at her and he swallowed loudly as his gaze met her violet eyes.

The colour of the Targaryens.

He froze, feeling his heart suddenly begin to beat faster, unable to look away from her irises, from her long, dark lashes and eyebrows surrounding her eyes like a sky surrounding the sun − unintentionally his gaze studied quickly her entire silhouette and face.

He swallowed with difficulty, turning his head away, realising that her figure was pleasingly girlish, she was young, too young in his eyes to be a widow − her dark hair was tied back, myosotis tucked into her curls at the sides of her head, her gown made of some thin, smooth, shiny material shimmering blue and purple at the same time.

He couldn't focus on what the Septon was saying; he only glanced at her again when Daeron handed him the cloak with which he was to cover her − her gaze fixed on him, her eyebrows arched in sorrow as if she was in pain, her eyes gleaming, slightly reddened, as if she was barely holding back tears.

He felt like asking if she was so disgusted with him, but no sound came out of his mouth.

With a stony face expressing indifference, he threw his cloak embroidered with a three-headed red dragon over her back and then took her hand in his, small and surprisingly smooth.

She didn't look at him when, in a trembling, soft voice, she repeated the words of her vows with him. He tried to remember her doing it for the second time in her life, that she was someone else's, warming someone else's bed, but he couldn't.

She seemed so innocent.

They hadn't exchanged a word during the wedding feast; he watched from the corner of his eye her demeanour, her face − she seemed to him absent, sad, ashamed.

He thought with a squeeze in his throat, filled with jealousy and envy, that she was a beautiful young woman, and someone had her before him.

He took a loud, impatient sip of wine from his cup, its tart, slightly sweet aftertaste spilling over his tongue, dulling his mind.

He felt like his head was going to burst.

They both tried to put it off for as long as they could, however, eventually his mother suggested that his spouse was surely tired and should retire to bed.

He pressed his lips together at her words, rising silently, looking at this strange, frightened girl out of the corner of his eye, her face turned towards him, her eyes open wide in terror.

"Come, wife." He hummed coldly, without emotion and heard her swallow hard − she followed him quietly as he left the hall, heading down the dark torch-lit corridors to his chamber.

He watched indifferently as her servants helped her undress from her beautiful gown, slowly untangling the curls of her hair, one of them wanted to remove the flowers from them, but he protested.

"No. The flowers are to stay. Let at least some semblance of innocence and purity remain." He sneered, saw that the corners of her mouth twitched, her eyebrows arched in pained humiliation.

He cocked his head, intrigued that she endured his words and what was happening with such humility.

He thought that if she behaved like this, perhaps he would take pity on her and actually put his child inside her, so that she could somehow regain her dignity, to be the mother of his heir.

"That's enough." He said at last, when she was left only in her nightgown, from under which he could see the outline of the pleasing shapes of her womanly body, waiting patiently until they were left alone.

She was looking somewhere far away, sad, tired, humiliated, her face, although pale, as if filled with mourning, was smooth and pleasant, the shade of her eyes seemed to him more blue in the firelight.

Proof that they shared ancestors, a common heritage.

For some reason he felt some kind of affection for her at the thought.

He got up from his seat with a loud creak of wood, walking with a slow, lazy step towards her − he saw that she twitched but did not look at him, her lips parted slightly in an accelerated breath, betraying her nervousness.

He walked around her, looking at her as if she were an object, assessing her figure, the shade of her hair, the shape of her face from every angle. She swallowed quietly and lifted her chin, looking at him with some kind of challenge, a decision that she would accept what was about to happen and give him no reason to mock her.

He hummed at the thought, stepping behind her, feeling her flinch all over as she felt his large hands touch her waist and then slide lower, to her womb − he felt surprised, licking his lips with his tongue, that his manhood swelled hard in his breeches when, in some sudden, involuntary reflex, her small hands grabbed his wrists, yet not stopping his movements, just trying to maintain some semblance of control over what was happening.

She let the air out of her lungs nervously, closing her eyes for a moment as his nose sank into her sweet-smelling, smooth hair, his hands stroking her lower abdomen trailing over it in tender, slow movements as if he imagined she was already carrying his child, his reason for being proud and pleased with her.

"This poor man, whose name I can't even remember, died without an heir. Why?" He whispered in her ear, a note of menace in his voice, his fingers digging into the fabric of her nightgown and her stomach, forcing her to take a step back, bumping into his throbbing manhood pushing against her buttocks. He heard her gasp softly, swallowing loudly, her body quivering in his embrace.

"The will of the Gods." She replied softly, her voice melodious, warm, pleasant to his ear. He hummed again, acknowledging her answer, his hands again beginning to stroke her womb in an unhurried, tender gesture.

"Why would I need a wife who won't give me an inheritance? Hm?" He asked in a tone as if he was curious and intrigued − he felt her whole body tense up in fear knowing that he was mocking her.

She drew in air loudly, suddenly tightening her fingers on his arm as his hand slid lower, between her thighs, the tips of his fingers began to brush her there with calm, steady strokes.

His free hand rose higher, to her neck, tightening around it warningly when he felt her buttocks begin to rub against his length, feeling a pleasant wave of heat surge through his spine and lower abdomen. He looked down at his fingers between her thighs, even through the material feeling the moisture leaking through it.

"A wife is a gift. Like a sword, a book or a horse." She cooed softly, responding with a rocking of her hips to the touch of his fingers. He involuntarily chuckled at her words, charmed that she understood exactly his approach, that her mind was not obscured by bottomless female fantasies, but stood in reality.

"Why would I need a chipped sword, an empty book, or a blind horse?" He asked lowly, his hand from her neck moved higher − his fingers cupped her cheeks, forcing her to turn her head towards him, to look at him, her violet eyes misty, bright, beautiful.

She smiled and giggled softly, startling him completely, bringing him out of his thoughts.

"It's amusing to hear you speak about blindness, husband. I hope the lack of your eye doesn't bother you anymore." She whispered with a satisfaction that made him snort in fury − she squealed quietly and closed her eyes as his fingers dug into her cheeks and shook her, as if he wanted her to come to her senses and remember who she was standing in front of.

"You are nothing, whore. Do you understand? Nothing. A worn-out cup to be filled with seed. I don't have an eye, but I do have a fucking dignity that my mother deprived me of by forcing me to marry a creature like you." He hissed, shaking her head violently once in a while, wanting it to get into her little empty head what he had just said.

She looked at him with hatred, her gaze seeming darker, more dangerous to him, her tongue hitting her palate with a quiet click of her saliva as she whispered a single word in his direction.

"Pathetic."

