#dark!aemond targaryen x reader
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“Seven Above.” // Highly Religious Dark!Aemond Targaryen x Wife!Reader
DD:DNE ;; Reader discretion is heavily advised.
WARNINGS: noncon & dubcon, forced breeding, forced beliefs, breeding kink, religious themes and psychopathic aemond, dark!aemond, misogynistic views, pressure to fit into the gender norms, forced pregnancy, multiple orgasms, brainwashing(?), mindfucking, + not proofread. PLEASE BE EXTREMELY MINDFUL OF THE CONTENT WARNINGS
Block the tag #MAE:DARK!CONTENT to refrain from seeing my dark works.
WC: 2.1k
A/N: fic contains dark content, do not proceed to read if you are easily triggered or find the topics mentioned above triggering. // dividers by @cafekitsune
Aemond was a man of the faith of the seven
He was extremely religious, his mother’s belief in the faith has also made him follow it, though he studied about dragons and old gods of Valyria, he didn't particularly follow them. His need for impressing his own mother, followed by his grandfather made him follow this faith more.
The only problem? He was way too religious and strict, but also hypocritical, he had shamed Aegon for being married to Helaena, but also desired her for himself, he would taunt his nephews for being bastards, yet also had one for himself with a common whore he could not remember the name of. He doesn't acknowledge them as sins however, saying that they are forgiven by the gods as he visits the sept daily.
Alicent did not know what to say, for when she would speak to him about what he's doing and points out his wrongdoings, he simply ignores her and tells her that her job as a woman isn't to judge, but rather understand and nurture, to which she couldn't argue against. So she remained silent.
Everything was going the same as usual, until Aemond was summoned by his grandfather, who had selected a proposal for him.
“The woman is Y/N of the L/N house, a woman loved by many, it will benefit us if we formed an alliance with her family, what do you think of it Aemond?” His grandfather questioned, to which Aemond nodded, saying it isn't too much of a bad match considering they had more to gain than lose, and so the proposal was quickly made.
Aemond only saw you on the day of the wedding, when your house arrived in the throne room, where Aegon sat in the middle, handling the matters. You had not shied away from looking in his eye, to which he was caught off guard by, his mind quickly realising how you are the feisty type.
The ceremony went well, Aemond refused the bedding ceremony and took you to your martial chambers before bedding you. He was gentle of course, he didn't do anything that was too painful.
One thing about Aemond is that, you should never get on his bad side, he is cruel just as he is lenient, you heard of what he had done to his own nephew, to riverrun, to the strong house, leaving absolutely no one alive from that bloodline, no woman or bastard was spared.
The first month flew by quickly, Aemond had gotten to know you better, and he quickly realised that you both don't share the same ideologies on most of the stuff, you even dared to speak back to him, to which he excused you of. Arguments with him on small things have started to happen, his opinion contradicting yours, and his refusal to understand your point of view made you extremely unaccepted, yet you still tried to convey your feelings to him, hoping somewhere deep down in your heart that he'd understand. After all, you had grown to love him a little. He was far better than any husband, most of them didn't even let their wife speak to them.
That was until the topic of children had come when you were dining together.
“Wife, Have you gotten your moon's blood yet?” He asked and you nodded, “Yes, husband, it passed a few days ago and it is regular.” you tell him confused as to why he is asking this, “Are you perhaps barren?” He asks, which makes you feel shocked, and quite offended, “No! Why would you ask such a thing like that?” You ask, eyes slightly wide with shock. “Then why aren't you with child yet?” He questions as if you had any control over anything that happens after intercouse.
“It is only the second month, and besides….” You bite your lip and he raises an eyebrow, “What is it?” You sigh heavily, “I do not know how to ask of you this.” You tell him honestly, “What is it that you need wife? Dresses? Jewellery, do not be shy to ask, I am your husband after all. It is my duty to provide.” He rests his hand on yours, squeezing it in a reassuring way.
“I–” you take a deep breath, “I do not want children, at least, not yet.” you spit out.
It's almost as if everything had frozen in place, the air becomes silent with only the crackling sounds of the fireplace being heard. The tension becomes more imminent in the air as the Aemond continues to remain silent and not do anything, except directly stare at you.
His grip on your hand suddenly tightens, making you wince and you look at him pleadingly, “Have you gone mad?” He stands up, forcing you to stand up as well and you grip his arm tightly, not wanting to fall before balancing yourself, “Please- I am not yet ready, let me prepare myself mentally first.” You beg him and his other hand grabs you by your throat and pulls you closer to him, his grip on your throat begins to tighten, causing you to lose bloodflow to your head.
“I have done nothing except do my duty, be the ideal husband, provide for you, all while allowing you to express yourself yet it seems I was too lenient on you.” He growls, “Because here you are, asking me, to allow you to not have children. It is your sole duty as a wife and a woman, and you could not even provide such a thing?” He let goes of your throat, making you engulf a huge amount of air as you tried to calm down.
“Every woman is the image of the mother, she should have a natural nurturing personality towards anyone, especially to their own children, yet here you are refusing to be a mother to your own child or rather having one of yours, it is disgusting.” He says meanly and you glare at him, “I never said that I never wanted to be a mother, I asked you to give me time to which you are– hmmgh!” You are dragged by Aemond to the bed and thrown on it, you quickly lean on your elbows, fear gnawing in your stomach as you look at Aemond who seemed so furious at you, your heartbeat accelerated as he just stared down at you, like a predator staring at its prey.
“Your sin is forgiven, wife, I remembered how some women think they do not want children until they do, and then they become the best mothers and perfect wives known to man, maybe you are of that same category.” He keeps on talking, and you stare at him, confused and in fear, what in the seven hell was he talking about?
“It is no surprise if that is the case, luckily, there is a cure for that, and that is to get you pregnant, and I shall do just that, simultaneously fulfilling the duties as your husband.” He leans down and caresses your cheek. Your eyes widen when you catch his expression in the illuminating moonlight. He was smiling, yet the smile did not reach his eyes, Your stomach began to churn as goosebumps arose on your skin, he doesn't seem like the man you married anymore.
Before you could make an escape, Aemond pounces you and pushes you down onto the bed, you thrash in his hold trying to push him off but he holds your hands together and pins them up before grabbing your cheeks harshly and spitting on your face, “Behave, I'm treating you.” You began to tremble knowing he had gone completely mad.
“Let go of me! Aemond!” You scream and he pushes his hand over your mouth, “Shut the fuck up.” He tells you before grabbing your dress and tearing it off your body, the bodice coming along with it, causing your tits to spill out. He gropes and squeezes them, “I wonder how nice they'd look when they swell with milk hm?” He coos, before descending his lips onto your nipple, you use your now free hands to push him away but he doesn't budge, you try to pull him by his hair but he bites harshly onto your nipple causing you to let go of his hair in pain, he pulls away and looks at you angrily.
“Behave.” He says sternly and you flinch, never having heard Aemond use that specific tone before, it was extremely scary. “Aemond, please.” You plead him but he doesn't care, simply ripping off the remains and pushing you up the bed and prying your legs open. “You'd look so beautiful, all round with my child in your belly, I pray to the mother to bless us with a child.” He undos his breeches and your eyes widen in horror, knowing what is about to come.
You watched in silence as he lined himself against your entrance, prodding the tip at the very beginning of your hole and began to push inside, you shut your eyes tightly and clenched the sheets below you, a pained cry leaving your mouth at the stretch of your cunt by his cock, unprepared.
He soon fully sheathed himself inside you, and wastes no time before beginning to thrust, whines and gasps leave your mouth at his actions, you grip onto his shoulders as he jerks you up and down, you felt ashamed when it started to begin to feel good, your body in dilemma where you push him or pull him closer.
However that sense of choice is taken away from you when he grabs your hands and pins them above you, all while pistoning his hips into yours, “Seven above, I pray that the mother blesses my dear wife with a child in her womb so she may be cured of her sinfulness, I pray that the maiden guides her into realising how she should truly perform her duty as a woman, and may the crone remove useless thoughts and guide her to the correct path.” He prays closing his eyes and your eyes widen in pure shock, shocked by the fact on how he can pray in a situation like this?
His thrusts feel so sinful, and you're convinced you've lost your mind because of the fact that you are getting pleasure from this, his lips find yours in a passionate kiss as he ends the prayer, kissing your forehead afterwards and pulls back, “You'll make a good mother, I'm sure of it.” He coos in your ear before pressing a kiss to it as well.
You soon began to recognize the familiar feeling of a rope tightening in your abdomen, the telltale sign that your peak was nearing, Aemond's hand groped your tits, pinching your nipples and rubbing his thumb over them, providing you with additional pleasure, and before you know it, you are toppling over the edge as your peak hits you, arching your back and moaning out his name loudly.
He too finishes inside you, filling your hole with his seed, before pulling out, his face hovers over your stomach and you watch as he presses a kiss on the location of where your womb would be located, “May the mother bless us.” He mutters.
You thought that would be the end, yet you were wrong, you gasp when you feel his finger scooping up his seed which leaked out and push it back into you, essentially beginning to finger you, he takes you by surprise again when you feel his warm tongue on your clit, causing your hands to fly out and grip his hair as you breathed heavily.
His tongue and finger worked simultaneously, introducing you to a sensation of a new type of overstimulation, making you peak once again.
Time blurred together and yet Aemond did not stop, you've lost count of how many times he made you peak and how many times he finished inside you, but at the end of it, you surely felt full and fucked out, your mind filled with nothing but the thought of having his children, which he kept muttering over and over again, causing you to pick up on it.
“You'll be a great mother.” He pulls you into his arms as scoot closer, burying your face in his chest, “Yes, Husband, I'll give you as many children you want.” You mutter before finally drifting off to sleep.
Aemond smirks, knowing that he has now achieved his goal, now he can slowly start shifting you into the type of wife he wanted in the first place.
It was no surprise when you found out that you were pregnant with a child, only for you to give birth to triplets.
“A blessing from the mother.” Alicent beamed, yet that sentence only made you flinch.
— ! ݈݇- thank you so much for reading! i hope you enjoyed it <3 comments and reblogs are appreciated greatly ♡
#MAE:DARK!CONTENT#tw: noncon#tw: dubcon#aemond smut#aemond targaryen smut#aemond x reader smut#aemond targaryen x reader smut#aemond targaryen x reader#aemond x reader#tw: dark content#dark!aemond x reader#dark!aemond smut#dark!aemond targaryen x reader#dark!aemond targaryen#dark!hotd#tw: religous themes#tw: forced pregnancy#tw: forced breeding
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HoD porn links - 1
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.2
Aegon Targaryen
aegon testing how many fingers he can squeeze in because you're getting so wet
doing anything but putting it in as that is wrong
he is just obsessed with your tits
he deeply enjoys how worked up he can get you
aegon taking what he wants after an argument
free use sister being used whenever
how he uses your pussy when you're asleep
cock warming turning into
going so many rounds that you're both a sticky mess
Aemond Targaryen
niece reader after finally begging him to just put it in
aemond treating his girl
rough sex with niece reader
punishing you after seeing you talk too much to anyone else
absolute perv aemond dressing you up just to tease you
cuddling quickly turns into
size kink with aemond
#aemond targaryen x reader#aegon targaryen x reader#aegon ii targaryen x reader#dark!aemond targaryen x reader#dark fic#hotd fanfic#Aemond x reader x aegon#aemond targaryen#aegon targaryen#aegon ii targaryen#dark!aegon x reader
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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.”
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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.”
#aemond targaryen#aemond targaryen smut#vampire!aemond#aemond targaryen x reader#aemond one eye#dark!aemond targaryen x reader
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Spoil
pairing: Prince Regent!Aemond Targaryen x reader
word count: 3.6k
warnings: lowkey dark!aemond, alys river type themed, reader’s family gets killed, reader is a plaything, sexual themes and descriptions (not a smut), fluff at the end :)
a/n THAT GIF OML uuhhh this came to me in a fever dream apologies.
summary She’s his spoil of war, and his new found confidant.
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read time: 13 mins 26 seconds
A spoil of war.
Is the one thing you had been demeaned down to. From a visiting Lady to Harrenhal, a betrothed to one of the Strong sons, and now to nothing. A spoil of war.
The first time you ever saw him was weeks after the fateful night that your life collapsed. You still remember the cool breeze in your nightgown and the loose hair around your shoulders. How the moon shone so brightly, but only in the early evening before the fight began. Smoke then filled the air as your new home was captured.
And then they were gone.
The Blacks had just packed up everything and… left? The castle you once knew to be lively, despite its cracks, was suddenly sullen and empty. Few staff remained from the ones who fled. You clung to your betrothed along with the rest of his family. Life felt like a ticking time bomb.
It was midday when you heard the roar of the great dragon, Vhagar. A strange time to invade, but there wasn’t much to do. A glimmer of hope, you thought. A glimmer of hope.
Hope is only something a fool would believe in now, you truly believed.
The Strong family was rounded up by the one-eyed Prince. You had heard of him before and knew what the people whispered about him. Kinslayer. Evil. Egotistical. Irrational.
A plea for help, you thought. How foolish you feel now. The Kinslayer swiftly went one by one, killing every single last Strong, down to the grandchildren. All you could do was scream. Your betrothed was gone, and so was his family. The women and the children were all gone. And all that was left was you.
The worst death of all, you supposed. It was certain now, you were the last one on your knees pleading for your life. Perhaps in another lifetime, you deserved this. Watching your new family die one by one, knowing of your fate. As the Kinslayer approached you, his sword bloodied in his hand, blood splattered all over his armor, and his face, his white hair matted with the blood of your betrothed. His facial expression was unreadable as you stared him dead in the eyes. A soft prayer came from your lips as he looked at you like you were the most disgusting thing he had ever seen now, as a scowl moved to his lips.
His hatred for the Strong family was inconceivable. Why did such a man hate a family that much?
He stared you down, taking in every single inch of you. An evil snarl approached his lips as he grunted. “Mmm…”
“She’ll do.” he called out to a man in armor, an older one than the Prince and with Dornish features.
She’ll do? What in the Seven Hells is that supposed to mean?
The Dornish Knight took you by the shoulders and forced you off your feet and whispered into your ear softly as he was escorting you to horseback, his hand resting on the small of your back. “Just be quiet and listen. Pledge your allegiance to King Aegon. Then you’ll be fine.” His words were far from comforting as he intended them to be. Your betrothed blood was still fresh on your hands.
A war camp was your new home. One of the dirtiest places on earth, not for a Lady such as yourself. Men were constantly poking and prodding at you, calling and shouting at you all sorts of terrible names. When you first arrived, you were brought into a quiet tent away from the evil eyes of the soldiers. The Dornish man sat with you and spoke softly. He seemed as if he didn’t want to scare you, but he still did nonetheless. You pledged your allegiance to King Aegon and kept quiet, listening to the first piece of advice he gave you. He introduced himself to you as Ser Criston Cole. You feared for your life, and the only thing seemingly keeping it here was this Ser Criston Cole.
After a while, Ser Criston left you alone. And for a while, you sat confused as so many things were running through your head. Your cries continued as well did the trembles in your hands, the hands you couldn’t pull your eyes from as they were covered with your love's blood.
A maid who was silent the whole time came in with a tub and began to bathe you after you were alone for a while. Why? You had no clue. A bath did seem nice though, you wished to be rid of the horrors that painted your body. You cried as the maid washed you, traumatized by the events of that day. The clear water turned a murky brown as your old life was washed away. A new dress was gifted to you. One of a deep green and a sinch in the middle, tied with golden strings. It was long-sleeved and floor length, keeping you warm in the harsh, cold, rainy environment where the camp was located. And along was an optional green coat of fur, embroidered with beautiful designs. Something you would never normally choose, but there wasn’t really a choice. The dress was soft and felt a bit snug around your body, but you didn’t feel like complaining would be a good idea at the moment.
Your hair was combed by this maid as her quick hands moved through your locks. It reminded you of your old life and your old Lady maid. Who you thought must be dead by now. The soothing words of your old Lady maid calmed you for a bit, as you closed your eyes and pretended you were simply not there.
The maid dressed you and quickly left. You didn’t know the Dornish man was guarding this tent until the maid left, and you saw a glimpse of his armor from the flap of the tent that was exposed when she left.
Ser Criston returned and looked you up and down. It was not in a perverse way though, more of an inspection. Like you were some… some item being prepared. He sighed.
“He’ll be happy.” Ser Criston stated, crossing his arms.
“Who, may I ask?” you finally spoke.
“Prince Aemond.” Ser Criston replied, giving you one last look up and down. “He spared you for a reason, my Lady. You should be eternally grateful for him and his grace when it came to you.”
Prince Aemond? Having grace?
Ser Criston escorted you to another tent. The men whistled and whooped as you walked by, looking like a fresh piece of meat to the soldiers who hadn’t felt the touch of their ladies for weeks. Heat rose to your cheeks as you looked at your boots, praying this nightmare would end. But oh, it had just begun.
Prince Aemond sat in his tent. It was identical to every single one each soldier had on the outside, but on the inside, it was quite different. The delicately carved chairs and a large bed of hay with many pelts over it caught your eye before the Prince did. You didn’t even notice Criston leaving your side until you turned to speak to him, and he was gone.
He was sitting in front of the fire. His armor was gone, and his hair was cleaned. His stockings were hung by the fire as they seemed to be drying as he sat in a chair, not looking in your direction. You stood still, fear wracked your body as you tried to think of something to do. Should you speak? Just stand there? Wait for him to approach you?
“Come,” he said commandingly as he flicked a few of his fingers towards you, beckoning you over to his side. The Prince didn’t even look your way. His voice was much calmer than it was at Harrenhal. You listened, approaching him with hesitance.
He looked up at you, taking in your features with the same blank look as he did at Harrenhal.
“Do you know who I am?” he asked harshly as you stood next to his chair awkwardly. You nodded. “Mmm…” he hummed once again, moving his hand in a way to ask you to sit in the opposite chair. The chair creaked a bit as you sat, giving an unexpected chill down your spine.
“When I speak to you, you respond to me in words. No nods. Understood?” he scolded you, his tone of voice making you twitch.
“Yes.” you squeaked out, almost silently.
“Yes, what…?” Prince Aemond asked you, testing you to see your limits. “Yes, my Prince.”
“Good girl. You learn quickly.” he purred, standing up from his chair to approach you. You froze as he did, not wanting to mess up. This was your only chance at survival. The Prince circled you, almost as a lion did to its prey not once, not twice, but three times. You couldn’t meet his gaze.
“What is your name…?” he asked, now standing in front of you. You answered him swiftly with your name and your house.
“Your father bent the knee to the Princess Rhaenyra, is that correct?”
Your heart skipped a beat. He had? You genuinely had no clue, as you were already living in Harrenhal with your betrothed as the war broke out.