He didn't even know when his hand tightened in her hair, slamming her head against the table that stood in front of them forcing her to lean forward with a violent gesture − she squirmed loudly and cried out, clenching her fingers on the tabletop as she tried to catch her balance − he kicked her ankle with his foot forcing her to spread her thighs wider.

"You like it rough, hm? You find yourself better at being a whore than a wife? Very well then." He growled, his free hand undoing the buckles of his tunic, untying his breeches quickly, releasing his throbbing erection, giving it a few sure squeezes at the base, for some reason what was happening, their quick, rapturous breaths aroused him even more.

"Fucking male pride. Take what you want, you won't break me." She hissed with such hateful envy that he chuckled out loud, somehow impressed by how brazen she was.

"There's a little dragon burning inside you, isn't it? We shall see. I'm a man full of patience." He sneered, lifting her nightgown up in an impatient motion, exposing what was between her thighs, her rosy, puffy folds glistening with her moisture.

She pressed her lips together, struggling to hold back the sound of discomfort as he pushed against her, forcing the fat, pink head of his cock between her tight walls. He sighed heavily, feeling how wonderfully she clenched around him on all sides, hot and surprisingly soft.

"− fuck −" He gasped out, spreading her thighs wider with his leg − she cried out loudly as he sank all the way into her with one sure thrust, her fleshy muscles throbbing againt him in panic.

They both began panting loudly as, in some subconscious, natural reflex, he began to pound into her with the impatient, aggressive stabs of his hips.

"− fucking whore −" He growled angrily, clamping his hand painfully tight on her hair, her mouth parted wide in a helpless moan as he suddenly quickened his pace, looking down, feeling a wonderful thrill of elation at the sight of his manhood opening her slick folds wide again and again with deep, brutal thrusts of his hips.

"− bastard −" She cried out, responding however to the pushes of his hips with a fierceness from which his voice stuck in his throat. He was no longer sure, groaning low with pleasure, feeling the way her walls squeezed him wonderfully, sucking him inside, whether what they were saying was true or just a test of strength and dominance, an attempt to establish who would have the last word.

"− shut the fuck up − to think you still have the strength to babble − shall I put it in your mouth so you'll finally be quiet? −" He snorted through clenched teeth, gripping his free hand over the soft, smooth skin of her firm buttocks, slamming into her like mad.

It seemed to him that they were both moaning and panting too loudly, as if they were in some kind of frenzy, his thighs slapping against her bare skin with a sticky smack again and again, barely sliding out of her.

"− fuck − o-oh fuck, stop −" He gasped out as he felt her muscles suddenly clench greedily against his manhood at his words, intensifying his sensations. He tilted his head back and closed his eyes as he heard sweet, loud moans of fulfillment begin to erupt from her throat, her body trembling all over − she whimpered when he didn't slow down, chasing his own fulfilment.

"− I know − fuck, just a moment longer − shhh −" He hushed her and groaned low, sighing in relief when he felt that wonderful, relaxing feeling, bliss in his mind and whole body, delight as his seed spilled deep inside her, right where it belonged.

His hips rocked inside her a moment longer with her mumble of displeasure, her eyes closed, her breathing ragged, her fingers trailing over the table top as if she couldn't calm down.

"− it's alright − easy − it's alright −" He whispered, panting heavily, stroking her soft hair with slow, tender gesture, her eyebrows arched in pain as she wept loudly, tears one after another began to run down her face.

He wasn't sure if she was crying from relief that she had it behind her or from grief that she had to go through this again.

"− I know − I know −" He hummed, running his fingers over her smooth, dark curls, for some reason feeling the need to reassure her, fulfilled and content after what had happened between them, his half-soft manhood still twitching deep inside her, all slick from their shared moisture.

"− I don't blame you, wife − that man was weak, as was his seed − you will soon bear me a son −"

_____

Aemond Taglist:

(bold means I couldn't tag you)

@notnormalthings-blog @nikstrange @zenka69 @bellaisasleep @k-y-r-a-1 @g-cf2020 @melsunshine @opheliaas-stuff @chainsawsangel @iiamthehybrid @tinykryptonitewerewolf @namoreno @malfoytargaryen @qyburnsghost @aemondsdelight @persephonerinyes @fan-goddess @sweethoneyblossom1 @watercolorskyy @randomdragonfires @apollonshootafar

[ladythornofrivia]

Lady with Teal Eyes || Aemond x Aunt!Hightower Reader (Part One)

word count: 2,733

author’s note: i’m sorry that i didn’t post much stories, as I’ve been reblogging and changing themes in my profile. i’m trying my best, but I’ll make up for it.

warnings: incest, cockwarming, teasing, sucking, p in v, rough play, flirting, wholesome moment, jealous aemond, possessive, roughness, mild manhandling, mild degradation, unprotected vaginal sex, oral sex, second hand embarrassment, dark content, mentions of su*cide, Aemond being too touchy with his aunt, degradation, humiliation.

summary: Aemond meets his aunt for the first time, and there’s more than meets the eye. (there will be three parts).

There hasn’t been a day that you never left your homeland. All in prosperity. All in solitude, all in mindful thoughts that even the castle walls were unable to perceive. Oldtown is known for the oldest kingdom within Westeros.

We light the way, those are the words from House Hightower, a tall, silver tower with a green light of flames atop. Members of the Hightower court are known to be proud and resilience. Perhaps too greedy to your taste. Less fickle to their needs, their desires, their secrets, their ambition.

All minds think alike, as they said. But your mind is unalike from theirs.

There hasn’t been a single day where your life change—steady as it goes. But when your older sister, Alicent, sent a letter to you from a raven fled from miles, you instantly ripped the seal and unveiled her letters, written in neat cursive. In the days where you can recall that Alicent taught you to read and write, before accompanying your father, Otto Hightower, to aid the ailing king and his throne.

In King’s Landing, where Aegon has set and had trees felled after his conquest in Westeros. The stories of dragonlords and ladies has caught you into a slighted dot of peculiarity. But with your father, you knew that your father wanted more than being as the Hand of the King. Like any folk in Oldtown, he’s all in the same cloak of mind and heart as the rest. The only difference is he has resided in King’s Landing with the Targaryens, warming the throne with Alicent’s political stead.

With you, as Alicent’s half-sister, one thing you adored about her is her resilience, no matter how the power struggle may have been, Alicent held her head high, it inspired you to do the same cause, not for the greater good, but for you to steady your heart. With Alicent’s brown eyes, anyone would be easily swayed at her beauty. With your eyes like glowing water, the subjects were to assume that you’re either a sea creature in the ocean, or have been reincarnated as a woman. Common folks assumed that you’re a goddess sent by Maiden herself. But others theorized you’re born in the sacred pond within the forest.

Despite the nonsensical rumors, you carried out your duties dulled within life, but with your brother, Gwayne Hightower, entered in your chambers without a warning.

“Sister!”

“Good heavens, you gave me a fright,” you screeched, hand clutching over your chest.

“A word from the raven,” he resumed, pulling out the letter. “It’s from our dear sister.”

She hasn’t written you a letter for months. Understanding of her high authoritative position, thankfully enough you aren’t the queen. You couldn’t bear to think about gifting children into the world from your maidenhood.

“Alicent!” Departing from the chair, you snatched the letter from Gwayne’s hand and ripped the letter open, straightening the scrolled paper.

My dearest sister,

I regret to inform you that I cannot visit in the Oldtown due to personal circumstances that our father has been trifled with the matters in King’s Landing. As queen, I must fully prioritize my duties and smite the inconsiderate undutiful thought of others. My dear husband, King Viserys, has been unwell as of late, growing slower day by day, but still the same man who loves his histories and shed upon endless favoritism on his daughter and her plain-featured sons, as well his miniatures he rarely finished. As of this moment, we are preparing the feast for the upcoming celebration. Misery and dread and politics has been my company, and I’d be happy if you come to King’s Landing and stay here for more than a month. I also send Gwayne and his men to escort you back. I hope you still have the new dresses and jewels the seamstress sorted to your taste; I always know that you hated attire that itched your flesh or suffocating. Words cannot expressed about how I miss the sweetness of your smile and laughter. We shall meet soon.

Signed,

Alicent Hightower

Jumping with joy, your body lunged at Gwayne, locking him into a tight hug, slightly hopping in place with a big grin stretched onto your lips.

“Have my things ready, brother,” you said, hasting, forgetting about the silks and fabrics in your hands.

“But you need more time. You’ll stay in King’s Landing as our queenly sister instructed.”

“Send the maids, then. I can’t do this alone.”

“You mustn’t make haste!” Gwayne shouted as you ran off, never minding the silks on the ground only for him to pick up.

“The sooner the better,” you shouted back.

~~~

The trailed ship took no more than three days to reach King’s Landing. Alicent hasn’t mentioned anything particular to the celebration. But you have come to acknowledge that Alicent lessened the details.

By the time the ships rested at the shore, you rushed down to the clear path and greeted your father, who was rather cold and emotionless. Nevertheless, you gave the courtesy of shallow inclination of your neck bent down. Though your heart shattered at the motionless greeting; a chilled wind spiraled on your thickened sleeves.

“Father,” you said, grinning ear to ear.

“Queen Alicent awaits,” is all he said, then left without abiding on you.

“But—”

“Ser Gwayne, escort this lady in the Red Keep,” he wasn’t saying it with care.

This lady.

Months without communication and souvenirs, you’d ought it’ll soften your father’s resolve regarding onto the estrangement.

Another clash of heartbreak has struck again. But it comes as no surprise.

Both of you hadn’t spoke since of his second wife—your mother’s—passing.

As numb as it may be, the small pang in your heart resolved again as Gwayne Hightower escorted you to the high steeps close, reaching the royal grounds of Red Keep.

~~~

Infiltrating from climbing the steps until reaching the indoors, the green queen appeared.

Your sister.

“Alicent,” you rushed and clung her to embrace.

“Sister, how good of you to come,” Alicent replied.

The halls greeted you in cold and dreaded air clinging onto your sleeves, goosebumps flooded over your skin, the thick air of candles and torches has impaled your stomach. You didn’t like this feeling. These halls, darkened in heralds of statues and stars that your pupils recognizant.

Faith of the Seven.

Hightowers held their religion in the highest regard, while you, don’t cherish the ideologies of the religion, filled with fanaticism and hypocrisy. Even Targaryens have the queerest customs, of marrying brother to sister, relative to relative since Aegon I. It dire consequences of genetics and birth, and the fruition of a child birth into an unshakable world of politics and desires. According to the Citadel, in secret debate, those who are born of incest are nothing but sort of monsters lurking, a defect to a bloodline.

The Targaryens disagree—couldn’t care less, of course. As you often heard of keeping the bloodline pure.

Bloodline pure. People speculated that the Targaryens are closer to gods than men. Thus their words ‘Fire and Blood’ is in order. In Valyria, their source is magic and dragons, long before volcanic eruptions swept the lands and dragons into ashes. The last Targaryens resided in Westeros, and thus, their last kind is dwindling, hence creating pure bloodline. As theatrically hysterical as it is, you trudged along the halls.

“It has been so long since I saw you last,” Alicent began.

“It has, but we rarely sent letters as of late.”

“Being a queen is no simple task. Our father’s ambition has gotten stronger.”

“Your father,” you said bitterly.

“My dear sister,” Alicent resumed, her voice soothed. “Father is doing his best to stabilize the realm.”

“Cold, cruel and calculated,” you answered. “Your strength and dutiful as queen is one of the things I admire about you. But, sister, it feels as if my existence is no longer needed. I feel as if I’m useless. My mother received no love from your father.”

The doe-eyed look in Alicent’s eyes protruding. “Sister, I—“”

“Half-sisters,” you reminded. “Everyone thought I was some sort of creature that shouldn’t belong in the realm. I’m no fool; I could hear everyone whisper, even closed doors.”

“Creature or not, you’re still a Hightower. We share the same blood. Nothing will ever change between you and I.”

“But your father will never accept me,” you replied.

Alicent clasped her hands onto yours. “The next time we see each other, I’ll be visiting the Oldtown.”

“You said that the last time on our previous letters,” you chimed. “Let him stabilize the realm alone.”

“That is why you’re here. I needed time apart from the council and subjects,” Alicent reasoned. “Men are often ambitious with their politics and trifling over gold than their wives.”

“It appears so,” you agreed, huffing.

Ironically, Alicent served men, and still is. First Jahaerys, then Otto, then Viserys. Though you wouldn’t so recklessly give your personal opinion away to Alicent.

“We have yet to explore the grounds. We must rest at the gardens. I know how much you love staying in the gardens.”

Your cheeky smile was showing. “I do.”

Alicent squeezed your hand. “Let us be off. It’s considered bad luck if we let our food grow cold.”

“Never knew that it involves bad luck.”

“I’ve been told.”

“By who?”