“M-my father, your grace, I have not seen him in many moons.” you quivered, your eyes fixated on the brick of the fireplace.
“But yet you are his kin…” Aemond sighed, picking up a lock of your hair in his hands. “Such a shame. Ironic, isn’t it? He had pledged his allegiance to Rhaenyra, and yet you are mine.” he chuckled. His laugh sent chills down your spine. You stayed silent.
“How old are you?” he asked, dropping your piece of hair and looking down at you menacingly.
“Twenty, your grace.” you replied hastily, afraid of his presence. “And I suspect you were betrothed to a Strong boy, is that it…?”
You nodded.
“Use your words,” he said demeaningly, his long lanky fingers meeting your chin as he pulled your sad eyes up to meet his gaze. “Yes, my Prince.” “Good girl.”
His words went straight between your thighs. “I think I’ll like you,” he says, letting go of your chin. Tears brimmed your eyes. “Do not worry. I will not touch you tonight.” he says somewhat softer, as he grabs your hand. You didn’t even realize they were shaking. “Touch me?” you asked, looking up at him.
“Oh yes. Don’t you understand what this is…?” he asked, making her feel like an idiot. The way he spoke was so demeaning, making her feel like she was the stupidest person alive. How had she not figured out what this was yet? “No.” she whispered. It was all making sense now.
“You are mine. Mine to do with what I please. My spoil, as some say. You will do as I say, won’t you?” he asked, letting go of your shaking hand. You felt like your tongue was numb as he spoke. No emotion was shown on your face as you felt him kneel down in front of you. He placed a hand on your thigh.
“Are you afraid of me?” he asked after a while. You met his gaze as he looked up to you, he seemed like an evil spirit had possessed him. His face was different, his lips curled into a cruel smirk. You were speechless again. Aemond was getting obviously annoyed by your lack of response. “You should be,” he said, his grip on your thigh tightening as your breath quickened. “Tell me, my Lady. Are you going to be a good girl and listen to me? Be my plaything, my lover, my company… or would you rather join the Silent Sisters? I cannot kill such a beauty as yourself.”
His other hand moved to caress your cheek. He awaited your answer.
“I-I…” you stuttered. The Prince grew impatient. “Answer me, now!” he yelled at you. You finally cracked.
“Yes, yes, I’ll listen, I'm sorry.” you cried, cringing at the sudden raising of his voice. His cruel smile only widened. “Good girl.”
-
He was gentle to you at first, but every time after grew harsher and harsher. He often prided himself on seeing you at his mercy, his hand on your stomach as he fucked you slowly. He liked the way you muttered his name as he held you in his arms as you were about to reach your peak. He enjoyed watching you leak his seed out on your thighs as you rested in bed after a long night of pleasure.
Even if he was rough, he never treated you as his whore. He would often put your own pleasure above his, which was quite unexpected. In many senses around the camp, you were seen as his Queen. Even if that was far from the truth.
He never liked it much when you spoke. He had no desire to know about your life, your dislikes, and interests, or anything remotely personal about you. He used you. He took and took and gave nothing in return, besides a mutual pleasure for each other. He took your company, as you would sleep next to him in his bed every night. He never held you or whispered sweet nothings to you as you fell asleep. He took your time, as you waited around for him all day. You had grown quite lazy and bored, with close to nothing to do. He took your worth. Yes, he didn’t treat you as his whore. But he would call you names that made you feel like one. You figured it made him feel better about himself, making you beg for his cock and calling you a slut afterward. Aemond would often tell you mid fucking about how beautiful you would look bearing his bastards. Or how good you looked with him buried inside of you.
Aemond had returned for the night. You had gotten used to the angry footsteps and the sudden whooshing open of the tent door flap when he would return from his days. You hadn’t seen him for five days. You heard of his return to the camp by a few passing soldiers and expected his presence in your chambers tonight. But tonight seemed different. It was eerie how quiet he was. He was usually eager to get his armor off and to fuck you, but tonight was more solemn. He angrily threw his eyepatch on the floor and kicked his armor. It startled you a bit as you watched him seemingly throw a tantrum. Mentally preparing yourself for a night of torture, you began your routine as you had in the past few weeks and began undressing.
“No,” he said, emotionless, not facing to look at you. You stopped. This had never happened. He took off his armor and set it aside, and made his way slowly to the bed in his underclothes. You sat on the bed, unsure of what to do. He couldn’t look at you. Aemond could sense your confusion and your uncertainty.
“Not tonight.” he said, his voice sounding weaker and weaker with each syllable. “Oh.” you said quietly, adjusting your nightgown back on comfortably. You sat in bed next to him.
He reached up a hand and took a lock of your hair in it and twirled it in his fingers. He hummed. You just looked down at what he was doing and watched his fingers, then looked into his gaze. He seemed to have revealed an emotion, for the first time in weeks. Sadness.
You wanted to ask what was wrong but decided to keep your mouth shut. He didn’t like when you talked.
He waited a long time before he spoke. He sat there, not moving, and seemingly staring into space. Groups of soldiers marched by, the only sound breaking the deafening silence between the two of you. You knew better than to speak.
“How has Hilda been treating you?” he asks quietly, still not meeting your gaze.
“Hilda?” you asked, confused. “Your maid.” he said annoyed that you didn’t know what he was talking about. His tongue had a sharp, defensive tone to it.
“Oh,” you replied, confused as to why he was making conversation. He never usually did. “She’s been kind.”
Aemond nodded. He was trying. So hard. He just didn’t know how to approach you with what he really needed tonight. Kindness was something he had not equipped in a while.
“Come,” he said, placing a hand on your back suddenly. You were hesitant. “I won’t hurt you.”
You listened to him and scooted over in the bed, lying next to Aemond as he wrapped his arms around you in a sudden movement. Your stomach was filled with butterflies and fear as he did, he pulled you closer to him. You had so many questions, questions you wished to ask and knew you couldn’t. And you stood still as touched you, confused as to what he wanted from you.
“Do you want me to embrace you?” you asked softly. He nodded, burying his head near your chest and the crook of your neck. You could feel his warm breath on your neck.
What the fuck was this…?
One of your hands wrapped around his head and cradled it as the other moved to his back and gave him some small circles with your fingers. He let out a long sigh.
He looked up at you as he rested in your arms. His eyes were wet and his face was one you had never seen before. Aemond seemed like a complete stranger at that moment. “Do you love me?” he asked her with a tired voice.
She most certainly did not. But that was not the answer he was currently seeking.
“I do,” she said, caressing the side of his face and moving stray strands of hair out of the way. He just held her tighter and placed his head back on your chest, his breathing becoming shallow as he tried to hold in the tears. You were so utterly confused. He knew she truly didn’t love him. But he needed to know if she was obedient enough to lie for him. To hold his secrets, to be an extension of just his thing to toy with. He needed somebody desperately right now, and the only thing he craved was touch. Touch and your attention. He didn’t love you and you didn’t love him. But it hurt nobody to just play the part they were supposed to that night. He was in need.
“I-I went to Rook’s Rest,” Aemond began to speak. His tone was different from his usual commands, he sounded scared. You had never seen this side of him before. She nodded, stroking his hair as he spoke. “My brother, Aegon, and I…”
You had never heard him speak of the King so informally.
“We fought our cousin Rhaenys and her dragon… and we won but-” his voice hitched. He was… he was shaking? “It’s okay.” you said softly, daring to speak as your lover shook in your grasp.
You knew tears were now falling down his cheeks but didn’t dare to say a single thing about it. You knew deep down, he was just a scared little boy. Aemond was only twenty as you were. His big persona of being a ruthless kinslayer was peeling back and he was revealing himself to you. It was something he never did, only in the solemn private moments with his mother years ago.
He had broken at the sight of what he was about to tell her.
“Aegon got hurt. Really bad.”
He was telling you confidential information about the King. He was trusting you. “I-I’m sorry.” you replied sincerely. His hands moved around your ribcage and the other snaked around your back. He felt the fabric of your dress and played with it between his fingers as he tried to calm himself. “H-he can’t walk and he’s burned terribly and he’s barely conscious, and his dragon is injured, and... You-you mustn't tell anyone.” he whimpered, his tone stiffening at the last sentence as his ramblings came to an end. “Never,” you whispered, combing through his hair with your fingers to try and calm him.
“I’m- they made me… they made me Prince Regent.” Aemond confessed as the words left his lips with a sour taste. You could tell he was terrified.
Oh shit.
Aemond in a sense, was King. She finally understood how dire King Aegon’s condition was and understood why Aemond had been acting so strangely that night.
“Isn’t that a good thing?” you asked him softly, trying to look to the positive side. If the positive side even existed in this situation.
“No!” he seemingly barked at you suddenly, making you tense a bit. “I’m sorry…” he whispered, running his hand over the side of your ribcage and down to your hips. You had never heard this man once apologize for anything. He looked up to you with his red eyes as he craved your touch. You cupped his cheek, clearing the tears from his right cheek with your thumb. You knew he was afraid. Shocked. Terrified. And he was asking for you.
“I will pray for the King’s recovery, your grace.”
“Aemond…” he said softly. You were confused and he read it on your face. “When-when we’re like this. Don’t bother with the titles. I am just Aemond.”
You nodded.
“I will pray for the King’s recovery, Aemond.” you corrected yourself. “And that your reign may be successful.”
She kissed the top of his head. He held her close.
“Everything will be okay.”
He held you like that for the rest of the night. No violence. No sex. No words. Just you and him, in a moment where he could have his last bit of clarity before he had to put the mask back on and perform for everyone else in his life. He was quite thankful for you that night. Aemond wept quietly as you held the most powerful man in Westeros all throughout that night.
-
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Ābrazȳrys
Summary: Aemond goes to see if the king is truly dead and finds his wife instead.
Paring: dark!Aemond Targaryen x wife!reader
Word Count: 1900+
Warnings: MDNI, dark[ish]!Aemond, Reader AFAB, noncon elements, ghostly voyeurism? rough sex, p in v unprotected, creampie, breeding kink when you squint.
Author’s Note: So, this is not for the poll I just had, but something that came from rambling with my muses [thank you lovelies]. This is dedicated to @namelesslosers whose recent piece already had my mind thrumming with dark!Aemond ever since I read your story. Thank you, Mari, this is mostly your fault. 😆
Not beta read, my mistakes are my own and I am woefully sorry for them all. Also, Sȳz ābrazȳrys is Valyrian for good wife.
An accord was struck between the Warden of the North and King Viserys; you were then packed to be sent away to the capital, to wed his second son, Prince Aemond. Your purpose, you learned, was to placate the growing rift within the house of the dragon, but you soon realized it was not something that could be easily mended.
Aemond was complexity carved from marble, both beautiful and statuesque as the blood of Old Valyria was rumored to be. You saw his ire was not unfounded when the crowned princess had returned to flaunt her sins at her side, their tousled dark hair as bold as the crimson curve that cut through the left side of your husband’s face.
You felt the shift, saw the hatred now etched onto his sharp features at the sight of them. “Bastards,” he had murmured loud enough for you to hear. His tone was dark, his hold on your hand stopping the blood from reaching your fingertips.
The tension brought with their arrival was palpable, weaving through the Red Keep and pouring into the Small Hall where dinner was held, as per the king’s request. The pleasantries seemed forced and it ended with a scathing toast, an outburst, and when you tried to follow after Aemond, he had been quick to dismiss you.
You often struggled to find your place in King’s Landing. Aemond was courteous, but cold; both diligent and disinterested in the same breath. He treated you as his duty and it left your heart aching for more. It could not be sated with his family: Aegon was too lost in his cups, as was Helaena but with her dreams, and you had never met the youngest prince, as he was tucked away at Oldtown.
This left you to shadow the queen, which was how you now found yourself quietly at her side, your gaze accompanying her own–her brown eyes were wide and wet and fearful all at the same time. Her handmaiden had brought you to her quarters to hear it firsthand: the king was dead. Now you watched as the Silent Sister finished the wrappings on the body.
There was an attempt to mask the smell of death with the tapers lit, with the cloves and fresh herbs crushed for a smoldering incense that curled upwards into the air, but the lifelessness remained, prominent still. You could only assume it was something so intricately knitted with the late king, a man who had lingered so long on the precipice that life had long rotted away before he had taken his final breath.
Alicent waited until they left before she took the crown and placed it on top of the body. You watched her shudder with a choked grief, her hands pressing onto the altar to hold herself upright until she could regain her queenly composure. She then excused herself without a word, leaving you alone with the dead.
The body in front of you was not your family, but only your king. Your own unshed tears were from the fear you felt, from the loss that would come with the inevitable civil war; you saw flashes of red from the blood to be spilled, black from the ash that would rain over the kingdoms.
“He is even smaller in death.”
You knew the voice, so low but it still wrenched the air from your lungs. You looked up to see your husband poised in the doorway. “It is something that comes for us all, it is inescapable,” Aemond finished, his eye now trained to you.
It seemed a murmured thought and you were uncertain if he would continue it, uncertain if the words spoken were even meant for your ears to begin with. You swallowed thickly, your throat dry from the smoke. “My husband,” your voice cracked with compassion, “I am so sorry–”
“I am not.”
It cuts through you, halting your tongue. You watched him carefully, warily, as his lips curled upwards. “For too long I have watched him slowly wither beneath the crown handed to him by a council,” and he looked back to the altar, a bitterness brewing. “He hid behind some want for a faux peace, but only because he lacked the conviction and the spine to speak the truth.”
His tone clipped, his smile now cruel and cutting into his cheeks as he stepped towards you with his slow, distinct gate. You remained rooted, unwilling to wilt under the weight of the harsh truth that could now be spoken out loud and without repercussions.
You tried again: “Are you certain of this? Of her misdeeds–?”
This time your voice caught once he was close enough for his fingers to trail along the side of your face, coming to cup your cheek and hold your gaze. His palm was callused from his sword, but gentle to touch, igniting a warmth that pooled towards your core. Your eyes flickered over his smile that remained, your breath knotting in your throat as you realized how tall he now stood, as if a weight had been removed from him.
“Ābrazȳrys,” he murmured, his hold now moving to curl behind at the base of your neck and pull you closer to him. Your hands touched his chest, falling into him and his heat, his sandalwood and smoke, the amber scent that belonged so intimately to Aemond.
You burned from his direct attention, something you had pitifully sought after since you arrived, and it was now being handed alongside the corpse of the king.
And it felt so wrong.
His finger curled under your chin, tilting your head back to look at him. “Perhaps if I put a babe in your belly, you can see how strong the blood of dragon truly is.”
And yet–
“Aemond,” you gasped as his other hand moved to clasp around your elbow, pulling you closer until his mouth captured your own.
The room swam in smoke; you felt drunk from the warmth of his lips and with the way his hands roamed your backside, pulling you flushed against his chest. You could feel the swell of his cock pressing against the seams, a heat that permeated through and spread to ignite your nerve endings.
You sighed sweetly with how you fit against his chest and Aemond deepened the kiss with a desperation that you matched against your own volition. Your arms lifted to wrap around his neck, pulling yourself closer still, and Aemond let out a low groan, a vibration that trilled and tightened in your core.
“Aemond, we should leave…”
His passion would not be abated and instead his mouth claimed yours again. Aemond wrapped his arms around your waist to lift you and pull you away from the dead with staggering steps back towards the enclave of bay windows the sun streaked through. His large hands tore through your layers to touch the soft divot between your thighs, until the pads of his fingers pressed to the wet patch that was growing; he hummed.
You broke away and his mouth then latched to the curve of your neck, biting you, marking you, his passion reborn from the tips of his teeth. You cried out from the mixture of pleasure and pain, your body betraying you with how it responded, with how it craved for more.
You tried again: “Aemond, we mustn’t–”
His hand caught your jaw with a hold that dimpled into your cheeks. “You must know by now that the walls are thick, as my ancestors designed them to be,” his eye looked over your kiss-swollen lips and the blood that was staining your features. “Also, the dead also cannot hear us.”
Aemond then surged against you; you could not fight back, you would not fight back. Instead, your hands balled into his tunic to balance yourself, to return the kiss until all the air left your lungs. You felt his smile against your mouth, his arms returning to snake around your waist and guide until you fell down to the rug that covered the floor; a delicious contrast of the warmth he emitted to the cold of the cobblestone beneath you.
He rucked your skirts up around your waist, his hand moving to pull away the small clothes intimately wrapped around before he slotted himself between your thighs. You felt his length grind against your bare cunt and you gasped, only for the sound to be swallowed with another heated kiss that seared the blood now coursing through your veins.
Aemond paused to look down at you. His hair spilled silver in the sunlight and he watched your corset push against your cleavage, the desperate rise and fall to catch your breath. His one arm propped himself up while the other tugged away at the strings laced at his crotch; your fingers slipped into his loosened waistband, pulling it down until his cock was freed. His fingers then wrapped around his base, flushed crimson with his passion, and you nearly cried as he rubbed his swollen head along your folds, silken with your arousal.
His arms caged you and he pushed into you, filling you with his slow thrusts to fit, until he was fully sheathed within your cunt. Your lips parted wordlessly as your pleasure began to kindle with the slow roll of his hips, something that spread towards the ends and returned to build within your core.
You mewled as his paced quickened, the wet sounds of bare skin suctioning as he fucked you into the rug, bruising your backside against the stone with each snap of his hips; you lifted to cant your own, welcoming the bruising pace. You were breathless, your walls fluttering with the first waves of pleasure coiling tightly at the base of your spine.
“Touch yourself,” he rasped, his breath hot against the curve of your neck.
You hand moved between with a fumbling touch to your pearl, swollen and wet and wanting. The pressure was enough to elicit another cry from you, the tears pearling earlier now spilling. Aemond saw this with the black that possessed his eye and his head dipped to lick your tears; his murmured, “Sȳz ābrazȳrys,” scorching against your skin.
It burst forth with flashes of white, a euphoria brimming on too much as his pace continued, until he was spilling and pulsing within your velvet walls. His weight then rested against you, his head turning to place a sweet kiss to your neck before he pulled away to stand, reaching to bring you back onto unsteady feet.
You swayed a moment and he grabbed you, waiting until you met with his stare. Your eyes were wet as they rolled from him and took in your surroundings; you let out a shaky exhale when you saw the body that had been prepared.
Aemond let go to tuck himself away and then stepped to block your view. He leaned forward to press a kiss to your hairline; your lashes were clumped together from your tears shed, wet against your cheeks when you closed your eyes, savoring the softness of his lips.
“We will win,” his confidence now laced his low tone. He repeated: “Do not worry, we will win.”
And then he left you alone with the dead, with nothing but the remnant pulsing sensation of the pleasure he took, his pearly spend now spilling down between the insides of your legs.