Not once, Alicent answered.

~~~

“Make yourself comfortable,” Alicent said, indicating the spare chair, and watched you sat with ease, eyeing the lavish outdoors where the Weirwood stood as main view.

“Quite nice out,” you complimented.

This was Alicent meant when she said gardens.

“I chose this spot for a reason,” Alicent said as the servants settled the meal over the table—bowed and left. And the last servant entered, placing a stacked candied almonds and candied plums on a gold platter, alongside of Dornish wine.

Alicent watched your eyes lit up.

“I took the liberty of having the kitchen staff ready for your sweet-tooth,” she clarified.

“You know me well, sister.” You grinned.

“My lady,” a soothing masculine voice said behind you.

“Ser Criston,” Alicent addressed, glancing. “I’m occupied as of this moment.”

“There has been urgent matters regarding to your son.”

Puzzled, Alicent spoke with, “Which son?”

Appalled, your eyes darted at her. On the other hand, you never retain information from Alicent.

“Aegon,” Criston answered, eyes turning away. “I’m afraid his excursions have rather been…” Then his dark brown eyes flicked to yours, his mouth opened, choosing his words carefully.

“We’ll speak no more of it,” Alicent pleaded. “I’m under the liberty of entertaining my sister at the moment. Do ignore Aegon’s excursions for now.”

Somewhere in between the lines, you knew Alicent’s calm demeanor struck hard when the excursions take place, wrath kept within, as you read between Alicent’s lines furrowed on her forehead. Ser Criston glimpsed at you and bowed before withdrawing from the outdoors.

“My apologies,” Alicent said to you in a dreaded voice. “The excursions in the daylight hour upon King’s Landing hasn’t ended.”

“I never knew you had a son,” you said, munching on the candied almonds.

Alicent swallowed the contents of the food. “I mentioned it once before in the letter. That I was having a babe in my belly.”

You pondered for a moment. It was back when Alicent married Viserys and carried a child in her.

“But you never mentioned that it’s a son,” you commented.

“But I’m sure you heard Aegon’s name the moment he arrived into the world.”

Your teeth clenched. “I can assure you I did.” The Oldtown spoke of Aegon in high regards, but as you grew older, you never hear much of Aegon’s doings, hoping to meet your nephew, you waited, but as usual, you sister never once sent letters to offer you an invite.

“Things have been hectic for the past years, and I doubt that’ll cease. With the Iron Throne empty and with all that it stands, we’re keeping the place intact with politics and debate,” Alicent reasoned.

You stayed in silence.

“If you would like,” Alicent continued, “I would be happy to take you to the gallery. The Red Keep has been nothing but a dread. I shall escort you and give you a tour to the Red Keep unless you want someone else to—”

“No, I’d be thrilled if you were to accompany me,” you paused, then said, “sister.”

Alicent gently beamed at that.

~~~

When you and Alicent both went inside the Red Keep, the royal subjects and guards bowed before the green queen as their eyes lingered onto yours, and an incoherent of whispers were passed to your ears.

The sister of the green queen.

And as you ascended the staircases, from there, you saw the shaded eyes of violet and curled hair—a young girl, a few years younger than you.

“Mother, have you seen my—” The girl’s youthful stare darted to yours, backing away gradually.

“This is my sister, (y/n), your aunt,” Alicent introduced. “This is Princess Helaena, my daughter,” Alicent said to you.

“A pleasure.” As you made an inclination to your neck, smiling to the princess as you hadn’t realized that the others accompanied none other by two young men behind Helaena, both with Targaryen features.

Your heart stopped—leapt with warmth—when you first glanced at the tall prince with gold, lithe hair as his other eye covered with eyepatch.

“These are my other sons…” Alicent said, searching for the third son with a slight frown on her features. “Where is Aegon?”

“Drunk as usual,” Daeron rolled his eyes, crossing his arms.

“That blasted fool…” Alicent hissed, then smiled merrily in a way to appease herself. “I hope you and Lady (y/n) would get along.”

“Yes, I remember now! You’re that boy—that cupbearer in the council!” you said to Daeron.

Daeron beamed. “I am proud to serve my mother’s family in Oldtown. Ashamed we never met circumstances in the Reach, yet here we are!” he chuckled. “For my dear father’s name day contained in private ceremony, I’m glad you came.”

You sensed the sarcasm in the word “father”, but shrugged it off.

The dread of unwanted unwelcome washed away with glee. “Indeed. I shall look forward to the festivities.”

Aemond lifted and placed his kiss upon the back of your hand. A kiss placed with gentle fire ignited your dulled soul, envision with flames of blush blaring your dewy cheeks. “A pleasure to meet you, my lady.”

Breath caught in your throat, eyeing on his hand still lingering his intertwine fingers to your skin. “Likewise, my prince…”

For the first time in your life, the gentleness of a dragon has captured your heart and soul.

As for Aemond, with the slighted news of your presence, there’s nothing more than mere maiden who needs to be soiled with his perversions trapped and coiled and enflamed in between his legs. When he first laid his gaze on you, he pictured your flushed skin wrapped with his own, his lips captured yours as his presence trapped into your mind for eternity. But alas, with a wandering thought just now, it wasn’t like him. He mustn’t be capricious and avarice on the spot.

With your grand arrival, Aemond had already decided you’ll become his.

One day at the time, he reminded himself.

“It’s unusual for you to be courteous to someone,” Alicent commented.

“I never wish to scare anyone with my presence, mother,” Aemond said. “It is my duty as a prince to make our special guest comfortable.”

A hot tingle between your legs stirred as you eyed on him—on his lips—how rolled off words with his tongue, finding yourself imagining at the thought of your nephew tasting your folds as you ride him, warming the bed—riding him whilst lace and corset of your precious dress torn apart by his own rugged and young hands.

“He’s only being courteous like Prince Daeron,” you noted, clearing your throat. “Everyone must fulfill their role to the realm. We mustn’t decay our customs to rudeness.”

Aemond’s eye gleamed at your flushing features whilst you looked at Alicent in the eye, you speak with assurance yet your body wavered, dying for your hungered coil in you—the scorch caged within your dress to be set free.

You cannot fool me, my princess, he thought.

In the end, nobody can fool a dragon like him.

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[lovelykhaleesiii]

hi there! would you be up to writing smut

Dark!Aemond? something for example with age difference, daddy kink, corruption kink, degradation and breeding? If you are comfortable then Reader could be a Targaryen what would be great but if you aren't comfortable then Stark is perfect too

Twisted, Beautiful Minds.

PAIRING: Dark!Aemond Targaryen x fem!Niece!Reader

WORDS: 2,677.

WARNINGS: mentions of warfare/murder, mentions of death-threats, swearing, degradation kink, choking, Daddy kink, corruption kink, breeding kink, manipulation, narcissistic tendencies, male oral receiving [cock sucking], mentions of p in v sexual intercourse.