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arcie's masterlist
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Dark!Aemond Targaryen: Size Difference
Pairing: Dark Aemond Targaryen x (female) Reader
▶ This is a yandere/dark work and it may contain triggering content so please READ THE WARNINGS before. Do not read if minor.
More at Masterlist
WARNINGS: Short reader; Non-con; Forced Breeding; Forced Pregnancy.
AN: I got inspired to write this out of nowhere. Please, reblog and give me feedback.
--
Aemond is absolutely infatuated with the way he towers over you. How the top of your head is barely able to reach his shoulder. How small and powerless you appear next to him.
It fills him with flaming desire and possessiveness to see your small delicate figure next to his robust one. The things he could do to you, if only you were married already.
He never skips the chance to ask your hand for one (or too many) dances, admiring the way his large hand envelopes your smaller one entirely and he can’t stop imagining how one single hand of his could cover your entire breast. The way you have to tilt your head upwards to be able to face him.
The fact that he’s enamored by you isn’t missed by the court. Rumors and gossip of the young and fierce prince having fallen for you. Your parent’s are overjoyed when a marriage proposal comes for you and even though you're not certain about Aemond, you bow your head and accept your duty.
Once you’re officially betrothed, Aemon will be much less careful when it comes to letting you know about his obsession for you. He’s always around you, continuously requesting your presence in the library to spend time together or summoning you for some supper together.
His hand will linger around the small of your back for more time than appropriate as he guides you through the extensive gardens for a morning walk. His hands enveloping your neck as he presents you with a diamond necklace.
If it’s a social event, Aemond will remain fixed by your side, a cold expression on his face as people approach you to speak. He doesn’t allow any man to ask your hand to dance, his eye squinting with annoyance if they dare to talk to you.
Aemond swears that the day of your wedding is the most marvelous day he’s lived. Even though you hold a solemn expression, Aemond still adoringly gazes at you, your delicate figure on the gorgeous white dress making his cock painfully ache for you.
That night, he’ll let out all of the filthy fantasies he’s been dreaming about.
As soon as you get to your private chambers, Aemond is quick to rip you out of the dress, shocking you to say the least. He swallows all of your protests with an intense kiss, easily holding you down on the bed with his hands intertwining your own on each side of your head.
It’s a struggle to fit his wide cock inside your tiny pussy and your wails of pain are more than enough to prove that, but he doesn’t stop. He can’t stop.
You’re so tight around his cock that Aemond can’t pull away from you. He fucks you with rough thrusts that make the bed quiver, his hips continuously hitting you with immense force, causing shaken wails from you.
He forgets about your pain, focusing on his own pleasure as he keeps thrusting you with long, deep strokes. His face close to your tear stained one, features contorted by pain as your new husband doesn’t seem to stop any time soon.
Aemond is restless, fucking you several times over the course of the night, even though you’re sore and tired. You’re not strong enough to stop him and he won’t cave in. He fills you over and over again until he’s sure you’ve taken his seed, his babe growing inside you.
In the morning, the maids are surprised to find you in a miserable state, dark bags and red eyes with the bed in a complete mess. But the way your inner thighs are covered in Aemond’s cum is more than enough to say everything.
Needless to say that your wedding night won’t be the last, Aemond’s insatiable when it comes to having you. He can easily bend you down, forcing you into any position he wants as you’re no match for him. He peppers you in kisses, muttering sweet words as he fucks you desperately.
Soon, you’re with child and Aemond is more in love with you than ever. It’s a dream for him, seeing you getting so big and fragile with his child growing inside you. That’s something he intends to keep doing for as long as you can give him babes.
#@mrsdarkandyandere7#aemond targaryen x reader#yandere aemond targaryen#yandere house of the dragon#yandere hotd#house of the dragon x reader#dark aemond targaryen#dark aemond targaryen x reader#yandere aemond targaryen x reader#yandere x reader#yandere headcanons#tw: yandere#aemond targaryen scenarios#aemond targaryen x you#aemond targaryen imagine#dark!aemond targaryen x reader#dark!aemond x reader#tw: forced pregnancy#tw: noncon#tw: forced breeding
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❝Ask me, my prince. What a storm is to a dragon.❞
[ Aemond can only breathe through your lungs, through your adoration and love. But when betrayal is nigh, what does it truly beget? ]
[ +18 MDNI ] [ 6,935 ] | Dark!Aemond Targaryen x Baratheon!Reader, minor, sort of (not really) Aemond Targaryen x Alys Rivers.
THIS IS A DARK FIC. READER DISCRETION IS ADVISED.
contains— angsty, smut - DD:DNE: kidnapping, coercion, manipulation, possessive & obsessive behaviour, power imbalance, violence (not to reader) (a little bit to reader... i wrote this too close to book canon!aemond), murder, death, massacre, war - canon typical targcest, canon character deaths, canon divergence - dark!aemy - pregnancy, child, allusions to infidelity, mentions of bastard - i took liberties with canon (as i usually do) - #ripellyn you (sorta) will be missed shshs - the only specific reader descript. i did is the baratheon dark hair ok? ok - nsfw: male masturbation, dubcon/noncon, creampie - no kings, no martyrs, no betas.
a/n— there was this villain playlist on yt that was slowed and sexy, and my brain just. clicked. here it is if you wanna check. the real reason this is long is cos i can't help but add backstory ok? ok. lol. comment, reblog & like at will, mi luvs, mwa!
Storms have always been your favourite view in any window.
It is cliche to say, a proud daughter of the Stormlands, of course she enjoys the dark skies! But you do. There is nothing short of comforting in the rolling, fat clouds darkened in shadows. Occasionally, if the weather moved to your whim, lightning danced between plumes before you hear the boom and crack of it striking.
"It is a privilege to enjoy weathers such as these," your father once said, a hand on your darkened hair, a bluer tint to it, but Baratheon through and through. "It is our might that holds us at paramount, and thus, our privilege beckons warm fires and strong, stone fortresses to watch it all in comfort. To find enjoyment in the dark skies."
"Ours is the Fury," you replied immediately. Your father smiled.
"That, precisely. The paramount of our might and power is one we have taken and given with fury. Never forget."
"Even better than the Targaryens?" Your father's displeasure crumpled his face, and you were at an old enough age to understand his displeasure was not something you enjoy. But you had been learning all day, and the topic that day with your septa had been House Targaryen. You had learned the King's name, that he had a Queen that died, and that his heir is a girl.
His hold on your shoulders was heavy, but you do not flinch. Eyes bore into your own as if he was speaking the words into existence.
"We are the blood of the Kings too, my daughter. The White Hart proves our mark in the world, long before the dragonlords ever whispered in these lands. And what are dragons against the dance of storms?"
You had been little then, no more than six. The smallest of your sisters; Floris, though short in stature, looked elongated. A beauty. A fawn in the making. And your father is not the cleverest of men, but his words shelved itself in the corners of your brain. It eased and assuaged your fears like a quick spell.
Your spine straightens and your chin tilts upward. You are made of fury and storms, the blood of kings of old and solid, impenetrable fortresses.
You fury is your own, and 'neathe your fingers, under your very being, is a storm.
A good reminder, as when you had exchanged childhood for girlhood, a missive had been sent by the Queen Alicent Hightower, requesting for a daughter from Lord Baratheon's Four Storms, as companion for the Princess Helaena.
"Cassandra would do well."
"She hungers, husband. I am afraid of what might happen if we send her to the courts at her age. I do not yearn for a scandal."
"She would not shame her family so, do you reckon?"
"She is the eldest. You know how she is."
A sigh. "If she had a cock, she would be a good heir for my seat."
"Borros!"
"Apologies. Very well, mayhaps a good husband with no grit to him would do her well. She will lead the Stormlands by the hold of his— er, well, yes. Maris? She is clever."
"Far too clever. Even her tongue irks you, no. Definitely not. Her brain works too fast for her mouth. She will say the wrong thing and end us in war."
"You exaggerate, surely."
"I bore them, Borros, but they are your daughters. They live and breathe with your name and your House's banner under their own. What do you think? Bad enough they take so much of your heritage with them, and their looks, but they also plucked and chosen parts of you I'd rather not have for lady daughters."
Your father grumbles incoherently, you laugh under your breath.
"... Floris is too young. So..." The last one. You. You press your ear harder against the wood of your father's study, heart in your throat.
"She will be best," she says softly, insistently. She knows in her heart of hearts that though her husband is a hard, proud man, he has a softened heart for you. "Though she is clever, she minds herself well. Polite. Kind. She will do well with the Princess and her, er, eccentricities."
"Bloody weirdoes, the lot of them." A sigh. Another chastise from your mother, but she too, sounds exhausted. It has almost been a moon since the missive has been sent. Another one is bound to arrive, more order than request. It is all a political game. Princess Rhaenyra had no Baratheon ward under her court when she still resided in Kings Landing, for you and your sisters had been too young and your father had no sister. It is by chance that gives the Green Queen advantage to take a ward under your father's banner now, with a daughter she seeks to be Queen Consort.
"Send her then," your father announces. Though defeat clouds his voice, the Lord in him speaks each vowel clearly. "She will do best to represent the House out of them all. We might have a betrothal in our hands soon enough."
"She is pretty enough for a prince."
An angry snort. "She is more than pretty enough for a prince. Far better than the lot of them."
Softly, "That is because you like her best."
"Why would I not?" your father replies gruffly, making you smile. "A storm grinds and brews inside of her, wife. Even Maestre Loes, the old gnat that he is, sees my bloodline thick in her. Even if the King asks for her hand at this very moment, I would refuse. I would throw him off Storm's End with a smile on my face and a boot on his back."
You fight off a snort as your mother grumbles about treason and Maris.
"She is far better than the best of them." Another sigh. Heavier. "Why are we sending her?"
Your mother sighs. "Because as she is the best of them, she is the best of us. She will survive far better in that cesspit they call a keep than any of our daughters. Her storm can tame dragons."
You would argue that that too is treasonous given the context, but your father merely laughs. His laughter is a crackle and a boom.
"I would upheave our coffers to witness that."
Though you find her odd, you enjoy spending your time with the Princess Helaena. Mostly, she is quiet, in her own little world. Though it took time to get used to her many-legged friends, you soon realised the best times you spend with her are when shipments and gifts of pinned butterflies and books that have reached as far as Yi-Ti, to get to Kings Landing about bugs, and undeniable excitement unfurls in the Princess' face. More like a girl, a sweet one.
It makes her already cherub features appear more child-like, and she grasps your hand voluntarily as she points at each and every critter she recognises. It is so very rare to see true happiness in the princess' visage, and in her enjoyment, you see your sisters.
That is how you meet him, the Prince Aemond.
Princess Helaena had gone for tea with the Queen. It had not been planned. Though she often spent tea with family, either the Queen or the Lord Hand, or either of the Princes. Something had occurred, so now that Princess was having tea with her Queen Mother and her husband. If you had to guess, it was likely that Prince Aegon was being punished in some way.
Though there is no love lost between siblings, it makes you sniff at how blatant the prince's obscene indulgent for vices are. Princess Helaena didn't mind, rather, she didn't care unless they needed to spend time together, a clockwork patch of routine, and that was when you usually came in— you later realised, your primary job — soothing her nerves and distracting her thoughts before she had to enter her marriage chambers.
There is a resigned defeat in her, a woman's duty bearing down, looming like the Mother, and it makes you want to soothe her harder. Make her laugh.
With the change of plans, it was up to you to check for the new shipments of the Princess' things. A dictated note in your hand of the princess' handwriting, you were going through her boxes when a hand, gloved, rests on your shoulder.
"Do not move," a cool voice says behind you. Far too close for propriety.
You freeze. "Pardon?"
"I do not want to scare you, my lady, but there is a critter atop your head." The cool, calm voice waves off a steady rhythm to your heart, calming it further from the earlier panic of someone laying a hand on you (although this, is still not better. You are a lady and unmarried after all). "I will rid of it immedi—"
"No."
"... Pardon?"
"Where is it? Just atop my head?"
"... Yes?"
"It maybe poisonous, pease do not touch it." Before the owner of the hand and the calm voice could react, you pat your head until you touch a hairy, small thing with many legs. Relief spreads. "There you are."
"There you are?" The voice says, almost mocking, incredulously.
You huff, taking the spider in both of your hands, before you tilt your chin behind you, only seeing the gloved hand. "Please take your hand away from me."
The hand retreats. You turn.
Valyrian features are most uncommon than your own, and the jolt of recognising the pale, white hair is a strike to your being, a gasp falling from your lips. It is the one-eyed mask that tells you immediately who it is, but you string everything else you know of the prince.
Prince Aemond had been travelling to Oldtown, a visit requested by the Queen in the guise of seeing family, his brother. But there had been whispers of something more, as the chatter of the maids who cleaned up in the King's quarters talked about how ill he got day by day.
You had seen flashes of him before this, but fate had kept you two apart. You were not there when he visited the princess— on another errand or two, and he starkly ever looked at the ladies surrounding his sister with a vehement light as their voices, high pitched and dreary, tire him so on a good day, increasingly irritating on a bad one, and anyway, the silence that falls in a stone room just from his arrival is enough to irk him.
But here is he now, with one eyebrow rose, a good eye of icy blue iris, and the very visage of a warrior in black leathers, a braided hair pulled to one side, and pursed lips in both amusement and annoyance.
He hums. The sound kicks back your manners, blushing lightly at having gaped at him for far longer than pleasantry dictates, and you pull yourself into a bow.
"My apologies, my prince, I didn't know it was you. I was scared you were going to hurt the Princess' new friend."
"They are bugs," he says steadily. "Not her friends."
"Like so, but just because they have many a legs do not mean we cannot befriend them." A small smile plays on your lips before you place back the spider in the cage he got out of. It is something you had once said to the princess to make her laugh. You feel his stare burn at the side of your face. "Is there a matter, my prince?"
"You are the Lady Baratheon, are you not?"
"I am." A small, ironic smirk tugs at your lips. "Is it the hair?"
He makes a soft sound that exhales like a laugh out of closed lips. He's still quite close, you can feel his warmth and idly wonder if all Targaryens truly do have the blood of the dragons in them for you can feel the contours of him, burning at the edges of his being. Like a comforting little furnace.
"Hm. And the princess has taken quite the liking to you. You are all she talks about during sup."
You can't help it, you're smiling. So many rumours concerning the young prince, not all of them good, but there is a certain novelty in basking under the attention of a prince of the realm. A Valyrian beauty that brought an ethereal glow to him. As so intently stares, catching pieces and niches as if you are the most fascinating creature.
The attention makes you feel like a blushing lady.
"My apologies then, my prince."
He cocks his head, the braid dipping and you catch the movement in your peripheral. "Whatever for my lady?"
You turn to him, unable to curb the cheek to your smile. "For interrupting better conversations with the topic of my name plaguing your sups so."
His mouth twists into a smirk. In Aemond's mind, it is not oft that ladies, especially Helaena's ladies, would care to... flirt with him. Because this is you flirting, is it not? The coy gaze, the curl at the edge of your lips? Aemond has seen these faces in ladies and maids alike, but directed at others. At Aegon.
Directed at Aemond... bereave to keep their conversations to themselves, and though it is not always a fault of theirs for his stoicism is his most valued armour, one would resign oneself of an arranged marriage that will take long moons before his lady wife would see the truest him, that he would not be able to experience such... coy conversations with the opposite sex.
Yet here you are, a light dust of red in your cheeks, a quirk in your mouth, and the playful joust in your eyes, daring him into a swords' dance.
It is thrilling.
"Plaguing is too harsh of a word to say so about a lady of your stature, Lady Baratheon." He steps closer, aware of propriety standards of how close two unwedded people should be, but he feels intoxicated of the whiff of life exhuming from your visage. A light citrus, oranges? Lemons? Tart and sweet, with a powdery finish. It is so very ladylike.
Addicting.
The perfect smell for a lady wife, a musing thought.
"Is that so?"
"Intriguing, I would say, would be the better word."
You laugh, low and sweet. It sends a pleasant warm to his centre. "I'm afraid my memory is failing for I do not remember any wily adventure or conversation the princess and I had for a prince of the realm to say I intrigue him so."
"It is less... about wily adventures or interesting conversations that pique my interest, but the lady herself." His eye, though lone, the other remaining hidden behind an eyepatch with hints of scarred, twisted skin underneath, bore against yours as if he wished to gather all your strings and see what each would give him. What you would show him.
"I'm afraid to disappoint you, my prince, but I still fail to see how I can ever so pique your interest." You meet his gaze, smirking. "I am just me."
Before he can answer, step forward— whatever, he is staring at the curve of your lips so, at the enchanting shimmer of your eyes, and Aemond Targaryen felt breathless — your named is called, and the spell is broken. The prince steps back, taking more space between you that is more appropriate.
His hand flexes.
But that is not the last you see of the prince, nor the last time you are able to hold a conversation with him. It seems that since then, you find yourselves orbiting each other in the fringes before one steps forward and engages. There seems to be a band that tightens either of you so obsessed with seeing the other in the periphery, the topic whatever may came, even as inane as the weather.
It is a dance of swords, kissing blades of sharp quips and interesting parry. You are interesting. Beguiling. Devouring. Aemond searches for you in most places now, unable to stop himself from asking his dearest sister about you— even his mother and grandsire have taken notice, eyebrows rose between shared looks.
"House Baratheon is of a Great House," his mother hesitantly brought up, too focused on her soup for it to just be idle chatter above sup.
"It is." His forced passivity is not as apathetic as he can make it. For any mention of you and your origins thrums his heart in a dance.
"And the Lady Baratheon has many admirers, a kind and dutiful lady, and Helaena likes her so."
He turned to his mother then, humming. At the barest hint of a smile in her son's face, Alicent beamed.
But others from court also soon took notice, and when Aemond realises the wagging tongues had come to note your name— unkind whispers besmirching your person, he disappears from you altogether.
The differences become stark to him; realising what a foolish endeavour it is to want you. Though he is a prince, he is mutilated, a monster that will ruin you. You are too good for him, a warmth he had forgone in the face of misery, apathy, and hatred. The urge to conquer your every thought and sound, from your fingertips to the top of your hair... it is a gasping thought, one he shamefully sins at the blackest hours, tugging at his cock desperately to the thought of what you had looked like that day. The sound of your laughter, the pull of your lips when you smiled, the gasp you let out when you touched water that had been too cold— his mind bends and moves, and images of you, images that he will have to pray for the in morrow but cannot stop—
Moves him to completion, a strangle grunt of your name from his lips.
And yet, every night since, it happens again and again.
The more he pulled away from you, the more he wanted you. It is a debase urge, one more fit for his drunken cur of a brother than he, more creature than man.
But he cannot stop, so the torturous cycle continues.
Until you've had enough.