A/N - you know I'm always down for some dark!Aemond... I want to also dedicate this piece, as a small bday gift to my wonderful friend Mar @aemondsmoon you have been an absolute light for me on this hellsite, and one of my dearest friends... thank you for always being there for me, and thank you for being you. you are an absolute gem, don't ever change. ilysm! 🤍

The turmoil and toils of war had finally come to an end, when Aegon the Elder, your Uncle, had commanded Sunfyre to set your beloved mother, Rhaenyra, and younger brother, Aegon III, to death by dragonfire. Your heart shattered, and mind numb, you were certain your own death was imminent in the moments after: at the very least, your Uncle would punish you with a dragonrider's death... Yet that would not be the case at all.

It seemed other plans had been set in stone. Chained and escorted by the Kingsguard to return to King's Landing once more, where you had only days previous, fled in fear, were you welcomed by the cold stares of the "Green" Council. Your chains removed, as neither the King nor his Mother, had seen you as a threat, you felt no purpose to resist nor to fight back... Your family dead, your will had died along with them.

"Fetch for Aemond. Tell my younger brother that his betrothed has returned."

His stern words felt incomprehensible in your thoughtless mind, lagging to understand the notion. You felt a cool, chill course through your weak body, rigid as though you had turned to stone, and yet, you were still breathing, still ever so present. No one had consulted you on such plans or schemes. And you were certain that Aemond himself would definitively refuse to marry the daughter of a traitor [as you presumed he would justify]. Your Uncle, Aemond, was a formidable man, fought against your late father, and had emerged the victor... And as the war, and the recent imprisoned days had taken its toll on you, your eyes darkened with the lack of sleep, unable to eat a crumb of bread, you did not look as you once had in your frivolous court, as he had once remembered you.

Although, as he sauntered into the room with such poise and stature, a certain charisma of that of a victor oozing about him, with not a single word exchanged, other than a devious smirk supplanted across his once serious face...It seemed there was more to the union than meets the eye.

Since your captive return to King's Landing, a place in which you had once considered your home, felt nothing more foreign. The stone sand walls that you had walked and run through as a child, now looked strange, the unfamiliar symbols of the Seven proudly hung around every available wall and space, gave an ominous feel. The halls seemed less brighter, even during the break of day, with the sunlight blatant in the sky, you instinctively felt as though a shadow lurked around every corner, attentive to your every move.

Dragonless, and defenceless, you were less of a threat than the younger Princess, Jahaera. The King and his Council had deemed you stable enough to roam the castle grounds freely, with a close knight in pursuit, only to ensure your own "protection" [as Aegon would admit that Aemond insisted], although you saw it more as means to deter you from being tempted to run away.

Regardless, Aemond had not spoken a word to you since hearing of the betrothal. He attended dinners with you in sight, although you rarely spoke yourself, mostly pleading and bickering with Alicent to remain in the desolate confines of your chambers. She was incessant about you joining the family, as the union was to be set in a moon's turn.

He dared not even to sit beside you: constantly at opposing ends. Although, there were rare occasions you had caught the younger Prince, brazenly staring at you with his one good eye. Unapologetically, his full attention spanned towards you, even if he had noticed you had become aware, he did not cease gawking.

Something about his looming gaze made you feel uneasy, very much on edge: a dark tinge to his violet eye, his pupils darkened as they seemed dilated. It inevitably made your stomach churn, only forcing you to resign in defeat, often excusing yourself to bed.

And often you were left undisturbed to recluse in your chambers... Although tonight, it seemed you were not alone in your ventures.

Retracing the exact steps you would take most nights, often on your lonesome return to your quarters: this time there was an accompanying sound in the distance, echoing down the hallway behind you. Heavy footsteps that caught your immediate attention. Slowly panning around, the shimmer of his lengthy, silver hair against the pale moonlight that peaked through the open crescents of the corridor, was alluring to your eye. Halting in your tracks, your breath hitched against your throat, all in trepidation, as Aemond effortlessly caught up with you in a few short strides. This was the closest he had ever truly come up to you, his towering height against you, made him even more daunting face to face.

"Running off to bed again, I see. And why is that?"

The sudden eruption of his deep, low voice breaking the stillness of the castle passage, startled you uneasily. You had exchanged many words and conversations with your elder Uncle before, during an ancient time long before the Dance had spurred. Although, the dynamics had inevitably changed, blood had been shed viciously and cruel words spat. Despite the same Valyrian blood coursing through your veins as of your betrothed, you felt solitary in their surrounding presence.

"I-I lost my appetite, U-Uncle. I wish to retire for the night," You aimlessly stutter, too weak to hold eye contact with Aemond, whose gaze remained fixated on you. His vibrant lilac orb luring over every inch of your timid body.

"Do you think it wise to roam the castle your lonesome self? Has the war not taught you otherwise? Is my niece still that same stupid, little whore I have known?"

His harsh remarks shadowed by that familiar, sly grin struck across his slim face, was plenty to furnace an incoming reaction from you, your blood boiling beneath your tender skin.

"Ah- tongue tied now, princess? Have I struck a chord with you, hmm? Mayhaps you are as weak as your father was... Now, how would he feel knowing you are to marry me? That I'll fuck his little girl, like the common whores he saw."

Your mind had no correlation to your hand, and yet the simmering rage that blistered through your body sent your mind to abyss. The small palm of your hand, strikingly latched across Aemond's face furiously. And yet, although a sharp stinging sensation poured across your hand, Aemond remained unfazed and sturdy. It seemed you had smacked the grin across his face, and in its stead, that familiar, unnerving dark tinge in his eyes scorned across at you.

Before you knew it, Aemond gripped your sides firmly, forcing your body forward, as he harshly shoved you against the cold, stone wall.

"You think that wise, whore? After the mercy I fucking showed you. I could have your fucking hand for that, or worse your head. My pretty wife's head on a spike, I'll have it right outside my window."

The cruelty that oozed from his precise lips was relentless. You wanted to burst into tears or more, burst into flames there and then...

"Do you know how long I have waited to have you under my very touch? All the sacrifices I made, the arguments I fought against my own Council to keep you alive? Ungrateful fucking bitch. Did your Daddy not teach you to be a good, obedient girl?"

One of Aemond's calloused, rough hands reached up hastily, his long fingers wrapping just so lightly around your throat, as his thumb gently stroked at your lips. His viable eye ogling tentatively over your mouth, smacking his lips innately.

"I'm your fucking Daddy now. Teach you how to be a proper lady, and a good fucking wife. I'm going to fuck that pretty pussy of yours, till you are dripping of me. I'll have you begging like a pathetic, stupid whore. I'll fuck you till I have heirs of my own, till I see fit that you have disgraced your extinct, traitorous bloodline."

"A-Aem, U-Uncle-" You breathlessly whimper in fear: freshly, swelled tears glaze your vision, as they begin to clear with each shedding streak.