You know that during hours of inky night, the prince prefers the sanctum of the library. Not always, and lately, not often, but if there are a few things you learned in the hunting trips your father brought you that your mother never approved of, is that lying in wait, patient, deals a hand much better.
And on the fourth day of your waiting, your hair in a braid, a book on your lap, and a small candlelit close by as to not alert any spooked princes— the door opens at the Hour of Eel, the familiar and sorely missed footfalls of a quiet but sure-footed prince enters.
You admire him for a moment, hidden as you are, your stare drinks in the ever smooth of his twilight-spun hair, those pursed lips and straight lines. He's lithe but you know, having been offered his arm on every walk, he is made of hard muscle. Aemond always walks so smoothly, like a panther, or a gazelle, with the barest hint of austre he can never hide.
It's the prince in him, you giggle to yourself.
A sweet pang in your chest is the reminder of how much you missed his presence. And that ends tonight.
With his back turned, perusing a shelf, you shuffle and make yourself known with a soft, almost admonishing voice.
"Good eve, my prince."
He stiffens, hand poised against a spine of a tome. He barely turns, only his head to the floor, in the general direction of you. "My lady. I did not expect you to be here."
Frustrated, you sigh loudly. "Have I offended you so horribly? Dishonoured you in some way?"
"What?"
"Why can't you even look at me, Aemond?"
A sharp intake of breath. When he speaks again,his voice is changed. "You forget yourself, my lady."
There is an ache to your being, pursuing your lips. "You had given me permission with your given name, my prince, or have you forgotten?" Anger overcomes propriety. Fuck propriety. You charge toward him, heavy, angered steps until you're close enough. "Can't you at least look at me, look at me as you push me away as if I amnothing—"
He turns abruptly, one eye flashing as he grasps your elbows in a grip. His eyes zero in on your lips as a gasp falls, eyes widen— if you could see better, you'd notice the darkened gaze drinking you in. Your widened eyes, your open lips— and Sevens, only a robe hides your nightgown, the smooth expanse of your skin is more bare to him than ever before.
His beautiful, beloved stag.
"You have never been nothing to me, nēdenka riña brave girl," he hisses. "Konir sagon se drīve That is the reason."
"Prince A-Aemond?" you say. He is against the shadows of the moonlight, only his hands holding your own is illuminated.
A wrangled exhale falls from his lips. You follow the sound, worried.
"Are you? Injured? Are you okay?"
"I have not been okay for the moment I met you," he rasps, hands bruising in his hold.
"Well. Gods. I'm sorry. If it's such a offense—"
"It is an offence!" he growls, pulling you abruptly that you yelp, bathed in shadows and darkness together, your eyes adjust as you scramble to have thoughts apart from just being this close to him. Hearing a voice you had never heard of him before, untethered from his princely visage, from manners and proper, and it makes you burn.
The thoughts of wanting him close, of taking more of that space until you are chest to chest are blushing thoughts.
But there is honour still, for he holds you at least an arm's away.
"I have wanted you the moment I have laid eyes on you," he whispers, voice rough, exhausted. "And each day I spend with you, each hour— my honour stands in shambles, in ruins at my feet for I want you as a man wants a woman. Honourably and... and carnally."
You swallow, and he follows the movement like a predator tracking his prey. The blush in your cheeks, the way your lips press together as if you are just as starved of him as he to you— oh, you want him too, don't you?
One hand moves from your elbow to slowly reach up. Your arms, your collarbones, your neck. A thumb brushing your cheek and your eyes flutter.
Aemond wants to devour you.
"You plague me so, and I crave you."
"Then have me," you sigh.
His eye closes. "I cannot sully—"
You grasp his neck, bringing your mouth close to his. "You cannot sully what is freely given. If you crave me, I want you."
Honour unbound, a snap is tightened by the hunger that uncoils from a dragon that wants you. Aemond had grabbed the back of your head, tangled his fingers, and made a mess of your mouth.
Gasps and teeth, touching skin from where you can feel it— touching skin from where you unbuckle, tear through hem and push against cloth. When he slams you again the shelf, a moan so lewd falls from your lips that he groans, pulling your nightgown until he feels the heat from your very womanhood, and so, so wet, that when he flicks his thumb, curious and entranced, moving it around experimentally, you are a mess of sound and feeling, gasping his name, A-aemond, oh gods, please, and he is whispering, forgive me, f-forgive me, like love letters, like penitent, like a kiss from a traitor so wrong but so tasteful against your skin as he pulls himself from his confinements, holds you steady, and breaches your tight cunt.
Just before a scream tears through your throat, he devours your sound, holding you steady, until the pain bleeds pleasure and you are holding him like an anchor in dangerous seas. You cannot think or feel anyone else but him; what you are and who you are do not stand a chance as Aemond Targaryen swallows your senses.
It is harsh and fast, it is sweet and devouring, and more, more, more, you don't know what you're begging him, you feel like a devout and he feels like a god, grunting against your skin, biting through anything his teeth grazes. When he shifts you at an angle, finding a spot that feels like a lightning striking through your entire being, you are screaming, twitching, reaching a high so blinding it feels like white death.
"Is that it? That sweet spot?" he purrs, a breathless laugh, shocked and delighted drinking in your trembling and pleasure. "Your cunt is tight against my own, holding me like you never want to let go." You cry out when his cock hits that spot again. Your combined wetness makes an obscene squelch, just as pretty as the sound you utter. He smirks. "Can you hear that? Not even a whore can make a sound so sweet, hm?"
His teeth grazes your lips, sending shivers through your body as he licks the roof your mouth. "I want more of that sound. As your prince, you would grant me this, yes?"
But he isn't waiting for an answer, planting his feet and holding you steady, angling you back to that spot until he is snapping his hips, fucking into you as you can do nothing but beg and cry and tremble in the arms of a dragon taking what is his.
And you are.
You are his.
Maybe you had known it since then.
You definitely do when his seed floods your womb.
You want to say that that night was a fluke, a mistake that must be regretted. But once your gaze meets another, the fire burns, flickering and dancing, and it repeats. In quick fucks in dangerous spots, to slow, sweet love making in his room.
You are his, in mind, body and soul.
"Death is nothing but a friend," he murmurs against your neck, holding you close. Sweat cooling between your naked bodies. "It cannot stop me from finding you."
"I hope you say that to my father well," you tease.
" Marrying you is but the next step, my love. You are already mine as I am yours." He plays with your hair, brushing it past and kissing a bruise he made on your breast. "In face of every god and more, they will understand that we are but one soul."
You can plan the future in rose-coloured gaze for as much as you can, but the truth of marrying into a family with war brewing inside of it, held together by a dying king's hope and corpse fingertips— it is another matter entirely.
It all comes to a sharp clarity when Viserys I dies... and they keep his rotting corpse a secret.
And then they crown a whoremongering drunk.
"Aemond," you break into the silence, your entire being too cold for comfort. You had just come back from a privy council, a Green Council where the Queen had ordered you and your betrothed to reach Storm's End before the night fully breaks.
As if she knew where your loyalties are.
As if there is no question you will support the usurpation.
You turn to Aemond, busy with packing his things for they have bared the maids and people the of Keep. Because they are making Aegon as king and they know a revolt is underneath the floorboards.
"Aemond!"
"What? What has happened?" He looks confused, irritated. "We must make haste, my love, if we are to beat the storms at—"
"Princess Rhaenyra is Queen," you whisper but it could have been a scream. Saying it aloud gives you confidence, strengthening your resolved. You turn to him. "She is the King's heir, no one else. Aemond, this is an usurpation, unlawful in the eyes of—"
It takes little strides for him to reach you, for him to hold your neck in a tightened grip of warning.
"She," he spits, slow and careful as if you are a simpleton in need of teaching, "is a whore who is attempting to place her bastards on the Iron Throne. Rhaenys Targaryen held no chance of it, just as she. My brother is the firstborn son. He is king." His fingers dig into your skin. "You will do well as my wife to not speak of such blasphemy once more, do you understand?"
Your shock and fear melt from your visage, making way for compliance. You nod once. "Yes, my prince."
"Husband," he corrects, holding you much gentler but the weight of his hand is still there on your neck. A reminder. "Have you forgotten? We only come to Storm's End to officiate our union and your House's loyalty to the King. Once done, we will marry, yes?"
You nod, hands fisting. "Yes."
When he kisses you, harsh and needy, imprinting his will unto you— you close your eyes and plan how you make known to your Queen of their plots.
But Storm's End doesn't go as planned, does it?
Lucerys Velaryon, the Queen's son who had come as nothing more but an envoy for the rightful heir, and Aemond—what you thought to be your Aemond but a monstrous man who needed his revenge, who needed to draw blood for a grudge so deep, for an existence he finds so abysmal — had chased after him and came back to you bloodied, tearing up your dress, rutting in you in harsh, rough thrusts, as you listen to the storms from your window and think,
The Queen will never find his body. Her poor, sweet boy. Half in the belly of a beast, the rest spread and sunken into the water.
"I will not allow any marriage until the realm is at peace," your Lord Father rumbled with finality. He is not a smart man, truly, but he is a father. His gaze meets yours, full of meaning, of promises, before looking back at the seething prince. "You will have my bent knee for your king and for your war, but my daughter's hand shall be her own until the realm is at ease."
Your mother steps forward, her courtly smile on her face. "We want for her to have a grand wedding, my prince. She is the first of our charges to wed, and to a prince of the realm no less! By sure, at the time of war, we must err on the side of caution, as our coffers will no doubt focus on our troops. A future princess of the realm must be mindful, of course."
She bows in deference, your sisters following suit. Maris is the first to look up, defiance burning in her eyes.
You remember a conversation with him, feeling like a lifetime ago.
"Ask me, my prince," you teased. "What a storm is to a dragon. A creature is a creature. Even you must acquiesce to the way of nature for she has bowed to no one since her existence."
Aemond may be blood of the dragons, but he is surrounded by storms on all sides. The fiercest.
And your father will never marry you to a Kinslayer.
Yet you stay beside him, your duty now clearer than ever. Every new information you can grasp is sent back to the Queen and her council. In a courtier of the Greens and Traitors, you are the sole Black Stag. You use Aemond's adoration for you, his possessive obsession of what he thinks is love, as a protection and guise.
Any time he beds you, you sneak in moon tea. His bedding of you is just as much his hold on you and his defiance against your father's refusal. Once caught, you remind him he would not enjoy a bastard child. Especially at a time of war. Not after what they had done to his nephews.
"Do you want for me to suffer as your sister does?" The tears in your face then had not been a folly, for your heart broke for sweet Helaena and her sons. For Jaehaera. The world bleeds and bleeds, and all who die that reaches your ears are nothing more but innocents.
Aemond does not bed you after that, but he keeps you in his chambers, pulls you close as if he is trying to mould your skins as one. Times like this, your heart stutters. Your love to him and your morality as a person is at a test of swords.
You are in love with him,
He is a monster,
He has lost his nephews,
He has killed his own.
And it makes you wonder if you are a monster too, lying beside him as his bedmate, caring for him, wanting him still as his heart beats as your own, so connected to the umbilical of fate and chance while war rages, bodies falling all around you both, most from his own hand and word.
The war rages, and Harrenhal comes to view.
With it, a slaughter and a witch.
The worst of the massacre is the steely, lulling silence.
No one tells you that most of what an execution is that silence. That it amplifies each scream, each shout, each thick drop of a head as it falls on cobblestone. The sound is wet and a mouthful. Then it is nothing, consumed by that silence again.
You are locked in a room with a window that doesn't face the horror of what Aemond is doing. As if this is enough to shield you from what he is, what he truly is doing to win this war.
The worst part, committing genocide of an entire house is nothing more but a horrific grudge.
Strong blood spills, enough to make a lake.
By the time that night bleeds and a maid had entered with dinner to light a fire— your body is still so cold. No food has touched your stomach since the day before yet you retch.
Does loving a monster meant that you are just as monstrous?
Mayhaps it is still worth it, you muse in your silent madness, tears tracking your cheeks as the heaviness of your being stays. For who can say a monster can love you so monstrously? Who else can?
When Aemond comes back to you, freshly cleaned and a reminiscent of the prince that you loved, and he is making excuses of wanting you as you are, pawing at your clothes, you let him. You make love in the silence suffering from the massacre he had just finished. You hold him and kiss him in a desperation as you know this will be your ending.
That your Aemond is gone, or worse. He had never truly existed.
When you are both spent, satiated in a sweet glow, your head pleasantly quiet, he speaks about a plan.
A woman, a Strong witch, that promises him an assurance of winning with her sights and blasphemous magic. He had spared her among others, and that itself makes you look at him, truly look at him.
In exchange of what— for such things do not concede so easily as gratitude to mercy of one life, yes? Because desire devours itself. A snake eating itself.
"A child," he whispers against your battered head and bruised heart. "From my blood."
"A bastard," you murmur as he stiffens. "From a bastard Strong. Surely the irony is not lost on you? You have started this war by killing your bastard nephew, and you plan on ending it by fathering—"
"Do not question me," he says softly, grip tightening against your arms. Your eyes close, heavy with the weight of being a spy. Of loving him. "I will fuck a babe in her how many times it takes, and when the war is won, I will kill her and it. For your womb is the only place my lineage will live. I am doing this for the good of the realm. For us."
When he thinks you are asleep and leaves— you take your things and make haste to leave. Not once has your people left you in the arms of the kinslayer. Always one maid, always three guards from your father's army, loyal to only you.
You bundle up quick, and rush for the passage, you are blocked by a woman. Pale skin, dark hair, and eyes greener than wildfire. You know her before she speaks. You hold yourself to fight, and the witch of Harrenhal laughs.
"You have changed the tide of destiny, my lady." Her head tilts as if she can see past you and through you. "Once your choice has affirmed, your thread chosen, I cannot stand in the side of the One-Eyed Kinslayer without the Stranger coming for me. So instead, I will grant you one gift. One that will require no sacrifice."
"I do not want it."
"Ah, but it is a gift." She nods at your torso. "Your belly will soon take size, in it, his heir. You will not escape him as soon as he knows." Her head twists to the window. A raven flies. A storm grumbles. The sound comes first before the lightning strikes. A false storm. "Time is flowing, changing and twisting. He may have betrayed his kin, but he is still a prince. He will know soon."
Her green eyes glint as if she is seeing now and tomorrow. Now and a moon. Moon from a year. "You must run now. Hide and hide well."
You hold your stomach, bile rising in your throat. "Where? Where am I safe?"
A faint smile rises to her lips. "Your heir looks more like him than mine did. You will not escape him. But go north. As far North as you can. The fjords can hide him for a while. He will grow well there."
She moves away, letting you pass.
You never look back.
Dark locks. Baratheon hair.
A tuff of silver lock atop his head.
And the rest... his nose, his eyes. With your fingers, you pull his lids. Bloom in mullish blue with the faintest tint of iridescent violet. You know from your histories, that faint tint will overpower the blue.
Oh, he is utterly beautiful. Utterly yours. And utterly his father's son.
Rough breaths strangle out of your raw-bitten lips, brushing blood away from your babe's face, his head, his wet, silvery hair. Few they maybe, unmistakably Valyrian features they still are.
"Oh, he is beautiful," your mother murmurs, tears stain her cheeks. "Quiet as you were, as a babe. Looks just as much as you."
She is weighing his Valyrian features too. Your blood tried, but it seemed as if Aemond's grudge grasped your womb and affected your shared blood.
"We cannot stay," you say, still staring at him, admiring him. Your heart locking in place, steeling itself as you prepare to do your utmost to protect him. "We will have to travel posthaste."
Your mother swallows her grief. She had almost lost you. She will lose you again, now along with her only grandchild. "Where?"
"North. As far as North as we can."
Your mother nods. Ever a lady. "I will send a missive. The Lord Stark is loyal to the Queen and knows by how much you have sacrificed for this realm. He will protect you on his honour or he is no Stark."
You will need to hide. You will need to hide well.
You pull him close to your chest, hot tears freshly spilling from your eyes.
The witch had not lied, for your boy grew up amongst ice and warmth. He grows up with love from you, from the Lord Stark and his people, and love from his father in the way that he resembles him.
The slope of his nose, the sweet purse of his lips.
When your boy had gotten angry once, nothing but a quick burst, it shocks fear and tears from your eyes for you had seen the prince.Nothing more than a flash.
You pull him close and wound him to your heart as he cried, apologising for scaring you.
The North had granted you reprieve from the war as it came and went. Your betrayal to the Greens had mounted to the Black Queen's win. The betrayal of House Baratheon as House Stark and their bannermen joined the fray had squandered any rebellious thought on which sovereign will preside.
The last you heard of what became the Prince Regent was his surrender at the Battle Above God's Eye.
When you had cried that night, you did not know if it was from relief. Or fear.
But a black stag on white snow is easy to spot.
It takes years, yes, but the Stranger is but an old friend.
For when the day of your wedding to the Lord Stark arrives, a familiar screech of a dragon that your marrow will never forget— tolls the bell of death.
And when you looked up, snow swirling, holding onto your son that looked up in awe at the man who looked so much like him—
Aemond is smiling.
Sweet came the word— dracarys! — as Vhagar split her mouth opened and obeyed her rider.
What have I told you?
You are mine as I am yours.
In face of every god and more, they will understand that you and I are but one soul.
#dark!aemond x reader#dark!aemond#aemond smut#dark!aemond targaryen x reader#elle writes !! ꒱ ↷˗ˏˋ🍒#aemond targaryen x reader#aemond x you#aemond targaryen x you#aemond x reader#aemond angst#aemond dark#hotd smut#aemond fanfiction#aemond fanfic#hotd fanfic
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idaña: high valyrian meaning twin
𝖘𝖚𝖒𝖒𝖆𝖗𝖞 || your twin never learned how to share, and he always hated when someone tried to take one of his toys.
𝖜𝖔𝖗𝖉 𝖈𝖔𝖚𝖓𝖙 || 6.2k
𝖜𝖆𝖗𝖓𝖎𝖓𝖌𝖘 || twincest, noncon, kinda reader insert kinda oc because she has white hair and is aemond's twin, aemond is horrible and possessive and very nasty and mean, loss of virginity, pain kink, breeding kink, forced voyeurism/exhibitionism, jealousy, hair pulling, choking, kinda yandere vibes, a slap, brief somnophilia (just mentioned), degradation, angst
this fic is by, for, and about adults. minors do not interact.
this is a dark fic with very triggering content, please keep scrolling if it would be upsetting for you. if you do choose to consume it and you enjoy it, reblogs and comments are highly appreciated!
Your fingers toyed with the hem of your dress’ draping sleeves, your thumb nail tracing the golden embroidery at the edges; your teeth bit down on your bottom lip slightly to try to keep your girlish smile at bay. It was the gaze of Ser Corwin that made you so bashful— he was a handsome and kind knight, and every time you watched the men in the courtyard, he noticed you and looked up at you with a gentle smile.
Yes, you’d begun to fancy him; there was just something so… exotic about him. Not in a foreign way, he was a native of your homeland, too— but he was different from everyone you normally spent your time with. The person you spent the most time with was certainly your twin brother, Aemond, and Corwin was nothing like him.
Where Aemond was pallid and sunken, Corwin was tanned and full-faced; Aemond, like nearly every Targaryen, had long silver hair, but Corwin had a mess of amber-brown curls that somehow looked perfect even when they were clearly misbehaving. Most of all, while Aemond tended to be aloof, calculating, and snide, Corwin was patient, sensitive, and passionate. He reminded you of the knights in your storybooks: dashing and fierce in battle, yet tender for the woman they loved.
When your twin turned his face towards you, you looked away quickly, hoping not to get caught looking at the knight in the courtyard below. “Sister,” he said to get your attention, and you looked at him as if you hadn’t even noticed he was looking at you. “Is something the matter? You look flushed.”
“I— no,” you shook your head. “Sorry, brother. My mind is elsewhere.”
He smirked slightly. “Anywhere interesting?”
In the tower, just two nights ago, where Ser Corwin kissed my cheek, and called me beautiful— and told me that he hoped to fight for my hand someday. Swallowing, you shook your head. It had never gone further than those chaste kisses, stolen moments in shadowy corners or secluded alcoves, but for a sheltered princess like yourself, it was an exceptional thrill.
“Ivestragon issa skoros ao issi otāpagon bē,” he pleaded in a whisper to you, leaning closer. Tell me what you are thinking about.
You looked at him more carefully: at the interrogating look in his eye, and the patch covering the other; at the small smirk on his lips. Sighing, you reached up and brushed your fingers over the black leather patch. “Ao gaomagon daor jorrāelagon naejot ruaragon aōha laehurlion,” you replied quietly. You do not need to cover your face.
Smiling softly, he let you reach behind his head and untie the strings, taking the patch off, letting the scars and sparkling gem show in the sunlight of the afternoon. “Iksos bona sȳrkta?” he asked you with a grin. Is that better?
“Olvie,” you agreed; Much. Leaning forward, holding his face softly in your hands, you placed a gentle kiss to the place just under his false eye along the line of the scar; he shut his eyes, though the scarred one still never shut all the way, his lashes resting on the height of his cheeks.
When you broke away, the way he was looking at you had changed just a bit. Giving him one last smile, you rested back in your seat, and he in his own beside you. You both carried on silently, watching the tourney of knights below.
~
The events of yesterday’s tournament were still fresh in your mind: of Ser Corwin’s victory, after he received your favour; of Aemond’s interrogation about your inner thoughts and your kiss on his eye. None of those events were particularly unique in of themselves. After all, Corwin was a strong and talented knight, and Aemond was always trying to get in your head (and usually succeeding). Of course, giving your brother a kiss was nothing strange, either, as close as you two were. But something about yesterday felt different. It felt worse and worse each day to hide your affections for the handsome knight, most of all because you weren’t exactly sure why you had to hide it— you just knew that it needed to be a secret. And yesterday, you feared more than ever that Aemond would find out soon and how he would respond.
Pulling the blankets up higher over your chest, you turned your head over on the pillow to look over at your twin. He usually woke up before you, so it was rare to see him fast asleep in the early morning like this.
Your mother had tried to get you and Aemond to stop sharing a bed over a decade ago, saying you were ‘no longer of the age where that’s appropriate’. But that had never made sense to you; why shouldn’t you sleep with your twin, your other half, your best friend? He kept you warm at night and let you whisper about your dreams to him when you woke up. And so, every evening, your room was left empty and you cuddled up with Aemond instead.
Reaching up, you tenderly pet your brother’s hair, brushing through the fine silver strands with your fingertips. He hummed as he awoke, turning to smile at you as he blinked his eyes a few times. “I hope I didn’t wake you up,” you whispered.
“Sȳz ñāqes,” he greeted with a rough, low voice; Good morning.
“Did you sleep well?” you asked gently, humming as he pulled you closer and rubbed his cheek on the top of your head. He cleared his throat to get the sleepy gravel out of his voice, holding your face in one hand with his thumb petting your cheek.
“Like a babe,” he replied.
“You woke up to cry and shit every two hours?” you joked, making him laugh and hug you a little tighter, your face pressing to his bare chest.
“I never expected you to be so funny, sister,” he admitted. “You never liked my jokes when we were little.”
“Because your idea of a joke was pulling my hair or spilling my dinner on me,” you rolled your eyes. You paused as you really considered what he’d said, leaning back to look up at his face. “What did you expect me to be?”
His gaze ran over your face carefully, his thumb slowing down a bit as it gently stroked the highest point of your cheekbone, beside your eye. “I always knew you’d be beautiful,” he answered in a soft voice, “and fierce. I thought you might get wiser, but you’ve stayed just as naïve as you were as a little girl.”
Offended, yet flustered, you blinked quickly and looked away from his face, down to his chest and collarbones. “You’re wiser, brother, but still so rarely kind,” you whispered in return.
He sighed as he kissed your temple lightly. “I try to only speak the truth, sister— especially to you,” he explained. “You should tell me the truth, too: you should tell me what’s been on your mind these past weeks.” For emphasis, he toyed with the hair right by the crown of your head. “Something’s been keeping you from me… I miss you.”
You smiled a little, exhaling a ghost of a laugh. “How can you miss me? I am right before you now.”
He said nothing, because he knew you were feigning ignorance— even if he just called you naïve a few seconds ago, he couldn’t believe that you really didn’t understand what he meant.
“Avy jorrāelan, lēkia,” you spoke to him quietly. I love you, brother.
He hummed a bit as you wrapped your arms around him tightly, embracing him and shutting your eyes. He seemed to relax, then, petting your head soothingly. “Nyke gīmigon,” he replied; I know.
It was that same day that you saw the knight again, though you hadn’t realised you would. The afternoon was falling into evening, the sky turning orange above the garden as you wandered it; you loved this time of day, because the sky reminded you of fire. You were looking up at it, probably seeming just as dreamy and careless as Aemond and the rest of your family often accused you of being, when a hand on your shoulder startled you. Turning, it was Corwin behind you, under the shadow of a tall tree.
“Ser Corwin,” you blurted out, “I didn’t expect to encounter you here.”
“I apologise, my princess,” he sighed, “but I couldn’t wait any longer— I had to feel your touch again.”
He suddenly pulled you into him, and part of you wanted to simply swoon and accept it, but just enough of your logical mind remained. “W-we might be seen here,” you noticed.
“Must we always keep our love secret?” he lamented, gripping your arms tighter and smiling down at you— that warm, comforting smile, it melted you.
“Love?” you repeated excitedly.
“Of course,” he breathed, reaching up to caress your cheek. “My princess, my darling… tell me that you could someday be my wife. Even if I am not a noble lord or a political ally— tell me you could forget your duty and we could be wed.”
You swallowed, hoping you could answer him honestly. As far as you knew, you had little duty in marriage as the youngest child of the King— it might displease your parents slightly if you asked to marry a knight, but it wasn’t any kind of treason or even that much of a disruption, especially considering a loyal and just knight like Ser Corwin. “Yes,” you decided, beaming widely, “I hope so— I dream so.”
Smiling back at you, he grabbed your face and kissed you: it was hard and sudden, but lovely. You realised you’d never been kissed this way, with so much passion and joy, and it made your heart sing as your hands reached up to tangle in his curly hair. At that same moment, his hands found your waist and held you close; you felt small in his touch, in a way you enjoyed more than you expected.
Just as you broke away, opening your eyes, you thought you saw something in the corner of your eye— up on one of the nearby balconies, a flurry of white. You turned your head in an instant, looking for it.
“Is everything all right?” Corwin asked.
“Yes— was someone there, on the balcony?” you wondered.
“I didn’t see anyone,” he replied, “but I only see you anyhow.”
The flattery was less effective as an anxious feeling flooded your chest. “W-what if someone’s seen us, Corwin…”
“Then they’ll know how mad I am for you,” he decided proudly, pulling your face back towards him, “and that you’re mad for me as well.”
You blinked up at him, staring into the dark brown abyss of his eyes, letting it wash away your fears.
“Would it be so horrible?” he pressed. “If they knew… are you ashamed of me?”
“No, my love, no,” you promised, petting his cheek quickly, “anything but.”
You couldn’t answer his first question, though; you didn’t know if it would be horrible, if anyone knew. With him holding you like this, you almost didn’t care.
He tried to pull you closer again, but you pulled away. “I should go,” you decided.
“Not so soon,” Corwin pleaded.
“I’m sure I can see you in the morning,” you promised, but he reached for you again.
“I can’t wait that long,” he pouted. “I’ll miss you too greatly— one more kiss, please?”
Though you hesitated, you leaned forward to peck his cheek. He turned his face to catch your lips, just for a moment; you pulled back again, face warming.
“I’ll be thinking of you,” he promised.
You nodded and stepped away, biting your nail as you walked back towards the castle; as much as you wanted to promise the same, for some reason, all you could think of was your brother.
Seeking him straight away, navigating the stone halls, you went to Aemond’s (and, functionally, your own) chambers. Already you feared he wouldn’t be there, and then your worries would grow even more about where he was— where he had been, more specifically.
In retrospect, you shouldn’t have been so eager, swinging open the door so dramatically: it made you look sort of foolish when he was sitting back in a chair, reading a book. He was well into it, he must’ve been here for hours to get that far in; you sighed with relief, and he looked up at you, seeming confused.
“My apologies,” you nodded, “I hope I didn’t disturb your reading, Aemond.”
He shook his head, looking back at the book as his cheek rested on his fist. “No trouble. Come in.”
You tried to examine him as you shut the door behind you and moved further into the room; you hoped to notice if he seemed irritated or emotional in some way, in case it was him you saw in the corner of your eye in the garden. He was hard to read, just sitting there, but if anything he seemed… normal. It relieved you, partially, though you were still cautious as you broke the silence. “How is your evening?”
He nodded as he shut his book. “Painfully uneventful. Yours?”
Continuing to approach him, you hoped he couldn’t see everything on your face. “About the same.”
As he stood, he took your hand and lifted it to his lips for a kiss on your fingers. “I missed you, sister. I wondered where you’d gone— you know I prefer to read with you laying beside me.”
You nodded, remembering how many nights you fell asleep with your head on his chest and his arm around you as he read— aloud to you, sometimes, or silently to himself. “I was in the garden,” you explained. I thought I saw you there, you wanted to say, but you worried it would give away too much.
“Alone?”
You tensed up a bit. “Yes.”
He sighed slightly, but smiled; you relaxed again.
“What were you reading?” you asked, looking at the book— but he suddenly touched your face, getting your attention back.
"Hm," he hummed sharply as he lifted your chin, contemplating you with his stare. "Pretty and sweet, but never very smart, were you, dear sister?"
Before you could ask him what he meant by that, the back of his hand collided with your cheek and spun your face to the side.
"A-Aemond!" you yelped, holding your stinging cheek, and he grabbed the front of your dress to roughly pull you into him.
"You should know better than to lie," he hissed at you, rage seeping through his teeth. "I never expected you to lie to me— or to be a whore either.”
“I-I’m not!” you denied.
“You let some pathetic knight kiss you! It made me sick,” he spat. “You've always been mine, sister— did they never tell you? You were betrothed to me since we were born."
You shook your head, eyes watering, and he held your chin with his other hand so you couldn’t move anymore— so you had to look at him. “It’s not— that’s not true…”
“It is,” he insisted, “I said I would always tell you the truth. I always have. But I guess I never told you, fully, what my purpose for you was— what we must do, to keep our family strong.”
He spun you around quickly, pulling your back to his chest, holding painfully tight onto your shoulders. “Aemond, please, I’m sorry—”
“No,” he interrupted, “you’re not. Not yet.”
He began to rip through your dress— fine silk splitting down the back like it was parchment. “What— Aemond, what are you—?!”
His hand snapped up to cover your mouth as he snarled, holding your head against his chest. The other hand kept tugging and ripping your dress until it fell to the floor in tatters; your tear ran over his fingertips. “Hmm,” you heard a deep sound vibrate in his chest as he looked down at you, rubbing his hand over your bare skin. Your stomach dropped as he touched you, his breath on the side of your face, his eyes boring into you. “Mandia,” he whispered to you, the Valyrian word for sister, “did that knight touch you like this?”
You cried harder, though the sound was silenced by his hand tight on your mouth, as you shook your head.
“Now, don’t lie,” Aemond warned you. “Did that filthy knight touch you this way?”
His hand explored everywhere it could reach: rubbing your thighs, squeezing your tits, even cupping your mound for a moment which made your insides clench. You shook your head again.
You could feel his smile, you could hear it somehow, just beside your ear. “Good,” he praised— somehow, it made you feel a little better. It made you less worried that he was angry with you. “Only I should be allowed to touch you. And I should never have waited so long…”
His breathing was heavy and careful as he touched you, and his fingers ghosted over your skin with that same lithe grace that he always carried. Even when you were looking away, and couldn’t see his face— even when he wasn’t speaking— it was impossible to forget that it was your twin’s hands on your body.
“I’ll admit, I did touch you while you slept sometimes,” he added, laughing slightly, “but it’s better like this. It’s better feeling you shake… and hearing you cry…”
You shut your eyes tightly, and felt his lips press to your temple.
“I wanted to wait, you know— preserve your purity until our wedding night. But I'm so tired of waiting…"
He seemed to lose track of his sentence as he focused more on feeling you, on watching his hands explore your shivering body. It caused his hand to drop from your mouth, allowing you to reply in a weak voice. "Please, brother, you can't…" you began, trailing off to whine as both his hands groped your chest, even teasing and pinching your tightened nipples.
"Can't?" he repeated. "What can't I do to you? Ao issi ñuhon." You are mine.
The slight hint of amusement in his voice was gone as he pushed you right up to the bed, making you cry loudly as you realised he was really going to go through with this— up until now, you thought he was just trying to scare you.
"You belong to me," he hissed, forcing you to bend over as he pushed your shoulders into the mattress.
"Aemond, please! Please, no," you sobbed weakly, though you didn't even try to resist him physically— you couldn't, even with only one hand he held you down easily and kept you pliant, as the other landed a harsh smack on your bottom.
"I never wanted it to be like this, sister," he sighed, petting the stinging skin he'd just assaulted. "I wanted to be kind and gentle to you. But I've no choice— you embarrassed us both, and forgot your place."
After another hit that made you yelp in pain, you heard the sound of him opening his trousers behind you, and you cried harder. Thinking that begging in Valyrian might sway him more, you found yourself repeating kostilus ("please") and lēkia ("brother") over and over, but you were ignored.
You only stopped when you felt something hot press up against the swollen lips of your cunt. "My, dripping already, sister?" Aemond noticed, sounding pleased, as he started to swipe the head of his cock through your folds, forcing your lips apart for the thickness of his tip.
You'd felt his cock a few times before, when he was aroused in the mornings and pressed it against you— or when you were younger, and in your curiosity played naughty games like children do. But you'd never felt it like this, pressed right up to your opening, bare skin on skin. You'd known already that it was thick, but with clothes in between it never felt intimidating like it did now: even just the very tip of it, sliding up and down over your slick cunt, made you terrified of how brutally it would deflower you. "Please— it's not going to fit," you warned.
He only laughed, making you feel even more stupid. "Silly girl… it never fits the first time," he explained, "that's why it's so important that you saved yourself for me, for this moment: I'll make you mine and only I will fit you after this. No other man can have you… you'll be only mine, forever."
He had to punch his hips forward sharply to be able to go inside; it made you wince, but you tried not to react too loudly as you knew this was only just the beginning.
You still couldn't have imagined how much of him there really was left.
He put the rest of his cock into you slowly— to remind you that even as angry as he was, he had never lost control. He carefully slid every centimetre into you, listening to every whimper as the stretch broke your maidenhead and opened your body for the first time. "Aemond," you cried softly, struggling to believe it was your own brother hurting you like this. "I'm sorry, Aemond, lēkia, I'm so sorry—"
"Shh, shh," he soothed, petting your back— but still pushing his hips steadily forward until all of him was sheathed in you. "Gods above, you have such a nice cunt… so warm…"
You felt actually nauseous, because he was so deep in you— like he would stir your stomach and make you sick when he moved. But no, when he moved again— slowly, deliberately— you didn't feel sick. You felt pain, and your legs began to shake, but that's it. "You're hurting me, brother, please—!"
"Shh," he interrupted firmly. "I think you'll like it, once you accept it. I know you were made to take my cock, darling, it fits in you so well."
It didn't feel like it fit well— it still hurt, it still made you ache deep inside. But he was certainly enjoying it: he kept moaning each time he filled you to the brim, examining closely the way your face tightened up and twisted in pain. He obviously liked hurting you, specifically he liked knowing he could hurt you and get away with it.
"So well— you're doing so well already," he whispered to you, a strain in his voice from his own pleasure. Each time he pulled back it seemed like he only went deeper in the next stroke; your toes curled against the floor, sometimes your legs even kicked up and your fists balled up the blankets under you. "Fuck, you know who you belong to now, don't you, sister?" he grunted, starting to move faster far sooner than you were ready for it. "You know that you're nothing but your brother's whore, yes?"
The next thrust into you was fast and sharp; it made your whole body jolt, and a cry jump from your lips. And he did it again, and again, and again.
You tried to get up on the bed, tried to crawl away to keep it from being so painfully deep inside you, but he grunted and pushed you down— he got up on the bed, too, and growled as he kept you pinned, fucking you harder as punishment for your disobedience. "Just stay still," he ordered, "just stay fucking still and take it!"
Holding you down more forcefully, fingers digging into your shoulder and side, he let go of any reservation he might have had and began to really fuck you— hard and rough and needy, more focused on his own frustration than anything. You sobbed your apologies over and over until they were just useless blabbering, pathetic cries as weak and broken as you felt. You weren't just his whore, you were his toy.
But something had changed in the way you cried; it wasn't just pain anymore, in fact, it was hardly that. You were crying most of all because of the way your body, betraying you, responded to him. It was beginning to almost feel pleasurable— there was still a sting in the stretch, and yet a fullness that made your back arch on its own. There was still an ache inside you, but it made you long for more, not less. Every forced push into you made his cock rub alongside something, a sensitive place on your walls that seemed to awake even more the longer it went on.
Now, when your toes curled, it wasn't in agony but ecstasy. And you hated yourself for it.
"You are a whore," he insisted again, though his voice was quiet and rough. "Do you see how much you enjoy it? Should I have not waited so long, darling? You longed for me, didn't you?"
There was really no point denying it now; he'd believe what he wanted anyway, and probably end up convincing you to believe it, too. You whimpered as his face appeared beside yours, kissing one of your tears away.