"What did I just fucking say? I'm not your Uncle anymore, bitch. I'm your fucking Daddy. You would be helpless without me. Probably dead without my doing. You fucking owe me."

"Y-Yes-" Another breathless whimper, although Aemond's grip loosened, his other hand began to slowly move its way over towards your breast. His uninjured eye moving in motion with his hand, eagerly wandering over your bust. That same, very hand, began to keenly grope at your plush side, kneading at your breast tenderly, it felt foreign and sensitive under his strange touch.

"All fucking mine... Finally. Did you really think, I would let some insolent lord have you to himself? I'd start a war for you, I won the war for you. And now you're going to repay me, just so-"

A mindless moan flew out of your wet lips, catching you abruptly by surprise, and by the looks of it Aemond, as his blackened pupil dilated with a ravenous hunger, his ears pricking and leaning forward in delight.

"I'll have you moaning for more, precious. Now on your fucking knees-"

Even with the hatred that roared deep within your belly, you felt reluctant to retaliate, as you knew Aemond would effortlessly overpower you. As he had in your youth, when you were caught in a brawl with him, often ending with him wrestling you to the ground. And after his detailed spill of such vile threats, you dared not to risk the second chance of life, you had been granted.

Your knees hit the concrete floor with some brutality, although you regained from the ache. As you steadied your propped position, your hands gripping tightly at Aemond's slim waist, he began to undo his grey, washed out trousers.

The sheer sight of his cock, was intense enough to have you questioning whether you could even take him. Although slim in girth, his length was extraordinary. A reddened tip just oozing lusciously with a white, clear film glistening over the crown.

"Suck Daddy real good, bitch. Show me that, that mouth has other good uses than for talking back."

Your attention lurking from below, dropping from Aemond's face to his cock and back up once more to his face: the sudden change in his mood shifting was palpable. The momentary, light-hearted look of ecstasy dismantled as a cold, unsettling gaze resumed across his handsome face, lingering over your kneeled state.

"Make me fucking repeat myself one more time, whore and I'll treat you worse than a whore. I'll have you forget that you are a Targaryen princess."

Aemond's large hands found their way at the base of your skull, teasingly stroking your loose strands away from your face, within a few seconds the sudden shove towards him, left you physically speechless. Your mouth slightly agape, was enough for Aemond's stiffened, pulsating tip to propel its way into your tight mouth. The friction of his hard cock against your silky, warm flesh inside, was enough to set Aemond's breathing into a speedy pace. Lean chest heaving, the mindless groaning on his behalf was somewhat alluring. You had never seen nor heard such sounds or vulnerability in Aemond before.

"F-Fuck, that feels so fucking good- Just as I prayed to the Gods. I'm going to make your mouth so numb, so fucking filthy of me, you'll be tasting me still in the months to come."

No coherent words exchanged from below his waist, only muffled moans and breath hitches, as you sulked with crave. As much as it infuriated you, pained you to admit, the feeling of Aemond's rigid, throbbing cock in your mouth, was elevating. You had to admit, in your youth, previous to the blood that had been shed, you had a childhood feverish crush on your elder Uncle, although thought it unlikely that anything would flourish from it.

"Seven Hells. Such a pretty whore, with a pretty mouth. J-Just the p-prettiest whore in the Seven Kingdoms."

With each plunge, rhythmically bobbing backwards and forwards, the raw taste of Aemond's cum, tastefully filling your mouth to capacity, as a mixture of his reside and your own saliva oozed from your crevices. The dreading thought of being caught in such a contentiously vulnerable position, especially before being wedded, was disturbing enough, for you were not yet widely favoured by the Council...

"Ughh- Swallow and get up, whore."

Self-disgust stirred nauseatingly in the pit of your gut, as you reluctantly devoured small mouthfuls of Aemond's load, almost convincing yourself you would retch it all up in a matter of seconds. Much to your relief, you remained poised, meekly wiping away the mess across your lips, shying away from Aemond's unmoving regard. As you regained your normal pace of breathing, Aemond lent a hand over, grasping your undivided attention. With such ease, Aemond aided you, lifting you up to stand, before confining you closely between the wall and his heated body once more, closing whatever space was made between.

"Now let's see what that cunt has to offer."

His skilful hands hiking your layered gown up, making way for his arms to snake around your bare thighs, lifting you idly off the ground.

"Can't wait till the wedding to tarnish you, I've waited long enough."

A sudden bolt of lightening pain shot from within your inner thighs, as your tight walls stretched out ceaselessly to accommodate, as Aemond shoved his rigid cock inside. Your back flattened against the sandstone wall, its texture rough against the delicate silk of your gown. Burying his length deeper and deeper with each harsh thrust, his heavy balls collided with your silky folds as he vigorously pumped himself back and forth. His pace, although rough, remained steady. His raw, sensitive tip pummelling at your cervix, felt scorching inside your lower belly.

"And if I fuck you so good, that you begin to swell with my child... What would your dead family think of their precious daughter then, huh? These tits belong to me now, and the mother's milk that comes with it. Your entire being belongs to me now. That babe in your belly will be all because of me, and you'll fucking love every bit of it."

"I-I owe you my l-life, D-Daddy-"

The words mindlessly slipped from you lips, and yet it felt instinctual to say. As Aemond's mouth lapped at the sensitive crook of your neck, you felt the smirk of his grin against your skin, his sharp teeth faintly biting at your soft flesh.

"That's right, baby. That's so right my needy, little slut. You have a Daddy now that can really take care of you, protect you... Love you."

The epitome of his words, the calm depth in his voice, had reached its glorifying peak, as Aemond's hot load shot up directly into you, reverently coating your insides. Like some royal orchestra in unison to his final thrust, did a growling moan escape his lips, followed by an whisper of a swear. Leaning his exhausted, heavier mass over you, as he safely guided your legs back down to the surface, his breath densely hot against your ear, his outstretched palms cladded against the wall for support.

"Clean yourself up, Y/N... Wouldn't want anyone else to see you as the whore that you are, and get any ideas-"

His heavy breathing made his voice less formidable and more husky. Eyeing over your form, as you once more scoured and polished up the mess he made between your thighs, with the inner layer of your gown. You simply nodded in response to his demand, before hastily attempting to rush back to the confines of your quarters.

Yet, a firm pull tugged at your elbow, causing you to halt in your tracks, unavoidably.