"Gevie," he praised; beautiful. "I know you wanted this so badly. That's why you teased me, isn't it? Let me catch you in the garden with that boy? Because you wanted me to stop waiting, and finally take you as my own."
He cooed at you, clicking his tongue; you groaned as he forced his cock as deep as he could possibly push it, holding your hips down with one hand and petting your head with the other.
"Shh, shh," he soothed, "I know— it'll all be right now, my darling. All is as it should be now. Do you know whose you are?"
Shakily, you nodded, and he sat up again so his face wasn't so oppressively close.
"Good," he decided. "Now let's make sure everyone else knows."
He whistled, loudly, the way he did when he wanted to summon the guards outside into the room. "N-no, I can't— they can't see me like—" you began to protest.
He ignored you as the guards entered, and his hips stilled as he spoke to them. Your head was hot and spinning as you heard him talking to them, knowing they were standing right there as you were laid on the bed, naked, being used by your own twin right in front of them.
"Bring that knight," Aemond requested of the guards. "The one my dolt of a sister kissed."
"No!" you screamed. "No, please, please—"
"Shh, he needs to see this," Aemond insisted, petting your silver hair as you sobbed into the blankets. You heard the door shut again, and prayed that somehow Corwin had known to run far away from this place and never come back. "Oh, don't be embarrassed," he soothed you coldly, playing with your hair as you kept hiding your face. "Those guards only saw you for a moment, sister. If you learn your lesson this time, I won't let them see you like that again."
He leaned in closer, his voice tickling your ear until you turned your head away.
"But if you don't keep your voice down, they'll probably hear you anyways," he reminded you with a little chuckle.
He started to move again, faster than before he'd stopped, and you shuddered; you should've enjoyed the moment of a break while you could.
His own sighs were getting louder and more frequent, and his thumb massaged up and down your spine while he fucked you: you couldn't tell if he was trying to soothe or savour you. "Mm, how lovely you are," he spoke, under his breath, as his hand reached down to get a handful of your bum. He pulled that handful to the side, so it wouldn't block his view of your cunt stretched out for his cock, and you felt terribly exposed. "I'm afraid you'll ruin the bed linens with your slick… you've already coated my cock quite nicely— and look, it's on your thighs too… what a mess."
He sighed and clicked his tongue like he was disappointed in you for it; your chest twisted. "I-I'm sorry," you said again.
"Hmm," was his only reply.
There was a knock at the doors just before they opened, and as footsteps approached the bed, you turned your face away so you wouldn't have to see it.
"Oh! That was quick," Aemond announced. "Come closer, knight, get a good look."
You tried to move your arms up to cover your face better, you tried to grab the blankets to hide your whole head under, but your brother wouldn't allow that.
"Don't hide your face, sister," he cooed, the gentleness of his voice in opposition with the way he roughly tugged on your hair to force you to arch your back and expose your face. You cried harder at the sight of your beloved Corwin, your sweet knight, standing in front of you; his face painted in betrayal and heartbreak at the sight before him. "Tell him who you are," Aemond ordered you.
"I…" you whispered shakily, getting louder when your twin tugged your hair again. "I am my brother's whore!"
"Mm," Aemond hummed approvingly. "Yes, you are, my love. Look at his face, darling— look how disgusted he is with you."
Blinking tears away, you did: you saw the way his eyes ran over your face, down to your weak and shaking body that Aemond was fucking into roughly. You could tell he'd never look at you again as he has before.
"He only wanted your purity," Aemond explain in a whisper, "he doesn't want you now that your brother has defiled and claimed you. He never loved you, sister… only I love you."
"You're lying," you sobbed, "you're lying to me, Aemond!"
"I'd never lie to you," he promised, speaking just beside your ear, turning your head so you had to look at the knight again, who watched the sick display with a grimace on his lips and tears on his cheeks. "I won't hurt you again, if you do not disrespect me any further. Do you know your place now, my sister?"
He got angry when you didn't respond, tugging your hair again until you whined. Against all logic, the dull pain made a chill of pleasure run down your back.
"It's a simple fucking question," he sneered. "Yes—" he forced your head to nod by pulling your hair up and down— "or no—" he forced you to shake your head by pulling your hair side to side. "Do you know your place now?"
"Yes," you whispered weakly. "Yes, my brother."
"Is it playing childish games, flirting with boys in the courtyard, taunting horny knights with your maidenhead?" he asked you, and you sniffled before you answered.
"N-no…"
"Good," he smiled. "Is it in our bed, pleasing me, serving me, and keeping the bloodline pure?"
You exhaled shakily, but finally nodded your head— you were crying too hard to speak properly. Worst of all, you were afraid if you spoke aloud, they'd both hear you moan; you hated this like nothing else, in your mind and in your heart, and yet your body was washed over and over with pleasure. You weren't sure you could take it, how good it felt, and you were fighting everything in you to keep the ecstasy at bay.
"Yes," he agreed as he whispered in your ear. "Yes, that's it. That's your place, princess."
"May I be dismissed, my lord?" you heard Corwin's voice ask your twin weakly. Aemond didn't even look away from you, didn't even slow down.
"Not until she comes," Aemond decided. "I'd like you to see how much she loves this."
He grabbed your wrists and pulled them behind your back, forcing you onto your knees and keeping your upper body suspended; it made the sounds of skin on skin even louder in the room, along with the moans you couldn't help but release.
Aemond himself moaned louder, too, his hands squeezing your wrists and his heavy balls hitting your cunt each time he thrusted forward. "I suppose I can't blame you for wanting to fuck her," he offered the knight, who didn't seem to find it all that comforting. "She's so pretty, isn't she? And a tight little cunt— fuck, it keeps squeezing me, it's how I know she's about to come for me. Aren't you, darling? About to come for your brother?"
You dropped your head in shame and defeat. You didn't even know what it felt like to come, you'd never done it before— no one ever told you it was possible, actually. So, you didn't realise what you were approaching as your moans grew louder and louder, as your legs started to shake and your cunt pulsed rhythmically. All you knew was that you needed it to keep going, you needed this feeling to get bigger and bigger until it consumed all of you.
He hissed praises in Valyrian at you— kessa ("yes") and sȳz ("good") and, of course, māzigon ("come", though it wasn't usually used to mean what he meant it as). The encouragement did little for you compared to the constant assault on your walls, faster and harder with each thrust until your defences broke and it hit you all at once: with a cry, the last of your energy causing your back to arch and your head to tilt back.
Sobs of his name broke out of your sore throat, tears running down your face and making a puddle in the sheets— well, a new puddle… you'd already made one with your arousal as he so keenly noticed.
"What ever will I do with you, sister?" Aemond scolded through his teeth. "Calling yourself a princess, acting like an innocent girl, when you're nothing but a whore. All you wanted was a good fuck, yes? You should've come to me first, only your brother can make you feel like this."
Grabbing your jaw, Aemond forced your limp head to turn up slightly, so you could look at the knight in front of you once more. He held your face and kissed it, before whispering his demand in your ear.
"Tell him that you don't love him," he instructed.
"I… I don't love you," you spoke weakly to Corwin, your voice breaking and your words slurred as you tried to think clearly in the afterglow of such a sensation.
"Tell him you only love me," he added.
"I… I only love my brother, Aemond," you repeated dutifully.
He planted a kiss on your cheek as a reward.
"Please," Corwin begged, barely keeping a straight face as tears welled in his eyes, "let me leave…"
"You may go," he decided, and Corwin bowed quickly before departing in a blur, the door slamming behind him. You and your brother were alone again, as you often were, but you'd never in all your life felt so lonely before. "I thought about having his cock cut off," Aemond admitted, "but I couldn't be that cruel. It's better this way— he'll go fuck some other dumb girl, probably by the end of the night. You never meant anything to him but a chance at something warm to put his prick in."
"S'not true," you sniffled.
"It is, my darling little sister— it is true," he insisted. "He never loved you, no one could ever love you the way that I do."
He let you collapse onto the bed, finally, and fell on top of you. His lips and teeth took turns with gentle kisses and harsh bites along your neck and shoulder, grunts from his throat turning into deep and hungry moans.
"My pretty sister," he mumbled roughly. "It's nearly time: I'm going to give you a sweet little babe, a pure Targaryen, doesn't that sound nice?"
"I… I don't…" you started and trailed off. You'd wanted children someday, but not so soon, not when you were unmarried— and not by your brother.
"Shh, shh," he silenced you again, "just tell me you love me. That's all you need to say, just tell me that you love me."
"Avy jorrāelan, lēkia," you whimpered, repeating it over and over until his movements stilled with a long, satisfied sigh— and then you were both laying there in a daze, his weight atop you, his lips just by your ear and heavy breaths falling from them.
"You'll be even more beautiful with our child inside," he decided with a happy, hazy sigh. "We can be wed before the month is through… that should make sure no more knights come sniffing around you, hm?"
You didn't respond, you only laid there, numb. He rolled off of you but pulled you with him, keeping his cock inside you and holding your back close to his chest. Gentle kisses trailed your shoulder as his fingers traced random shapes on your arm. Your eyes grew heavier and heavier, the exhaustion from your body seeming to infect your mind as well.
"You can sleep, my love," he whispered to you soothingly. "I'll hold you all night, just the way you like, all right?"
Sleepily, you nodded, letting a final tear roll down your face sideways as your eyes shut. "Yes, Aemond," you answered, already halfway drifted into darkness.
He gave one more kiss to your cheek and hugged you tightly. "Sȳz bantis, issa ābrazȳrys," he offered to you under his breath. Good night, my wife.
#aemond targaryen x reader#aemond targaryen smut#aemond targaryen dark fic#dark!aemond targaryen x reader
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Storm's End (4)
HOTD MASTERLIST
Pairing: Aemond Targaryen x Niece!Strong!Reader
Summary: your mother sends you to Storm’s End to rally Lord Borros Baratheon for your side, but your uncle arrived there before you
Warnings: Cursing, use of the word bastard, angst, heavy, canon level incest, thoughts about dying, fear of commiting s*icide, mentions of bedding, and more, dark fic, Aemond is unhinged, rape, non-con, minors engaging in sexual activities, mentions of a minor in a pleasure house, maiming, blood, violence, and other very dark things.
+18 MINORS DNI
Notes: Sorry for the delay, I really had to put some mind into how I wanted it to end,a dn how to get there
You did not appreciate the maid’s sad gazes, not their pity when they saw the bruises and horrible dark marks your uncle had left in you, but you had to get bathed, he had ordered it so
The water was boiling, you liked it that way, but you were so weak the maids had to help you in the bathtub
They washed you clean without a word, they put oils in the water without even consulting you, they worked on the command of Aemond for sure, he knew what he liked and how he wanted it.
You felt so weak, tired.
But the maids with scowls in their faces finished washing your hair, and they helped you out of the tub, with a towel waiting for you. Sadly, a cold breeze hit you from the open window, you still had a foot in the boiling water, and soon…
It all happened slowly, seconds that felt like long minutes
The floor started to pull you down, you felt heavy, like you couldn’t move your own limbs, you started to feel dizzy, you tried to fight it, you did, but your eyesight began to tunnel, your head heavier than you ever felt it
You lost consciousness, dropping to the ground like a lifeless doll, your head smashing against the stone floor. The maids couldn’t grab you in time, your skin with oils that made it slippery
“Call the maester!”, the older one screamed at the youngest one, and she ran to fulfill the order.
//
You tried to focus your eyesight at the maester that requested it, moving his boney finger in front of your face
Aemond was looking the scene, nibbling the nail of his thumb, if you even managed to see him, you would think he was concerned
The Maester sighed
“When was the last time you ate, little princess?”, he asked gently, you didn't answer, you just looked down at the sheets covering you… today was going to be the third day
“She is not sick?”, asked Aemond, recuperating his dimmed composure. the old man shook his head, looking at your deplorable state with concern
“Not before, but she did hit her head pretty rough”, he mumbled, he then turned your attention to you, “eat, princess, PLEASE”, he begged you, and you barely nodded, “drink tea, and water, even some wine if you can stomach it, it will be good for you, and I want you to stay abed for at least three days, to rest that head”, you barely nodded, you couldn’t find the words, your throat was dry as the deserts of Dorne
“Not eating?”, Aemond hissed as soon as the old man left, “the maids brought you food to break your fast, I want everything gone by the time I get back, or else I’m going to shove it down your throat”, he said dangerously, pointing at the table with food, and left you there
You were starving, so you manage to stand from the bed, and walk slowly to the table
You nibbled on some bread with cheese.
You were starving, you tried not to think in your current predicament so you could stomach it
You ate some grapes, that little fruit always makes you feel better. You drank some delicious orange juice from oranges from Dorne… everything slowly, and you even dared to eat a small lemon cake. They were delicious, even though you preferred things with cream and chocolate in them.
But as you looked towards the sea, towards Dragonstone… you whimpered again
You just had water and sips of wine, you were hydrated again, so the waterworks started back again stronger than ever
You wanted to go home
You wanted to see your family, your brothers, your mom, you whimpered again, hiding your sobs with your hand
The door opened and you jumped in your seat, thinking it could be Aemond, but it was Alicent.
You were supposed to stand up and bow to her, but she was no longer Queen, she was a usurper and a traitor
“I heard you had an… inconvenience this morning”, she said, that fake, small smile appearing on her lips again, you said nothing, you only looked back at her, tears still falling from your eyes
“When can I go home?”, you asked her
“This is why I came here, I need you to write a letter to your mother”
“Why?”, you asked, sniffing
“She is summoning swords”, she said, “calling armies, and armadas…”, she said, like she was to blame
“You usurped her throne”, you said, and you could tell she stopped herself from snapping
“This could escalate to a war”, she said, “We could stop it”
“Yes you could”, you said bitterly
“Write to your mother”
“And what should I write?”
“Beg her to consider to bend the knee”
“But she is the heir”, you whined
“Aegon is the male heir”, she said, “that is the way things should be”
“If I do this and she hesitates….”, more tears fell down your eyes, “you are going to kill them”, she panicked
“No sweet girl…”
“Please… I want to go home”, you cried, “I won’t say anything, I promise… I’ll say Aemond rescued me from death, I won’t say a word please I just want to go to my mother”
You lost it, you started crying so hard you dry heaved, you couldn’t think rationally,
When you came back to your senses, you were on the bed on your side, a parchment and ink on the table.
You sat and write
Your Grace
I write to you with a heavy but relieveD heart.
I got caught in a stoRm that night, luckily my uncle Aemond was following close behind and sAved me from the unforgiving waves of Shipwreck Bay, after he took me to the Red Keep to reCuperate, where they hAd tended to my wound and my needs
But they are hesitant on letting me Return to You, as they claimed you are preparing for war
I know you wouldn’t place me in danger, my loving mother, I would love to return to you, pleaSe consider the terms that will be extended to you
I love you and I miss you
You ever faithful and loving daughter
You wanted to go home, so so much, you were not brave, you had never been a brave girl, but, now, in the balance, you couldn’t ask your mother to relinquish the whole seven kingdoms for you, so you hoped she got the hidden message you tried to hide
What else could they do to you?
Trick your family into thinking they will make them surrender, wait until they think they can be safe and be left to live in Dragonstone, and then… get killed by betrayal
No
You were already on the belly on the best, the only and best thing you could do was to protect your family from within as much as you could
It was too late for you
You left the letter over the table, and you were suddenly exhausted, you walked back to the bed and layed in it, hugging the pillow, imagining it was your mother, or your brother Luke
You woke up alarmed, as a thunderous sound dragged you back.
You jumped on the bed as you saw Aemond grabbed a chair and smashed it against the wall
You shrieked
“Dracarys?”, he snarled, as he saw you were awake he ran towards you and tried to scramble away from you but he grabbed you by the neck, “do you take us for fools?”, he squeezed and you wheezed, you grabbed his wrist pleading him to release you
“No”
“You want your whore of a mother and your deviant father to come and kill us all don’t you?”, he asked, “well, they are going to have to think again, if they even show their fucking faces I’ll kill them myself while you watch”
“No”, your eyesight began to tunnel, but he kept you there pressed to the bed as he removed his pants just a little, raising your nightdress up
“I have to admit, this turns me on”, he growled, “Because in all scenarios, you still end up full off my cock and my seed, and with my bastard in your belly”
“No it doesn’t”, you cried when he entered you roughly, you should be accustomed by now, but now the fact that he was restricting your airways that you probably felt thing more differently, you were certainly equally scared
“Your mother surrenders… f-uck!”, he snapped his hips sharply, “and you stay here as collateral”, thrust, “or she tries to fight”, thrust, “and I kill them all”
You didn’t answer, you couldn’t your head felt heavy, as the contrary to your body, that was floating
“You are squeezing me so tight right now”, he purred, “I thought you were this sweet little thing but no, you get off on violence too”
He released you, so you could keep breathing and you took a sharp sign
“I just want to go home”, you cried, he chuckled darkly
“Well, get it through your head, you are never going home”
“Why?”
“Because I don’t want you to” he said simply
“What if I’m with your child?”, he stilled inside you, looking down at you, “would you let me go then?”, he released you, looking at you like you had slapped him
“Why…would I?”, he asked slowly
“You only care to ruin me” I say, “If I’m already with your child, it is done, isn’t it?”, you asked, “And my mother and my family gets to see it, what you did to me, that I’m pregnant with your bastard right in front of them”, he kept looking at you
“And you don’t care that someday, I might come and burn the castle to the ground?”, he asked, “and you in it”, you looked back at him
“I’d rather have one more week to live at my family’s side, than fifty years here with you all”, you said sadly. He frowned, he tried to thrust into you again, but, couldn’t he cursed, now more angry than before, but he took himself off of you
He was going to punch you, when felt his hand move too quickly
But his fist landed by your face against the mattress
“You are going to stay here, for everyone at court to see just how much like your mother you are, having bastards”, he grabbed you and turned you around, you were face down on the mattress.
He grabbed you by the back of the neck to push your face against the soft surface, he spread your legs and entered you again.
You didn’t whine, you didn't do anything, you stopped fighting it, you just let him have you
You don’t remember how the night ended
The next thing you remember is having been woken up the next morning by a maid, indicating to you that the Queen was here. She was standing by the door, her eyes anywhere but the bed in disarray with blood stains, and your dress
“I saw Aemond just leaving”, she said, you found it strange that he had spend the night with you, “he told me what you tried to write in that latter”, you only looked at her, “but I will give you another chance”
You only stood up, walked to the same table, and wrote
That Aemond saved you, that you were alright, that the only thing you wanted was to see them again, safe, and sound, and alive, while, not in those words, but you did
You let the letter there, and then you only looked back at her and went back to the bed
You still felt your head very heavy, last night against pushing your face against the mattress hadn't helped
“Aemond would like you to change your rooms”, she said, you only looked at her, and then sank into the bed, not minding her presence
She only sighed, and you heard her walking away. You heard her voice speaking to the guard outside, and the guard then stepped into the room, he stood in the corner, watching you, you only frowned, but paid no mind to him
You did pay attention however, when in the afternoon, two master blacksmiths entered, and to your amazement, secured thick metal bars on the inside of the window.
Aemond was afraid you would jump
No, because that would mean he cared, he only probably found it problematic because you were the only thing that prevented your mother for burning down the palace and everyone on it
. . .
“I can’t do this Daemon”, Rhaenyra said, “I can’t storm the capital while they have her, we would be going in blind, they could kill her”
“If they wanted her dead, they would have killed her by now, they know awaking your wrath might also work in their benefit”
“What if we bend the knee?”, she said, “I never wanted this, not truly…”
“No”, he said, “we will not give the Iron Throne to those HIghtowers, Usurpers and cunts!”, he said cursed. “Who are probably harming your child, your only daughter, as we speak”
“But they saved her, they wouldn’t hurt her, right?”, asked Luke, his big eyed wide with hope, Jace sighed, Rhaenyra tried to smile at his son childish optimism, but Daemon didn’t find it endearing as his wife
“Aemond wanted to marry her Luke”, said Jace, “and mom wouldn’t let him, and he found her in Storm’s End, he chased and killed her dragon, he probably is…”
“Don’t say it”, begged Rhaenyra
Jacaerys grabbed his younger brother, and dragged him outside, throwing him unceremoniously
“Jace, I'm sorry!”, he was apologizing and he didn’t even know why, he only knew he had awakened his brother’s wrath
“Aemond took our sister, do you know what he is probably doing to her!?”, he snapped, Lucerys’ eyes filled with tears, but shook his head, “he is probably raping her, every day and night”
“No…”, he whined, “why would he do that? she never did anything to him!”
“Because our uncle is sick and twisted, and had always hated us”, he growled, “that’s why”
“But she is good.. and kind…”
“Even better”, he said bitterly, “he is going to break her”
“This is all my fault, for what I did to him”, he said, his big eyes shiny with unshed tears, “This is all my fault Jace”, he said with a knot on his throat, “I need to fix this”
“Do nothing”, he threatened, “let the adults handle this”
But he couldn’t, not when his sister was being hurt because of him.
So he went to his room, he grabbed a piece of parchment and ink.
And he wrote a letter to his uncle
For them to meet, alone.
While his mother did sort of the same thing, asking a private meeting with her brother, the Dowager Queen, and the Lord of the main families of the seven Kingdoms.
taglist: @lightdragonrayne @immyowndefender @aemondswifeisme @twobluejeans @toodlesxcuddles @sassysaxsolo @thearchitectoflove @maidmerrymint @floralsightings @daughterofthemoons-stuff @glendarollitkatharinesanders @ruhjkie @starkjedi @baconturtle @aleemendoza2425-blog @ahristata @dlwlrmas-world @yentroucnagol @hiraethrhapsody @alwaysholymilkshake @marihoneywk @belladonna00 @strangersunghoon @anehkael @t0uch-starved-h0e @hkmultifandom @letmehavemyfictionalmen @belcalis9503 @daddydaemonswife @daemontargaryenwhore @bash1018
#dark!aemond x reader#dark!aemond targaryen x reader#aemond targaryen x reader#prince aemond#aemond#aemond one eye#aemond targaryen#house of the dragon#house targaryen#hbo house of the dragon#targaryen!reader#aemond x reader#hotd aemond#aemond fanfiction#aemond the kinslayer
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“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.
———
#aemond targaryen x reader#aemond x reader#aemond smut#aemond targaryen smut#aemond targaryen x reader smut#aemond x reader smut#aemond x fem!reader#dark!aemond x reader#dark!aemond targaryen x reader#dark!fic#dark!aemond targaryen#dark!aemond targaryen smut#MAE:DARK!CONTENT#tw: noncon#tw: dubcon#house of the dragon smut#hotd smut#x reader smut#x reader#reader insert#1k special
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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
#aemond targaryen x reader#aegon targaryen x reader#aegon ii targaryen x reader#dark!aemond targaryen x reader#dark fic#hotd fanfic#Aemond x reader x aegon#aemond targaryen#aegon targaryen#aegon ii targaryen#dark!aegon x reader#aegon targaryen smut#aemond targaryen smut
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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:
#aemond x reader#aemond targaryen fanfic#hotd#aemond targaryen#aemond targaryen fic#aemond#aemond targaryen x reader#aemond targaryen x y/n#aemond x y/n#hotd fanfic#modern!aemond x reader#hotd modern au#dark!aemondtargaryen#dark!aemond targaryen x reader#dark!aemond#divorce au#aemond fanfiction#aemond smut#asumofwords#til death do us part#til death so us part fanfic#one shot#aemond one shot
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im begging you, dark!aemond bodyguard of the president/king’s innocent daughter omggggg
pairing: bodyguard!aemond targaryen x president's daughter!reader
warnings: explicit language. oral sex. loss of virginity (kinda). daddy kink. slight breeding and housewife kink. small mentions of past obsessive tendencies on aemond's part.
notes: hello, long time no write. consider this me using this request like i'm saddling the horse after getting thrown off.
(also ik aemond might not seem AS dark as other times but like pretty pls read between the lines. thank you ☺️)
masterlist
For being the nation’s current president, your father was quite the fucking fool of a man.
He loves you, truly. How could he not? You were the spitting image of your late mother, and the youngest of his children- his sweet little chick that was barely beginning to spread her wings and leave the nest. He would never forgive himself if you ever got hurt due to his elected role as the commander-in-chief and head of state.
That was the main reason why he hired Aemond Targaryen as your personal bodyguard.
The man had a commendable record behind him, despite his young age. Your father was beyond impressed with him when he first interviewed him for the job. Two tours in the U.S. army as a sergeant and sniper before receiving an honorable discharge and a Purple Heart due to an eye injury while seeing combat overseas. According to some of the everyday politicians, he threw himself over his younger nephew during an ambush with enemy fire, and took a massive chunk of bomb shrapnel to the left side of his face; doctors saved him, of course, but his eye was too damaged to save.
They offered him a glass eye and a fully paid scar revision (along with special vet benefits and apparently some hush-hush money as well), but he refused it all. Instead, he accepted the purple heart, crammed a pretty and shiny sapphire into his empty socket, and made sure everyone- military personnel and civilian altogether- looked him in both eyes whenever they addressed him.
The rumors were true- Sergeant Aemond One-Eye was as terrifying as he was deadly.
Perhaps that was the reason why it did not take very long for him to be buried between your thighs.
You never had a boyfriend before, always too devoted towards your college academic and hobbies, and way too protected and overshadowed by your father. But it was Aemond who stole your first kiss, two months into his new job as your bodyguard. He had been accompanying you on a small shopping trip to the mall, treating it as a sort of bonding experience. When you had mentioned the new lip gloss you were trying out (it was flavored ‘chai latte’), he had asked to taste it.
Okay! you giggled, thinking nothing of it; only for it to be a week later and with his head in between your thighs, eating you out like a starved man.
“Stop it…! Aemond! My daddy might walk in!” You cried, tossing your head back against the pillows as you bit down on your bottom lip to stop the moans from tumbling out. It was all in stupid vain; your bodyguard had you putty in his hands. Anything he wanted, you would happily give him- yourself included. “A-Aemond…!” How could he ever stop? Not when you sounded oh so fucking pretty, so sweet and yummy, his newfound favorite meal served to him on a silver platter, just ready to be completely devoured.
Aemond shook his head. “I don’t give the tiniest shit, babygirl,” he muttered as he sucked on your clit, only pausing every few seconds to kiss your soaked pussy. He had to be soft as well, considering this was a fucking dream come true for him.
The poor bastard remembered all the times he saw you on the television, in those paparazzi photos and the Christmas cards and those gorgeous social media posts of yours. No one would ever understand just how badly he wanted you, and the lengths he went just to have you.
And, well, maybe you should’ve thought first before stepping out in that sinful, short-cut and backless blue dress, the one that made you look perfect for him to knock up, his pretty little housewife. Perfect for him. Made for him. He kept your legs wide open with the tightest grips as he feasted on your cunt, ignoring your desperate (but adorable) attempts to push him away.
“If you can’t handle this, how will you handle my cock?” he tutted. “Poor baby, I’m going to fucking destroy you.”
Everything made your pretty face scrunch up in pleasure, especially when you felt him lick a large stripe up your pussy before he shoved his face in only deeper. You squealed, hiding your face from behind your hands. You could feel his nose, his chin, the heavy pants and low growls and soft kisses he peppered along inner thighs. “And what did I say to call me?” before he gave your ass a hard spank.
You whimpered, already on the verge of sobbing. Fat tears were streaking down your cheekbones. “I-I’m sorry…s-so sorry, daddy!”
Oh but your entire body felt like it was lit on fire- a burning yet tightening sensation nestled deep within your belly. It was so strange. You didn’t know what to make of it. Your head lolled to the side while your back arched up from the bed and your hand found Aemond’s long, whitish-blond hair.
(A common genetic mutation in his family, according to him. Some of the politicians mocked it as the ‘new Habsburg jaw’. You thought it made him look all the godlier.)
His hands soon slid up to your breast, palming and tweaking your nipples between his fingers. Your toes curled as you felt ready to explode at any second. “Daddy!” you mewled, peering down through teary eyes to watch as his face shook side-to-side. His own face held sheer bliss, especially when he brought a finger to trace along your drenched folds. “Daddy…! Daddy! Ah, gods, please!”
“Yeah, that is right, pretty baby, I’m your new daddy now.”
Your father was none the wiser to the fact that, every night, his youngest daughter’s bodyguard had her in a mating press every night, whispering into her ear that it would not be long until she made him into a real daddy.
It was the least you could do in return, considering he was protecting your life with his.
After boring meetings and countless banquets and your a.m. college classes, Aemond would be quick to shove your panties in your mouth before bending you over the nearest furniture set.
You were his.
All his.
His pretty baby, his sweet little future housewife, the girl whose picture he used to secretly carry in one of the vest pockets during his days in the military.
One day, your father pulled him aside and offered him a bonus.
“Truth is, son, you’re doing such a fine job at protecting her. I don’t worry as much as I did before you came along. We could not ask for a better bodyguard, Sergeant,” he admitted, patting him on the back. “Would there be anything you’d like in payment? A vacation? A bonus? Some free time with your family? I know you miss your mother very much; my little girl told me.”
But Aemond shook his head, declining everything. “Sir, with all due respect, your daughter feels like my new family now, considering how close we’ve grown in these past several months, and my duty in keeping her safe. I would prefer to remain by her side if you would allow it,” he said, and your father gave him a cheeky grin.
“Should I perhaps be worried, Sergeant?”
“Of course not, Mr. President. I adore your daughter, but only as a brother would his little sister.”
So it was true, it seemed- your father, bless his heart, was quite the fucking fool of a man. It should’ve been no surprise to him at all that seven months down the line from his conversation with your bodyguard, you would be trying to hide a swollen baby bump from everyone's eyes.
And if he really was smart, then he would’ve remembered the reason why the Targaryens were so often compared to the old Habsburgs of Austria.
#aemond targaryen x reader#dark!aemond targaryen x reader#aemond targaryen x you#aemond targaryen#aemond one eye#aemond smut#dark aemond targaryen#house of the dragon#house of the dragon imagine#hotd imagine#request#vic writes 🧸
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Consequences | One
Word Count: 4.9k~ | Warnings: 18+ MINORS DNI, dark, medieval-canon sexism, heavy dub-con/noncon, mean Aemond, manipulation, abusing power, gore, blood, violence, major angst, oral (m receiving), Aemond being a possessive horny weirdo with a power complex, a dash of religious guilt if you blink
Series Masterlist
It was then the Prince had insisted that he had wanted her for himself. For her maidservant duties of course.
The other maidservants were delighted with the new gossip, tittering amongst themselves at the reasoning that the One-Eyed Prince had taken a special interest in the new maidservant. They’d come up with all sorts of reasons.
Perhaps it was because of her pliant, quiet nature and she could slip into the chambers largely unnoticed and one wouldn’t be able to truly see her presence until she spoke. The other women had often described her as such. That she was like a shadow, silent, but always looming behind someone else. That she was like a breeze, gentle and discreet, as every maidservant should be in the presence of her master.
Or perhaps, they speculated, that it was because of another, darker reason. That Prince Aemond intended to make some fun for himself and torture the poor girl with his mere presence and shrinking stare with his one good eye, the other sapphire one on full display, rooting fear into the shy, young thing. That he wanted someone to torment, as he had so often been tormented himself and found the power behind it exhilarating.
Nobody could have expected the true reasoning behind his newfound desire for her company. Not even she herself. But the other maidservants were at least grateful they no longer had to enter his chambers.
Having only Prince Aemond to run after was a nice change of routine, albeit a strange one. For a man who had requested she be at his beck and call, he was rarely ever in his chambers past the morning. Usually, he could be found in the training yard for hours on end, and it occurs to her that this is how he’s managed to build the form he has, by mercilessly pushing himself to his limits for hours everyday. It must be hard work, she thinks to herself.
He would only return in the early evening, to prepare himself for supper and then once again later for his bath and then bed. It was a rigorous routine, but it was nice to have some consistency in her life for a change.
One morning after placing her week’s wages into the pocket within her pillowcase, she smoothes down her apron over her maidservant dress, intending later to send some of the copper coins to her young siblings, for without their parents to provide, as the eldest it landed to her and her alone to care for them. Everyday she thinks of them and how they had begged her to not leave them in the care of the smelly widow from next door after their father had finally succumbed to illness. Her younger brother had stomped his feet, with each thump he would say she smells like cabbages and the young woman would bite back her laugh, tell her brother that he was to be polite to their neighbour and that he was not to mess with the purple plants at the front of her home, or else she’d have him for supper.
She’d kissed her younger sister, the middle child, but several years younger than her, on the crown of her head and gave her a sad smile, apologising that such responsibility had fallen onto her at such a young age. Her sister had given her a tight hug, not wanting to play the big sister and fall into the endless cycle of domestic prison that could be seen once the eldest had disappeared. But she’d eventually relented and let her older sister depart for her new position in King’s Landing. With a warm wave, she’d boarded the stuffy carriage with other smallfolk, using all of her coin for the passage there and bid them goodbye.
She said she would come back for them.
And at the time she meant it.
It filled her stomach with dread and fear, to know she may never see them again, doomed to live her life in the manner of which she was born as a peasant to do. To do the same dirty, back-breaking work, day in and day out, for the same measly copper she was paid until the day her legs gave out. Or perhaps until they found no more use for her.
At least she could give them funds, she thought.
Only a week had gone by, but she felt as if she could walk the short distance to his chambers blindfolded. She always knocked, but in the middle of the day, he was never there. So when she swings the chamber door open and shut behind her, she goes about her usual duties with a contented sigh.
His chambers were usually always clean and not so much in need of excessive housekeeping. Once his bedsheets were made, the cotton taut to the corners of the mattress, she moves onto her cleaning duties. The fireplace needed a good dusting, so she takes her outer skirt and tucks it into her apron to keep it out the way and turns up her sleeves over her elbows. She’s used to getting dusty and grubby in her work, but fireplace work with soot and the burning stench is possibly her least favourite.
Suitably covered in soot, she continues to sweep up the black dust into the bucket beside her, wiping her face with her clean forearm, fingers too dirty to brush that stray curl from her face, so it hangs there annoyingly.
“Working hard as always, my lady?”
His voice makes her hairs stand up on end and had she not been head first in the fireplace, covered in soot and blackened ash at her cheeks, she might have been less embarrassed. But her cheeks flush at her dirtied appearance and she is immediately stood to attention, brushing whatever she can off her apron.
“Your grace, I apologise for my appearance” she blubbers hurriedly, clearly distressed.
Aemond stands at the doors and she is amazed to find out that she didn’t even hear them open in the first place. He must have light footing, which surprises her since she has seen him train so aggressively and knows that hefty, adept and quick skills are needed for such activities. He wears his usual black leather doublet, hands behind his back as if he is hiding something and that signature lob-sided smirk he seemed to wear whenever he had found his little maidservant in his chambers.
She is now accustomed to his trained silences in between conversations and has come to understand that it is because he is thinking so deeply about something that his mouth cannot move at the same time. And yet, he stands, basking in the uncomfortable feeling he gives her, rather enjoying it and letting his eye wander over her. He pauses and smiles wider at seeing her outer skirt tucked into her apron, showing the cream skirt underneath and when she notices, she quickly plucks it out and lets it fall around her ankles.
Aemond lets the chamber doors close behind him, striding past her for the side table where the wine decanter sits. He moves past her with such speed that the stray curled strand of hair wafts a little in the still air. She cannot deny the aura this man has and the sheer authority he gives off, despite not being the first born of the King and Queen. Every time he enters the room, he commands the space and everyone in it with little but his gaze and even now, she stands where she had been, dirtied hands clasped before her, waiting for him to address her, command her, anything.
Emptying the first cup of wine, he sighs, tongue darting out to fetch the stain of it from his lips and he looks upon the petite little maidservant, waiting patiently.
“Continue”
She need not be told twice. Instead of tucking her dress back into her apron, she folds it behind her as she kneels before the fireplace once again, collecting the ash and old logs and filling her bucket with them, replacing them with new ones for later in the evening when the fire will be lit.
Aemond thrives in her obedience. The way she just does as she is told without speaking. So polite, he thinks. So as he sits in his armchair, shamelessly watching her as she replaces the logs, he finds he cannot tear his eye away from her profile, how soft her features are for someone who works doing such arduous and menial tasks everyday. He thinks her hands must be calloused, but when he looks upon them, they look so soft.
She had a profile that would rival the ladies at court. If he told her to wear the right dresses, hold her head high, keep her mouth shut, she could be his lady.
But he will certainly not say such things to her.
It may give her ideas above her station.
As she sweeps the soot off the tiles, he watches the way her body moves with the effort, the way her lips are parted in concentration. Such little, pink lips.
He taps his finger against the cup, biting on his cheek when he feels the pained strain of arousal in his breeches. Such an innocent little maidservant, obedient and pliant. He knew from the moment he saw her what to do with her. What he could do with her. The week following their first meeting, Aemond had barely had his cock from his hand, tugging it as he thought of the way she always calls him ‘your grace’ with a flush to her cheeks. The way her eyelashes flutter when she strikes a match to light his candles. And today, seeing how she is dirtied and bent over the fireplace, he thinks why wait, he could just have her right there. Why wait.
The question becomes more difficult to answer the more he looks at her.