"I will seek you out again tonight... Be ready for me."

general taglist - @chompchompluke @fan-goddess @malfoytargaryen @hightowhxre @bibli0thecary @m1ndbrand @connorsui @elegantsplendour @randomdragonfires @sylasthegrim @arcielee @s-we-e-t-t-ea @sahvlren @aemondtargaryensrider @watercolorskyy @hypnos-daughter-certified @urmomsgirlfriend1 @backyardfolklore @snowprincesa1 @aegonslawyer

Aemond taglist - @megatardisbaby @harrypotteranna23-blog

credit for divider - @/itbmojojoejo

[myfandomprompts]

You Belong To Me Now

Summary: Aemond has become Prince Regent, and there is now nothing holding him from claiming you.

A/N: Quick smutty darkish!Aemond x Reader I wrote, nothing fancy

Words: 2.8k Masterlist [Spanish version - Wattpad by daisy_dont]

Warnings: praise kink, biting, vaginal, bruises, choking, obsession, dom, blowjob

Aemond had been Regent for a few months now, and although the Valyrian steel of the Conqueror’s crown didn’t rest upon his head yet, it was now an undeniable fact to every member of the realm that he had been born for this. All could finally witness his real worth, his superiority and how good he was at being a commander, a King.

No, he excelled at it. The Blacks haven’t even dared to approach King’s Landing even once in the last few months, and under his command all fear him, all obey him. He was far better at this than his father ever was, than his sister ever will be, and certainly than his broken brother is, tucked in his bed.

His new duties obliged him to be away often, to ride Vhagar and lead his armies on the usurpers who wanted to decimate them and take his city, but when he was back in the Red Keep, all he sees is you.

In fact, he wonders why he had never noticed you before as he crosses paths with you in the corridors, watches you in the throne room during audiences, laughing and hugging your lady friends. Maybe you are part of a House who came to the capital in order to help grow his army, that you are the daughter of an ally he had never bothered to be properly introduced to, because this was all they were to him: his subjects.

Nevertheless you are there, bright as the sun when he spots you when he least expects it and, despite his limited vision, he doesn’t seem to miss your presence, ever. He doesn’t miss the way you play with your hair when you're deep in thought, how your hips sway when you walk, how your fingers surround the glass you take to drink and how the skin of your throat glows as you swallow the liquid.

That he became obsessed was an understatement. There was no rest for his mind, and even amidst the excitement of the battle he thought about your appreciative look when he would return, triumphant. He had talked to you once, the sound of your voice making the hair on his skin raise in delight as he was introduced to you. He knew your name now, and he wouldn't stop there, you occupied every corner of his mind and inhabited his skin.

However and to his greatest dismay, the crown keeps him occupied, reducing the occurrences he can observe you, enjoying how you don't cower under his gaze; you staring back at him like it's a game, one that he never intends to lose.

He doesn’t miss the glances you draw from other lords either, eliciting an icy violence deep within his body and it makes his desire for you grow ever greater. He wants you to be his, completely.

This is why he sends for you one night, confident that you cannot refuse after spending the day looking at you like a starved dog, the lust between his legs becoming harder and harder to control. But he was Aemond Targaryen, and what he wanted, he would have. 

When you enter his chambers and he dismisses his servant; you look at a loss, but intrigued, like a deer caught between hounds but you are still composed, the very image of a Lady from a House he had only bothered to learn its name today. All he knows, deep in his gut, is that you are right where you are supposed to be.

“Do you know why you’re here?”

He takes in your looks, the way your eyes glints with curiosity, the heaving of your chest constricted in this infernal gown he only wishes to rip off, and how sweet you look as you blush out of uneasiness.

When you shake your head so softly, he grins before coming to stand before you. “You’re here to help me with a matter that needs tending to. But first, I need assistance removing my clothes.”

The widening of your eyes makes the colour of it stand out better, and he waits for you to process his order and obey, admiring your beautiful features and the way your lips part in shock. “Go on."

He knows you cannot refuse, seeing the slight confusion in your eyes as your hands reach the buckles of his collar, undoing it one by one with your pretty, trembling little fingers. It takes all of his patience to not move his hands over your form and revel in the sight, smiling to himself.

When his green doublet is removed, his linen shirt remains and he doesn’t let you take a breath when you pull away. “It’s not over, is it? Continue.”

You cast an almost fearful glare at him before resuming your task, helping him out of his shirt gently with concentrated eyes and when your skin touches his in the process, he has to stop a shaky exhale from escaping his mouth.

He sees how you look at his toned chest, pale defined arms, and then glance at his trousers with tight lips. He retains a sneer as he turns away from you and towards his bed, surprising you with his sudden departure.

“Do you know how the other lords look at you, sweet thing? How they look and look, like they had a chance with you? Do you know how much they wish they could bury their cocks into you and take you as they pleased?”

You turn a lovely shade of red, spreading from your face to your neck and below your cleavage, his lewd words disconcerting you and your perfect little honour. How he likes it on you, that innocence.

“Of course you don’t,” he continues, taking a seat at the edge of his bed and not missing a piece of your deliciously growing, panicking state. “You don’t care about them, do you? You just care about serving your Kingdom at most of your capacities.”

You swallow, your body noticeably relaxing lightly at his words but the movement draws his eye to your neck and he instantly wishes he could mark you there, right at the junction of it, where a mole he had not noticed before lays.

“My Prince, I-”

“Come here,” he beckons, patting on his lap after your croaked out attempt of a response. He will spare you the need to explain that yes, you do want to serve your realm loyally, and thus serve him as well. 

You hesitate, eyes darting between his legs and his face, and the lust grows at the thought that he might have to make you obey by other means. But at the sight of his hard expression, you have the good sense to approach, slowly, coming to stand between his legs and he grabs your hips at once, lowering you down onto his lap abruptly.

You let out a yelp at that, your legs forced to straddle him and you have to cling on his shoulders for support, face flushed and thinking fast. Aemond, on the other hand, feels every cell of his body come alive, a wicked smile appearing on his face.

“You know, I haven’t been with many women, but you… you’re something else, aren’t you? You make me understand why men look at women the way they do, what they find so irresistible about them....” he murmurs, putting one strand of your hair aside while his eye trails the pumping of the veins in your delicate neck. “Why all of those lords look at you… But they can’t have you.”

His tone is firmer now, unforgiving. “I have a claim on you they don’t have, and I don’t think it’s a coincidence you came here. That you are in this castle, under my protection.”

You seem unable to speak and the little noises he hears as you try to take a more comfortable position on his lap are like music to him, making him harder under his pants. He takes your hips a little too roughly than he intended in order to pull you to him.

“I’ve been thinking about you for days now, and I ran out of patience, so here is what is going to happen, sweetling. You’re going to take my cock, fully, like the sweet and obedient lady you are so I can feel every damn corner of your cunt, deep enough for me to fill you up.”