She stands with the bucket heavy in her hands and strides towards the door.
“Wait”
And his cock twitches in his breeches when she does, looking back at him with those eyes, the ones he imagines glazed over with lust, looking up at him as he fucks her. His tongue pokes his cheek as he stands, taking his time while walking towards her and he doesn’t miss the way her grip tightens around her clasped hands out of nervousness.
He scans her face as he stands before her, blackened soot smeared across one of her cheeks, making the colour of her eyes look as if they are illuminated by light.
He swears he could spill right into his breeches as his hand reaches out to her cheek and her lips part to let a puff of surprised air out. His thumb brushes her cheek, wiping away the soot and he finds his own lips part at the feeling of her warm skin against his hand.
Although his touch is warm, she can feel something akin to fear pool in her gut and something else she does not quite understand. A shiver also runs down her spine when his hand twists that stray curl between his fingers, as if intrigued by her.
She can quite literally feel her lungs contract when his thumb brushes against her bottom lip, barely breaching them, but collecting the wetness that sits at the waterline. He watches her little pink mouth, reddened and oh-so desirable. He wonders what her mouth would feel like wrapped around his cock, fingers threaded in her hair to guide the rhythm to his liking. Would she like it? Would she swallow his spend like the good little maidservant she is? Was she a maiden? Aemond knew she was. And for some reason, it made him want her even more, knowing that no other man has had her, or would ever have her like he wanted to. Like he would.
Her eyes never leave him the entire time, frozen in place, pupils shaking and breath slow, quiet and scattered. Aemond wonders for a moment if she is standing there, cunny wet at the thought of him, at his actions. What would her slick taste like mixed with his? He finds he can't wait to find out.
She breathes again when he steps back, drawing his fingers away from her skin, leaving behind the hotness of his touch.
“Leave”
Is all he commands. She swallows thickly, really processing what had just happened. But she takes her chance when he has turned around to refill his cup, the bucket clanging in one hand as she allows the chamber door to shut behind her.
Should she tell someone? Hedi perhaps? Should she tell them that she fears that Prince Aemond has unclean intentions, but she fears even more if that assumption is even warranted. He had not been unkind to her, nor had he been particularly kind in any way either. But he had no need to be, she was a lowborn servant and he was a Prince of the realm.
She could not disappoint her siblings by risking this job and not sending them money. Risking their lives for a silly little thought of Prince Aemond’s intent with her? Based on no real evidence?
She couldn’t.
So she steadied her breath and instead resumed her duties, largely ignoring that gnawing pit in her stomach. There was a bad feeling around all this, and she couldn’t help but feel it deep in her bones.
She should have listened to her gut. She now realises.
Having lit the fireplace for his return after supper, she sat on the cold, flagstone floor with a needle and thread in one hand and one of his black doublets in the other, fixing the frayed hemming. The heat of the fire licked at the side of her face, warming her soft features as her fingers delicately did their work, faintly humming the only song she knew the words to in her head.
Aemond had come back to his chambers in a mood, quickly shutting the door behind him so hard that it seemed to rattle the very Keep. At once, her wide eyes looked up and she stood to attention, hands clasped as usual. A timid ‘your grace’ came from her lips, softer and quieter than she realised.
He looked absolutely livid, shaking with rage, fists clenched so hard that the knuckles were white and pale. His mouth was taut in a thin line and even his scar managed to look angrier beneath the leather of his eyepatch, his one good eye was still, unnaturally so. His chest inflated with silent breathing, trying to calm himself down, but she could tell he was still angry. In the several weeks she had been attending to him, she’d come to realise the depth of his frustrations for various reasons, but never daring to step beyond her station to ask why.
She breathed as quiet as she could, as if she were in the dark and someone dangerous was looking for her. For a moment, his eye flitted to the floor and then back to her and she thought he was looking at the doublet she was fixing, but it took her a moment to realise he’d been looking at her, dragging his gaze over her form. This fact alone sent gooseflesh on her arms and a shiver down her spine, unable to tell if this feeling was fear or not.
With a low hum, he stalked over to the side table for a cup of wine as he often did, thinking that he would dismiss her shortly, not knowing the aching arousal that he was trying with all his might to hold back. He stood for a moment, not saying anything as he sipped the spiced wine, allowing himself to decide what to do. She was right here, his obedient little thing, nervous with gooseflesh on her skin, cheeks a dusty pink.
He turned around to look upon her, still at war with himself.
Out of sheer nervousness, her tongue darted out to wet her lips.
And that’s when Aemond decided. He needed to have a taste of the little maidservant. Or rather she would have a taste of him.
He stood before her, tall, broad and all encompassing, and she directed her eyes to him, still waiting to be addressed. He simply glared down at her, as if still angry, but in truth he was holding so much back, the hold he had on his own reins were slipping by the second with every breath the little maidservant let free. He finished his cup of wine, sighing as he looked upon her.
“Take your braids out” he commanded.
She blinked for a moment, unsure if she had heard him correctly. But when he raised an eyebrow, she took a steadying breath and reached behind her, not one to refuse a Prince and a passionately angry one at that, she pulled the two pins that kept her braids in place away and tucked them into her apron. She looked down as she began to unravel them, one by one, the hair coming apart in waves around her shoulders. Once all the hair was freed, Aemond hadn’t moved an inch and she flicked her hair over her shoulders to run down her back.
Aemond sighed quietly, looking over her in this new state, hair loose and shockingly casual. He was intrigued to see that the rest of her hair, like the wayward curl at the side of her face, was also wavy, possibly from the braids she’d put in everyday. And he wondered if the beautiful patch of hair that framed her cunny would be the same. He hoped so. And he wondered what the heady scent of her sex would be like, if it would be addictive and once he’d had it, would he be able to stop?
She stood there, eyes averted to the fire and Aemond watched as the flames danced off the colour of them. His breath shuddered with anticipation, watching her pulse thrum in her neck quickly.
Placing the empty cup on the mantle, he cannot hold back any longer.
“Kneel”
She looks at him again, now her eyes spell confusion. Does he want her to kneel to prove her obedience? She doesn’t know.
Her lips part, “Pardon me, your grace?” she says in a whisper.
“I will not ask twice” he barks back almost immediately.
She swallows thickly and smoothes her hand over her apron, tucking the dress beneath her knees as she obeys, slowly sinking back to the floor. She clasps her hands before her, not sitting back on her feet, eyes trained to one corner of the room to ignore the fact that Aemond’s thighs are right before her. She can feel her heart thumping in her chest and she is sure he can hear it as well. It was like she was hiding, waiting for someone to come and find her.
She flinches when she feels his thumb and forefinger grasp her chin, the touch is light but determined and he pulls her head up to look at him. From this angle, Aemond can see all her delicate features and with her lips parted, he sees the wet inside of her pink mouth, warm and inviting. All for him. He can feel his cock needing relief in the tight confines of his breeches and the urge is beginning to overpower him.
“You are my good little maidservant, are you not?” he asks, voice low and commanding.
She can feel her breathing struggling against the front of her dress and she dare not look away.
Finding her voice, she can all but whisper, “Yes, your grace”
He hums lowly, his thumb travelling up to her lips, dipping the tip of it between her lips. His fingers still cradle her soft jaw, keeping her where he needs her, while the flat part of his thumb finally slips across the warm muscle of her tongue. Aemond holds back the desire to outright moan at the feeling of it against his skin, collecting the wetness of her saliva against it, moving forward to completely allow his thumb to be enveloped by her hot mouth.
All the while, she keeps her eyes on him, afraid to look anywhere else. She feels strange, like a constant chill is making its way around her body, overtaking every nerve and replaced with a kind of dark, gnawing feeling. It halts in her gut, where she feels it the heaviest.
After a moment, he pulls his thumb free and smears her saliva over her lips, making them glisten. He wonders if his spend would look as good as this smeared all over them. If she would be good, and dart her tongue out to lap it up.
Powerless to hold back any longer, Aemond hands move to the laces of his breeches, his pupil blown wide with lust at the innocent confusion on her face.
“Now sweet girl” he says, the name making her hairs stand up on end, “will you be good for me”
Again, not a question, more a demand. And she is so shaken, all she can do is nod.
“Have you been with a man, sweet girl” he asks, as he pulls his cock from its confines, using his hand to give himself a few pumps, the tip, red and glistening with precum. He already knows the answer. Just wants to hear her say it.
She shakes her head softly, “No…your grace” she answers with a shake in her voice. She tries to avert her eyes from this member, hard to attention right before her.
One corner of his lips turns up at her bashful nature. One hand threads through her hair, right at her neck, not tugging but not letting go either. She gasps at the action, now unable to move her head.
“Good���
He holds his cock in one hand, aching to bury himself in her mouth. But he holds his animalistic desire back, for the sake of not scaring her too much.
“Open your mouth”
She obeys, pushing her embarrassment aside for the sake of politeness to her master. Her lips part to open her mouth, still semi-unsure of what he will do, her innocence skewing the reality of what's happening to her.
“Wider” he says, now just a low whisper, “That’s it, sweet girl” he coos as she does so.
She cannot say she has seen a man’s parts before and now that she has, if he does intend to do what she thinks, it’s unknown if it will even fit. The thickness of it combined with the length daunts her slightly. As he taps the tip of his cock against her glistening lips, she grips her dress tighter, more out of embarrassment and nerves than anything else. Who would she be to refuse the orders of a Prince anyhow.
His fist tightens in her hair as he slips his cock past her lips, only halfway in he feels her tensing up at the foreign feeling, “Breathe” he orders quietly, “through your nose”. She whimpers at the uncomfortable feeling and wishes not to see anymore, so she shuts her eyes tight, attempting to do as he says and breathe through her nose. His taste is strange, salty and yet not unpleasant. His member is warm and heavy in her mouth, despite not being all the way within and she can feel her mouth aching to accommodate his sheer size. His fingers are tight in her hair, possibly in an attempt to hold himself back, and she whimpers around his cock at the feeling of the tugging of her follicles and the vibrations of her mouth against him make Aemond tip his head back just slightly. He sighs at the feeling of her warm, wet mouth squeezing him so deliciously and he holds back the desire to deliver his spend right into her there and then.
Once he feels she has sufficiently calmed down, relaxed her jaw, Aemond sheathes himself all the way in, briefly touching the back of her throat, making her whimper around his cock again. Her hands fly to his thighs to push him back for reprieve, but he is much too strong for that and he only tightens his fist in her hair more.
Without waiting a moment longer, he cants his hips against her mouth, sliding in and then out slightly, enjoying the friction her mouth gives him. He sees that she still has her eyes shut, hands tight on his leather breeches now and he gives a shuddered moan, tipping his head back all the way now, losing himself in the feeling of fucking her mouth, guiding the rhythm with the hand that’s in her hair.
Caring not that she is a maiden, he hastens his pace and her little whimpers are becoming too loud for him to really enjoy this.
“Quiet” he demands, much more spitefully than he intended .
And she is. Which makes him even more aroused than he could possibly be right now. So obedient. Just the good, sweet girl she is.
At the ache in her jaw, tears begin to pool at the corner of her closed eyes and fall in thin lines down her face. Aemond is lost beyond control, his thrusts sloppy and unforgiving as he feels the tight, wound up pressure of his peak creeping up on him at breakneck speed. He dares to look down at her, accepting his cock into her mouth like a cunt, his shaft now wet with her saliva and thrusting into her with the soft beat of his hips. His other hand comes to the side of her face, using his thumb to wipe the streak of her tear away, before he uses it for more leverage.
He’s never felt more powerful in his life. To have such control over someone he so fervently lusts over. It’s other-wordly. And he has no intention of stopping, not as long as she continues to be the malleable, sweet little thing she is now.
His thrusts cease, and he presses his hips right against her mouth as a strangled and uncharacteristically loud moan escapes his throat. He can feel his spend shoot at the back of her throat, and her flinch when she also feels it. But doing as he says, she makes no sound. Not until his cum begins to pool in one corner of her mouth and only then does she emit the tiniest of sounds. He can now hear the hurried breathing out her nose as she waits for his next command.
Aemond allows his breathing to even out, savouring the look of her, eyes softly shut with his spend and cock in her mouth, before he slowly pulls out. Her lips tightly shut when he does eventually vacate her mouth.
“Look at me”
She can feel something dripping down her face and when she looks at him, he looks a different person entirely. Breathing ragged, hair slightly tousled, looking nothing at all like the prim and proper royal she is used to. Her eyes are glazed, cheeks a dusty pink from the efforts of what he’d done. She waits.
“Swallow”
Assuming he requires her gaze still, she looks between his eye and eyepatch and to the best of her ability, swallows the strange, salty and thick substance in her mouth. She thought it wasn’t unpleasant, the taste of it, but that her jaw ached and she felt the gnawing agony of shame sink in through her skin. Aemond moans outright when he sees her throat bob and her deep exhale after she’s obeyed.
He uses his thumb to collect the line of spend that had leaked from her mouth and puts it back into her mouth, humming at the sight of depositing it against her tongue. She need not be told, and she wraps her lips around the digit, sucking whatever she can off of it, before Aemond is sure that it is clean and pulls out. She shuffles where she is knelt, her knees now aching from the stone, and she feels the slick between her legs as she does so, coating the inside of her thighs. And it confuses her. What is this strange sensation, seeming to come from nowhere, deep and ancient.
Aemond sighs contently and stuffs his softened cock back into his breeches.
“Leave. Now” is all he says to her, not sparing her a second glance as he strides towards the side table once more for another cup of wine.
With a shaky breath, she wipes her mouth with the back of her hand, still being able to taste the heady, potent taste of his spend. Scrambling to her feet, she dare not look back to him, fearing that the shameful belief within would intensify if she did.
Once the door was shut, she wipes her cheeks of any remaining tears and takes a moment to recover, trying to understand how she feels, what just happened, and what this means for her. Is she a maidservant or a whore. Perhaps she is both now. Living two separate lives for him once the sun has gone down. Does she enjoy the duality of it, she cannot say either way. All she knows is that she cannot possibly refuse him and that she’s not sure if she even wants to. The wetness between her thighs may sway her in one direction, she fears.
She offered up countless prayers to the Mother. For forgiveness. To make her understand.
But the Mother never responded.
General Aemond Taglist: @risefallrise
Consequences Taglist: @iiamthehybrid @manitskatrina @dahlias-and-marigolds @okfashionista @the-common-cowgirl @toodlesxcuddles @darkenchantress @magnificentdelusionr @tinykryptonitewerewolf @tssf-imagines @mandiiblanche @xdeath-soulx
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bewitched - ending 1.
check out bewitched pt. 1 here!
ending 2. — ending 3. — ending 4.
summary: after you present Aemond with the ultimatum of your marriage, he must choose between you and Alys.
✧･ﾟ: *✧･ﾟ:* *:･ﾟ✧*:･ﾟ✧
He chose you…
The days passed by silently… slowly… There was an eagerness in your bones that craved the touch of your husband. Part of you despised loving him while the other part longed for him once more. No matter how greatly the grief clinged to you, you refused to allow yourself to simply let him in. Aemond had the ultimatum… You allowed him the privilege to choose and so you waited.
Life passed by with the Red Keep continuing business as usual. Though everything seemed plain, a tension hung in the air that caused waves of anxiety to rush through the halls. The staff of the Keep were far more hushed than usual, gossiping with baited breaths when they could.
They took notice of the strange silence between you and the Prince. You only allowed yourself to be seen with Aemond at suppers or when it was greatly expected of you, so not to slack on your duty to the realm. The only other time you allowed yourself to see him was in the quick glances at him when he came to bed. Encounters at night were always silent, moving separately from each other so not to disturb what remained unspoken.
Most of your time was spent either in the gardens or the library, using your solitude as time for further entertainment. Currently, you were perched on a seat of one of the garden patios among bushes and a vineyard with your children accompanying you. You would not allow for the coldness you currently felt toward Aemond to manifest toward them as well, they were innocents. When they asked why their father was no longer frequently joining their mother in her activities, you swayed them away from the questions, wishing not to go into detail with them yet about Aemond’s infidelity.
Your son, Aemon, was pretending to joust with his wooden sword and shield on the greenery. He looked just like Aemond, even going as far as to antagonize his imaginary opponent before striking them. Maerys, your sweet daughter, sat at the steps to the patio reading a book. She was just as studious as her father. And though both children had traits of their father and the fine silver hair of a Targaryen, they had your eyes and your spirit.
It was the shift in the attendants that alerted you to another presence. You lifted your gaze to see Aemond, face stoic and arms held behind his back. With a sigh, you rose from your seat and soothed out the skirt of your dress. You waved at the attendants as to instruct them.
“Please see the children back to their rooms. Their lessons with the septas will resume shortly,” You nodded to the nurse who escorted Aemon and Maerys back into the Keep.
Both Aemond and yourself watched as the silver-haired twins disappeared indoors, leaving you both alone together. Instead of looking to your husband, you gaze rested on one of the shrubs with freshly sprouted rose buds. Words had escaped you and your mind was too foggy to think properly.
Suddenly, calloused fingers began to settle in your hand, attempting to intertwine themselves with your own soft digits. The feeling caused a wave of worry to crash through you as you quickly pulled your hand away. Aemond sighed, but his hand remained where yours was a moment before.
“It rids me with guilt that the smile that once graced your face has been replaced with tears and anger at my doing,” your husband finally broke the silence between you.
“Do you love her?” You responded, paying no mind to his previous statement.
His reply was quick to follow, a slight surprise to you, “No.”
Words were lost on you, so instead you simply nodded your head. Your gaze was still elsewhere, concerned that if you looked him in the eye your walls would crumble.
“I know that I have caused you unspeakable pain, but you will not have to worry about temptations anymore…” Aemond tried to keep a stoic tone, but the wavering of his voice revealed how much he regretted his previous actions.
Though you accepted his kind words, he needed to be explicit about what they meant, “And what of Alys… and the bastard?”
“I expect that they have sailed off the coast of Dorne by now. The witch is seeking asylum abroad in Essos where she shall be no concern of ours,” Aemond explained, “But the fault has been mine, my love. You have been a loyal wife and companion, blessing us with two beautiful children. I allowed the spoils of war to corrupt me and tempt me and I… I apologize, deeply, and this will be something I regret for the rest of my days…”
“But I love you, my sweet wife, I truly do. And if you would allow me, I would do… I would do anything to amend the bonds I’ve broken,” He looked at you, grief shining through his one good eye.
There was a quiet moment between both of you. Then, you silently outstretched your hand, taking his pale hand into your own.
#mattie writes#bewitched#aemond targaryen#house of the dragon#aemond targaryen x reader#hotd x reader#alys rivers#aemond targaryen imagine#aemond targaryen headcanons#dark!aemond targaryen x reader#dark!aemond x reader#prince aemond targaryen#house targaryen#series
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