With his last sentence he pulls you closer onto him so you can finally feel his hardened state and you whimper in shock, the sound resonating into the room like a pathetic echo as he takes in the sweet scent of your skin, his nose trailing your neck hungrily.

“Hmm, my little pet, so flustered…” he praises as you tense on top of him, your pelvis hitting his member delectably. “You didn’t think I rode the largest dragon in the world and had nothing to show for it, did you?” 

He takes a few more moments to enjoy the friction of your layers against his groin, feeling your body turn soft before gently pushing you away from him to let you unlace the ties of your gown with a commanding look. When you are bare before him, he licks his lips, the sight of your pretty little pussy making his now free cock throb in anticipation.

“You are gonna take me so well, you want to please your Prince, don’t you?”

The way you quickly nod in submission destabilises him so much that he has to take a moment before finding his composure again, his desire slowly growing out of control as he stares at you. But he must be patient, enjoy this, because he is no low man, nothing like the rest of them. So he sits back on the bed and invites you to him, noticing your already blown pupils staring at him.

He doesn’t care that you aren’t prepared, that it might be difficult for you to take him this early because the urge to sheath himself deep inside of you is too strong. But when you hover over him and your folds meet his tip you are so fucking wet that all his fears are swept away, replaced by the indescribable lust that takes hold of him, eager to have you, exactly like you want him.

The sensation makes him unable to concentrate before he puts his hands on your thigh to help you down, and it’s absolutely amazing. You’re warm, tight, right for him; the sweet moan that escapes your lips making him twitch as he looks at your knitted brows that tells him you are feeling him, truly feeling him. You go achingly slow and he can’t help but hiss in frustration, but at this point you deserve to have your own pace; he will be able to take his due later, when you’re accustomed to him.

He can tell from your expression that it hurts, and it makes his loins surge with fire at the thought, the wickedness of it so darkly satisfying. 

“That’s it, all of it. You’re doing so well.”

He finally feels resistance nudging at his tip and he knows you are completely his now, looking at his cock buried deep inside your cunt and you let out a high pitch moan when you still, flesh against flesh in the most deliciously painful kind of way.

It feels right, he can almost feel your heartbeat upon his length and when he slightly withdraws in order to surge his hips forward, instantly hitting your depth hard, you wail loudly.

Aemond laughs as he squeezes your hips harder. “My sweet pet, so beautiful for me. How is it to feel it so deep? Do you want to move for me?”

He grunts when you start to move; he doesn’t have to do anything, your warmth and slickness making him absolutely wanton, and he doesn’t think he had ever felt this complete in his life. It allows him to look at you, take in your bouncing breasts, magnificently round, and he can’t help but reach for them, propping himself up on a sitting position before biting one of your nipples hard, and the sound you let out makes him want to do it again.

But for now he wants to mark you everywhere, your jaw, your neck, your collarbone, your delicate shoulders. He wants to cover you with his tongue and bruise you while you ride him so exquisitely, his mind foggy and half conscious. He feels your nails digging into his back when he sucks at the base of your neck, leaving a trail of drool that covers your skin. He bullies your breasts for his own pleasure and his cock feels every one of your jolts, squeezing him.

He makes you swivel, his length briefly sliding out of you before he lays you down on your belly and enters you again, lacing one arm behind your back to help him pound into you mercilessly, taking full control for the first time and it feels so good that a shameless growl resonates deep within his throat.

“You’re married, aren’t you?” he asks with a grin, admiring your back and the curve of your ass.

“Promised…” you pant through your moans. “To Lord Blount…”

“I see… Then Lord Blount will have an assignment in a land far away very soon,” he purrs with arrogance as he quickens his pace.

The new angle makes you moan loudly, your position seemingly uncomfortable enough to make each rocking of his hips like it’s the last you’ll be able to take. Soon you’re clenching around him, screaming out loud while your shattering orgasm turns you into a puddle in his arms when he lifts you against his chest, whispering in your ear.

“Fucking hell, you like that, don’t you? You couldn’t help but come all over my cock like the good lady you are.”

He keeps jerking his hips until you grow completely silent, feeling his legs momentarily weak when your walls give him a particularly strong squeeze and he withdraws.

You’re unable to move so he lets you lay back on the bed as he examines your folds, red and swollen from his brutal pace and he passes one finger between them to gather your slick. You moan at the sensation as he tastes you, licking his fingers hungrily.

“Bloody Seven, you taste delicious,” he praises as you try to find your breathing. “You’re mine from now on, understood?"

He barely acknowledges the curt nod you make before he laces his fingers around your neck, drawn to its softness and the bruises that begin to form there. He strokes the column of it softly, thoroughly, before grasping the base of your throat so he can hold on to it, hovering over you as he slides gently into you again, your folds spasming briefly from your aftershock. He sees you close your eyes, hiding your beautiful irises from him and he wishes you would look at him, something you do when you feel his hand around your neck constricting.

“Aem-” you let out.

“What is it?” he asks, watching your lips make the most amazing sounds he had ever heard while he rocks into you, his weight on your neck. “Is it my name you want to say? You can scream it if you want.”

But you don’t, to his greatest displeasure, apparently unable to do so as your features stiffen, so he snakes a hand to your dripping cunt, zoning on your swollen clit and you tremble beneath him. When he works your bud, fingers circling it at an unrelenting pace, your lips form an “o” and he decides here and there that he will cum in your mouth. For now, he concentrates on the roll of his hips and the movements of his fingers, one over your neck and the other making you grind onto it in yearning.

You are at his mercy.

“Will you scream my name now, pretty little thing? I can feel you close…”

It takes a tremendous effort from his part to not come undone himself when you finally do, trapped at his own game as you pulse around him, your back arching, and the way you finally cry out his name doesn’t help the little restraint he has left. He growls when you go limp under him, unwilling to let go of your neck and overstimulated bud as he works you through your climax.

“On all fours,” he commands when he finds enough composure to speak, propping himself up on his knees on the mattress and daring to pump himself a few times while you do as told.

He instantly comes to grab your hair, your expression completely in disarray from his brutal ministration on you and, when your mouth meets his weeping head, he can’t process anything, the contrast between the intensity of your folds and the soft warmth and slowness of your tongue killing him. He has the greatest desire to buck his hips into your mouth, to take it all, but your tongue traces along his throbbing vein right before you suck at his most sensitive part and he finishes right there with a croaked moan, painting your mouth with his seed.

You are both panting hard, and when he looks at you behind his hooded eyes, admiring his work, he brings your chin between his fingers and wipes your lips, glossy from his release. “You’ll be there each time I come back, won’t you, pet?”

You nod frantically, exhausted before falling on the bed next to him.

A/N: Thank you @babyblue711 & @arcielee for the beta reading, so much <3